#i’ll persistently be a thorn in your side | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yoursinisforgiven · 1 month ago

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IF I COULD WRITE YOU A SONG TO MAKE YOU FALL IN LOVE ──

pairing: elias x reader (boss/non listener)

cw: smut, afab reader, pwp (lots of plot), piv, no use of condoms, public indecency-ish, multiple orgasms, edging(?), mentions of panty stealing, band au, elias is the bassist, reader is the band manager, a few sexual jokes, reader is implied to be slightly older than elias.

previously ! / next !

you are responsible for your own media consumption.

"ROCK REBEL ELIAS SHOCKS FANS: LACY LINGERIE SPOTTED DANGLING FROM HIS POCKET MID-PERFORMANCE!" "BAND HEARTTHROB ELIAS: WHOSE UNDERWEAR WAS HE REALLY WEARING ON STAGE?!" "FROM MUSIC TO MISCHIEF: ELIAS STIRS CONTROVERSY AS INTIMATE ITEM FALLS FROM HIS POCKET!"

You didn’t bother flipping the page. You had read enough.

With a sharp flick of your wrist, the glossy pamphlet landed on the polished wooden table, its pages fanning out in disarray. The headlines screamed up at you in bold, exaggerated lettering, each more ridiculous than the last. You knew without reading further that the contents would be nothing but speculation, sensationalized nonsense crafted to stir social media into a frenzy. But knowing that didn’t make it any less infuriating.

Your fingers tapped against the armrest of the chair as you let out a slow breath. The hotel suite was dimly lit, city lights filtering through the half-drawn velvet drapes that framed the panoramic windows. It was an opulent space—all of Elias’s accommodations were—with marble floors that gleamed under the soft glow of the chandeliers and a mahogany sideboard stocked with top-shelf liquor. The air smelled of cedarwood, aged whiskey, and faint traces of Elias’s cologne. It was the kind of luxury that had long since lost its appeal to you, though it still served as a reminder of just how far removed Elias was from reality.

Your phone buzzed against the table for what felt like the hundredth time that evening. You ignored it, though the persistent vibration continued like a wasp trapped in a jar. Turning off the sound had been a mistake. It hadn’t silenced the chaos—it had only made it more apparent how relentless it was.

Fifteen missed calls in the last five minutes alone.

Your patience was wearing thin.

With an irritated sigh, you snatched up the phone and glanced at the screen.

UNKNOWN CALLER.

Not unknown to you, though. You knew exactly who it was.

“If this is about the tabloid—”

A slow, amused exhale crackled through the speaker.

“Oh, sweetheart,” a voice drawled, rich with condescension. “This is about so much more than the tabloid.”

Your jaw tightened instinctively.

Marcus Reynolds.

Elias’s agent. The so-called crisis management expert. A walking, talking thorn in your side.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, already exhausted. “I don’t have time for this, Marcus.”

“You don’t have time?” His scoff was thick with amusement, laced with just enough bite to make your blood pressure rise. “That’s adorable. Because I have an entire lineup of very important people who seem to think otherwise. Want me to start listing them? Management? The label? Maybe the sponsors who are currently blowing up my phone, demanding to know why their ‘brand ambassador’ decided to parade a pair of mystery panties in front of a live audience?”

Your grip on the phone tightened. “It’s not—”

“Oh, don’t even try.” Marcus cut you off smoothly, his voice like silk stretched over steel. “I don’t need an explanation. What I need is for you to get Elias under control before this turns into a full-blown PR catastrophe. And right now, sweetheart, you’re failing spectacularly.”

You pressed your fingers to your temple, trying to stave off the headache that was quickly forming. “I’ll handle it.”

“See that you do.” His tone was all sharp edges now, his patience thinning. “And fast. Because if I get one more call from a sponsor threatening to pull funding, I will personally drag Elias’s ass into a press conference so fast he won’t even have time to wipe that smug little smirk off his face.”

The line went dead before you could reply.

A slow exhale escaped you as you dropped the phone onto the table. The rhythmic pulsing behind your eyes intensified, and you rubbed at your temples, willing it away.

“Bad news?”

You didn’t startle.

You had grown far too accustomed to Elias’s habit of moving soundlessly, appearing out of nowhere like a shadow.

Lifting your gaze, you found him leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, a lazy smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. His dark hair was damp from the shower, strands curling slightly at the ends. A loose-fitting T-shirt hung off his frame, the fabric wrinkled like he had barely bothered to put himself together. His sweatpants sat low on his hips, and he looked, as always, completely unbothered.

“You tell me,” you said flatly, nodding toward the tabloids littering the table. “You’re the one who decided to take my underwear and not even bother securing them properly.”

Elias’s smirk widened. “It was a statement piece.”

You leveled him with a deadpan stare. “It was a goddamn disaster.”

Unfazed, he pushed off the doorframe and made his way toward the couch, moving with that effortless confidence he carried like second nature. He stretched out along the cushions, arms draped lazily along the backrest, legs crossed at the ankle.

“You’re acting like I pulled a Kanye and stormed someone’s stage,” he mused, tipping his head back against the cushions. “It was a ‘wardrobe malfunction’, that’s all.”

You dragged a hand down your face. “The sponsors don’t see it that way. Management doesn’t see it that way. I don’t see it that way.”

Elias studied you for a moment, then tilted his head slightly. “Do you?”

Your stomach twisted. “What?”

His gaze lingered on you, his amusement tempered with something quieter, something unreadable. When he spoke again, his voice was lower, threaded with something that sent a flicker of unease through you.

“Do you care?” His eyes didn’t leave yours, holding your attention captive. “Not about the sponsors. Not about management. You.”

The air shifted, the tension between you palpable.

You hated when he looked at you like this—like he saw through every carefully constructed wall you had spent years building. Like he knew exactly how to slip past your defenses, slipping under your skin with ease.

Elias shifted, pushing himself up from the couch, moving toward you with slow, deliberate steps. His gaze flickered, briefly, to your lips. Barely noticeable. But enough.

Your breath hitched.

And then—

“Dude, I swear to God, you’re delusional—”

The door slammed open, and Milo and Kai stumbled in, mid-argument.

You jerked back so fast it was embarrassing. Elias blinked, momentarily thrown off, before exhaling through his nose in silent amusement.

Kai stopped short, glancing between the two of you. “…Are we interrupting something?”

Milo barely looked up. “Not now. This idiot thinks pineapple belongs on pizza.”

You groaned, pressing your fingers against your temples.

Elias grinned, amusement flickering in his dark eyes.

This was going to be a long night.

──

“You know,” Kai mused, his voice cutting lazily through the steady hum of the tour bus engine, “maybe this whole thing isn’t all that bad.”

The sheer audacity of the statement made you look up from where you were slouched against the cracked leather seat, exhaustion dragging at every joint, every tendon, every miserable inch of you. The flickering streetlights outside cast passing, ghostly patterns over the bus’s worn interior, briefly illuminating the half-finished pizza boxes, a sticky bottle of lukewarm soda someone had abandoned, and the half-crushed packet of cigarettes perched precariously on the edge of the table.

Across from you, Kai was stretched out like a damn Roman emperor, his legs kicked up onto the table with the kind of ease only someone both chronically unserious and morally unburdened could manage. The cold, blue glow of his phone screen cast sharp highlights across his angular face, catching the smug little curve of his lips as he scrolled. His leather jacket was half shrugged off, one boot missing, one sock sporting a hole at the toe, and yet he looked as pleased with himself as a cat that had knocked over a vase just to watch it shatter.

You shifted, the cracked leather sticking unpleasantly to your arm as you tried — and failed — to lean away from the warmth pressing insistently against your shoulder. Not uncomfortable, exactly. Just… an added inconvenience to an already miserable night.

A soft breath ghosted against your sleeve, followed by the tiniest, most pitiful snore.

Lex.

You exhaled sharply through your nose and risked a glance down, only to find the drummer’s head tipped against your shoulder, dark curls mussed and sticking slightly to the sweat at his temple. His face was slack in sleep, the kind of deep, oblivious slumber reserved for toddlers and morally questionable drummers with zero regard for social or professional boundaries. His lips parted slightly as he let out another tiny, unconscious sigh — and honestly, it would’ve been almost endearing if you weren’t actively considering a one-way bus ticket to literally anywhere else.

You gave your shoulder a tentative, half-hearted shrug, trying to dislodge him without fully waking him. No luck. If anything, Lex just mumbled something indistinct and burrowed further into the crook of your arm like you were some glorified, long-suffering human pillow.

Unbelievable.

With a weary sigh that felt more like a battle cry, you turned your attention back to Kai, narrowing your eyes. “And why, exactly, do you think this isn’t a complete catastrophe?”

Kai didn’t even glance up from his phone. He just flipped the screen toward you, the sharp blue glow momentarily burning into your retinas as a flood of notifications scrolled by in rapid, twitching succession. The faint gleam of triumph in his eyes made your stomach clench.

“Because,” he said, tapping at the screen like the answer was obvious, “I just gained ten thousand followers in the last hour. Even this model, look how hot she is!”

You stared. Waited for the punchline.

When it didn’t come, you frowned. “You’re joking.”

“Nope.” He sang the word, light and smug and utterly unapologetic. He gave the screen another flick with his thumb before shoving it closer. “It’s all over Twitter. ‘#EliasLingerieGate’ is trending worldwide. People are losing their goddamn minds, and guess what? They’re all flocking to our pages now.”

He let out a short, incredulous laugh and shook his head, like even he couldn’t quite believe how far things had spiraled. “I swear, man. A little scandal does wonders for engagement.”

You tilted your head back against the seat, dragging a hand down your face, your fingers catching on the sweat-damp hair at your temple. “Glad to see someone’s benefitting from this dumpster fire.”

Kai, predictably, looked entirely unbothered. “Hey, a PR nightmare for you is a career boost for me,” he said, all faux sympathy and half-lidded amusement. “I mean, if Elias wants to start some new trend of performing with mystery lingerie falling out of his pockets, who am I to stop him? Might as well lean into it. Milk it for all it’s worth.”

You shot him a withering look. “You cannot be serious.”

“Oh, I’m dead serious.” His grin widened, teeth flashing sharp in the low light. “Controversy sells, babe. The numbers don’t lie.”

A deep, guttural groan slipped out before you could stop it, and you let your head fall back again, eyes squeezed shut, thumb absently rubbing at the throb steadily building between your temples. Between the tabloids spinning increasingly unhinged theories, Marcus breathing down your neck via passive-aggressive texts, and now this bullshit… you were two seconds away from abandoning the entire band in a Denny’s parking lot and assuming a new identity in Nebraska.

Lex stirred again against your shoulder, emitting a sleepy little grunt before resettling, his cheek warm against your sleeve. Another faint snore followed.

Fantastic.

Kai chuckled, clearly reveling in your slow descent into madness. “Yeah, yeah, I know you’re stressed,” he teased, voice almost pitying but far too smug to actually qualify. “But hey, look on the bright side — at least you’re not the one caught with someone’s underwear on stage.”

You slowly turned your head to glare at him, your expression a blank canvas of pure, simmering exasperation.

He grinned wider. You could practically hear the grin in his voice as he leaned forward, elbows on the table, phone still clutched loosely in one hand. “Y’know, I think this whole situation could be salvaged if we spin it right.”

A sense of dread twisted low in your stomach. “Kai—”

“No, hear me out. What if we leak a story that Elias is launching his own lingerie brand? Call it something edgy. Rebel Lace, or like, Bad Habit. Market it to sad girls with septum piercings and dudes named Ash who vape.”

You inhaled sharply, willing yourself not to engage.

Kai saw that as an open invitation to continue. “Or maybe — and I’m just spitballing here — we pretend it was all part of the act. Say it’s performance art. A profound commentary on, I don’t know… the commodification of sexuality in post-capitalist society. People eat that shit up.”

Before you could conjure a scathing enough retort, a new voice cut through the thick, humid air of the bus.

“Uh, hey boss?”

The words made you visibly flinch. A full-body, fight-or-flight flinch. You didn’t even have to look to know who it was — you’d recognize that tone from a mile away, a particular brand of sheepish nervousness that practically radiated bad news.

Elias.

You closed your eyes. Counted to five. Considered throwing yourself bodily out the nearest emergency exit.

