you need a big god; ryatah

[Carnage]

lord, I fashion dark gods too;

He watches her pale coat take on the stars, a twisted mirror of his own. The galaxies engulf her, for a moment, and then settle on to her skin. He is tempted to take her right now, with nothing else done, but ah, there is still more to do with her. Or to her, perhaps. She asks her question, and it’s a fair one. He doesn’t have a clean answer – she had crossed his mind, and yes, he had thought of her dressed in stars, been curious how she might take to it – but this cannot be articulated simply. He is not one to overplay his hand. “I thought, after so long in darkness, you might like to see the stars,” he says, and it is partially true – an iota of romance, bleeding though – but the truth is not so clean, not so selfless. “You look good in them,” he says then, trailing his mouth over her back, tracing his own constellations, “but to truly appreciate them, you should feel them.” He reaches into her, flips some invisible switch, and the stars that adorn her begin to burn, as if she is implanted with real stars. No skin sizzles, but the pain will be real enough, the bright burn of galaxies on her skin. He knows this pain – he felt it himself, out of curiosity, when he first ventured into the stars, took them on to himself. But he watches, his expression hungry, as the stars come to life on her body. “I want you to feel as though you’ve earned them,” he says, though this, too, is mostly a lie – he is merely curious to see how she’ll handle such pain, and hungry to see her burn without fire. (Last time she had drowned, for him. Or because of him. This time, there is no death in sight, only invisible, endless pain.) “Ryatah,” he murmurs, touching her skin again – a dark place, one where he will not be burned by the stars, “you’re doing so well.”

(btw please powerplay him "turning off" the burning realness of the stars in the next post, he just wanted her to have a taste )