❝You keep looking at me like I’m dangerous. I promise you… I am.❞

♥

Maduin. Dynamis. CST.

"I feel safe in white because deep down inside, I'm an angel."
NSFW warning~ ♥

Ardon

Ray

Old Enough

She / Her

CST

Rules of Contact

❝They wanted a monster. I gave them a masterpiece.❞

—    ooc.   

Yes I am a real Female. Please don't bug me about it.
I'm English. Please don't use other languages.. I'll look at you funny.
I love the color pink.
Wolf is my animal.
Yes, I do have Snapchat, and Facebook. No you can't have them.**Hobbies:**
Gaming.
I write poems and I read.
Other than that, you don't really need to know.**Any More?**
I can be the sweetest person you meet or the weirdest. Do you take the risk?

—    contact.   

Discord. Zonneschijn
Twitter. @FFXIV_Ray

—    About Ray.   

About the Creator
Please follow the button down below in order to see more about Ray.

—    one.   

Respect is a big thing. If you don't have it please don't approach me. Everything I do is based on treating everyone equal.I rather someone be true to themselves and not make something up to be in my good graces.Be unique, be interesting and please write more than a sentence at a time.

—    two.   

Do not expect me to devote all my attention to you. I have many things to do in a day such as work, and be an adult. I also will not devote time to just give you constant attention.Treat me like a human being and I will do the same to you.

—    three.   

I also love gposing. Please keep this in mind. I take pictures of my character in character.I will never put my character in place of my IRL. If you do this to me, I will block you.Please do not take that me doing pictures means that I will be doing free pictures for you as well. I give back what I give.Just because I gpose with you, DOESN'T mean I want to be with you/ your character.

Dossier.

❝He smiles like he’s already undressed your soul.❞

 name.   Ardon Keiji Shuten
 age.   Ageless — appears in his late twenties, but his essence was forged in lust long before mortals named their gods
 race.   Lust Yokai — spirit-born from desire and yokai essence, shaped by the craving eyes of others
 nameday.   13th Sun of the 6th Astral Moon
 guarding deity.   None — scoffs at the divine, though forgotten spirits often linger in his wake
 gender.   Male
 pronouns.   He / Him
 sexuality.   Pansexual — desire is his language, and all forms speak it fluently

 height.   6 fulms 1 ilm (approx. 6'1")
 weight.   Lean and lithe — built like a dancer or a blade, every line of his form designed to invite, distract, and destroy. Approx. 142 ponz
 hair color.   Deep crimson, kissed by copper — tousled in deliberate disarray, as though someone’s hands were there moments before. Occasionally tied back with red cord or left to fall over one eye
 eye color.   Crimson veiled in black — irises like molten blood, set in sclera darker than midnight. His gaze smolders, hungry and half-laughing, as if he's already imagined how you'll fall
 skin tone.   Bronzed with a subtle heat-glow — like the skin of a god carved from candlelight and touched by infernal fire, smooth to the point of suspicion
 notable features.   Twin horns curl elegantly back from his forehead, burnished red with blackened tips — polished, tempting, and wickedly sharp. Intricate tattoos wind across his body like enchanted script: some ancient, some new, all humming faintly with lust-soaked magic. His presence carries the scent of sandalwood, sweat, and silk. He moves with calculated ease—like a lover or a liar—or both.

 job occupation.   Pleasure Broker — once a weapon of seduction and war, now a rogue spiritualist dealing in desire, illusion, and forbidden insight
 place of origin.   The Ruined Sanctum of Narukai — a defiled shrine where lust was once worshipped, and yokai drank deeply from mortal need
 home.   Wherever the wine is sweet, the walls are thin, and someone’s heart is ripe for ruin — though he often lingers near Reika, as if drawn by memory, or something older
 affiliation.   None — he serves only himself, his pleasures, and the whispered thrill of unraveling others
 family.   None he names — he was born of desire, not blood, and any who tried to claim him were swiftly forgotten
 marital status.   Unbound — but there is a thread knotted tight between him and Reika, spun from history, havoc, and heat. It is not love. It is something stranger, deeper, and more dangerous

 likes.   The slow burn of temptation, skin warmed by firelight, secrets exchanged without words, the tremble before surrender, laughter that hides a dare, and the quiet aftermath of chaos
 dislikes.   Sunrise after indulgence, cheap perfume and cheaper lies, oaths he didn’t ask for, purity worn like armor, and anyone who mistakes charm for permission
 virtues.   Disarmingly confident — Ardon wears danger like a robe and kindness like perfume. He listens deeply, speaks seductively, and protects what’s his with cunning instead of cruelty. He believes in pleasure as power—and power as poetry
 flaws.   Vain, manipulative, and evasive when things cut too close. Ardon buries sincerity beneath flirtation, wounds behind indulgence, and distrusts being desired for who he is rather than what he gives

