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flyingbatknight.etheirys.social
unhinged elf connoisseur 💀🥀
@flyingbatknight.etheirys.social
260 followers 200 following 3.6K posts
a spectral bat flying on diaphanous wings. [30+; any prns]
this is a sanctum for the depraved + the freaky. no minors, no censors; kinks untagged. i block at-will.

OCs: Navrys Quilarain #navryslore // Gièvaix d'Envers #danverslore
i: @sabattons.com
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flyingbatknight.etheirys.social
i know exactly what you mean
November 11, 2025 at 4:24 AM
flyingbatknight.etheirys.social
this portrait (it pissed off franz joseph i btw) of elisabeth of austria-hungary
a portrait by franz winterhalter of the empress elisabeth of austria-hungary. a famed beauty of her time, she is a pale-skinned white woman with chestnut brown hair allowed to hang freely in tight waves down her back, almost reaching the level of her knees. she wears a richly layered and embroidered white gown with a wide skirt, with off-shoulder sleeves which expose her right shoulder and neck to view. though her back is partially to the viewer, she turns her head, seeming almost to look at them with a small, mysterious smile.
November 8, 2025 at 11:06 PM
flyingbatknight.etheirys.social
05. forced to watch #ncn2025
[ a water-spider hangs suspended over a mirror. ]
v. forced to watch In the crystalline depths beneath him no black abyss yawned to offer sanctuary. In its dark, mirror-smooth surface, there was no salve against the net of silk and woven hair cutting into his limbs; nor did shutting his eyes against the shape of his belly as it thrashed between legs thrown wide and wanton offer refuge from how they trembled for it, how longing seeped warm like blood between them with every thrust splitting him apart. Though it disturb the waters below, he wept; through tears he watched how the ripples danced wanton in the image of him, and whimpered, open-mouthed, through the first pearlescent drops wrung from him into that mirror.
November 6, 2025 at 6:15 AM
flyingbatknight.etheirys.social
i'm rather good at using lighting and specific, often unusual angles to capture mood and storytelling. i often like to toy with the concept of the camera/viewer as a participant, as observer or voyeuristic witness. my gposes are often more about evoking a feeling than presenting a character.
a light brown-skinned elf with long chestnut hair rests his head on another man's lap. the other man, a grey-skinned elf, is out of frame, only his hands visible as they cover his hands and stroke his ear. he wears an expression of beatific contentment. an elven man with a long, silver braid stands hunched over a long table. the lighting is stark, only just silhouetting him, the table's surface, and the shape of a single, small hand laid upon it. the remainder of the image is shrouded in darkness, creating a sense of powerful tension. a scene of violence beheld through slats of wood. beyond them, in focus, the silhouette of one man hunches over another. neither's face is visible. the position of their legs entwined leaves it unclear what manner of struggle is taking place. from the angle of view, the viewer is made to feel like a participant, or an observer, watching from an uncertain position prone on the floor. a strangulation. lit in sickly shades of beige and dark blue, only the hands and arms of those locked in struggle can be seen. the forearms of the larger man centre the image, locked tight around the throat of the smaller man, whose lips gape open, the rest of his face unseen. with one arm he reaches up towards his assailant; with the other hand he grips his attacker's forearm.
November 5, 2025 at 2:26 AM
flyingbatknight.etheirys.social
benefaction. #navlin

(c/m. by @belceboo.bsky.social — thank you so much for rendering this piece so beautifully!)
an illustration of two elves painted in vivid shades of blue and indigo. the shorter, walkelin, stands with his back resting against navrys', the taller elf's, front. walkelin wears a long, white shift embroidered at the shoulders and bearing loose closures at the front akin to a hospital gown, untied and pulled wide open over his abdomen. over the shift, a pair of stays rests half-laced and pulled open in walkelin's hands, revealing a surgical incision sutured shut. navrys' fingers curl up against the incision and seem to caress it mid-embrace. from the incision, a thin, winding scarlet line spills out like blood, or thread, wending out of frame at the bottom of the picture. an ethereal sword of the same colour pierces through walkelin's chest. behind him, navrys stands, fully clothed in a long coat and mantle, his ungloved hand cradling walkelin's throat and jaw. in his mouth he holds the end of walkelin's rosary. their eyes lock as they regard each other, haloed by a bright, silver-violet moon. navrys' expression is one of intense focus; walkelin wears a small, knowing smile, the black of his eyes filling with scarlet light.