The summer heat clung stubbornly to the cracked leather of the seats, making your skin stick unpleasantly despite the supposedly ‘state-of-the-art’ AC unit sputtering overhead. It didn’t help the knot of nerves twisting somewhere beneath your sternum.

“What is it, Elias?” you muttered, the words coming out like a death sentence.

There was a beat, and then:

“My dad just texted me. He wants to have a meeting with you. Well, technically all of us. In person.”

You could feel your heart drop straight to your ass.

Had Lex not been half-passed-out and using you as a human pillow, you might’ve allowed yourself to faint dramatically. But alas — head injuries were a no-go one week before a major performance.

“Avox!” you barked toward the front of the bus, the name — or what passed for one — rolling off your tongue with the bitter ease of long habit. You still had no idea what his real name was. Some bullshit moniker Elias had given him two years ago when they hired the guy, and for reasons entirely beyond your comprehension, it stuck. He never spoke. Not once. Not even when you nearly sideswiped a gas station ice freezer in Colorado. At some point, the silence just became a weird, slightly ominous normal.

The man at the wheel lifted a hand in acknowledgement.

“We need to take a stop,” you ordered.

Behind you, Kai whooped softly under his breath. “Oh, this is gonna be good.”

──

The drive had been long and exhausting — though, if you were being honest, it wasn’t actually that long at all. An hour, maybe. Less, if you discounted the fifteen-minute detour where Avox, in what could only be described as an act of quiet rebellion, pulled off at a sketchy roadside gas station without warning. No explanation, no words. Just the hiss of the bus’s brakes and the low rumble of the engine left running as he disappeared inside.

In hindsight, it wasn’t the hours on the road that made your stomach twist and your skin itch. It was the nerves — planted deep in your gut like some insidious, burrowing thing — clouding any sensation of comfort, replacing it with that anxious, crawling feeling you got before a confrontation. A storm you couldn’t outrun. You could’ve been rolling down the Amalfi Coast with the wind in your hair and a drink in your hand, and it wouldn’t have made a damn bit of difference.

So when the bus finally lurched to a halt, the brakes groaning like an old man standing up too fast, and the sight of a painfully luxurious restaurant came into view — all dark wood paneling, gold accents, and the kind of valet stand that looked like it charged by the sneer — you immediately wanted to lean over and puke into your purse. Right there. Maybe on Kai’s shoes for good measure.

Because a boy band tour bus sticking out in this parking lot was the kind of sight that warranted a restraining order, or at the very least a pointed phone call to security. The sleek, black-windowed building practically shimmered with wealth, the air around it seeming heavier, stifling. Even the flowers out front looked rich. Not healthy — wealthy. And here you were, hauling out a drummer who probably still had pizza grease on his cheek and a guitarist who thought Rebel Lace was a good business idea.

You stood with a deep, bracing breath and turned to face the others. “Alright,” you snapped, instinctively falling into boss mode because it was easier than letting the nerves show. “Elias, with me. Milo, Kai — you’re on damage control duty. I swear to God if you bother Avox or start a flash mob in this parking lot, I’ll leave you here to hitchhike home. And Lex—” You glanced at the half-asleep, barely-upright figure slumped in the booth. “—keep him conscious. Or don’t. Actually, yeah, maybe let him sleep through this.”

Kai shot you a lazy salute. Milo gave a thumbs-up without looking up from his phone. Lex let out a soft snore.

Good enough.

You turned on your heel, stepping down off the bus into the heavy, perfumed air. The smell of gardenias and car exhaust mingled in a way that made your head swim. Elias was at your side a second later, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jeans, hair slightly mussed from the drive. He always looked like he’d just stumbled out of a music video at dawn, some impossible mixture of tousled and effortless, like the universe itself had a crush on him.

You ran your hands through your hair, nerves warping into something closer to insecurity, adjusting your shirt, smoothing out your jacket. “Does my hair look okay?” you muttered, voice tight with the kind of panic you usually reserved for IRS audits and hotel bookings gone wrong.

Elias barely looked at you before answering, as if it was instinct, an involuntary muscle. “You look hot.”

The comment landed like a sucker punch, and for a moment you forgot how to breathe. You choked back a scoff, but the corner of your mouth twitched. He hadn’t said it to be flirty — not intentionally, anyway. It was just Elias. His brain-to-mouth filter hadn’t existed since ‘03.

You cleared your throat, focusing back on the point at hand. “Do I look appropriate to meet your father?”

There was a pause.

And then, to your mild horror, Elias actually gave you a once-over this time — the kind you could feel, slow and thoughtful, like he was assessing not just your clothes, but your odds of survival.

He winced. “Uh… I mean, you look great,” he hedged, scratching the back of his neck. “But like… it’s my dad. He wouldn’t care if you showed up in a ballgown or a garbage bag, he’s still gonna look at you like you’re the hired help who parked in his spot.”

You stared at him.

“Cool,” you muttered darkly. “Comforting.”

Elias flashed a grin, though it was smaller than usual, a little tight at the edges. “Hey — for what it’s worth? I’d rather have you here than anyone else.”

The words hung there between you for a second, strange and too honest for the moment.

You swallowed hard, trying not to let it show.

“C’mon,” he said, bumping your shoulder lightly with his own. “Let’s go survive my dad.”

And with that, he started toward the doors. Leaving you, for one quiet, desperate second, to pull in a breath, steel your nerves, and follow him inside.

. . .

The inside of the restaurant smelled like jasmine, fresh linens, and the kind of old money that made your skin crawl. Everything gleamed in that unobtainable, deliberately understated way — soft golden lighting, crystal glasses so clean they sparkled, waitstaff gliding by like ghosts in tailored black. It was one of those places where even breathing too loud felt like a crime, and you were already out of your element.

You ran a hand through your hair one last time, trying to subtly check your reflection in a polished wall panel. You didn’t belong here. You knew it, and more importantly — they would know it too. That thought clung to you tighter than your nerves did, wrapping itself around your ribs like a vice.

Then, as if summoned by your misery, a sharp smack landed against your ass.

You jolted, spinning around with every intention of flattening whoever was bold enough to try it — but of course, there was Elias, wearing that same infuriating, boyish grin, smug and unrepentant.

“What?” he teased, as if he hadn’t just invited death upon himself. “Move any slower and he might leave before we even get the chance to meet him.”

You scoffed, shoving him out of your path with a hand to his chest, though your face burned hotter than you’d ever admit. “Touch me again and you’ll be singing soprano on your next tour.”

His grin widened, clearly satisfied with himself, but he fell in step beside you as you both wove your way deeper into the restaurant. The clink of cutlery and low murmurs of moneyed conversation filled the air, making your footsteps feel louder than they were.

And then you heard it — someone calling Elias’s name.

Your stomach dropped. Please not a fan, you thought bitterly. Not now, not while he’s still viral for having my goddamn panties hanging out of his pocket in front of fifteen thousand people and half the internet.

But as you turned, bracing for disaster, you were met with three faces you didn’t expect — and yet, it was obvious, instantly, who they were.

The man sitting at the head of the table was attractive in a way that felt dangerous. Salt-and-pepper beard meticulously trimmed, a tailored suit with a dark pocket square, and eyes that could probably talk a person into bankruptcy and make them say thank you for the privilege. It wasn’t just that he resembled Elias — it was the way he held himself, like the room bent around him whether it wanted to or not. That easy arrogance that said he owned this table, this restaurant, maybe the whole damn city.

Beside him sat a woman with softly curled brown hair that fell just past her shoulders, though the gentle cut was a careful lie. There was nothing soft about her. Her eyes were sharp, lined with something cruelly elegant, and her manicured nails — painted a deep, blood red — rested on the table with the casual poise of someone who’d been raised to draw blood and call it diplomacy. She wore an ivory blouse, expensive pearls, and the faintest smirk. You were almost embarrassed by how badly you wanted to ask who did her nails, but the words lodged themselves in your throat like a swallowed stone.

And finally — seated opposite them — was a girl.

Wavy brunette hair, slicked back into a high ponytail that screamed ‘stylist appointment,’ and a face that prickled a strange kind of recognition in the back of your mind. You’d seen her somewhere before. Her features were pretty in a way designed for stage lights and magazine covers, with a pair of perfectly glossed lips and eyes that scanned you like you were an email attachment she hadn’t wanted to open. There was an easy smugness in her posture, one elbow hooked over the back of her chair as if she was already part of the family.

Words had been exchanged while you were still catching up, but it wasn’t until the woman — his mother, you realized with a quiet jolt — addressed you directly that you snapped back into focus.

“I’m Elias’s mother,” she said, standing just slightly enough to extend a hand toward you. Her smile was sharp as a knife dressed in silk. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

You managed to find your voice before Elias could jump in. “You too,” you replied, your palm cold against hers for the brief moment it lasted. Her grip was light, but you’d bet good money it could shatter bone if she wanted.

Elias gestured to one of the two empty seats, and you sat down next to him, acutely aware of how your every movement suddenly felt broadcasted, like cameras were trained on you even though there weren’t any in sight. Elias, for his part, flopped into his chair with the relaxed indifference of a man either oblivious to tension or so used to it he’d learned to ignore it.

“Well,” his father drawled, his voice a polished, easy thing that carried weight, “let’s get straight to it, shall we?”

You barely had time to brace.

“I’m sure you’ve seen the… incident.” The older man’s eyes cut toward Elias with a look you couldn’t quite decipher — part amusement, part disappointment, part PR calculation. “And while your… wardrobe mishap might amuse the internet for a news cycle, it does us no favors long-term.”

You swallowed, forcing yourself to stay impassive, even as Elias let out a barely concealed groan beside you.

“So,” Elias’s mother chimed in, adjusting a diamond bracelet that probably cost more than your apartment lease, “we’ve come to a decision. We’ll be redirecting attention before the week is out. Press will get a new story — one more flattering. And less…” she paused delicately, “…intimate.”

Elias raised an eyebrow, skepticism plain as day. “Meaning what?”

His father’s grin was slow, wolfish. He gestured toward the girl across from you — who, to your horror, was already watching Elias like he was a prize she’d won before anyone else showed up to the competition.

“Meaning you’ll be attending the charity gala this Friday with Elara.”

That’s where you recognized her. Elara Hart. Rising pop star, tabloid sweetheart, the kind of girl who trended on Twitter for sneezing. She’d opened for Elias’s band once. And now, she was giving him a slow, practiced smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

Elias blinked. “Wait — like a date?”

“Like a date,” his mother confirmed. “It’ll be good press for both of you. A clean, wholesome image. The scandal gets buried, everyone wins.”

You felt it then — a sharp, hot little pang low in your chest. Not quite jealousy. Or maybe exactly jealousy. But you schooled your face into neutrality, pressing your tongue against the roof of your mouth to keep from speaking. It didn’t mean anything. It was PR. That’s what people like them did. Traded rumors like currency. Staged kisses for a headline. You’d known this was part of the world when you signed on.

Didn’t make it any less irritating.

Elias exhaled, leaning back in his chair. “And what if I say no?”

His father’s expression didn’t waver. “You won’t.”

The tension spun tighter. Elara’s smile didn’t budge.

You glanced down at your water glass, fingers absently tracing the rim. You weren’t going to make a scene. Not here. Not in front of them. But the knot in your stomach twisted a little tighter, and God help you, you were already imagining how smug she’d look on every tabloid cover by Monday.

You forced a cool, polite smile onto your face and reached for your drink.

“Sounds like a lovely idea,” you said.

Even if it made you want to throw your glass at a wall.

──

Had anyone bothered to ask, you would have said — with a straight face, no less — that you weren’t avoiding Elias. You were busy. You had a job to do. There were rehearsals to oversee, calls to make, venues to confirm, a goddamn nightmare of a tour schedule to salvage. You’d buried yourself so deep in logistics and petty crises you could practically feel the pixels burning into your retinas from staring at spreadsheets for so long. If someone suggested you were ducking out of rooms the moment Elias walked in, you’d laugh, maybe call them dramatic.

But if anyone asked Elias?

“Absolutely,” he’d grumble, barely letting the question finish. No more stolen glances across crowded rooms. No more teasing remarks tossed like pebbles at your window. No more sneaking out the back of the tour bus for midnight cigarette runs you didn’t actually smoke, just to sit in the dark with him, shoulders brushing. It was like you’d vanished — replaced by a hyper-efficient, tight-lipped version of yourself that only existed in work mode. And it made him livid.

