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maleficar | reg

@maleficarwrites.bsky.social

The Measure of a Good Hoard—Getting used to being a dragon is complicated, especially when Wriothesley's new instincts get a little out of control about tea in particular.

🔗 archiveofourown.org/works/74196301

#wriolette

All his interest sharpens on the tea shop around him. With shocking ease, he separates out all the different individual flavors of tea and identifies the ones he doesn’t already have. And he needs them. Suddenly, viscerally, with almost the same drive that he needed Neuvillette during his rut, he needs these teas.

Not a minute later, he’s grabbed a shopping basket and filled it with five different tins. He stares at his new collection, a little baffled by his behavior, and then catches another new scent. Vanilla and almond. Without thought, he crosses the shop to find the tea in question, mindlessly putting it in his basket along with the others.

More. He needs more. There have to be more teas here he hasn’t had before, and he finds them with a single-minded intensity.

“That will be eight thousand mora,” the proprietor says, shaking Wriothesley out of his daze. “I know you’ll appreciate the vanilla almond blend especially, Your Grace,” he says cheerfully, passing the bagged tea to Wriothesley.

It takes all of Wriothesley’s self-control not to grab the bag, open it, and quite literally count up all the tins inside it. “No better place in all the Court,” he assures Armand. With a wave, he departs the tea shop, staring at the bag in his hand. “What the fuck?” he mutters to himself.

November 14, 2025 at 7:46 PM

maleficar | reg

@maleficarwrites.bsky.social

Possession—Neuvillette and Wriothesley make time for each other while Neuvillette is pregnant with their first egg.

🔗 archiveofourown.org/works/74150081

#wriolette

For so many years, he’s been alone. Now, not only does he have Wriothesley, his husband and mate, but he has the promise of a family and a child, two things he never thought he’d have.

“Look at you.”

He glances to the side, where Wriothesley leans naked against the bathroom threshold, a grin curving his lips and a liquid warmth smoldering in his eyes. “What about me?” he asks.

Though his body has changed, though he must spend more time in a hybrid form to accommodate the egg growing inside him, Wriothesley’s desire for him hasn’t waned. No, Wriothesley wants him despite the changes in his body. Because of those changes. Never once has he had cause to worry about Wriothesley’s affections.

November 13, 2025 at 7:56 PM

maleficar | reg

@maleficarwrites.bsky.social

do you write fanfic? are you interested in refining your craft and improving your work? then i've got a server for you!

check out the graphic for additional information, and if you like what you read, the link is in the replies!

November 10, 2025 at 4:55 PM

maleficar | reg

@maleficarwrites.bsky.social

It's been a minute, so I wanted to give everyone a quick prod update on where we're at with leftovers, EiS second run, and digital orders!

November 1, 2025 at 6:17 PM

maleficar | reg

@maleficarwrites.bsky.social

From the Sword Blooms—As Zhongli seeks amends, Childe comes to an important decision about his own ailment...

🔗 archiveofourown.org/works/69813776/chapters/191480816

a #zhongchili collab with @sconeswrites.bsky.social

“Ai ya, what’s this?” His employer, the young Director Hu, stands in the doorway, staring at the scattering of petals, her eyes wide. Then she clicks her tongue, shakes her head and says, “It’s that Fatui boy, isn’t it? You two haven’t spoken to each other since he released that monster into our harbour.”

His first instinct is to deny it. His health is not her responsibility, but his alone, and for all those thousands of years, responsibility was a weight to shoulder alone, and to impose upon his subjects the mark of an unsuitable god. But the petals and blood spell the truth plainly, and to deny his affliction would be an insult to her intelligence.

“Indeed,” he says. “But it is no matter that you should concern yourself with.”

“Not a matter to concern myself with? Ai ai ai!” She marches across the room and plants a hand on the desk, raising the other to waggle a finger at Zhongli. “My favourite consultant is trying to land himself in one of my coffins, that’s definitely a problem. Eesh, and you haven’t even asked me about the two for one deal.”