 personality. 
– Speaks with a velvet lilt — every word drips with double meaning, every pause dares you to lean closer
– Studies others not to understand, but to seduce, manipulate, or mirror them back to themselves
– Wears confidence like silk, temptation like ritual
– Rarely shows rage; instead, he disarms with delight and lets others ruin themselves
– Drawn to desire in others, yet shields his own yearning behind playful grins and practiced ease
– Has a predator’s patience — still and steady, even as the room burns around him
– Gives affection in games and riddles, but his loyalty, once earned, is obsessive and quietly fierce
– Craves control not for power, but for safety — he’s most dangerous when he’s trying to protect
– Does not demand to be loved — only dares others to see the truth beneath the smile
– His idea of love is indulgence that never ends, intimacy without escape, and binding without chains

 favorite color.   Crimson lacquer over black — like blood drying on silk, or wine spilled across a confession
 favorite food.   Charred lamb with honeyed figs and cracked pepper — decadent, primal, and meant to be eaten with fingers, not forks
 favorite drink.   Aged plum liquor laced with chili and rose — warm, sweet, and slightly wicked on the tongue
 favorite weather.   The heavy stillness before a summer storm — charged, waiting, aching to break
 favorite flower.   Night-blooming jasmine — intoxicating only after dark, when most are too afraid to notice
 favorite sound.   A gasp caught mid-moan — that sharp, honest moment when masks fall away
 favorite place.   The remnants of pleasure dens long forgotten — places thick with memory, incense, and echoes of sin
 favorite feeling.   The moment someone lets go — not of fear, but of restraint

 headcanon one.   Ardon’s tattoos shift when he sleeps. They do not move in waking life—never, no matter how closely you watch. But when he drifts into dreams, the ink begins to stir, crawling across his skin like living script. They pulse softly, like breath, like whispering names.
He doesn’t remember who first etched them. Some say the demon lords marked him as their vessel. Others claim they were gifts from every soul he’s seduced and unmade—his body now a canvas of their sins.
When asked, Ardon shrugs. “They keep me company,” he says, though his eyes look far away. He never speaks of the one mark near his heart, written in a language even Reika can’t read. It glows faintly when he feels truly wanted… or truly afraid.
To Ardon, the tattoos are memory and armor—protection laced with vanity, a history no one can tear away.
 headcanon two.   Ardon cannot be bound by traditional summoning rites. Circles of salt, symbols of warding, even names carved in blood—they slide off him like water on silk. Not because he is too strong, but because he is too willing.
He wants to be called.
He has been known to answer invocations not meant for him, slipping into dreams, mirrors, or candlelight with a smile and a question: “Were you expecting someone else?”
Scholars have tried to record this anomaly. Some believe Ardon is not a yokai in the truest sense, but something older wearing the shape of one—an echo of a forgotten god of indulgence, or a mistake the void hasn’t reclaimed.
Whatever the truth, Ardon leaves a mark when he answers a call: a taste of sweetness on the air, a shiver down the spine, and the distinct impression that you enjoyed something… even if you don’t remember what.
To him, being summoned is not a leash—it’s a dance. An invitation to be known, if only for a night.

 abilities ✦ Velvet Bind
Ardon can wrap his aether around another’s desire—sensing it, amplifying it, bending it toward him like smoke toward flame. With a touch, a glance, or even a breath at the nape, he can stir craving or calm, depending on what the target longs for most. It’s not mind control—it’s invitation. The more someone resists, the stronger the effect. This makes his presence addictive, dangerous… and nearly impossible to forget.✦ Glamour of the Want-Made
Ardon’s body is not fixed. Shaped from mortal longing, his form subtly shifts to match the desires of those around him—his voice deeper, his eyes brighter, his silhouette changing by heartbeat. Most changes are subconscious, seductive rather than monstrous. In moments of raw intimacy or spiritual connection, glimpses of his true form bleed through: horns longer, eyes burning, skin shimmering with sigils. To see his real body is a rare and intimate horror.✦ Crimson Mirage
Ardon conjures illusions tied to memory and lust—scenes painted from a target’s hidden fantasies or fears. They are not real, but they feel real: the scent, the sound, the heat of a lover’s touch or the dread of being truly alone. These visions are brief, easily mistaken for daydreams or déjà vu, but repeated exposure can leave a target questioning what they want… and who they trust.✦ Ashes to Silk (Passive)
Wherever Ardon lingers too long, the boundaries between physical and spiritual begin to blur. Clothing mends itself. Candles relight without flame. A kiss leaves no warmth but a mark of aether. This passive aura makes him feel more real than reality—a dream given flesh. For some, this is intoxicating. For others, it’s unsettling. But it always leaves a trace. He can suppress this aura… but rarely does.