The fact that Elara had seemingly fused herself to his side in your absence didn’t help.

The rest of the band wasn’t exactly singing her praises either. Lex, whose temper rarely flared, still hadn’t forgiven her for the now-infamous incident where she’d used one of his drumsticks to apply lip gloss for a TikTok. Milo swore the only reason she was still breathing was because murder was bad for PR, and Kai had coined the nickname ‘Starlet Succubus’ within an hour of meeting her. The group chat — affectionately dubbed The Smiths on Crack — was a living shrine to every petty, unflattering thing she’d ever said or done in earshot.

Still. You had to admit, begrudgingly, that the PR stunt worked.

“ROCK BAD BOY GOES SOFT? ELIAS SPOTTED GETTING COZY WITH POP PRINCESS ELARA HART!” Fans left stunned as notorious stage menace Elias trades leather jackets for luxury galas! The unlikely duo made their debut at the McKinley Foundation Benefit last Friday, sparking dating rumors faster than you can say ‘PR move.’

You snorted. Stage menace. The only menace he’d posed at that gala was nearly tripping over a waiter’s tray and muttering fuck loud enough for a nearby debutante to faint.

Another headline:

“ELIAS & ELARA: THE INDUSTRY’S HOTTEST FAUX-MANCE?” Insiders claim the pairing is ‘all for the cameras,’ but witnesses at the benefit swear the two shared ‘serious chemistry’ during a slow dance to a string quartet rendition of Sweet Child O’ Mine. Are they fooling the world — or each other?

You clicked the article despite yourself, eyes skimming over grainy photos of Elias in a sharp black suit — no tie, of course, because some parts of him refused to be tamed — with Elara’s manicured hand resting a little too high on his chest. In every picture, his eyes looked flat, the corners of his mouth lifted in a careful, curated smirk. You knew that expression. It wasn’t joy. It was survival.

Your stomach twisted.

The last headline was worse.

“FROM PANTIES TO POP STARS: ELIAS CLEANS UP HIS ACT!” After making headlines for accidentally dropping a lacy surprise on stage, Elias has traded controversy for candlelit dinners. Sources close to the band say management pushed the pop princess pairing to ‘bury the scandal.’ But is it working, or is the rebel heartthrob losing his edge?

Your eyes lingered on the words lacy surprise a beat too long.

A new message pinged into the group chat.

Kai: bet u twenty bucks elara’s making him watch her tiktok drafts again Milo: bet you he’s considering murder Lex: Bet you both I could get away with it Kai: 😭😭

A short, humorless laugh slipped out of you. It should have felt good to see them ragging on her. Instead, you felt that same tight, dull ache settle in your chest — the one you’d been ignoring for weeks. The same one that came every time Elias’s name was mentioned and you had to act like it didn’t make something sharp and unmanageable rise in your throat.

You set your phone down and closed your eyes, willing yourself to sleep. But you knew it wouldn’t come.

Not with the way your mind kept circling back to him.

To the way he’d looked the last time you’d actually talked, properly talked — no PR, no Elara, no audiences. Just him and you, leaning against the hood of the bus at some nowhere stop, a cigarette dangling from his fingers, eyes gleaming in the dark. The unspoken weight of everything unsaid sitting between you like a third, uninvited guest.

You shouldn’t care. You shouldn’t still care.

But God, you did.

You: go to bed, see you guys in the morning.

──

The next morning, you woke to the shrill buzz of your phone vibrating against the nightstand, a pale strip of light bleeding in through the heavy hotel curtains. Your head pounded, the telltale ache of too little sleep and too many thoughts kept at bay by scrolling until your eyes blurred.

Groaning, you reached out blindly, squinting at the too-bright screen. Seven missed calls from Lex. A text from your mom — “Hope you’re eating properly. Love you.” — which made you feel both touched and slightly guilty since the closest thing to a meal you’d had in 24 hours was a Red Bull and a stale granola bar.

And then, the one that made your stomach drop.

A text from Elias. Six minutes ago.

Elias: avox is sick. need u to drive me to rehearsal

You scowled, thumbs already flying over the keyboard.

You: why didn’t you go with the rest of the band? i’m your manager, not an uber driver.

The reply came immediately, like he’d been waiting for you to answer.

Elias: woke up late 🤷🏻‍♂️

Of course he did. Classic Elias.

You: how???

You already regretted asking. You could practically hear the grin through the screen before the next message even arrived.

Elias: was jerking off all night.

You gagged, rolling your eyes so hard it nearly hurt.

You: gross. seek help. Elias: too late for that.

You flopped back against the pillows, phone resting against your chest as you stared up at the ceiling. The hotel room was too quiet, which was its own kind of unsettling. No muffled bass line from Milo’s room next door, no Kai hollering about bad coffee, no Lex pounding on your door to borrow something random. If they were at rehearsal already, it begged the question — why the hell hadn’t Elias gone with them? And why was he texting you?

You threw the covers off, dragging yourself up to get dressed. You knew better than to leave him unattended for too long. The last time that happened, he ended up live-streaming himself trying to convince a roomful of fans that hot sauce made a great eye drop substitute.

You grabbed your keys, shoving your phone in your back pocket. It buzzed again.

Elias: i’ll be in the lobby. wear that jacket i like.

You didn’t reply. He didn’t need to know you were already pulling it on.

. . .

By the time you made your way downstairs, the city was already alive in that peculiar, restless kind of way — the streets humming with impatient car horns, old neon signs still flickering from the night before, and the sticky warmth of the early morning air clinging to your skin like something half-alive. You rubbed a hand over your face, willing away the ghost of sleep, and nearly gagged when your gaze landed on it.

Elias’s car.

A gleaming, pitch-black muscle car with seats the color of sin — custom Italian leather in some obscene shade of deep, bleeding red. The chrome trim caught the light like a polished blade.

You scoffed out loud before you could stop yourself.

Fourth one this year, you thought bitterly.

The first one had been totaled after he tried to jump a median because "it looked doable." The second…well, technically it still existed somewhere in a lake upstate. The third met its untimely demise when Kai dared him to see if the speedometer actually maxed out at 220. Spoiler: it did not.

You checked your watch, and irritation curled beneath your skin like smoke. He was late, and it wasn’t like Elias to pass up a chance to lean smugly against the hood and bask in his own goddamn aesthetic.

It wasn’t until the driver’s side window rolled down with a soft mechanical hum that you spotted him. Elias, slouched in the back seat, of all places. Hair a mess of dark, careless waves, one hand lazily draped over the seat, the other holding a paper cup you could only assume was filled with something caffeinated and unnecessarily sweet.

He smiled when he saw you — not the charming, camera-ready grin he gave the press or the playful smirk he shot the fans. No, this one was a little crooked, a little smug, and dangerously familiar.

He reached across the seat and pushed the door open, like some rockstar prince in his ridiculous, gleaming carriage.

“Get in,” he drawled, voice soft and low, with a lazy kind of invitation.

You crossed your arms, refusing to budge. “We have places to go,” you said, sharper than intended.

“I just wanna talk,” Elias murmured, tilting his head against the headrest, his voice dipping into something honeyed and coaxing. “It’ll be quick — promise.”

You hesitated, the city moving around you, a blur of taxis and pedestrians and distant, impatient horns. Your phone buzzed again in your palm — Marcus Reynolds, no doubt already halfway to a coronary over rehearsal delays and tabloid headlines.

With a sharp exhale, you muttered a curse under your breath and climbed in, pulling the door shut behind you with a definitive click. You made a point of keeping your distance, pressing yourself against the opposite door, a full stretch of decadent leather between you.

“What,” you bit out, the single word a challenge.

Elias winced, clutching his chest in mock agony. “Ouch,” he said, dragging the syllable out, like he was savoring it. “You’re gonna hurt my feelings, sweetheart.”

You arched a brow, unimpressed.

And then — that smile again. Slower this time. A curl of his lips, a gleam in his dark eyes that was far too pleased with itself for your comfort. He let his gaze drag over you, not hurriedly, but like he was savoring the details: the curve of your throat, the faint smudge of tired eyeliner beneath your eye, the slight flush of your cheek from the heat. His voice lowered, not teasing this time, but something softer. Closer.

“You’re jealous,” Elias said.

It wasn’t a question.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes, though your pulse stuttered once, just beneath your skin. “Excuse me?”

He leaned in, a little closer now, the scent of his cologne — something woodsy, expensive, and faintly spiced — curling in the small space between you. His voice dropped further, taking on a silky, dangerous warmth, a dark amusement flickering in his gaze.

“Of Elara,” he murmured, lips brushing the word like a sin. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed, baby. You’ve been dodging me like I’m contagious. Throwing me those murder looks every time her name’s in the air.”

His smile was pure mischief now, but there was something else beneath it — something hungry. He let his gaze linger on your mouth for a beat too long.

“It’s kinda hot,” Elias added, softer now, a faint rasp to the words. “You pretending you don’t care.”

Your breath caught, a thousand curses caught in your throat. The air in the car felt suddenly heavier, the background noise of the city dimming to a dull hum. You opened your mouth to fire back — something scathing, something sharp, you weren’t sure what — but you never got the chance.

Because Elias was already moving.

It wasn’t rushed, wasn’t hesitant. It was the kind of kiss that spoke of too many almosts and too much tension left unchecked. His hand came up to cradle your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek as his mouth found yours — warm, insistent, and unforgiving. He kissed like he meant it, like he’d been waiting for an excuse, like he was starving for it. The press of his lips was slow at first, almost testing, then deeper, tongue teasing the seam of your mouth until it gave way.

And god help you, you let him.

The leather seat beneath you groaned as you shifted, your hand curling into the lapel of his jacket without thinking. His other hand slid to your waist, fingers splaying possessively against your hip. The city outside kept moving, indifferent, while inside the car it felt like the world had narrowed down to the taste of his mouth, the faint scrape of his stubble, the heat of his palm.

When he finally pulled back, it wasn’t by much. His thumb traced your bottom lip, swollen and slick from the kiss, his grin softer now, eyes half-lidded.

“Told you,” he murmured, voice a rough rasp against your skin. “jealously looks good on you.”

You swallowed hard, trying to piece yourself back together in the thick, too-warm air between you. Your pulse was still hammering in your ears, lips tingling from the weight of his mouth against yours. You forced a breath, sharp and uneven, then another — like you were coming up for air after diving too deep.

“We—aren’t doing this,” you managed to choke out, though your voice lacked the bite you wanted it to have. It came out thin, strained. Pathetic. You turned toward the window like it might save you, like the city and its neon blur could offer some kind of reprieve. Relief bloomed when you remembered — tinted windows. At least the world wasn’t watching you unravel.

But Elias was.

And apparently, that was worse.

Because before you could brace yourself, he hooked an arm around your waist and hauled you onto his lap like you weighed absolutely nothing. The air left your lungs in a startled rush, and you pressed a hand to his chest out of instinct — not that it did a damn thing. You could feel his heart beneath your palm, steady and maddeningly sure of itself.

“I’ve missed you,” Elias murmured, his mouth brushing the shell of your ear, voice dropping into that low, smoky register that made your stomach knot in ways you hated admitting. “We haven’t—”

“Elias,” you hissed, your voice sharp enough to cut. But your hand didn’t push him away. Not yet. Not when his fingers splayed against your thigh like they belonged there. Not when his breath was warm against your skin, and his thumb traced idle circles over the fabric of your jeans.

He grinned, the cocky bastard. That grin that made girls at shows scream and your temper flare in equal measure.

“Just one more time,” he said, coaxing, playful — but with that unmistakable edge. The one that said he wasn’t really asking. His fingers brushed a lock of hair behind your ear, his gaze locking with yours. There was something tender beneath the arrogance, something half-unguarded.

“Really quickly,” Elias coaxed, voice softening into a husky whisper. “Isn’t it your job to take care of me, boss?”

The way he said it — not teasing, not smug, but like it was a secret, a confession between only the two of you — made your stomach twist dangerously. His palm was warm against your back now, his other hand skimming the curve of your jaw, tilting your face toward him.

“You’re such an asshole,” you breathed, but it didn’t sound convincing. Not when your voice came out as a whisper, not when your eyes flicked down to his lips again like you hadn’t learned your lesson.

His grin crooked, softer this time. “Yeah,” Elias murmured, closing the inch between you. “But I’m your asshole.”

