#and I need to find something to cook AUGHH

[vhoorlpool]

ughhh… Σ(￣。￣ﾉ)ﾉ sorry for being inactive. work has been kicking my ass as of late!!!! but I’ve been daydreaming about knights recently…. and undead ones at that!!

nsfw under the cut, as always!! reader is GN :] MDNI please!!

where there is complacence, lies ambition and longing under fifty-five pounds of old, rusted steel and smelted iron plates, forever stuck to his decaying body like heavy shackles on a prisoner of war.

your beloved knight is the fallen angel whose wings are forever tainted, molted and slough, scarred and reeking of battles past. the swiftly given silence of a valorously wielded blade across warm flesh of an enemy’s bared throat, as sharp and conniving as a thief’s tongue. the hands that cradled your face and tilted it up, up, up, plated thumb brushing oh so tenderly over your lips; daydreaming how it would feel to finally kiss them.

it’s a shame, truly, he thinks. under his helm lies a face full of rotting teeth and decaying flesh yearning for the warmth of your touch— the softness of your skin. would you be disgusted? cast him aside as if you had discarded a wilted flower? or would you admire him? quench his thirst for your affections like dry earth begging for the slightest drop of rain?

though… he suspects such frivolous thoughts don’t matter. he’d love you either way.

he is something incomprehensible. someone who should’ve died the moment his body hit the ground as the world was pulled out from under his very feet. and yet, you’re the guiding hand that kept him going. the breath of fresh air in his lungs, the voice in his head that tells him to get up. they’re waiting for you.

the will of that which makes him, nothing, become something. and oh, how lovely it is to be something that belongs to someone like you.

unearthly, his voice sounds coarse; low and thick like dead grass in a bog. sweetly spoken praises and the echo of heavy panting inside his helmet is just as noticeable as the seeping, warm slick that squelches each time he thrusts two plated fingers into your drippy hole. he’s drunk on you, really, and the way those crystalline tears seem to fall ever so elegantly from your glassy, beautiful eyes sparkling like a swan’s pond under the sun. the gods can berate him for his lovesickness, and yet the feeling of losing himself in your gaze rivals that of seeing the full moon on a warm night.

nothing will compare to you. not ever.

he gently rests his head against your chest as he focuses on your racing heartbeat and the way you moan so sweetly for him; fingers prodding at your spasming hole as he stretches you farther and farther; curling his long digits until he reaches that gummy spot inside that has you crying out so deliciously.

being this close allows him to admire the pudginess of your belly and the swell of your hip that curves gracefully into your thigh; melding so gorgeously into the supple flesh of those quivering, spread legs he’d beg to have wrapped around his head just once. to him, you’re like a deity. someone to be worshipped on bended knee until you know just how loved you are. he’s the pariah, the outcast, whose veneration knows no bounds. the offering? the very heart you saved, and seem to hold so tenderly in your palms. please take it. it’s yours— it always has been.

he gives a few final, gentle thrusts of his fingers before you come undone; armor glistening from your spend as he holds you close, whispering gravelly assertions and loving proclamations as you float back down from your high. you’re even more gorgeous like this, he muses— and if he had the coin of a wealthy governor, he’d have that same blissful expression painted on a canvas as large as it would be wide. (…oh, come now. don’t be so shy. he knows it’s lewd, but truly, he can’t help himself.)

he strokes the apples of your cheeks, wiping your tears as he helps you up and into his arms in a bridal carry; heading for the bath chambers. he’d rather die than leave his majesty in such a debauched state, and it’s about time he care for those tender, aching muscles with gentle soap and flowery oils to rub into your skin after. he may not be able to join you, gods forbid the soapy water irritate his decaying flesh, but he gets enough excitement simply being able to both pamper and spoil you rotten.

you deserve it. don’t forget that, your eminence.

[faededaway]

I've been playing Harvest Moon: Tale of Two Towns. But made no posts so far. Truly odd on my part.

Unfortunately, this harvest moon game hasn't caught my interest. I'm still playing it! But it's kinda.. hm.

I do see some improvements in features compared to it's predecessor.

Like, if I accidentally drop/throw something the things don't get ruined. Like, omg. I've broken too many eggs in BTN

And the hand fishing, bug catching, the cooking. Oh and the request board! Love that, yeah.

But!!! Aughh!! The hand fishing has some problems. I see the fish and press A but nothing happens.

And... It's ugh ummm ugh.

It has that problem too! When a person requests something, I won't find the item. When no one requests it, I'm always running into it

I could go on. I'm not even sure if the villagers like me. (Like btn I wish I could tell if they do. I'm trying my best but I'm confused).

And the seeds thing.. augh. It's one of those games that you cannot play well without replaying or without a (what's the word) outsider's guide and stuff. I need info from others to play better. Kinda sucks. [I love the info and guides other people put out. I absolutely LOVE them. But there's a difference between needing them and wanting them]