November 4, 2025 at 4:10 AM
flyingbatknight.etheirys.social
vanitas. #navlin

(a memento ych piece by @sabattons.com ; a magnificent artist and even lovelier friend whom i can never thank enough)
a drawing of a plain silver locket without a chain, next to a vintage trocar upon a black background. the tip of the trocar bears a drop of blood. inside the locket, the portrait of a grey-skinned elven man looks out at the audience, a lock of his braided silver hair falling over one eye, also obscured by a spatter of blood across his brow and cheek. a small, neatly trimmed beard forms a point at his chin. overall, his expression is one of quiet austerity. he wears a plain, close-fitting black garment sealed by innumerable small buttons in a line up the chest and throat. the length of his braid cascades over it, wound in a cord the colour of the blood that paints his cheek. at the edge of the portrait, his hand, gloved in black, holds a set of pince-nez. he is embraced to either side by a pair of manicured hands whose owner stands out of the portrait's frame. the nails of both hands are painted black. from the viewer's left, one hand, ghostly white, caresses the man's jaw. from the viewer's right, the other hand, a cool-toned brown, curls over the man's shoulder. the impression given is one of unstated intimacy.
November 3, 2025 at 8:53 PM
flyingbatknight.etheirys.social
01. intoxication #ncn2025
[ dionysus; the birth of a maenad. arachne watches. ]
i. intoxication His essence always penetrated them well before he did. Thick, cloying, rich with the temptations of wine and animal musk, it swelled in the blood of this one now, coiled about him like vines upon the trellis, finding his every crack and crevice and spreading each wide for his probing mouth; and senseless, unready, his prey split open with a cry stifled in soil made sweet by the nectar upon his tongue. When the sun had set, and release found his quarry, no relief came with it: he trembled, swollen, in the soil, the seed at his lip and in his belly already quickening to the watcher’s eye.
November 2, 2025 at 3:54 AM
flyingbatknight.etheirys.social
i don't know why i have this but it's beautiful
a photomanip of hellraiser's pinhead in 2B's nier automata gear. the original editor's name appears next to them: tenebrare
October 30, 2025 at 1:03 AM
flyingbatknight.etheirys.social
october mood
an ms paint figure of an office worker sitting at a computer desk. overhead, a line graph plotting JOB correlation with YAOI COPE shows a line indicating an increasing trend. in a speech balloon, the worker says: if you would please consult the graphs.
October 23, 2025 at 12:41 PM
flyingbatknight.etheirys.social
22. wax play #heresykinktober2025
in honour of a friend's birthday; many happy returns 🖤
xxii. wax play The first molten kisses fell upon him with the fervour of teeth. From it rippled a shiver, trembling in skin too long left hungry: for his touch, for fingers that would burn and bruise for the want of him, hands that would cage him in their lust and lips that would drink of his sighs as a parched tongue from a well. Every aching drop seared him with the answer to his wishes; pulled apart lips and thighs in unison, so that at last, when warmth poured, thick and tender in the valley of his thighs, he nearly wept — then did, the prickling in his skin made naught against the heat spreading him wide to receive.
October 23, 2025 at 3:38 AM
flyingbatknight.etheirys.social
20. reverse prayer #heresykinktober2025
xx. reverse prayer The ache of it sang first and keenest in his spine. He relished it: with eyes closed, with naught else to draw his focus, it pulled his chest forward, then his lips open, their supplication silent yet utterly impossible to mistake. The answer came, just as silent, just as sure, in the warm benefaction of leather on his tongue — then the slow, torturous glide of a pointed sole up between his thighs.
