‘ don’t feel like you have the take the floor on my account. ’

"Oh, I wasn't planning to."

She's careful how she easily slips under the bankets of the bed, finding a comfort in sleeping on something lightly chilled and softer than her bedroll. When was the last time she even stayed at a inn? months? She can't even recall, along of course with the numerous other things fogged in her mind.

baggier attire only reveals in further comfort, a soft, involuntary sigh escaping her as arms reach for the pillow at her head - choosing to hug it tightly against her chest.

@solomage

@solomage : ❝ are you blushing? ❞

wait, is she? fable curiously lifts a hand to her face –– the skin there is warm, her cheeks pink. ❝ oh, I guess I am. ❞ she flushes deeper at the admission. her wide eyes meet soloman's as she attempts a casual smile, but, of course, she fails miserably.

the thing is, she hadn't meant to walk in on him changing. the scrolls she'd gathered in her arms fall to the floor, unwinding across the ground. she really should pick them up, but fable's caught by the sight of soloman's bare chest, before she remembers to turn around, apologies and excuses flooding forth.

and now, she's blushing. because of course she is. ❝ I'll just- um, go. I just wanted to give you these scrolls I found, but um, I see you're... busy. ❞

OOPS I HAVE A CRUSH : always accepting.

⸻ @solomage ﹕ closed starter. ( 𝐚𝐮 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 )

how many more nights would she spent creeping outside of the spare bedroom door of her own house, silently getting herself off to the sensation of their new tenant pleasing himself inside? he does this often, and now so does she. she’s not some kind of a freak ( or maybe she is but ), she’s not getting off on the fact that she’s spying on him empathetically and invading his privacy. her infernal body just craves that raw desire, the way it caresses every inch of her skin like a velvet blanket and dumps dopamine directly into her brain. it doesn’t help that solomon is so godsdamned attractive, and charming, and sweet ﹕ she feels like her mother really set her up for failure here, i mean, what the fuck was she thinking ( she was thinking they needed the money since neph can’t hold a job )? how is she supposed to resist a man who looks at her the way he does, with that fucking face? when her mother is at work, and he’s around, it’s all she can do not to throw herself at him. she has been so good. she hasn’t even kissed him, but… he’s probably in there, thinking of her right now. and that notion alone makes her fucking feral.

against her better judgement, the voice inside of her head screaming at her not to engage suddenly becomes much quieter than the one screaming at her to act. she doesn’t have to fuck him, but she needs to be close. she needs to taste his lust on her lips, on her tongue. and where’s the harm in that? being close. she can’t kill him with her mouth, after all. very lightly, she finally lets her knuckles knock on the wood of the door, a handful times, just so he knows it’s someone knocking and not just random noises in the settlement of an old house. the heated atmosphere shifts slightly with a waft of abashment, and she can hear clumsy fumbling on the other side of the door, before footsteps finally approach. as soon as the door opens with a slight creak, nepharia is already placing an index finger over her mischievous smirk, meeting his gaze with pupils slightly dilated, ‘ shhh, ’ she begins, glancing over her shoulder briefly just to listen for any signs of movement from her mother’s side of the house, before dragging her attention back to him, ‘ i don’t want my mom to know i’m here, ’ she whispers softly, noticing the pillow he holds in front of himself, as if that isn’t obvious at all. that would have given him away regardless of whether or not she already knew.

with one hand on the door frame, she leans into the threshold of the doorway. his scent is even stronger in here, she can feel her mouth begin to salivate, as the sensations mix with just looking at him ⸻ fuck, he’s so pretty, it just isn’t fair. leaning into his space, she rises on her toes to bring her face closer to his, ‘ i can’t sleep. i can’t stop thinking about you, and you’ll tell me if i’m wrong, but, i think you’ve been thinking about me too, ’ she tells him, her voice barely a whisper, fanged smirk widening as she glances down at the pillow more pointedly, knowingly. ‘ do you want some help with that? ’

* closed starter | @solomage

the stench of alcohol and cigar smoke pollute the young succubus’ senses as a human man twice her age murmurs degradations against her ear, rough hands far too eager, far too familiar, as they grope and prod at a hellish physique. she appears uncomfortable, a faint look of apprehension upon an innocent expression, the text embedded into her cheek wrinkles as she winces, sheepishly removing the man’s hands from her body only for him to replace them, more aggressively. he’s either too drunk to understand that she is subtly rejecting him, or he simply doesn’t care— her bets are on the latter, people like him never seem to care.

yes, she appears uncomfortable, to anyone who might be watching, but the pub is crowded and dimly lit— smoke from cigars creates a dingy atmosphere. and even if anyone is watching, she doubts anyone will say anything. they never do. this man thinks she’s vulnerable, thinks she’s powerless. so she appears uncomfortable as to not reveal her winning hand. why do they always seem to like you more when you’re afraid?