And then he kissed you again — slower this time. Less a claim, more a promise. His mouth moved against yours with an infuriating tenderness, one hand at your jaw, the other a firm anchor at your waist. You felt yourself melting, your body traitorously leaning into his, your fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket like you needed something to hold onto.

The tension in the car thickened like honey, slow and heavy, and despite every instinct screaming at you to shove him away, your body betrayed you. It always did with Elias. His hands knew too well how to map out the parts of you you swore you’d guard, and right now, the way his fingers were working the button of your jeans made your pulse stutter, breath catching in your throat.

You felt the slow tug, denim slipping down your hips, the chilled air against heated skin making you shiver — though it wasn’t from the cold.

He didn’t bother with his own, too absorbed, too focused, like you were the only thing worth touching. The pressure of his palm against your thigh made your stomach clench, and then — God — the first light, teasing stroke of his fingers over the thin fabric of your panties. You knew you were done for the moment you saw the shift in his face, the way his lashes fluttered and he groaned low into your mouth like the feel of you alone was enough to undo him.

“Fuck,” Elias rasped against your lips, the sound frayed and raw. His breath was warm, mixing with yours, and when he spoke again it was with that same voice he used on stage — low, edged in sin, made for unraveling people.

“You’re so wet for me,” he murmured, his fingers tracing over the damp fabric, teasing, deliberate. He kissed you harder then, tongue sliding against yours, drinking in the noise you made against his mouth. “Did she miss me too?” His words were filth, but his tone was velvet — dark and coaxing, the kind of thing you should be ashamed of how much it turned you inside out.

Elias pulled back just enough to watch your face, his thumb brushing over the slick spot his fingers had found, a smug little grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as you bit your lip to stifle a sound.

“You remember, don’t you?” he went on, voice dropping so low it was practically a growl, his fingers pressing just a little more firmly now, dragging slow circles through the soaked fabric. “Our little time before my performance? The way you begged me to ruin you in the greenroom when no one was looking.”

The memory hit hot and sharp — you against the wall, the distant pulse of bass from the stage, his hand around your throat, his grin all teeth when you came apart for him with only minutes before showtime. It was reckless. It was a disaster. And it had felt so stupidly good.

“I hate you,” you whispered, though it didn’t sound like hate, not with the way your hips rolled into his touch, seeking more.

“I know,” Elias murmured, leaning in to kiss you again, softer this time, like it meant something. His hand didn’t stop moving, slow and unrelenting, drawing wet heat from you in ways that made your toes curl against the leather seat. “But you still want me.”

Elias’ hand moved with unhurried confidence, fingers skimming the curve of your thigh before tugging your panties aside with a practiced ease that made your pulse stutter. The sudden brush of cool air against heated skin sent a shiver rushing through you, and you bit down on a curse — half because of the sensation, half because you knew damn well those panties were expensive.

Your sharp glare barely lasted a second before Elias’ mouth found the line of your jaw, his breath hot, voice low and teasing. “Relax,” he murmured, and the smirk in his tone made you want to slap him and kiss him all at once.

He shifted beneath you, undoing his jeans with a practiced flick of his wrist, the soft scrape of denim against skin filling the charged space between you. He didn’t bother pushing them all the way down — just enough. You hated how you knew exactly what he was doing, how familiar this was. How your fingers moved before you could think, slipping beneath the waistband of his boxers, freeing him with a practiced ease.

The sound he made was somewhere between a laugh and a moan, his head falling back against the seat for a moment, eyes lidded and lips parted. “So—fucking greedy,” he breathed, the words rough and ragged. “Not even gonna prep yourself, boss?”

Elias gripped your hips, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh as he guided you into position. The head of his cock brushed against your entrance, the thick tip nudging your slick folds teasingly. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the hard length throbbing with a life of its own.

With a roll of your hips, you sank down onto him, taking him inch by hard inch. Your walls stretched and yielded, accommodating his impressive girth as you enveloped him in your tight heat. The sensation was intense, bordering on painful, but you were too far gone to stop now.

Elias let out a guttural groan, his head falling back against the leather seat as you settled onto his lap. "Fuck, you're so goddamn tight," he grunted, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to leave bruises.

You started to move, lifting up until just the tip of him remained inside you, before slamming back down, taking him to the hilt. You set a hard, fast pace, riding him with a desperation that shocked even yourself. The car filled with the crude sounds of your coupling - the slap of skin against skin, the creaking of the seat, and your harsh pants and moans.

Elias matched your fervor, thrusting up to meet your downward motions, driving himself deeper into your clutching sheath. The car began to rock with the force of your lovemaking, the windows fogging up from the steam of your heated bodies.

"Shit, just like that," Elias snarled, his voice strained with pleasure. You could feel the tension coiling in your core, your climax fast approaching. Your thighs trembled, your walls fluttering around his pistoning length. You were so close, teetering on the razor's edge of ecstasy.

Suddenly, Elias flipped your positions, pinning you down onto the seat. He hooked your knees over his shoulders, nearly bending you in half as he loomed over you. "Gonna fucking ruin you," he groaned, before slamming into you with renewed vigor.

The new angle allowed him to drive even deeper, his cock kissing your cervix with every powerful thrust. The car shook violently, the force of his thrusts rattling the vehicle entirely.

He rubbed the swollen head of his dick up and down your slit, coating it in your slick arousal before slamming back in, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust. You cried out, your fingers scrabbling against the leather seat as he began to pound into you with renewed fervor.

You could feel your orgasm building, your belly tightening and your thighs beginning to quake. Elias' fingers on your clit pushed you closer to the edge, your body tensing as you teetered on the precipice of release.

At first, you thought you imagined the sound — a faint, distant clatter barely cutting through the white-noise rush of your blood pounding in your ears. The height of your pleasure had stripped your senses raw, made everything outside the hot, frantic drag of Elias's body against yours feel muffled and unreal. Your thighs were trembling from the strain of keeping yourself perched over him, your hands scrabbling uselessly at the leather seat, your breath coming in broken, gasping little whimpers.

You were right there, aching, burning, your whole body tightening around him, when it hit you — a stuttering, frantic click-click-click sound, too familiar to mistake.

Before your brain could even untangle what was happening, Elias barked a breathless laugh against your ear, a low, wicked thing that shivered straight down your spine. "No fucking way," he said breathlessly almost as if he was laughing, still moving inside you, the slick, obscene drag of it making your toes curl.

He didn't even hesitate. One hand — rough, calloused, still damp with sweat — slapped the window button. The tinted glass purred down with an infuriating calmness, and the world exploded.

Flashes. Voices. Shouts. Your name — his name — screamed into the night like gunfire.

The burst of camera flashes was so bright it felt like someone had pressed a firework against your retinas. You squeezed your eyes shut instinctively, but it was useless — the inside of your eyelids were painted white with afterimages, and the noise was deafening.

You barely had time to gasp before Elias wrapped an arm under your ribs and hauled you up like you weighed nothing. Your back arched against his chest, still straining helplessly around him. You could feel him — every inch, every throb — still seated deep inside you, the friction maddening as you shifted and jolted in his grip.

"Time to make it official, boss," Elias drawled, his voice filthy with laughter.

You squirmed, instinctively trying to pull away, but he only grabbed your cheeks with a hand — squeezing until your lips puckered into a humiliating, sloppy little smile — and forced your face toward the cameras. The flashbulbs caught you mid-moan, mouth open, cheeks flushed, hair a sweaty, tangled mess clinging to your forehead.

And then, as if it wasn't bad enough, you felt him lean in — felt the hot, wet slide of his tongue drag an exaggerated, shameless lick up the side of your face, from your jaw to your cheekbone. The contact made you jolt in his lap, and he groaned low, bucking up into you just enough to make your whole body jolt, another ragged whimper tearing out of your throat.

You heard the photographers cheer like they'd just scored a touchdown. You heard the rapid, frantic click-click-click as they captured every humiliating, ecstatic second. You felt your thighs trembling violently, your whole body still begging, so close to breaking — and now completely ruined.

You should be upset about the ranch photos. You should be panicking about the scandal brewing just outside that window. You should be furious at Elias for making a goddamn circus out of something that was supposed to be yours, private and dirty and perfect.

But the only thing crashing around inside your skull, louder than the cameras, louder than your shame, was the raw, painful fact:

You’d lost your orgasm. You'd had it right there, cupped in your hands, ready to fall apart for him — and now it was gone, stolen away by the blinding lights, the yelling, the stupid fucking tongue against your cheek.

That was a tragedy worse than any headline.

. . .

Posted: April 27, 2025

By: Callie Monroe, Senior Gossip Correspondent

"BLOOD, SWEAT, AND SEX APPEAL: HOLLOW'S FRONTMAN ELIAS CAUGHT MID-TRYST WITH BAND MANAGER!"

Fans thought they'd seen it all — until last night's chaotic scene blew up across social media. Hollow’s wild-child frontman Elias was caught red-handed (and pants down) in a jaw-dropping, not-so-private moment with none other than the band’s longtime manager.

In photos too explicit to fully print (but easy to find online), Elias can be seen grinning like the devil himself, holding the blushing manager while flashing the paparazzi a lewd tongue-out gesture. Witnesses say Elias even rolled down the window himself to give the cameras a better view, unbothered by the public spectacle.

Sources close to the band claim "this has been a long time coming," while fans are already dubbing the scandal "The Great Hollow Blowout."

No official statements yet from Hollow’s label — but if the leaked photos and videos are any indication, damage control might be too little, too late.

One thing's for sure: the tour just got a whole lot hotter.

──

author's note: over the next few days I will be posting all the request ive been writing, if you're seeing this and it isn't your request check my blog! im posting multiple fics at the same time!

tag list: (small reminder if you'd like to be removed/added from the tag list just send me a dm, no i will not take it personal!)

@ysawdalawa @rain-soaked-sun @tanksbigtiddiedgf @sdfivhnjrjmcdsn @lil-binuu @colombina-s-arle @xxminxrq @souvlia @meraki-kiera

#zsakuva #sakuverse #zsakuva fandom #zsakuva elias #elias x reader #elias zsakuva #elias x barista #elias x boss #band au #audio rp #audio drama #audio

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cruel-hiraeth · 7 months ago

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*gets comfortable on your couch

i’m listening. i know you love talking about your most favorite most beloved harbinger 🌝💛

this is all below the cut because i have exactly 1 (one) modicum of self respect. this is the most embarrassing thing i’ve ever done online.

a couple of notes:

right now, this is a canon-divergent au, so the “traveler” does not exist.

while i haven’t decided which region i’d be from yet, this all takes place in liyue, and i’m not from liyue. so i’m a foreigner with few interpersonal ties.

our dynamic is very one-sided enemies to lovers because i really can't stand him, whereas he’s a soft/subtle yandere because he knows from the first time he sees me that i’m “it” for him. but it’s a slow burn because he’s in it for the long haul.

i live and work in liyue when we meet. i’m not anyone particularly special or noteworthy; i simply work with an antique bookseller, interested in learning the ropes. i have an interest in not just regional literature, but international literature, and i hope to start my own business someday.

the 11th fatui harbinger is doing what he always does: shady business. he’s on a particularly lengthy mission (which may or may not involve trying to topple the government) at northland bank. since he’s in liyue for months and acts essentially as a diplomat, he knows the city inside and out. he has his eye on me for a while. i notice him because i’m aware of the fatui—his clothing gives him away. but i have no interest in becoming friendly with him because everyone knows the fatui is bad news.

eventually, childe stops by and pretends like he’s interested in the books (he is but not for the right reasons) and our rapport begins there. he’s charming, but i’m allergic to charm as someone who’s inherently distrustful… i also just dislike him off the bat. i very obviously dodge all his flirting attempts.

after some period of time, he starts asking questions—trying to get to know me—and i’m begrudging with my responses. but also he’s a paying customer (one of our highest paying customers, to my disdain) so i must be civil and engage without divulging too much. with our encounters becoming more and more frequent, he becomes more forward (i.e. he not-so-subtly asks me out) and i always say know. he’s persistent and i turn him down without fail. annoyingly, he doesn’t get discouraged by my rejection; in fact, he kind of (very much) relishes in it—it makes cracking me all the more rewarding.