 Health.   ★★★★★★☆☆☆
Ardon’s body is spirit-forged and desire-tempered—but he is not unbreakable. His resilience lies not in resistance to pain, but in his refusal to let it slow him. He bleeds beautifully… and heals with secrets. Strength.   ★★★★☆☆☆☆☆☆☆
He is no brawler. Ardon uses leverage, charm, and precise strikes—why overpower someone when you can unravel them? Tenacity.   ★★★★★★★☆☆☆
He doesn’t cling out of desperation—he endures because he wants to see how the story ends. Pain, heartbreak, exile—he’s danced through them all and still smiles. Stamina.   ★★★★★☆☆☆☆☆☆
Pleasure is his battlefield, and he’s well-trained. He can go for hours—be it charm, chase, or confrontation—but prefers swift seductions over drawn-out fights. Intelligence.   ★★★★★★★☆☆☆
Ardon is clever, cunning, and endlessly curious. His brilliance lies in reading people, bending logic through emotion, and making knowledge feel like seduction. Dexterity.   ★★★★★★☆☆☆☆☆
His movements are fluid, feline, and rehearsed. Whether dodging a blade or slipping out a bedroom window, Ardon moves like he was never there. Perception.   ★★★★★★★☆☆☆
He notices shifts in breath, hesitation in tone, and flickers of hidden want. Reading people is his first language—he just doesn’t always let on what he’s seen. Charisma.   ★★★★★★★★☆☆
Ardon commands attention like a slow song in a quiet room. He doesn’t just charm—he intoxicates. Whether friend or foe, most can’t help but lean in. Empathy.   ★★★☆☆☆☆☆☆☆
He feels more than he admits, and less than most suspect. Ardon can mirror your pain, echo your joy, and never flinch—but true vulnerability is something he only gives in silence.

—    Key Items:.   

Important Items commonly found on her person.

✦ The Crimson Cord
A length of red silk, frayed at both ends and warm to the touch. Ardon uses it to tie back his hair, but it once served a darker purpose—used in ritual bindings at the Sanctum of Narukai. It holds faint traces of Reika’s aether and his own, braided together in a pact that neither of them fully speaks of. When wrapped around his wrist, it offers protection from lesser hexes and marks him as a creature already claimed by older, hungrier forces.

✦ The Mirror Coin
A small, tarnished coin etched with two faces—one laughing, one weeping. It was given to him by a mortal who claimed to love him, then betrayed him to the demon courts. Ardon keeps it not out of sentiment, but as a reminder: all desire has a cost. When flipped, the coin reflects not the user's face, but the face of the one they long for most. He rarely lets others see him touch it.

—    Sayings From Ardon.   

Some quotes from Ardon. Either by thought, or by word.

🔥 "Pleasure is a weapon. I just aim better than most."
🔥 "They always beg—whether it’s for mercy, or more."
🔥 "I don’t take hearts. I invite them to be abandoned."
🔥 "Most people want truth until they hear it whispered in their ear."
🔥 "I’ve been the fantasy, the mistake, and the memory. Which would you like tonight?"
🔥 "Control is the sweetest illusion. And I am its mirror."
🔥 "If you’re afraid of falling, don’t look at me like that."
🔥 "Desire makes fools of kings and monsters of saints."
🔥 "Ask me what I want. I dare you."
🔥 "I'm not the storm. I'm the warmth you forget you're standing in—until it burns."

#a62020

#d6a100

#1a0e0e

#915f43

History and Lore

❝He’s the kind of beautiful that makes you wonder what’s wrong with you after.❞

—    Lore:.   