` let’s go outback, huh? just you and me? you’d like that wouldn’t you? tieflings have always been my favorite. `

there’s a threat in his eyes, as his hand grips her arm and he presses himself against her. that’s when she feels it— the cold sensation of a blade pressed flatly against her abdomen. she can feel it through the mesh of the black gown she’s wearing, and gods, it’s so difficult not to smile at him knowingly. she must suppress her condescension, at least until she’s got him alone. she can play the role so well now, the man doesn’t suspect a thing as he drags her through the back door.

and of course, no one helps. maybe no one noticed? she doubts it, though. people can be so disappointing. still, she is relishing in the fact that she can and will take care of this herself, and she’s going to enjoy every barbaric moment of it. she starts crying as he leads her through the darkness, through the trees, putting a little bit of distance between them and the patrons of the pub they left behind. she even manages some real tears, laying it on a bit thick, just trying to really sell it, you know?

it’s not until he has her against a tree, a greedy hand slipping beneath the flimsy fabric of her gown and between her legs that she blinks, and her eyes glow a bright white in the darkness. her once distressed expression quickly transitions into a wicked smirk as her hand closes aggressively around his throat in one rapid motion. a dark red mist envelopes her entire form, and she emerges from the magical cloud, enormous bat-like wings flapping away the rest of the mist. she’s a bit taller, her teeth and claws sharper, like unbreakable razors. she’s strong enough now to lift the man off of the ground by his throat, and she emits a childlike giggle at the sound of his choking. he’s so stunned he actually drops his knife. there’s a sadistic glee shimmering in glowing eyes as she brings him closer to her face, he’s desperately clawing at her grasp around his throat to draw the sweet breath she’s keeping from him, ` awe, what’s wrong, baby? i thought we were having fun, ` she drags her tongue up the side of his face before tossing him hard onto the ground, where he struggles to catch his breath and scramble away at the same time.

` ah, ah, ah, we aren’t finished, ` she’s able to grab his foot and drag him back toward her, where he cowards on his back as she mounts him, strong hands pin his above his head into the dirt below. he thrashes beneath her, quite vigorously, but he’s no match for her like this, ` yeah, just like that, i like it when you struggle, ` she taunts him, hoping these are words he’s used before to women less powerful than her, women who couldn’t protect themselves.

` what are you? ` his voice is almost a whisper, his breath trembling, and he’s so, so scared. nepharia savors this, the fear in his eyes, he deserves this.

` justice, ` is all she says in response before razor-like teeth sink into his throat, the taste of metal rushing into her mouth. she snarls like a feral animal, losing herself entirely for a moment as she continues to rip into him with her claws. barely alive and bleeding out by his throat, he still tries to shield his face from her claws with his arms, loosing parts of them in the process. fingers, a hand, all being viciously torn away and thrown in random directions. she doesn’t stop until he’s been disemboweled and she’s surrounded by his gore, a wicked, bloodied smile on her face. she breathes heavily from the rush, the adrenaline— and then there’s a nearby crunch of leaves.

her head snaps in that direction, and she spots someone, bright eyes able to see pretty well in the dark of the night. another man. ` don’t be shy. have you come to join in on the festivities? ` she asks, her tone is a soothing lull as she stands from the dismembered, unrecognizable corpse, ` there’s so much of me to go around. ` she doesn’t lunge at him, she simply stands above her kill, claws still dripping with fresh blood. she can smell his fear, but also something familiar. she smelled him at the pub too. what is he doing all the way out here?