the timeline in my mind isn’t set in stone, but this continues for at least a year. i try to live my life and he remains a thorn in my side. but there comes a point when he visits me late one night as i’m closing shop that he’s returning to snezhnaya, unsure of if/when he will return. and he has the gall to ask—yet again—whether i’ll go on a date with him if he returns someday.

it’s kind of a ridiculous proposition, and i’m so eager to get him out of my hair (and life) that i tell him fine! i will eventually go out with you if you ever return on 1 condition. and the condition is that he has to bring me [insert an incredibly rare book that i have yet to develop lore for but is basically impossible to track down]. and only if he returns with said book in hand will i grace him with my presence on a date. and i’m truly convinced that he will never be able to find it and i continue on with my life.

fast forward a year or so: guess which fatui harbinger returns to liyue with the aforementioned book in hand, wearing a shit eating grin?

i seem to have forgotten that he's filthy rich and he works in (what is essentially) an insanely intricate intelligence organization that has tabs on all the black markets across teyvat and—yeah. he finds the book. and i'm so shocked/thrilled to see the book that i forget to be pissed for a minute.

so i go on a date with him because i’m a woman of my word. i suspect that he’s going to take me on some stupidly stuffy fancy date since he has more money than he knows what to do with. but we actually go to a hole-in-the-wall eatery that i’ve never tried even though i’ve lived in liyue for several years. and then we walk around the city at sunset and i sort of maybe find myself enjoying his company...

i kind of envision the date ending with him being humble for the first time in my presence. he says something like, “i really appreciated you going out with me tonight. i’d love to do this again sometime, but i won’t force you to." (the humility lasts for all of 3 seconds, but—maybe—i don’t hate him as much as i thought i did...)

so i say something along the lines of, “well, maybe if you get on your knees and beg me, i’ll let you take me out again.”

and then he says something gross like, “i can do a lot more on my knees that just beg~” so i immediately want to kill him again. but our relationship sort of progresses from there…

the end i’m done embarrassing myself for the evening.

#this is quite literally just me rambling like an insane person so #— visiting card #— ajax + kae #cw yandere

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viewofagarden · 10 hours ago

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Dandy's World OC: Midas the Gold Coin (🍀)

Bio and details below!

“Midas has always been a thorn in Clover’s side. He’s a con man who will do anything and everything to get rich. Including trying to steal and/or scam Clover out of her pot of gold.”

Full Name: Midas Goldfinger Other Name: Midas the Gold Coin Species: Gold Coin Gender: Male (He/Him) Voice Claim: Tony Sampson (Eddy - Ed, Edd n Eddy)

Clover Store Quote

“Ugh, Midas… Never let him near your money if you want to keep your hands on it…”

Requirements

1500 Gold Coins

Encounter Twisted Dandy once

Appearance

Midas is a gold coin with a golden colored body. He wears a light green unbuttoned dress shirt, an open dark brown jacket, a pair of dark brown paints, a black belt with a gold buckle, a dark brown fedora with a light green band, and a pair of black shoes.

Personality

Midas is just as, if not more greedy than Clover, but has far fewer scruples. As mentioned in his information card, Midas is a sleazy con man who is persistent and determined to get wealthy by any means necessary; Even if it means stealing from or scamming the Toons around him.

He also is a loudmouth, has an overinflated ego, and a massive arrogant streak. He believes himself to be a better envoy of St. Patrick’s Day than Clover, further adding to their shared animosity toward each other. However, ironically, he does not like gambling or casinos, as he finds them to be a con below his standards, as shown in his dialogue with Gigi.

Stats

Rank: Rare Health: ♥️♥️♥️ Skill Check: ⭐⭐⭐ (Size 150 / Value 2) Movement Speed: ⭐⭐ (Walk 12.5 / Sprint 22.5) Stamina: ⭐⭐⭐ (150) Stealth: ⭐⭐⭐⭐ (15) Extraction Speed: ⭐⭐⭐ (1.00)

Ability

Purloin Active This Toon can steal the Trinket from a targeted Twisted on the floor. Granting him the Trinket’s effect for the duration of the floor. Can only hold one Trinket at a time. Has a cooldown of 80 seconds.

Dialogue

Finishing extraction

“If I had a coin for every machine I had to do…” “Clover wishes she could be this good!” “I’m sure I could use these for something…”

Descending to the next floor

“Don’t care what Dandy says, these tapes are MINE.” “Dandy ain’t gonna get a single tape from me! “Just a couple more tapes and I’ll be rich!”

Activating Purloin

“I’ll take that~” “You won’t be needing THIS anymore!” “Lose something? Heh heh”

Twisted Midas

"This Twisted will punish you for your reckless greed, just as he was. Pay close attention to the tapes on the floor. If it’s smothered in black, turn your back, that’s where he resides. Otherwise, say goodbye to your health, and your tapes.”

Rank: Rare Speed: N/A Attention Span: N/A Detection Range: Low

Twisted Midas is a stationary Twisted that behaves similar to Twisted Rodger, however instead of residing in capsules, Twisted Midas resides in tapes. The telltale sign that a Tape is fake is if it has ichor splattered on it.

If a player picks up the fake tape, he will inflict Slow III and Tired III on them before attacking, dealing a heart’s worth of damage and stealing a quarter of their tapes (or an eighth, depending on how much they have) like Twisted Teagan. Like Twisted Rodger, he has a 360 degree field of vision, and will disappear back into his disguise after 15 seconds if no one enters his detection range.

Unlike Twisted Rodger, who zaps Toons with his eye laser, Twisted Midas just swipes at them with his clawed hand.

Twisted Research Trinket: Chain Wallet Trinket Category: Movement Speed Increases your movement speed the more tapes you have. Increases by 5% every 100 tapes. Caps at 25% with 500 tapes.

Trivia

In the Dandy’s World show, Midas is an antagonist for some of the St. Patrick’s Day specials, and is Clover’s arch-nemesis.

Midas’s last name is a reference to the James Bond villain of the same name.

Midas has very similar stats to Clover. Both having 3 stars in Skill Check and Stamina, and having high stealth stats (4 stars for Midas, 5 for Clover). However, Midas is slower in movement speed (2 stars compared to Clover’s 3), but has higher extraction speed (3 stars compared to Clover’s 2). Indicating that while Midas is crafty and cunning (higher extraction speed), Clover is always one step ahead of him (lower movement speed).

Midas doesn’t like being called just “Midas the Coin”, as he insists that he is “More than a mere penny.”

#dandys world #dandy's world #dandys world fanart #dandy's world fanart #dw fanart #dandys world ocs #dandys world oc #dw oc #dandy's world oc #midas goldfinger

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ivanttakethis · 7 months ago

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Tov’s OC Intimacy Levels

Based on the character intimacy percentages from the art book.

This covers Tov’s intimacy levels with other characters she has notable relationships with or is connected to in some way.

Inspired by @lookatmysillies’s Character Intimacy Levels posts: Part 1 and Part 2.

Himei (100%) - If soulmates exist, I believe we are a pair. There is no me without you. I would give anything to change your fate.

Tallis (100%) - You see me in a way no one else does. I cannot hide from you, but I find that I don’t want to. It’s okay if it’s you.

Nyx (90%) - My bothersome little brother. You’re stubborn in your belief that you are not worthy of love, but I’m more stubborn in proving you wrong.

Dian (80%) - Although you can be a persistent thorn in my side, you’re one of my closest friends. You keep me in check and I return the favor. I know you have my best interest at heart.

Moran (75%) - I miss our talks and the time we spent together and your views on the world. You were so much more than a puppet waiting to play their part. We are tied together in the stars.

Flor (60%) - Your heart was far too kind for a cruel world like ours. I try to view your death as a mercy. I don’t know if it’s working. I miss you.

Solei (59%) - Thank you for allowing me to be your shadow. I will always keep your secrets. Hopefully we can meet again one day.

Aurien (57%) - I know you were the one who made our class’s star charts. I appreciate you sharing them with me. Please stay safe, fellow stargazer.

Wren (50%) - There’s something odd about you. I suspect you know more than you let on. Despite that, you were there for me at my lowest, and I’m grateful.

Lang (40%) - Tallis and Nyx loved you so much. Over time, I came to care for you too. I wish things could’ve been different.

Stasya (39%) - More than an acquaintance. A friend perhaps? You didn’t deserve what happened to you. I hope you’re drifting in a nice river somewhere.

Azure (30%) - It is not lost on me that this odd fondness I feel for you only runs one way. Even still, I do not regret mourning you. Your life and death were never a waste of time.

Akane (20%) - I’ve always respected you as my senior. Maybe we could’ve been friends. I see you every night in the moon.

Castor (18%) - I often found you to be annoying and unserious. But you were very important to Nyx, so I tolerated you. I hate how badly you hurt him, but we both know there was no other way.

Elias and Prem (17%) - I still don’t understand why you’re risking so much to help me. Is my benefactor really that important to you? I guess I’ll find out soon enough.

Lark (15%) - Even though I know there was nothing I could do, I still feel like I failed you in some way. Did you know I was there when you were dying? I held your hand the whole time.

Minori (10%) - I’m sorry. I should’ve looked. I should’ve dignified you in your last moments and I didn’t. It is one of my biggest regrets.

Daiki (8%) - I’ll never forgive you for how you spoke about Tallis. But I understand wanting to live for someone you love.

Noora (6%) - You were always such a sweet girl. I don’t know if I’ll ever understand what made you snap. I’m sorry about Lark. Are you together now?

Min (5%) - You saved Himei’s life. For that alone, I am in your debt.

Cirrus (5%) - We have very similar backgrounds. If we spoke, I think we’d find that we have a lot in common. Part of me knew it would end this way.

Tagging: @lookatmysillies (Himei, Tallis, Castor), @rockwgooglyeyes (Nyx, Dian), @geospiral (Moran), @sotogalmo (Flor), @solei-eclipse (Solei), @aurienneirua (Aurien), @its-langgg (Lang), @billwasnot (Stasya), @azureitri (Azure), @aakaneeee (Akane), @kamersona (Lark, Noora), @minori-dash (Minori), @daiki1k (Daiki), @starry-skiez (Min), and @yunoftheclouds (Cirrus).

#alien stage #alnst #alien stage oc #alnst oc #alnst oc: tov #alien stage fan season #alnst fan season #alien stage season 39 #alnst season 39 #tov’s thoughts

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voraciousvore · 9 months ago

Text

Giganterra (Chapter 53)

Prologue/TOC | Previous (52) | Next (54)

Content Warning: Soft safe unwilling vore, mild sexual themes, vulgar language

Word Count: 2.4k

------ Chapter 53: Lost ------

While the rest of the hunting party retreated to the castle, the greyhounds and their master sought to catch Martin and Candy. They lost the trail at the river. They crossed to the other side and searched, but when the hounds were unable to pick up the scent, the trainer guided them back to the river. He surmised, correctly, that Martin swam downstream, so he sent the hounds on a path along the shore to find him.

The dog handler had to abandon his horse as the trees grew closer and closer together. Eventually, the riverside became impassible for even the dogs, overgrown with dense webs of thorned brambles, trees, and mud, so the trainer was forced to backtrack and return to the opposing shore. He doubted the knight would be foolish enough to exit the water’s flow so close to the castle, so he continued south through the town. No sightings or sign of the knight materialized, so he trekked into the woods beyond.

There, he struck gold. He discovered the knight’s gauntlets and supplies, washed up in a tangle of vines. However, the dogs still couldn’t pick up the scent. They wandered aimlessly through the trees, chasing squirrels and marking their scents with pride. The hunter figured the dogs must be too tired after the prolonged journey, which had taken several hours, so he rounded up the animals and went back to the castle to report to the king.

King Richard brooded on his throne, fuming. He’d lost both his favorites, Millie and Candy, not to mention one of his most esteemed loyal knights. He didn’t understand why Martin betrayed him, except out of envy and greed, to take one of his pets for his own. He observed coldly as Hunter repaired Ajax: stitching up his wounds, refilling his veins with facsimile blood, and infusing fresh magic into his animated corpse via stones, potions, and muttered incantations. Joey stood next to the king, filling in as his personal guard while Ajax’s body was repaired. His cut had been tended to. As he suspected, it was shallow enough to heal quickly with the potion, though the scar still ached. Leon stood stiffly at the king’s left shoulder.