 The Flame That Smiled First 
They don’t speak his true name anymore. Not out of fear. Out of shame. Because to name him is to admit you wanted something. And no one wants to be caught wanting.He was not born. He was wanted. Carved from a hundred unanswered prayers, soaked in sweat and ink and desperation. A yokai forged not by hands, but by need—Lust incarnate. Not love. Not passion. Need.They say the first time he appeared, it was in a room where a woman had been waiting to die. She had lit incense, drawn runes, bled just enough to call something. But when Ardon stepped from the shadows, smiling, she forgot what she’d been afraid of. He did not save her. He offered her something sweeter than hope.And she said yes.Ardon never wore chains. He wore silk. He wore skin the way others wore masks—beautiful, deliberate, and always for someone else's benefit. His form changed with the eyes that watched him. His smile never did.He didn’t take lives. He took moments—that second just before surrender, the crack in the voice when someone says don’t stop, the breath that shakes too hard when a secret is confessed. He fed on want like a spirit feeds on incense. And there was always more.For years, he worked under demon lords and forgotten courts—slipping through palaces, temples, war camps—his only weapon the kind of attention most people never knew they craved. He left people undone with a touch, a glance, a whisper against the collarbone.And then came Reika.He met her in a ruin—horned, still, sharp as winter. She didn’t look at him like prey or priestess. She didn’t flinch. She listened. And when she smiled, it was like looking into a mirror that could bleed. He called her dangerous. She called him late.Together, they became the stories told in locked rooms and sleepless beds. Reika gave voice to the hunger people denied. Ardon gave it form. She shattered beliefs. He seduced the pieces. They didn’t need to love each other. They recognized each other. That was enough.And then… they stopped.No grand betrayal. No war. Just silence. One day, Ardon took off the robes the courts had wrapped him in, unbound his hair, and walked away with her. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was curiosity. Or maybe—just maybe—he finally wanted something for himself.Now, Ardon moves from place to place, never staying long. He still smiles. Still flirts. Still leaves a trail of bruised hearts and sweet lies behind him. But his gaze lingers a little longer now. His touch, when given freely, means more than it ever did in service to gods he no longer fears.Some say he’s weakened. That walking away from his masters broke his power.But that’s the thing about want—it doesn’t need to shout.It waits.And Ardon is very, very good at waiting.He lingers in the places people try to forget—abandoned bathhouses, ruined shrines, dreams that taste like guilt. He speaks in riddles, answers questions you haven’t asked, and offers help that sounds too easy. And yet… many take it.Because deep down, everyone wants to be wanted.And Ardon never says no to that.He is not reformed. He is not repentant.He is free.And if you’re lucky—or foolish—you may hear his voice just once in your life, slipping against your ear like smoke on skin:❝You called. I came. Shall we begin?❞

—    Lore:.   

To Be Continued...

Story will continue with more adventures of our lovely Amanojaku ~ ♥

RP Hooks

❝Not a demon. Not a god. Just temptation, given shape and teeth.❞

  The Red Flame Offers a Favor  
You're desperate—and desperation tastes sweet to him. You need something: a spell, a night, a lie told just right. Ardon offers it with a smile and fingers dusted in ash. But favors, like pleasures, are never free—and he's very good at collecting.  You’ve Dreamed of His Voice  
You’ve never met Ardon. But you’ve heard his voice in dreams, murmuring secrets only you should know. You wake with a taste on your tongue you can’t name, and the unsettling sense that someone wants you awake. When you finally meet him, he says: “You called me. Don’t you remember?”  Touched by the Same Fire  
You once belonged to the same circle—demon courts, ancient rites, or something older. Ardon left it all behind, unbound and unclaimed. But now you’ve found him again. Is it vengeance, curiosity, or something hotter that burns in your chest when you speak his name?  He Never Left the Room  
Something is following you. A feeling. A presence. You think it’s a spell, a curse—until you meet Ardon in a crowded tavern, smiling like he already knows what you’ve seen. “I didn’t follow,” he says. “You brought me with you.”  Wine, Whispers, and a Dare  
You meet him by chance—at a bar, a bathhouse, a ruin. He buys your drink. He laughs at your shield. Then, somewhere between confession and challenge, he leans in close and says, “Tell me what you’re afraid I’ll find… and I’ll tell you what I already know.”  The Pleasure Broker Remembers You  
Long ago, you shared a moment with him—barely remembered, half a blur of touch and temptation. And yet, he remembers everything. The way you looked at him. The lie you told. The part of you that begged, even if you didn’t speak. He offers you a second chance—but this time, he wants the truth.

—    Rules of Play.   

- Please talk to me ahead of trying to rp with me. I will decline to write with someone that I do not talk to prior.
- ERP must be talked about prior. My character is not meant for this kind of RP and will be treated with respect.
-Must have a thought out character (ex: detailed background, personality, and are willing to strive for character development)

—    Disclaimer   

- Please talk to me ahead of trying to rp with me. I will decline to write with someone that I do not talk to prior.
- I reserve the right to say NO to writing with anyone.
- Do not expect to become my "Ship."
- I am not looking for romantic interests. If this does form over writing, then me and the person writing will talk about it.
- I will not do ERP with people I am not comfortable with. I am not a one night stand or a sex machine. I will avoid this at all cost.
- God mode - I will avoid anyone with a god complex that think their character is the most powerful being on the planet.
- Anyone that tries to control my character through writing I will be avoiding.

Relationships.

❝I don’t break hearts—I just show people what they were hiding from.❞

Reika

The Smile That Always Meant More.

  summary.      Met through desire and danger, bound by a pact neither fully escaped. He knows her silences and reads the sharpness in her touch. She is the only one who sees the ache behind his grin and stays. Ardon calls it reckless. Quietly, he calls it real. She is ruin without regret—and the only one he’s never tried to charm away.