@solomage : ❝ I have longed to throw something at you; a chair, a fireball, myself. ❞

amusement has inara openly smiling –– she has a rather nice smile, especially when she's quite splattered in blood and gore. ❝ I can't say I've ever heard those words said in that order before, ❞ she muses, wiping her bladed focus clean on the edges of her slitted dress. ❝ I'm flattered, though, dear. it's not every day someone up and declares they'd like to fireball you. ❞

once the blade is sparkling once more, inara leans forward so her breasts are all but tumbling out, and drags the tip of her ceremonial dagger along the edge of soloman's jaw. ❝ for what it's worth, I'd throw a fireball at you too. but I draw the line at throwing myself –– you'll just have to come crawling to me instead. ❞

she pulls back, then, satisfied and smug, eyes glittering and a challenge posed upon her smirking lips.

THINGS SAID WHILE ADVENTURING : always accepting.

❛ nothing wrong with having a drink in good company. ❜ / @solomage

Oh? ❝ — do invite me to join it, then, once you have found it. ❞ dark, cold eyes gleam like shards of ice in a blizzard, strangely bright and malefic. Yennefer tilts her head to the side to meet his gaze, a cascade of raven-black curls spilling off her shoulders, and a singular, perfectly dark brow lifts, rationing her attention upon the mage, though part of her—aloof, opaque, detached— remains apart. ❝ come on, drinking shall have to wait. We've yet to give ourselves reason enough to celebrate. — take a look at this. ❞ she more thrusts than offers the grimoire she's been poring over, upon him, impatient expectation in her violet gaze.

@solomage

Plots please! Curious whether you've got any thoughts for Solomon @solomage ? Any muse!

⤏ send me “plots please” | ACCEPTING

So the first one that comes to mind as a possibility is Talilah. With Solomon's history with pirates and Talilah's entertaining troupe acting like the Robin Hood troupe, I could see maybe some sort of...Something there. Maybe at some point Solomon takes a break from pirates and travels with them? And then ditches for a bit? Some sort of friendly recognition between the two of them if so, depending on how their personalities mesh as well.

Honestly, he and Frits are around the same age and it would be hilarious if they had been peers at study. I haven't decided where Frits studied, just that he's always been helpful (to the point of it possibly being detrimental to him) and cheery. Former classmates between party animal Solomon and sweet nerd Frits would be hilarious.

The only other thing coming to mind at the moment is Gwenifar, traveling as a Cleric of Ilmater, and they tend to help anyone, no matter who or their alignment. Maybe a situation where he's on the run from bounties hunters, gets injured, she tends and covers for him?

My brain power was used on the others I need to poke your boy more.

Softer Prompts - @solomage mused: “ I can tell something's bothering you. ”

Eve had been trying to find ways to get her mind off of what was at hand, and after cycling through trying to sketch, and trying to read, she'd gone out into the woods and shifted into a panther for a bit. That at least made her feel a little more free, but eventually she'd had to shift back, and she found that she was still rather RESTLESS.

So, she'd sat along the edge of the campsite, nibbling at some fruit from camp, jumping just a little when Soloman spoke. Usually, she could hear each footstep--sneaking up on her had always been hard--but not right now. Not while the hairs on the back of her neck were standing up and her heart was racing. Still, she couldn't just brush him off and honestly she wouldn't dream of being so brusque with him anyway when it came down to it.

“Am I that TRANSPARENT today?” she asked him slowly, holding her bowl of fruit out to him to offer him some. “You could pretend I'm harder to read you know...” she managed to tease gently.

❛ don’t mind me. just enjoying the view. ❜ / @solomage

She’s deep within the water of the river nearby their camp, finding comfort in its embrace as she uses it to wash away at the dirt & crimson of their travels. She can’t remember the last time she’s had time to simply relax beyond the nautaloid crash, night filled either with worry of what was to come, or the nightmares that plagued her mind.

She’s just risen her head above the water when she hears his commentary, swift to turn about to notice him close by. Though, rather than panic herself, there’s a huff of a breath that escapes her.

“-Then are you going to jump in or not? I know baths might be a bit foreign to you-“

@solomage

@solomage : ❝ what if I told you wanted you, right here. right now? ❞

❝ here? now? ❞ though it causes all the blood in her body to come rushing up to her cheeks, fable finds soloman's gaze in the mirror across the bedroom. she hadn't felt him come up behind her until the last minute, his larger form pressing into her, his mouth ghosting along her ear.

they're meant to be clearing out cazador's now empty mansion, but well... soloman was all too good with distractions.

she gave a shy smile, even as her eyes hurried to the door –– closed. the lock, she suspected, was turned over. the privacy allowed fable to lean back into him. she's grown bolder over time, and now her hand finds his and slips it under the edge of her leathers. ❝ I'd say... I don't know how much time we have? ❞

SMUT PROMPTS : accepting all day.