October 21, 2025 at 8:17 AM
flyingbatknight.etheirys.social
19. submission to god #heresykinktober2025
xix. submission to god His hands had reached out and encircled the lithe body wound against him nearly before he sensed the desire taking shape. This meek shell ill fits you, once said those tender lips, so long ago when he had tasted only perdition in the fruits of this shrine, and had wept for how sweetly it took him. How proudly had he clung to his submission, how long had he made obeisance in hunger — when here in his fingers swelled divinity, soft, ripe, flush with readiness to split open to receive him.
October 21, 2025 at 8:07 AM
flyingbatknight.etheirys.social
18. prayer during sex #heresykinktober2025
xviii. prayer during sex Only he would be suffered to witness it, that prayer that rode the harsh currents of wanting and begged the blessing of succor from its hearer. Only he, whose hands gripped mercy’s leash and desire’s cold blade together, whose fingertips knew every seam and sinew and scar within and without, whose grip held and shaped this precious doll to suit his maker. Only he, whose attention to his handiwork had written anew the names of sanctity, of ecstasy, in flesh and bone, and now threatened to break him anew with every fresh caress.
October 20, 2025 at 5:47 AM
flyingbatknight.etheirys.social
17. catholic guilt #heresykinktober2025
xvii. catholic guilt How do you bear it? The question slipped softly into the hollow of his neck, escaping with unwonted ease lips made tender under the weight of blows — lips so oft drawn taut beneath a well of sins so deep she might never hope to breach its surface. But of course it was a foolish question: the hands that painted her in the colours of penance had never borne aught else.
October 18, 2025 at 2:43 AM
flyingbatknight.etheirys.social
16. prie-dieu bondage #heresykinktober2025
xvi. prie-dieu bondage Show me, he had been bid — yet no sooner had he set knee to cushion than he sensed the curl of fingertips hard at his back, drawing him up again — up and over the prayer shelf, bent, pressed down, until he hung breathless, folded like so many pages of scripture. Any other hands might have ended their work there, content to have their master’s way and take him as he was. But mere inversion did not sate those that kept him now, and it was into their hold he sank as they bound him into the shapes best pleasing to a doll’s maker.
October 17, 2025 at 5:04 AM
flyingbatknight.etheirys.social
15. incense as aphrodisiac #heresykinktober2025
xv. incense as aphrodisiac So often now did his steps lead him up the length of that stair as if drawing him up to the scaffold. Yet its mercy had never once availed him beyond the curtains at their summit; only the cloying perfume of incense, clinging at the skirted heels of its keeper as his every movement stirred to life the unbidden alchemy of want. Even now it coiled in his nose like a spring, ever tighter — and too long kept wound.
October 17, 2025 at 5:00 AM
flyingbatknight.etheirys.social
14. unholy matrimony #heresykinktober2025
this prompt ate my brain, so we get two entries for the price of one (the price is sleep)
xiv. unholy matrimony Thick was the want upon him in his nose even before those tender lips opened to speak it. He had made it so: fed that need with the empty succor of his absence, days into weeks into more than a moon, until now it rose from him in a perfume almost more intoxicating than the nimble fingers folding their way up into the crevices in his robe. He let them: by the time that hand had moulded itself to the outline of his cock, he had already made his vow — for you. xiv. unholy matrimony (alt. ver.) There in the roots of the sanctuary did he take what was newly his. Again, and again, he took and took, savouring the salt of sweat and tears upon his tongue, took until the blood darkened his robe from between quivering thighs and all that remained of resistance was the quiet burble of sobbing, muffled only by a pillow of moss. And when he had done, only then did he strip their veils: his own, and that which shrouded Her gift to him.
October 17, 2025 at 4:59 AM
flyingbatknight.etheirys.social
#nyctober #batwrites

[sepelire]: latin, "to bury"; older, "to perform rituals upon a corpse". what better gift for verrot upon his nameday.

part 01 can be read here: shorturl.at/8oHS3
sepelire [lat. to inter, to bury; to perform rituals upon a corpse] No light had touched the walls of the Vauntelaire crypt in the long years since its latest viscount had found rest there with his son. Its seal, rime-veiled granite hewn generations ago from the depths of the Spine and carried to its appointed place at the heels of a dozen sturdy fowl, resisted every attempt to part it from its frame save one. Gièvaix raised a hand to the sigil graven in the stone.