October 31, 2025 at 7:03 PM

maleficar | reg

@maleficarwrites.bsky.social

A Sticky Solution—After Flins inhales a most troubling pollen, Varka lends his assistance.

🔗 archiveofourown.org/works/73389486

#varflins | #knightlight

“I heard,” Varka says, “that you took some snowbloom pollen to the face.” Oh, well, that’s a nightmare. Flins can’t believe the Traveler told on him. “And I wanted to make sure you were… doing well.”

Fixing Varka with an unimpressed stare, trying not to stare at his mouth, Flins crosses his arms. “The effects will dissipate in a day or two.”

“They say the effects are miserable,” Varka says.

Flins lifts both brows and barks out a disbelieving laugh. “Grand Master—” He clings to Varka’s title because if he uses Varka’s name, it will come out a moan. All of those unsatisfying orgasms have come to the fantasy of Varka in his bed, in his body. “Grand Master, we both know there is only one want to alleviate the effects of snowbloom pollen, and while I appreciate the intimation of your offer, I do not particularly appreciate being the butt of this joke.”

“What joke?” Varka asks.

Flins presses his lips into a tight smile. “Your presence here,” he says through a clenched jaw.

October 30, 2025 at 6:34 PM

maleficar | reg

@maleficarwrites.bsky.social

Thrice Tried—Childe has always been too dedicated to the Tsaritsa to find time for intimacy. Zhongli changes that.

🔗 archiveofourown.org/works/73331886

#zhongchi

Zhongli, meanwhile, sits back in his chair, flabbergasted. “You mean to tell me in your twenty-odd years of life—” Childe corrects his age, clearly proud of his relative youth. “—you have never taken a lover?” He uses this turn of phrase deliberately, and it has the desired effect.

Childe’s face flames. “That’s—that’s not—” He clears his throat and lowers his voice. “We were talking about dating.”

“So you have done neither,” Zhongli says slowly.

Recovering somewhat, Childe leans back, draping his elbow over the back of his chair. He affects a cocky grin. “No one’s saying that. It’s not like you need to date to…” He makes a frivolous sort of gesture with his hand.

“To have sex with someone,” Zhongli supplies, reaching for his tea while Childe’s face flames again.

“Zhongli,” he hisses, looking around them with an almost wild expression.

“Then you have?”

“Zhongli.”

October 29, 2025 at 6:13 PM

maleficar | reg

@maleficarwrites.bsky.social

Those Heirs Uncrowned, ch21—Phainon of Nowhere finds a home.

🔗 archiveofourown.org/works/66251176/chapters/190337001

#phaidei

“I don’t understand,” he says to Cyrene while leaning heavily on Mydei. “How did this happen?”

She shakes her head. “I was living inside you when you did that. How am I supposed to know?”

He gives her a half-hearted glare. “You seemed to have a whole lot of answers thirty minutes ago.”

“Well, that was thirty minutes ago. This is now. Now, I have no idea what you did,” she says, waving him off.

He looks up at Mydei.

Mydei must read his sudden distress on his face. He gentles, at least as much as he ever does in public, and rests his forehead against Phainon’s. “You saved the world,” he reminds him. “You saved me.”

It takes several seconds for a faint smile to turn Phainon’s lips. “I suppose I did.”

October 24, 2025 at 6:39 PM

maleficar | reg

@maleficarwrites.bsky.social

A Momentary Stretch of Eternity—Baizhu loves Zhongli in all and every form.

🔗 archiveofourown.org/works/72992036

#zhongzhu

Baizhu considers it a small blessing that Zhongli is comfortable enough with him to wear his true form, his adepti nature unveiled. It’s a recent blessing, a newfound comfort, and one Baizhu delights in. Zhongli trusts him enough to keep this most carefully guarded secret, the truth of who he is.

As they lounge in Baizhu’s bed, taking a lazy afternoon nap, Zhongli’s tail lays across his thighs. One black-and-gold arm drapes over Baizhu’s belly, warm and protective. Zhongli’s head rests on Baizhu’s shoulder, his breath warm and steady on Baizhu’s skin, and Baizhu, eyes closed but not sleeping, is so delightfully warm and wonderfully content.