⸻ @solomage ﹕ 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐚 𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 .

the cambion hadn’t given it much thought at the time, what would have become of these refugee children from the grove had the others not showed up with that artefact when they did, far too concerned with what might have become of her had they not. they would all surely be dead by now, and nepharia wouldn’t be here at last light inn having a surprisingly delightful interaction with the little tiefling known as mattis, sharing her most valuable rogue knowledge to him, who thanks her again for saving them from the goblins. did she save them? or was she doing what was convenient for herself in the moment? she smiles, outwardly ⸻ but inwardly, he’s given her something to think about. to reflect on. self - examination has never been something the succubus was ever good at, granted, she loathed trying it. and to anyone else, that should be a hint that perhaps you don’t hold yourself in the highest regard you claim to. how can she look down at this smiling face, as he holds out a fist eagerly awaiting her to bump it with her own, and remember that she would have damned his life if it meant her own?

she feels different now, than she did at the beginning of this journey, she feels— she just feels more. she has felt so hallow and empty for so many years, no amount of souls or blood on her hands could fill that hole inside of her, and now she feels so many things, all the time, and most of those feelings are hard. every day she is reminded of the horrors she has committed in her life, slowing weighing heavier and heavier on her resolve, unable to keep leaning on her excuses ﹕ i didn’t know any better. i was so young. i was afraid. i did what i needed to do to survive.

and as her fist touches the fist of the young boy in front of her, solomon’s scent fills the tavern and she knows he’s there without even having to look. another grim reminder, an example of her inhumane cruelty. when the two of them are enraptured by one another’s carnal desire for the other, it’s more difficult to feel the discomfort when she’s around him, but there is a discomfort in his presence. it brings about unresolved conflict, and guilt, and shame, when she isn’t smothered by his lust, she is tormented by her remorse but lacking the words to express it.

what was her excuse with solomon? at the time, she felt so justified, when he started to pull away from her. the harder she tried to keep him with her, the harder he pulled. she thought making him afraid to keep him with her would be just as good, but that didn’t work, and when she thinks back on it now, that fear he felt wasn’t something she ever wanted to make him feel again. it has taken her so many years to realize that solomon is an entire thinking, feeling, living, empathetic creature with hopes, dreams, desires that exist outside of her. but to admit this would be to admit that she’s fucked up, and she’s been fucked up this whole time, and how does she reconcile that?

after she bids her goodnight to mattis, giving him her gloves of thievery to aid him where ever he finds himself next, stealing with the greats in baldur’s gate or whatever, nepharia finally turns expectantly, eyes falling upon solomon only feet away now. there’s a soft, but solemn smile on her lips as she moves to close the space between them. her stomach is doing jumping jacks inside of her body, as her anxiety rises ⸻ she hates being here, surrounded by deadly shadows with a parasite that threatens to control her mind and change her physiology, but having solomon nearby would make things a lot easier… if only it could feel like it did before. she knows it won’t be possible if they don’t talk about it, and even then, it will likely never be the same ever again. but even back then, he didn’t really know her, and she didn’t really know him. she didn’t think to ask him, then. but learning him the way she should have years ago is all she can think about now, and the only other thought plaguing her mind is how she doesn’t deserve to. ‘ when you have a moment tonight, i’d like to see you in private, ’ she tells him, but the solemn look upon her face should be enough to tell him that it’s not for what he might think.

@solomage inquired: ❝ my friend, you are very far from fine. ❞ / the witcher 2

The paladin’s mouth thins, tightens, narrows, and his gaze turns away. " Aye, well. Aren’t we all. " He looks —— wan, a little pale, exhaustion settled into every bone and every nerve and every vital part of his body. Sweat, blood, dirt — it seems as much a part of him as his armor, right now.