October 14, 2025 at 4:25 AM
flyingbatknight.etheirys.social
13. heresy kink #heresykinktober2025
xiii. heresy kink “I mustn’t,” was all the protest the feeble desert of his mouth would give him to utter, as around him the world shrank and faded to the shapes of the slight fingers that held salvation — no, damnation — at the threshold of his lips. How long have you done as you are bid, it seemed to whisper, all tenderness and ruin against his skin and in his nose like the embrace of a lover; how far has it carried you? And even as he sought in vain to turn the weight of his jaw from its temptations, he could not disguise the sigh that slipped from him against the fingers that parted his lips even so — could not pretend, against the honeyed nectar on his tongue, how truth and desire sang in his flesh to receive it.
October 14, 2025 at 12:47 AM
flyingbatknight.etheirys.social
12. touch deprivation #heresykinktober2025
xii. touch deprivation It shivered through every pore of his ardent’s skin to hear it. Under his eye it roiled in flesh stripped bare in offering to him; welled, then overflowed, in a whimper whose melody sang, ravenous, in his loins. Let it sound once more for him, that prayer: [please, please, I need to feel you…]
October 13, 2025 at 4:28 AM
flyingbatknight.etheirys.social
xi. masochism #heresykinktober2025
xi. masochism Oh, how sharp the grip of the hand that took possession of him then. Between the leather-shrouded fingertips that caught him the pillow of his cheek yielded and split open against his teeth, until the sweet warmth of blood trickled into the crevices beneath his tongue. Yet this was naught to the cold flints in the gaze that bored down into him — an apéritif he readily swallowed, parting lips wet with hunger for the shape of that fury.
October 13, 2025 at 2:47 AM
flyingbatknight.etheirys.social
10. consumed by the devil #heresykinktober2025
x. consumed by the devil A devil he was — a devil he must be — to have taken possession of him so: for every dream, every errant thought, every unbidden stir in his loins all now bore the libidinous taint of his visage. These things alone he might scarcely bear — yet now, as if not glutted upon all else, the vision of him now desecrated the last true remnant of all he had loved, violated the sacred perfume of memory with his own image. As he worked to crush the breath from his slender throat, that perfume rose, mocking his love with a pulse of hateful desire.
October 13, 2025 at 2:42 AM
flyingbatknight.etheirys.social
09. original sin #heresykinktober2025
(belated, composed yesterday)
ix. original sin One thousand years deep was the well of blood; one thousand years had honed the blade to the point which cut, now, deep beneath flesh and bled the very soul. Yet the hands to which she had submitted her penance knew sin still older, a cruel hunger buried deeper than the citadel’s most ancient catacombs, whose debt could accept no tithe less worthy than the flesh’s own devotion. When their touch came as the caress of cool leather at the nape of her neck, she shivered — for none knew better than he what price her sins demanded.
October 10, 2025 at 10:23 PM
flyingbatknight.etheirys.social
08. hierophilia #heresykinktober2025
viii. hierophilia Overlooking the altar, there She stood, Her gaze stony upon a congregation of empty pews. Only the pale iridescence of moonlight refracted in stained glass permitted insight into what litany of sighs offered its obeisance at Her feet. Another thrust hilted him in the press of soft heat, bringing his paramour’s lips once more to the cold marble at Her heel; at the taste of Her cold skin, tears flowed like sacred wine.
October 9, 2025 at 2:57 AM
flyingbatknight.etheirys.social
07. the washing of feet #heresykinktober2025
vii. the washing of feet So silken were the tresses that wound about his ankles in the basin that they might be the gossamer threads of a widow’s web, their snare spun with all the grace of the hands that now attended him. As if to spin the vision true, he watched, rapt, as slight fingers curled first about one calf, then the other, spinnerets guiding their long ribbons over and around his feet in a winding dance. Only a breath away, and he might pluck at that web; yet he stayed his hand, for now luxuriating in this tender shroud.
October 8, 2025 at 4:49 AM