With a quiet sigh, he tips his head down and presses a kiss to Zhongli’s forehead, and Zhongli, who was dozing, purrs and gives Baizhu’s side a gentle squeeze. “You’re awake,” he rumbles, stretching against Baizhu, lifting his face for more kisses, and Baizhu obliges. Baizhu sinks into the mattress, easing down it, until he’s tangled in Zhongli’s arms, in his legs, wrapped up in his tail.

Chest to chest, they trade lazy kisses, lips parting, tongues gliding together. Zhongli’s arms come around him, settling on the small of his back, strong and thrumming with Geo energy that resonates in Baizhu’s very bones.

October 23, 2025 at 6:10 PM

maleficar | reg

@maleficarwrites.bsky.social

His Tender Thorns—Wriothesley has always struggled through his ruts alone, terrified he will hurt a partner, but Neuvillette refuses to let him suffer alone.

🔗 archiveofourown.org/works/72940266

#wriolette

“Is there a reason you never want to spend your ruts with me?” Neuvillette asks, so direct that he catches Wriothesley utterly off guard.

No one is this direct about cycles. Well, mates, maybe, but he and Neuvillette aren’t there, not yet, and it’s his fault. This sort of thing always is. It’s one of the reasons why he’s avoided relationships for so long.

“Have I given you some reason to believe I would not enjoy such a thing?” There’s no hurt in his voice, not yet. This is, for him, a matter of practicality, Wriothesley’s sure. They’re lovers. He sees Neuvillette through his heats, and so Neuvillette should see Wriothesley through his ruts. It’s a matter of parity. “Is there some fault with me?” Neuvillette asks softly.

Wriothesley’s head snaps back up. “No,” he says. “No, Neuvillette, not at all.”

“Then why?” Neuvillette asks.

Shit. “It’s… a fault with me.” He rubs his jaw, forcing himself to meet Neuvillette’s eyes even though he wants, very badly, to look anywhere else. “I’m not… When I’m in rut, it’s…” He drives both hands into his hair, holding it back from his face and closing his eyes. “I’m not good,” he finally says, dropping his hands and hanging his head.

October 22, 2025 at 6:53 PM

maleficar | reg

@maleficarwrites.bsky.social

Photometric Exposure—Phainon and Mydei help Castorice with a photoshoot.

🔗 archiveofourown.org/works/72885926

#phaidei

When they’re settled, he glances at Castorice, who has moved behind her teleslate and is studying the screen thoughtfully.

“How’s this?” Mydei asks.

“Phainon, you look like you’re trying to run away,” she says.

Mydei rolls his eyes toward Phainon, tugging on his shoulder. “Lean into me,” he says, ignoring the red flush staining Phainon’s cheeks.

“Sorry.” Phainon adjusts himself, obeying once again. “I just—I didn’t think you’d—”

Mydei narrows his eyes. “It’s just a photoshoot,” he says, as much for Phainon as for himself, because this is the thing of dreams. Of nightmares. Being this close to Phainon, pressed into him, breathing in natural scent of him, is almost too much. “Relax, Deliverer, or you’ll strain something, and then you won’t be able to spar with me tomorrow.”

The way Phainon goes almost boneless, the way he shifts and melts into Mydei, supporting him almost effortlessly, catches Mydei entirely by surprise. He finds himself sinking into Phainon’s arms, letting Phainon support most of his weight.

October 21, 2025 at 6:48 PM

maleficar | reg

@maleficarwrites.bsky.social

Searing Touch—After Phainon fails to entice Mydei with chocolate and strawberries, Mydei shows Phainon how sensual food can be.

🔗 archiveofourown.org/works/72826441

#phaidei

“Phainon,” he says again, slinging the towel over his shoulder and putting his hands on his hips. “Where is this coming from?”

“You’re a chef,” Phainon says.

“A Memchelin-starred chef, yes,” Mydei agrees.

Phainon looks away, raking a hand through his hair. “I just thought, since you’re a chef, you’d be, you know, into food stuff,” he says, staring at the opposite wall.

