1 - 20 of 48 Works by Polyleritae
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crimson by Polyleritae for Bleed_Peroxide
Fandoms: Drag-On Dragoon | Drakengard (Video Games)
12 Jul 2024
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Hell wasn’t flame and brimstone, but rather cavernous nothing: a voiceless scream, a horizon bereft of stars. Hell was a vast expanse of deadened nerves and malaise that stuck to his teeth like tar; it was the unfurling of one’s life with naught but wordless detritus.
Heaven was the sweet, cruel knife of mortality that cut through it.
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love with nowhere to go by Polyleritae for 7dollarpen
Fandoms: Drag-On Dragoon | Drakengard (Video Games)
23 Jul 2023
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Borders and boundaries are nebulous. Treacherous. Wars fought over imagined lines in the earth. Wealth determined by everything from seashells to trinkets to gold, with no two nations able to agree on which is best.
You may love your brother as a girl, but not as a woman.
You may love your steed as a boy, but not as a man.
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mal·le·a·ble /ˈmalyəb(ə)l
adjective
(of a metal or other material) able to be hammered or pressed permanently out of shape without breaking or cracking. -
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It would so easy to let himself ignite, to let them both be consumed.
[A series of drabbles concerning Thancred/Ryne. Tags and rating will be updated as needed.]
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The realization isn't a lightning strike or the clanging of bells. It's a single droplet of soup clinging to the bow of Yonah's lips and the strange impulse to claim it with his own.
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“Let us drink of one another,” he whispers. “Violence unto violence, pleasure unto pleasure. I know you earn for it, to allow yourself to bleed and drink and swoon to your heart’s content, to abandon the artifice that shackles you.”
She swallows, meeting his gaze squarely. “And what if your blade fails to slake my thirst?”
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The Ascian couldn’t be trusted as far as he could be thrown — none of their lot could. Except, he learned, the Ascian never lied.
So what was this strange song-and-dance, woven by tea and an unspoken, mutual fondness for observing their Warrior in the Scrying Glass?
[Originally published in Lux et Umbra.]
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Stephanivien's eyes were bright with delight, wide smile smeared with chocolate. Before him was a seemingly unremarkable slice of chocolate cake -- unremarkable, of course, until someone asked what it was called.
[A small drabble created as part of a request fill challenge.]
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The little tyrant had become too accustomed to demanding that he lie on his back and offer his ministrations to her ache on demand.
Spoiled, this one was – yet not rotten, still shimmering with sweetness and virtue in spite of how eagerly she sups on corruption.
Series
- Part 3 of Aether Poisoning (Kinktober 2020)
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He wanted to kill him.
He wanted to drive a knife through his heart.
But Thancred was no longer certain the choir that sang for blood did so out of fury for Ryne’s sullied virtue.
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- Part 2 of Aether Poisoning (Kinktober 2020)
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“You’re vile,” Ryne hisses as a hand wraps around her throat — not enough to bruise, let alone suffocate, but enough to remind her whose claws dig into her thighs.
“So you’ve told me,” Emet-Selch whispers, licking the shell of her ear.
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- Part 1 of Aether Poisoning (Kinktober 2020)
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A series of drabbles exploring the twisted ways in which love, animosity, and pain mingle.
30 Days of Writing: A Drabble A Day Challenge; prompt lifted from un_love_you. Please heed the "Dead Dove" tag; read at your own discretion.
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Ash, however, defies this rules of this sphere. Assimilation requires bathing in vermilion, yet Ash’s flesh is powdery and bloodless. His lips are a striking violet, barely grazed and sown shut by the Reaper’s kiss.
How very much like Ash, Eiji thinks, to snarl against rules like this.
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Chief Terl was predictable, but Jonnie supposed that was part of his charm.
(This is 100% a crackfic I wrote because I was tipsy thanks to the Battlefield Earth drinking game and spent 99% of the film wishing Terl and Jonnie would just hatefuck. Please do not take this seriously, for the love of God.)
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Vincent never thought to ask why Ciel arrived earlier to Mass each Sunday.
If he didn’t know better, Vincent would have thought the boy was going on a date; he seemed a little too excited for someone singing hymns and eating stale Communion wafers, but if puppy love is what kept his son well-groomed, out of trouble and inside the Lord’s home, then all the better.
Better to let Ciel still trust Father Michaelis.
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Ash and Eiji consider the changes brought by the shifting of life's seasons.
"But now the days are short / I'm in the autumn of the year
And now I think of my life as vintage wine
From fine old kegs / From the brim to the dregs
And it poured sweet and clear / It was a very good year."- Frank Sinatra
[Written for the Take Me to Where You Are Banana Fish charity zine.]
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Hail, clear color of wine!
Hail, flavor without equal!
And your deeming power to make us drunk!O so pleasing in color!
O so fragrant in odor!
O so tasty in the mouth, sweetly bonding with the tongue!(Ciel and Sebastian have a little too much fun involving wine and confessional booths.)
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Sebastian isn’t sure whether to be grateful or concerned when Earl of Phantomhive begins to develop of penchant for things more toothsome than sweets. The first sign of his quickening appetite is not what he says, but how, experimenting with the whisper of a tenor in his throat like one would pluck at the strings of a harp. His voice is still boyish and sweet, but more than once Sebastian has seen Ciel’s lips twist in satisfaction when he’s managed to inject just the faintest hint of something in his requests.
Bittersweet. Decadent. Dripping from Sebastian’s name like so much honey.
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Eiji is no stranger to caring for those too sick to care for themselves; for better or worse, he's learned how to weather the more common ailments that might befall someone.
Except Ash is terribly, terribly ill, and not a single one of the treatments he's learned is helping.
Morbid circumstances warrant morbid solutions.
[Written as a fill for the #BFSecretSanta2019 exchange.]
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Something foreboding and tantalizing lurks just beyond the edge of 9S's awareness: knowledge beckoning, secrets begging to be exposed. Every step closer to the answer -- to naming the nameless, to understanding the incomprehensible -- feels like fingers tightening around his throat.
[A series of drabbles exploring 2B and 9S's shifting dynamic through NieR:Automata. Potential spoilers all the way through route E, so proceed with caution. Rating and tags will be updated accordingly.]