But —— too: there’s a sense of resigned determination, and he slumps into a sit and drags out a skin of water from his pack. He takes a swallow, and then a hearty splash is mopped over the back of his neck, and he sucks in a breath through his teeth and lets it out slow. " Fine or not fine, we still have a lot of good day time left. We shouldn’t squander it. "

@solomage

her slumber is deep, dreamless— or at least, not plagued with the typical horrors of feeling trapped and afraid. nepharia has been free for nearly a year and yet her dreams still transport her back almost every night, to the point where most of the time, she doesn’t sleep. she can go days, easily, especially if she feeds. but it had been almost a tenday up until last night. perhaps that’s why sleep claimed her so effortlessly in the first place, regardless of the fact that she wasn’t alone. it isn’t typical for her to let a man survive sexual encounters with her, and even less typical to fall asleep with them after. this would be a first for her.

but nothing about solomon is typical, either. although when she’s around him his fear is a dominant fragrance in the atmosphere, he doesn’t seem to necessarily want to get away from her anymore. she can understand his innate and mortal need to protect his life, and how being around her could trigger an automatic fight or flight response— she can wrap her mind around that, she isn’t entirely immortal herself. but there’s something about how she can just tell that he’s actually as curious about her, the same way she’s curious about him. something in the way his hands touched her the night before, softer than anything she’s ever felt. the way his main focus was whether or not she felt good. it was different, and she knew she had to keep him alive to experience it again.

it’s late in the morning, and nepharia is still sleeping, still unaware of the fact that she allowed herself to drift off with him in the first place. the bright sun is only slightly blocked by thin curtains covering the windows of the room, but the light bothered the exhausted succubus none. she is nestled closely against the mage, warm, nude bodies halfway covered by disarray bedsheets lying almost diagonally on the mattress. she’s partially on top of him, arm at an angle atop his chest with her hand beneath her chin against his shoulder, mouth slightly open, exposing the tips of small fangs. she won’t remember what she’s dreaming about, but she must be dreaming something— as soft, disjointed syllables are muttered into the otherwise quiet room.

the feeling of gentle fingertips along her spine is what causes her to finally stir, and in her languid state, she instinctually finds herself snuggling a bit closer against the warmth of the body heat, a lazy, comfortable moan purring within her throat as her arm stretches out over his chest in sync with her legs, like a cat waking from a long nap. pale, sleepy eyes flutter open, just to be met with another pair of eyes looking back at her. it’s reflexive, the way she leans up slightly to put some distance between their faces, forearm holding up the weight of her torso against his chest. she looks around the room, then back at him, as her brain begins to process everything that transpired. she still feels that lingering euphoria, the enraptured high of siphoning only a portion of his vitality.

perhaps that persisting elevation is what relaxes those jolted reflexes, or maybe it’s the fact that she’s realizing he never tried to leave. after so many days of not sleeping, he very easily could have slipped away without waking her. hells, she was sleeping so deeply, he probably could have easily killed her, so he wouldn’t have to worry about her later. did he want to stay? or had he just been too afraid to leave? but he doesn’t smell afraid, or at least, it’s not as potent as it usually is, so maybe…

` you didn’t leave— ` she says it like she’s a little surprised, but also contented with the fact that he’s still here, ` and you didn’t try to kill me in my sleep, ` this is what she’s most impressed with. she knows fear can make people do some pretty extreme things, and when you live in fear, extreme is all you know. even her pillowtalk is extreme, though her touch is gentle as she grazes her fingertips along solomon’s chest. he looks really pretty in the morning, his long hair messily splayed out across his pillow. just looking at him makes her feel so godsdamned giddy, as she tries and fails to suppress the blissful smile tugging at her lips, ` good morning. `

@solomage : ❝ do whatever you want with me, I'm yours. ❞

she circles around soloman, a huntress surveying her prey, dark wings sweeping across the floor dramatically behind her. ❝ anything I want? ❞ she remarks, a hint of laughter buried in her tone. not the warm, inviting kind –– her chuckle is cool, the sort that makes you wonder whether if it's at your expense. her eyes give her away, though. her blasé attitude could never hide the animated shimmer that falls like a veil over those lavender hues. ❝ that's no small thing to say, dear. ❞

inara slips up behind him, fingers ghosting up soloman's bare arms. her lips drag along the column of his neck, lipstick smearing along his skin. his physique is one thing –– it's the way she can smell the weave on him, can sense its power on his fingertips that has inara sighing against his throat. ❝ be a good boy and take your pants off, dear. ❞

MORE SMUT STARTERS : accepting.

// I love my boy @solomage and I gotta say, having a sideblog is just so convenient so I can have all my notifications in one place and keep track of everything, but! It's a real bummer not being able to follow from over there. Just gotta wave my arms at the dash to let people know he exists. I really need to make him a promo and give Gortash a proper pinned post.