And Mydei softens, setting the bowl of chocolate down and plucking the tray of strawberries from Phainon’s hands. He sets it down, too, and then steps up to Phainon, into him, his hands on Phainon’s hips, and Phainon turns to him with that wounded puppy look. “That kind of food play,” Mydei says gently, “is a cheap gimmick. Uh-uh, don’t look away.” He puts his hand on Phainon’s face, stopping him from hiding. His thumb rubs over Phainon’s cheekbone, and he smiles, gently, sweetly. “It reads well in books and on movie screens. But if you want to seduce someone with food, that’s not how you do it.”

October 20, 2025 at 6:29 PM

maleficar | reg

@maleficarwrites.bsky.social

Heat Wave—A heat wave hits Fontaine, and Wriothesley uses his Cryo Vision to make it more tolerable for Neuvillette.

🔗 archiveofourown.org/works/72767696

#wriolette

Neuvillette himself is in a state of remarkable undress, wearing only his blousy white shirt, his stole and jacket abandoned, his hair braided back from his face into an elaborate ponytail, and he—

Wriothesley draws up short of Neuvillette’s desk.

Neuvillette pulls the popsicle out of his mouth, his brows raised. “Your Grace.”

“Monsieur.” Wriothesley stares at the popsicle and then at Neuvillette. “Hot?” he asks, amused.

“Miserably,” Neuvillette replies dryly, and then he slides that popsicle back between his lips, and Wriothesley discovers that the weather isn’t the only source of torment.

He stands there, a little stupidly, watching Neuvillette suckle the rounded tip of his popsicle, his tongue curling around it before his lips pull it deep, and he wonders why he’s being tortured like this.

October 19, 2025 at 6:41 PM

maleficar | reg

@maleficarwrites.bsky.social

Fae's Gambit—When a bad storm strands Varka at Flins's lighthouse, the two play chess to pass the time. After beating Varka twice, Flins agrees to play with a blindfold, provided the loser owe the winner a boon.

🔗 archiveofourown.org/works/72705456

#varflins #knightlight

“A good game,” Flins observes in the end, studying the aftermath of their play. “But you take unnecessary risks and overextend your lines.”

Lips quirked, chin resting on his palm, Varka begins resetting his pieces. “One more,” he says.

Flins frowns. “This cannot be fun for you.”

“Any challenge is a worthwhile endeavor,” Varka replies. “But if you’re worried about being fair or giving me a handicap…” Flins certainly hadn’t said that, but now he’s curious, and he grows more curious as Varka withdraws a scrap of fabric from one pocket. “Play blindfolded.”

The challenge whets Flins’s appetite. He isn’t the kind of fae who exults in games of chance but rather ones of wit and strategy, and he was fond of collecting intelligent men like glittering baubles at the Belyi Tsar’s court. “If I am to handicap myself, then I should receive a greater reward if I win, don’t you think?” he asks, the words out of his mouth before he can help them, for he, like all fae, loves a bargain.

October 18, 2025 at 6:51 PM

maleficar | reg

@maleficarwrites.bsky.social

Those Heirs Uncrowned, ch20—Phainon comes face to face with one of the primordial ones and pursues a drastic gambit to fight THEM.

🔗 archiveofourown.org/works/66251176/chapters/189219851

#phaidei

“You with the power to destroy a prison meant for things older than gods,” he says, mesmerized by the oil-slick surface. “What is destruction if not a vehicle for the creation of something new?”

The tide fights his hold, but he has had thousands of years to hone the strength of his will.

“If twelve coreflames can contain the gods that created the universe,” he says, driving the edge of the tide into his chest, “then they can contain whatever you are, too.”

With the force of his will, he grasps the raw power of twelve Titans. With the force of his will and that power in his hand, he grasps the black tide. And he feels the tide’s destructive intent, its need to tear down to make room for something new.

The first of the primordial ones shakes off the last of THEIR prison. THEY turn toward Phainon, expressionless. Bored.

“Yes,” Phainon breathes, watching THEM in turn as he whispers to the tide. “Let’s do that. Together, we can do just that.”