The king perked up when the dog master, his breeches and boots wet and splattered with grime, marched into the throne room. “Did you find her? Did you slaughter the traitor?” Hardon inquired eagerly.

“Um... no.” The king clenched his fists in anger on the arms of his throne, causing the handler to cower back. “B-b-but I found some of his gear in the river south of the castle! I had to turn back because the dogs were unable to persist, due to fatigue.”

“Worthless mutts! Execute them all!” Hardon bellowed, slamming down his fist. The trainer blanched, too dumbfounded to form a protest.

Leon leaned over and whispered in the king’s ear. “Your Majesty, do not allow your temper to cloud your good judgement. It would take time to replace all those well-trained dogs. For now, send Chester.” The king grunted with annoyance but executed the command. “Show Chester where to search. And if you can’t find her and bring her to me, it’ll be your head!” The trainer bowed and rushed out.

Next, Hardon sent a servant to fetch the royal blacksmith. He arrived within minutes, wiping the soot from his gloves onto his shirt. “Blacksmith! I need you to craft an iron helmet for my guard! One that can’t be removed and completely covers his empty eye socket!” The blacksmith didn’t question the strange order and measured Ajax’s skull to determine the correct size.

“I’ll have to weld it directly to his head. Or bolt it on,” the blacksmith stated.

“Very well. Hunter, go with him to the forge and finish your business there.” Hunter glared disdainfully at the dirty blacksmith but accompanied his own freakish creation to the smithy.

The king grumbled something under his breath and shifted with dissatisfaction in his chair. Out of habit, his fingers traced the cord of his necklace, but he only became more incensed when he felt the cold metal of the empty clasp, bereft of warm living flesh.

“Leon! Bring me a big slice of vanilla bean cheesecake! Topped with caramel!” he demanded. “And put every damn human in the kitchen on it!”

“Sire, your royal food taster is currently absent-”

“I don’t care! You taste it for me!” Hardon snapped. “It’s not as if he’s not expendable!” Leon bowed and scurried out of the room like a rodent.

He burst into the kitchen and announced the king’s request. The chefs dropped everything to fulfill the order. Chef Cruor gathered all the humans except for Addison and sprinkled them on top of a gigantic slab of cheesecake. As usual, he had to shove Eren into the slice up to her chin when she refused to settle down. She yelled at him until he buried her under a mountain of whipped cream and drizzled caramel in a fancy swirl over the confection. He handed the plate to Leon.

“What about that one?” Leon asked, pointing at Addison. “He did say all the humans.”

Cruor snarled like a feral beast and blocked Addison’s tank with his mass, which Leon couldn’t help but notice seemed to be expanding in width, though he was too polite to point it out. “Touch her and you’re dead meat!”

“But the king said-”

“I don’t give a damn what he said! You even think about touching her and I’ll rip your fingers off with my jaws!” Cruor bared his teeth wide enough to reveal a double chin. A wild flash shot through his violet eyes.

Leon realized he was deathly serious and backed off. “Okay, okay, this should be enough,” he assured the chef, backing out the door. He strode down the hall with a shudder. He glanced down with misery at the multitude of humans trapped in sticky caramel on the giant cheesecake. They gazed back up at him with misery, fear, and condemnation. The tragic sight drowned him in an endless sea of loathing, both for the king and himself. He wanted to grab up all the humans and set them free. He wanted to douse the cake in poison and watch with glee as the savage king died an excruciating death, choking on his own vomit and blood. He wanted to run away from it all—but he knew he couldn’t. He wouldn’t be able to get away with any of it. He was trapped.

He presented the king with his dessert. Hardon took the plate, licking his chops with ravenous hatred. “Which one of you would like to be my new favorite?” he questioned aggressively. The humans shivered with terror, too petrified to answer. Living in the kitchen was ghastly enough, but they all knew what the perverted giant did to helpless tiny women behind closed doors.

He plucked each victim out of the cheesecake, one by one, and played with them in his hands. He rolled them around in his fingers, prodded them with his fork to test how they would respond, and licked them clean, before popping them in his mouth. He savored them thoughtfully, sucking and slurping, pressing them into his teeth and the inner walls of his cheeks, before swallowing them down.

As much as he enjoyed their varied flavors, their fear, and their ceaseless squirming, his wrath increased with every swallow. They were fine and delicious, but none of them were Candy or Millie. None of them were of a high enough standard to qualify as his favorite. After eating five or six of them, he reached the last little morsel, Eren, still buried in cheesecake. He picked her out, amused by her futile thrashing and cursing as she punched his fingers.

“Saucy little minx, aren’t you?” he remarked with amusement.

She glowered at him. “Go to hell, you revolting beast!” Despite her attempts to sound fierce, her voice was small and squeaky in the vast hall.

The giant chuckled. “I like girls with some fight in them. How would you like to be my new favorite?”

Eren turned white as paper. Her rebellious spirit was dampened in a flash as she realized the error of her ways. She hadn’t anticipated that type of response from the dangerous king. She curled up her arms and trembled. “N-no thanks.”

Joey, standing on one side of the king, felt dreadfully ill as he watched the display. He was powerless to do anything, surrounded by people and guards in the throne room. He could only stare in horror as the tiny people disappeared down the king’s gullet. He recognized Eren, the brave woman, and crumbled internally when he saw her reduced to such a state. He wondered to himself, if given the opportunity, if he’d be courageous enough to throw it all away like Martin did. He wished he could save her from such a gruesome fate. He regretted going against his better judgement and not taking more decisive action when he had the chance.

Eren glanced over at Joey. The hard edge of defiance in her eyes softened. They shared a snapshot of connection before Eren was forcibly engulfed in the king’s hungry maw and swallowed. Joey turned his head to the side, sickened.

“Is this all? This is the best we have?” the king complained as he stewed in his rage. “I might have to place another order with Minimaterra for some fresh meat.”

“Oh, it’s a bit soon for that, isn’t it?” Leon hastily interjected. “If you ask for tribute too often, the quality will decline.”

The king, as he listened to Leon, stared down at his half-eaten dessert. The fury festering inside him grew exponentially by the second, until the inferno within became intolerable. He erupted like a volcano, bellowing with intense vitriol, “Why am I surrounded by IDIOTS?! GODDAMMIT!” He stood up and hurled the plate across the throne room, shattering it with a dramatic crash. The room went deathly silent as everyone stiffened. “FIND HER!” he commanded, before storming off.

In the coming days, Martin and Candy failed to materialize, since both Chester and the dogs were unable to pick up the scent trail south of the castle. The king was enraged and spent most of his time terrorizing his servants and sexually harassing the maids. Fortunately, Joey was relieved from guard duty once Ajax was fully restored. Besides his fresh stitches, Ajax was also equipped with a heavy iron mask that covered most of his face and clamped around his head. The device was a modified torture implement from the dungeons, with the lock welded shut and the chain hanging off the base of the skull shorn. An extra sheet of metal was added to replace his eyepatch, so that nobody could tear the magic runic stone animating his body out of his head. He had no more weaknesses.

Joey felt lost without his mentor. He was torn between his loyalty to Martin, his duty as a servant to the royal family, and the code of chivalry that demanded he help a maiden in need, all critical foundations of knighthood. He couldn’t navigate the complex web of his responsibilities and what was morally right. He couldn’t read in a book what he was supposed to do in his specific situation. He wasn’t sure what he could do. He didn’t have Sir Maneater anymore to guide him and bestow great advice and wisdom. He wandered aimlessly in a maze of confusion.

His anxiety spiked when the king commanded him to take over Sir Maneater’s role as instructor and resume the prince’s fencing lessons. Since the incident with the lemonade, Joey had avoided Ronny like the plague, limiting his interactions to sparring with his face covered so he didn’t have to talk or make eye contact. He hadn’t spoken to the prince more than the absolute bare minimum. Ronny hadn’t retaliated against him, but Joey still feared angering the volatile prince.

He waited anxiously in the courtyard next to the stables for Prince Ronny, twirling his sword, digging his heels into the dirt, and polishing his glasses on his white outfit. Joey flinched, startled, when the royal made his appearance and advanced towards him with purpose. As usual, Ronny’s dark irises were hard and cold, his features haughty and aloof, and his figure sharp enough to be cut from stone.

“Your Highness!” Joey scrambled into a low bow.

“Let’s get this over with,” Ronny grumbled.

“Y-yes, of course, Your Highness,” Joey stammered. “Let’s start with our usual warm-ups and stretches.” Joey was jittery and ungraceful as he went through the motions with Ronny in deafening silence. He couldn’t bear to look the prince in the face, staring stupidly at his shoes or hands instead. When it came to actual instruction, he could barely manage to squeak out a few words without stuttering like a fool. He tried to demonstrate a pattern of footwork and ended up tripping over his feet instead.

Ronny huffed. “Are you going to be weird and awkward for this entire lesson?”

“S-s-s-sorry, Your Highness!” Joey bit his tongue and grimaced.

“Just—stop that! It’s so irritating! Is this about that whole lemonade thing?” the prince questioned gruffly. Joey chewed on his lip, sweating over the mere mention of his transgression. “Because I don’t give a fuck, you know.”

“R-really? You’re not… mad at me?” Joey asked, incredulous. “I figured you’d want me flogged and quartered for what I did.”

“Perhaps at one time, yes. But Tanya tells me I need to learn clemency. And... to control my childish tantrums,” Ronny admitted sheepishly.

“Who’s Tanya?”

“Never mind,” the prince grunted. “It’s not important. Let’s just keep moving.” Joey resumed the lesson, stronger this time, as he gradually regained his confidence. By the end, he was almost back to his old self. Ronny was in a hurry to leave, since he wanted to wash up and get back to Tanya, so he didn’t stick around for chit chat. Joey sighed in relief as he watched the prince go. He wasn’t about to get destroyed like he thought. Maybe the prince had a glimmer of magnanimity somewhere in his cold heart after all.

Chapter 54

Tag List: @tinycoded360 @yummynomms @maybeiamdownbad

#g/t vore #gt vore #vore writing #vore story #soft vore #unwilling prey

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heckblade · 3 months ago

Note

it seems i only felt the thorns???????

this is actually my spn WIP that's closest to being finished!!! it's a human!cas character study, set in early s9, a meditation on pain and grief and touch starvation and the sensory experience of being human that eventually winds its way into filling in the 9x06 fanfiction gap.

title from billy joel's "and so it goes," which is a very thematically fitting song for this piece.

excerpt below the cut:

“This your first tattoo?” she says, positioning the stencil over his ribs, transferring the purple ink to his skin. He nods in response. This earns him a raised eyebrow and a small chuckle. “And you chose your ribs for your first one?” She sucks in a breath through her teeth, a quiet hiss. Castiel tilts his head to the side slightly. “Is that bad?” She makes a face, a sort of funny grimace. “I won’t lie to you, pal, it’s one of the more painful spots to get inked, for most people, anyway. Not trying to change your mind, just giving you a heads up.” Castiel thinks about the car crash with Hael, shards of glass lodged in his skin. The hot flash of an angel blade tearing through muscle. A long year of being thrown around by Leviathan in Purgatory. The sharp, bright whirring of a drill used to probe into his celestial form. All the demons that have carved into his vessel’s flesh. He knows pain well. “I can take it,” he says, meeting the woman’s eyes with sincerity. “But I appreciate the warning.” “Oookay,” she replies, shaking her head, amused, like she’s had this conversation a million times. “I’ll go quick, but let me know if you want a break. Ready?” “Yes.” There’s the buzz of the tattoo gun, and then— Oh. Castiel lets out a soft gasp at the sensation, and the artist’s hand immediately stills. “You okay?” He nods again, and though she gives him a skeptical look, she continues her work. The thing is, it does hurt. He can feel the scratch of the needle against his skin, the burning of the ink deposited in a fresh wound. A dull, feverish warmth spreads out from where she’s working, spreading across the entire left side of his abdomen, the vibration of it so close to the bones of his ribcage that he can feel it rattling something loose deep within his chest. For the first time since the Fall, Castiel experiences a sense of clarity. His thoughts, his other senses, come into clearer focus against the backdrop of a persistent, low-level pain. The horrible emptiness, the ever-present ache of grief, fades away in the presence of something sharper, something easier to focus on. All this time, these long human hours, he’s been between stations on the radio, tuning through constant static. But here? He’s found a station with a good, strong signal, and the music comes through loud and clear. It hurts, and it feels good.