The tide stops fighting him. Instead, it consumes him.

October 17, 2025 at 6:55 PM

maleficar | reg

@maleficarwrites.bsky.social

Bargaining Power—Flins and Varka come to an agreement about Flins's behavior during Aino's classes.

🔗 archiveofourown.org/works/72645861

#varflins

Flins knows the night will be long when Varka, leaning over him on one arm, their lips a scant breath apart, murmurs, “I’m not sure you deserve this,” and squeezes to stave off his orgasm.

Groaning, back arching, Flins tries to muster some kind of ire, but the truth is that Varka is right. He doesn’t deserve an orgasm, and they both know why.

“You caused more trouble for Aino today,” Varka continues, moving his hand again in long, slow strokes. Pleasure burns in his gut, stringing him tight, and the denial accompanied by more touch only makes that pleasure sharper, sweeter, as it cuts through him. “Didn’t you?”

Flins grasps the sheets beneath him in one hand and Varka’s shoulder in the other, clutching at him as his hips lift and work. “I—I wouldn’t say—” He chokes on a gasp and strains for more. But Varka doesn’t move his hand faster. He maintains that slow, steady stroking that has Flins wanting to crawl out of his skin.

October 17, 2025 at 4:54 PM

maleficar | reg

@maleficarwrites.bsky.social

Inextricable—After encountering a ley line disruption, Neuvillette wakes to find himself in Wriothesley's body.

🔗 archiveofourown.org/works/72597111

#wriolette

Neuvillette stumbles to his feet, staggering when his legs don’t go where he expects them to, his balance off. Windmilling his arms, he catches himself on a dresser and then throws himself toward an open bathroom door. Again, he fumbles for a light switch, finds it, turns it on, and he leans heavily against a sink, staring at himself in the mirror.

At Wriothesley in the mirror.

He touches his face. The Wriothesley in the mirror touches his face, too.

“Oh,” he says, aghast at his incorrect reflection. “Oh, this is exceedingly troublesome.”

October 16, 2025 at 6:48 PM

maleficar | reg

@maleficarwrites.bsky.social

The Dragon Slayer's Guide to Dragon Breeding—When the Lady of Merusea asks Wriothesley to help with the local dragon, he expects the dragon will need a good slaying, not a good breeding.

🔗 archiveofourown.org/works/72542156

#wriolette

And the dragon, rather than gutting him with his claws, presses his body against Wriotehsley’s and his face into the crook of Wriothesley’s neck, and he inhales deeply with a lurid moan.

That answers that, then.

“You must go,” the dragon says while sinking his claws into Wriothesley’s leathers, holding him by the bases around his thighs and giving him absolutely no quarter to do as bidden. His breath is hot on Wriothesley’s neck, and his tongue, when it pulls over Wriothesley’s pulse, is hotter still. “You should not have run.” He fits their bodies together, and Wriothesley feels the hard line of the dragon through his armor. “But you must go. You must. I am not—” The dragon groans.

“You’re sending mixed messages,” Wriothesley says, closing his eyes, tipping back his head, and trying very hard not to put his hands on the dragon’s hips to pull him closer still. For fuck’s sake, what is it with him and beautiful, dangerous men? “Can’t go if I can’t run. Can’t do any of that if you keep doing this.”

The dragon whines in the back of his throat, mouthing the underside of Wriothesley’s jaw. “You must bind me,” he says. “And then walk—walk—out. Otherwise, my instincts… my desires…” He shudders. “I will want to chase you. Bring you back here.”

October 15, 2025 at 6:38 PM

maleficar | reg

@maleficarwrites.bsky.social

Reflected Happiness—Wriothesley discovers the impact that praise has on Neuvillette and uses it to devastating effect.

🔗 archiveofourown.org/works/72489251

#wriolette

Wriothesley knows he has to moderate his compliments, but he can’t help doling them out at every opportunity. Making Neuvillette happy makes him happy, and that’s the most he’ll ever have, this reflected sort of happiness. He may be a duke, but they’re so far apart from each other in every meaningful way. So he contents himself with the compliments, with Neuvillette’s shy, curving smile.

Until one day he says, “Have you done something different with your hair? It looks nice today,” and Neuvillette, canting his head to the side, replies, “You are uncommonly complimentary of me, Your Grace.”

Wriothesley, seated behind his desk, goes still. “No more so than usual,” he says, trying to deflect.

“Perhaps not,” Neuvillette agrees, crossing one leg over the other, so prim and proper that Wriothesley wants to push those legs apart with his shoulders and devour every inch of Neuvillette’s skin with his mouth. “But I have noticed in these recent months that you almost always have something kind to say to me.”

October 14, 2025 at 7:26 PM

maleficar | reg

@maleficarwrites.bsky.social

To His Last Breath—Mydei gives control of himself, his body, and his very breath to Phainon.

🔗 archiveofourown.org/works/72429766

#phaidei

A hand curves around Mydei’s throat, and Mydei gasps. His hips jerk forward, but Phainon grabs him with his free hand, yanking him back, driving deep.

Pleasure burns through him, intensified by the weight of Phainon’s hand. His own hands wrap around Phainon’s wrists, not to restrain but to hold, to cling. He groans low in the back of his throat, grinding himself backwards.

It’s good, it’s wickedly good, and it’s even better when Phainon’s hand tightens around his throat, the pressure divine.

From anyone else, Mydei would take this as a threat. From Phainon, it’s about control, about exerting his own and stripping away Mydei’s.

The fingers around his throat curl tighter, and Mydei gasps. Every breath becomes a struggle, but rather than frighten him, this just intensifies the pleasure burning through him. He’s a conflagration of need, every sensation magnified. And just when he thinks it’s too much, when his lungs begin to burn, Phainon releases his grip.

October 13, 2025 at 7:01 PM

maleficar | reg

@maleficarwrites.bsky.social

Romantic Gestures—Phainon offers Mydei a sensual massage, much to Mydei's confusion and eventual delight.

🔗 archiveofourown.org/works/72366326

#phaidei

“What is this?” Mydei demands, rounding on Phainon, who’s rising from a kline as if he’s been waiting, a sheepish expression on his face.

“I wanted to do something nice for you,” he says.

Mydei stares around his room, baffled. “So you drew all the curtains and lit candles?”

“It’s for atmosphere,” Phainon explains.

“Atmosphere.”

Phainon gestures in an incomprehensible way, beckoning to the whole of Mydei’s room. “You know,” he says, but Mydei doesn’t, so he just keeps staring at Phainon. “It’s supposed to be romantic.”

“Open flame all over my room is romantic,” Mydei says.

“Well, when you put it that way.” Phainon rakes a hand through his hair, defeated.

October 12, 2025 at 6:57 PM

maleficar | reg

@maleficarwrites.bsky.social

Gone at Midnight—For Crown Prince Phainon's twentieth birthday, his parents host an elaborate masquerade ball to which every eligible bachelor in the realm is invited. Despite losing everything to his stepmother, Mydei manages to attend.

🔗 archiveofourown.org/works/72303826

#phaidei

“Look,” he says, making a sweeping gesture.

The rose gardens spread out before them. Beneath the starlit sky, everything is silvered and ethereal, and Mydei thinks it the loveliest thing he’s ever seen until blue-eyed Kephale touches his jaw. In the starlight, his eyes are shadowed, but the planes of his face are even more defined, and he is hauntingly beautiful beneath his mask.

“This place is beautiful,” Mydei says.

“And yet it pales in comparison to you,” blue-eyed Kephale murmurs, his thumb brushing against Mydei’s lower lip.

His breath catches. “How many others have you led to this place to flatter with that line?” he asks.

“You wouldn’t believe me.”

“No?”

“No. For I have shared this place with only you.”

October 11, 2025 at 7:01 PM

maleficar | reg

@maleficarwrites.bsky.social

Those Heirs Uncrowned, ch19—Things go from bad to worse when Kephale rampages out of control and the black tide breaches Okhema's walls.

🔗 archiveofourown.org/works/66251176/chapters/188098246

#phaidei