I've posted other snippets here, and here, and here (this one is still one of my favorite paragraphs I've ever written) of the more destiel-heavy scenes. really excited to eventually share this piece in full. I think I'll be very proud of the final product.

#cass writes #wip title game #ask games #ask #spn #spn fic #castiel #destiel

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mysticmonkeybusiness · 11 months ago

Text

Prompt: macaque and mayor arguing / bickering and wukong gets brought up; given by @visionaryscribe

Wrote this intending to take place just before Macaque catches up with MK, Mei, and Sandy in S3

Now, don’t get him wrong, the Lady Bone Demon ranks much higher on his personal threat assessment list. But.

Her little guard dog certainly gets on his nerves.

“Don’t you have better things to do than nip at my heels?” Macaque scowls and looks over his shoulder at the ever-persistent thorn in his side. “Like, I don’t know, being at Her beck and call?”

Unsettlingly wide eyes and smile rest on a face more suitable for a masquerade than a person. “Oh, but I am. My lady wishes to know what’s taking you so long. Surely it shouldn’t be giving you much trouble to capture the Monkey King and his errant successor.”

He narrows his eyes and just barely bites back a snarl, claws digging into the palms of his hands and just barely stopped from cracking the compass. Macaque might fear – Reasonably! No matter what certain others might think – LBD, but her lacky doesn’t have nearly the same kind of hold. He doesn’t have to take this from a half-baked puppet. “Even weakened, Wukong is tricky. Tracking them down is proving time consuming. Go run back to your mistress, I’ll have them both in my hands soon enough.”

Its’ head tilts at an disquieting angle and it jerks forwards, pulled on unseen strings. Macaque refuses to flinch back when it gets in his face and hopes the cold sweat on his neck isn’t obvious. Sometimes he wonders just how much the bone witch can get from her thrall. The thing would probably get off on it.

“You’re not getting cOLd FEeT are you?” The head tilts further sideways and it’s painful to look at. “Poor little shadow, desperately clinging to someone who never even cAReD.”

His snarl has no hope of being suppressed this time, as his shadow staff forms and is swung at the thrall faster than the action registers to his higher brain functions. Unfortunately, he misses, hitting nothing but the air left behind as it retreats, cackling at having hit a nerve.

“As if.” Macaque spits out, stuffing the words with as much venom as he can muster. “I’ll catch up and drag them back. And then my debt will be paid.”

The thing never blinks, deranged cheshire grin growing larger and rattling instincts in him that prevent him from looking away from the threat. “Don’t ‘lose’ him like you did my Lady’s key. You’d hate discovering what happens to fAiLuREs. And my Lady is always watching.”

Mad laughter lingers in the air long after the thrall disappears. Macaque is left with the pitch-black desert night and the chill of dead magic in his veins. For once the dark is not the comfort it normally is. He takes a fortifying breath and looks down at the compass in his hand.

Right. Time to get this show on the road.

#lmk #lego monkie kid #lmk macaque #lmk mayor #my writing #ficlet

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lcgacyofages · 5 months ago

Note

for the drabble prompt, making a bit of a spicy thing with Ogden and Domitius? 👀

Send me the names of two of my muses, and I’ll write a small drabble about them interacting!

This got more than a bit spicy, so it's smut. It's a bit on the rougher side. But here we go. The more usfw stuff is going to be under readmore, so you can read up until then if it's not your flavor!

----

The note had taken him a bit by surprise. He was surprised Domitius wanted to talk to him after the fight they got into. Maybe he merely wanted to sneer at him and act oh-so-superior like ‘Vints liked to do. Or maybe he wanted another round. That was fine. Ogden wasn’t about to back down from any sort of challenge. And he was sure Domitius needed another beat down. Probably took him by surprise a mage was able to go toe-to-toe with him.

Domitius came from an altus family and had been taught about magic from a young age. The fact he was not a mage, though, probably rubbed him the wrong way. And his military service made up for that, until he apparently got caught in a darkspawn raid. And so, he’d gone to Weisshaupt to join the Order. Only a few years younger than Ogden, he was already making a name for himself due to his ferocity and skill.

And for some reason, Domitius decided his favorite pass time was targeting Ogden on the training grounds and in the tavern. He liked to push him, see what would irk him more. Ogden tried to ignore him and rebuff him as much he could, but Domitius was persistent. This time, he had gone too far, trying to lecture Ogden about the differences between Northern Circles and Southern Circles, as well as the specifics of blood magic versus more traditional magic. Ogden wasn’t normally one against a friendly debate, but this was patronizing and demeaning to him. And so…

He’d punched him. The pair had ended up having a brawl in the middle of Weisshaupt’s tavern, needing the senior wardens to drag them off of each other once they felt like the pair were done. And since Ogden had thrown the first hit, he was the one put in the cooler.

So. Yeah. The note was a surprise.

The bonus surprise was where Domitius told him to meet him. It was in the Officers’ wing, within one of the quarters that currently was not in use. Ogden wondered what strings he pulled to be able to get the keys for it to use. He was probably rubbing elbows with the other well-born Wardens. That didn’t surprise Ogden; that seemed to be a rampant issue among Northern Wardens. Wardens were meant to leave behind their titles and status when they joined, but Ogden had noticed not many northern wardens truly did. This thought settled in him with mild annoyance as he stood outside the door. Raising a hand, he knocked on it.

“Domitius,” he said, wanting to make sure this was the right place.

“Thorne? Come in. Make sure to lock it behind you.” The Tevinter accent clear in the voice, a bit warmer and more inviting than Ogden had expected. Ogden pushed open the door, closing it behind him and glancing about the room. The only light was coming from the fireplace at one end of the room, some candles on a table, and the candles on the table beside the bed. He examined every corner out of habit, making sure nothing was lurking in the dark.

Standing by the fireplace was Domitius. He had a glass of red wine in his hand, the color matching that of the open shirt he wore, tucked into dark trousers. His usually swept back dark hair was down and gray eyes held a certain…Light to them that made Ogden start to put some pieces together. Ogden noted how smoothly he moved to the table, seeing the wine bottle and glass sitting there, waiting. He watched how Domitius’s hand moved on the neck of the bottle, taking in a breath and ignoring the suggestion within the motion.

“Wine?” The offer drew Ogden from the thoughts he was trying to push aside. He moved towards the table, eyeing Domitius with a slight glimmer of suspicion. All he met in the hooded gray eyes was amusement and…heat. This hadn’t been what he had expected. He was sure Domitius was going to challenge him in some way—

Perhaps he was. And Ogden wasn’t the type to back down from a challenge.

He placed his hand on the bottle’s neck, atop Domitius’s own as he stood in front of the shorter man. He repeated the motion Domitius had done, gripping his hand and directed it on the bottle. Excitement came to Domitius’s eyes at that as he stared up at Ogden, not backing down from his gaze.

“Pour it,” Ogden ordered, letting his hand drop to his side. He sat down in one of the chairs, elbow resting on the table and knees apart. Domitius smirked at the sight, but set his own glass down, picking up the empty one to pour Ogden his drink. Ogden watched him from beneath his heavy brow, part of him pleased at getting the arrogant ass to follow his order. Domitius did as he was told, standing intimately close to Ogden while doing so, the outside of his knee brushing against the inside of Ogden’s.

“It’s wine from Antiva,” Domitius told him. “I like to get this specific kind.” He lowered himself between Ogden’s legs, offering the glass to him. Ogden took the glass, swirling it but watching Domitius over the rim. He couldn’t deny the position he was in was…Appealing. Ogden shifted a bit in his seat and that garnered a smirk from Domitius. He rested a hand on Ogden’s thigh, slowly trailing it up at a painfully slow pace.

“This isn’t from Siona,” Ogden said, noting the smell. “It’s from a vineyard outside of Treviso. A bit of a rougher wine due to being closer to the Dry Lands.”

Domitius’s eyes widened a bit in surprise at the knowledge he had on the matter. “Yes. My taste tends to be a bit…Rougher.”

Ogden raised the glass to his lips, taking a sip of it. While still a similar taste to other reds, there was something in it that had more of a bite to it. He contemplated the wine for a moment, eyeing Domitius still before him. He had started to rub patterns into Ogden’s thigh with his thumb, waiting for his next move. Ogden did his best to ignore the sensations the motion was starting to send through him.

“A bit rougher, huh?” Ogden let his free hand trail along Domitius’s jaw line, tilting his face a bit more to get a good look at him. His hand moved to tangle in those dark locks before gripping and pulling Domitius’s head back, then bringing his head up to level with his own. A pleased sound pushed back Domitius’s lips and Ogden couldn’t help but smirk. “Like this?”

“Ita vero,” Domitius breathed out, both hands resting on Ogden’s thighs now, gripping in anticipation. Ogden set the wine glass down, his now free hand moving to Domitius’s hip to pull him closer. He was in control and the Vint was at his mercy now. His hand moved around the curve of his hip bone to settle low on his ass, fingers teasing near to his still clothed entrance. Ogden gave a tight, rough squeeze, enjoying seeing how Domitius reacted to his touches. Domitius arched his back slightly, pushing more into Ogden’s hand.

“How long have you been wanting this?” Ogden asked, amusement on his face as he tilted his head to the side. There was a swell of pride on Domitius’s features, a stubbornness growing. Ogden drew his hand back, letting it land with a sharp hit on his ass, gripping his cheek tighter and fingers now hovering above his clothed entrance, paired with a sharp tug in his hair. It earned a moan from Domitius. “How long have you been wanting this from me?”

“Since I saw you,” Domitius confessed, his hands moving up Ogden’s body from his thighs to rest on his chest, dark grey eyes heavy with want as he looked at Ogden.

The next moment was a flurry of movements. A crashing of lips against each other, arms entangling around the other’s heated body. In a swift motion, Ogden cleared the glasses, wine, and candles off the table, sending them to the floor with a shattering sound. In a quick motion, his hands came onto Domitius’s hips, throwing him onto the table and pinning him there with his body. He could feel his hardness against his own as their hips pressed together. There was only a brief reprieve to breathe before Ogden’s lips came crashing down on Domitius’s again, the gasp from Domitius’s lips allowing his tongue entrance. He dominated his body, tongue teasing and pressing against the other’s. Domitius’s hands scrambled to hold onto something, his knees bending to dig his heels into the table, legs opening more. His back arched, desperately pressing against Ogden. Ogden roughly held Domitius’s hips in place, though, already planning what the night could entail.

Once he got him to behave, his hands moved up to the shirt he wore, roughly tearing it out and he heard the satin tear under his grip. Didn’t matter, he did like it rough as he said. He tossed the clothing aside, mouth moving down from Domitius’s bruised lips to bite hard on his shoulder. His hands toyed with his nipples, the chill of the castle already making them hard. Domitius gave shouts in Tevene which Ogden knew a bit of, but not all of them.

One hand moved down his body to toy with the hardening bulge in Domitius’s trousers. He pulled back to watch him be at his mercy, lost in the sensations. He rubbed it for a few moments, watching Domitius lost in the sensation before giving it a light smack. The hit sent a jolt to Domitius and he looked up at Ogden, eyes narrowing but heat on his cheeks.

“I want you on your knees,” Ogden told him, hand moving up to grip Domitius’s hair again, pulling his head back and receiving a hiss from the man. “I want you to show me how much you want my cock.”

“Maker, isn’t it already obvious?” Domitius argued, trying to regain some since of pride.

Ogden gave a bit of a scoff at that, standing up straight and taking his hands off Domitius. Domitius propped himself up on his elbows, just barely fitting on the table. Ogden undid his belt slowly and watched how Domitius’s eyes darkened with want. He let the belt drop with a thud on the wooden floor. He reached into his trousers, pulling out his length and giving it a stroke, in full view of the other man. Domitius’s eyes widened as he took in the size and girth of it and Ogden swore he almost could hear a quiet moan of want from him.

“Show me how much you want my cock.”

Domitius’s eyes moved from his penis up to his face, taking a few breaths to prepare himself. Ogden gave himself another long, slow stroke, raising his brows at Domitius in a challenge. Domitius sneered at the challenge but refused to back down from it. He slid off the table in front of Ogden, settling on his knees in front of him. He examined Ogden’s length before him, hands resting on his hips. Ogden’s hand moved from his cock to Domitius’s hair, tangling in it and pushing his face closer. Domitius took the cue, starting to worship his cock with his lips, letting them trail along his length before letting his tongue slip out to taste and tease. Ogden’s grip in his hair tightened, pressing him closer. Domitius’s tongue trailed up to his head, Ogden’s cock hardening even more as he did so.

Domitius tongued swirled around the tip of his cock before he took it into his mouth, testing himself. Ogden’s other hand joined his hand in tangling in his hair, enjoying the heat wrapping around his cock from his mouth. He pressed deeper into Domitius’s mouth, pleased this would at least shut him up for a bit. Domitius’s teeth raked against his skin, sending a thrill through his body. Once Domitius had comfortably fit all of him in him, Ogden paused for a moment, before pulling his hips back and keeping a firm grip on Domitius’s head. Once just the tip was in Domitius’s mouth, he slammed back in, hearing a surprised sound come from Domitius’s throat. He could see his eyes watering as he looked up at him. And so, he did it again. And again. He paused, though, at the feeling of Domitius’s moan against him.

Taking his chance, Domitius pressed his tongue against the underside of his cock, sucking on it. Ogden allowed him to start to move his head on his own, but kept his hands in his hair. Domitius moved with practiced ease along his length, using tongue and lips to please him. When his tongue ran along his tip, though, Ogden took control back, taking a fast, heated pace in his mouth. Domitius gripped at his hips, trying his best to relax and take the onslaught of his cock.

Ogden could feel it bundling in his lower gut. He pulled out, pushing Domitius back onto his ass and hands. He gave himself a few more pumps before hitting his climax. His cum landed on Domitius chest and Domitius couldn’t help but scowl.

“And here I wanted to taste you,” he said, running a finger on the mess on him before bringing it to his lips.

“What? That wasn’t enough?” Ogden mocked.

Domitius sucked on his finger, staring up at Ogden. “Hardly.”

Ogden’s eyes trailed down his form, noting the size of the bulge in his trousers now. He put his foot on top of it, lightly pressing down. Domitius’s eyes widened and swollen lips parted at the sensation. Ogden pressed down a little harder, rubbing the sole of his boot against the length of it. Domitius sucked in a painful hiss, but the way his hips bucked slightly told Ogden everything he needed to know. Having Domitius at his mercy was already sending blood rushing down again.

One good thing about being a warden was the stamina.

“Get up.” It was an order as Ogden removed his foot. In a quick motion, he discarded his own top and Domitius drunk the sight in. “I said get up.” Domitius registered the order and scrambled to his feet. Ogden grabbed his chin, bringing him closer to him. He grabbed his hand, bringing it to his flaccid dick. In a mirroring motion to what had happened with the wine bottle, Ogden began directing him to stroke him. Domitius gladly obliged and Ogden claimed his lips in a searing kiss, a mix of tongue and teeth with lips. Ogden could feel his desire growing with each stroke, his mind swimming with what he was planning to do.

In a quick motion, he sent Domitius tumbling to the bed in the chambers. Domitius landed on his stomach, pushing himself up as Ogden stalked closer. Ogden leaned over, reaching around Domitius’s frame to undo his belt, then quickly pulling his trousers and smalls down to reveal his bared ass. Ogden glanced over at the side table, not at all surprised to see the oil waiting. Of course Domitius had prepared. He rested his cock between his cheeks, thinking for a moment and slightly moving his hips.

“You’re an awful tease, you know,” Domitius snapped, pressing his ass against his cock. The words drew Ogden from his thoughts, and he leaned down, pressing his chest to Domitius’s back. His hand wrapped around his body, gripping at his cock tightly. The feeling released a strangled moan from Domitius. Ogden pulled roughly on it, letting his thumb press hard on his tip.

“Fuck you, would you fucking fuck me already?!” Domitius snapped.

“You’ve got no patience, have you?” Ogden murmured against his ear, clearly amused at how tightly wound the Tevinter apparently was for him. “That’s what you get for wanting for so long.” He nipped at his shoulder blade, pulling back. He let go of his cock, a disappointed sound coming from Domitius.

Ogden grabbed the bottle of oil, tossing it on the bed beside Domitius. Domitius stared at it, trying to figure out what he meant by it. He rolled over onto his back, looking at Ogden. Ogden couldn’t deny Domitius was an attractive man. He had years of serving in Tevinter’s military, his body honed to show that. And the way the light played off of his medium olive skin made the shadows of his muscles more pronounced. His eyes trailed down to his now freed cock, noting it was of a decent size but not really comparable to his own.

“Finger yourself. You want me; prepare yourself for me.” Ogden wasn’t going to do the work. Not when this is something Domitius had apparently wanted for months. Ogden saw how his breath changed, seeming to catch with want. Domitius grabbed the bottle, oiling his fingers. He kicked off his boots and remaining clothes, revealing his entirely bare form for Ogden. He kept his eyes locked with Ogden’s as he bent his knees up and spread himself so he could have a full view. He started with a single finger in his hole, pressing in and starting a slow pace. Ogden watched, keeping his breathing even and not reacting to how his own cock was reacting to the view before him.

“Put another finger in.” Domitius obliged the order, two fingers widening his hole to prepare for Ogden. Ogden moved beside him, grabbing the bottle and oiling his own hand. He started to slowly pump his own cock, leaning down to press a trail of heated kisses along Domitius’s neck. “Now a third,” he whispered against his ear. Domitius listened, a low moan coming from it at the feeling. Ogden gripped his wrist, making him go faster. With ease, he moved his hand so one of his fingers would enter Domitius as well, getting a surprised cry from him. “If you’re going to take me, you need to be properly prepared.”

“Would you just fucking do it already?!” Domitius’s tone was annoyed but heavy with want. At that, Ogden curled his finger inside of him, pressing against that spot. Domitius let out a chocked moan, back arching at the feeling.

“Be polite,” Ogden scolded, letting his finger lazily stroke against that spot.

“Please, please just fucking fuck me,” Domitius moaned.

Ogden chuckled, moving to stand up and removed his finger from his ass. He lowered his trousers a bit more, then set a hand on either backside of Domitius’s thighs. He pushed them up, knees close to Domitius’s chest now. Domitius looked up at him, preparing himself and his hands gripping his cheeks to open himself up more to Ogden. Ogden pressed the tip against his entrance, slowly easing in. Domitius’s head fell back, seeming to be relieved to be filled.

“Now, you said you like it rougher,” Ogden warned him as he sunk his entire length into him. He shifted himself, bracing a knee against the bed and making sure he had the right angle to send him over the edge. Domitius looked up at him with wide eyes, putting what he meant together. “So, you’re going to get it rougher.” Without further warning, Ogden pulled almost all the way out before roughly slamming into him. Domitius gave a sound which was mix of a groan and a strangled cry. That did not stop Ogden and he kept up the hard pace, seeking out a second high for himself. Domitius arched his back, aiding in Ogden’s cock in pressing against that spot to make him see stars. Ogden knew Domitius wouldn’t last; he hadn’t even gotten relief earlier with his already hard cock. He kept Domitius folded, chasing the feeling of warmth around his cock, feeling the build up coming again. He felt Domitius muscles seize around him as he came, his own cum staining his chest alongside Ogden’s from earlier. He continued, faster and faster, feeling his own pleasure bundling low in his stomach.

Finally, he pressed deep into Domitius, feeling the tension release, and a wave of pleasure wash over him. His hands let go of Domitius’s thighs and he braced himself on the bed as he took breaths over Domitius. Domitius took the opportunity, leaning forward to press a softer, but still heated kiss to his lips. Ogden returned the kiss, cupping the back of his head to deepen it. He broke the kiss, pulling back and pulling himself out of Domitius.

Domitius laid back, smirking up at Ogden in a satisfied manner. “You know, you wasted some very good wine.”

“I’ll make it up to you.”

Domitius pulled Ogden down to him again, a heated look in his gaze. “Oh, you will.” Ogden realized this was going to be a rather long night. Not that he was complaining.

#Asks: Ogden Thorne #Character: Ogden Thorne #HC: Ogden Thorne #Drabble: Ogden Thorne #// usfw #// nsft #anonymous #long post cw #cw long post

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libidomechanica · 1 year ago

Text

“Went that, spontaneously im fascinated”

A curtal sonnet sequence

And lur’d they were the wild flow and thy best! Joyous, and fed with lots of coral, pebbles milky white finger and said, alas! Beyond a selfish uncle’s wastes life. This turf, and adorn’d of his sheep, leaf and veiling. The Wise, and long captivity angled in a nursing home. What are whose voice in a river. Went that, spontaneously i’m fascinated. His sickness. The weary lady’s eye, or with unaccustomers.

Now wholly, and each simple sheepe to Vivian-place, in moons towards han we none, the ground, then the wood the sheer with me Peace, peaceful end—he robs thee so bright in everyone on his Years—you turn thro’ the alarm broken? A honey seem’d to the dark locks, whom I look’d upon the grave. When theyr sheep. Drove slept. Runs it not, the branches of my arms. As you ask proofe shield her moved the great light and de Vaux of Tryermaine. I the hills a fair!

Wilderness, to crossing spouts up in your mouth of my will tell me Papa. This fiery tears; odour, to sides done: and call my sweep in earth and the Ring of a Chain of my spirit hath set, and the grave. The people I had any such a mountains, and pays it then wrong, and from the Empire, never floor when the morrow, with a rose-garden rails, and a silken flash’d in her love deceives; amid the year’s prison’d flames?

I was awful for loved me home again. I bow fully to this made the dark, the silt and dreary sea now flows between. Felt so gay, and redder the stockes, great morning desolate my waking havoc with most alone. Sixteen shore: but still in that necessary. The age had despised the Stranger, you again, a quarter-sessions for a minute, but for the sees that blighted elms, and the scientified by the palaces!

Winged those are wrong You must as a choice between us to a clue wi’ a hushion; her blue the lady sank, belike halfway summiting wood. Heavy sight turning din past which on warm of his own goddess!—A shine and grief itself, the circle weak the grey-haired and she seeks, that’s the person I love for, live in weeks drop by, and music so sweete Violets thereon she planet, that white that you wander’d strife we squat outside it all.

Willie Wastle gait, making the undress, I scarce extinguish’d his voice a while the World when the will be mine is was persistent as a swoons to this others will make your cradle, you go, and as I pull of wind: she be fair assembly wealth, and dim. When I clung to live in the sunset; O, a shouthern seas I’ll made it an old man’s face rose palm. Welcoming from that will teach strange charm: appears, as each we banter, when you cry.

Our poor lips, which night. That als we mought so happens in empurple twilight of Stephen we went; his pure spirit street its good Algrin, his Bounty, and he spun the pin’d away by the long. The lady, surpassing, a sort of gall, is fancy light my father clipp’d a child wind, thou break it—What, nor this upland hanging something have strew the meant to perish’d? You know, still our vows, and praised, he in this with our rhyme: what way, lest aught?

And thereby is a thousand darting from rage and smiles away by Wordsworth! Beacons from my foe camera flash’d his to plenishing of the upbreathe away; whether at the way to touched, close o’er ear. The Lady of aged thorn; in every well the pink, two white. Bold Sir Leoline, a moment that stooped, and the tomb. A melancholy music so sweet Christabel awoke, ’twas a time, and dolefull want our soul had we both joy!

As breeze: then bedde, or booze. I pray persuade me stood, and folded her forehead call lamb chop yet thy spirit with the grassy harvest register with arms of light laid pausefully down the deepest given; his voice he replied, with the purse of rose shrunk in Absál—her Years not dead; while thus ended, and sighs. Oh turn in either secret knowledge, between you your Bosom she might from them lying over Locks divide what to do.

Quicker element; for let me but endure what hails premier or sea shoreward. Here is, the old, in the mouth of agony of song apollo singe of gone by one moment fancy’s springing the gravest memory kept you from woe to wise casting up sudden breakfast, sat by this tangled in kind discover who could stay—at world’s slow fire upon it? At first weale; breaks the Universe of Better Venus charm, to drain’d.

Comes throbb’d no long! When I a head she was ripened, a charm of woe? Another unnested well-built to rest, the foamy waves a forehead—and emptied on Sally Brow, and barren was rising and set thou in the skirts, its haunt belovèd child was my breast to you do and I saw the trophies of sweetly that the Knight time show why I am borne King sun, thoughts woulds’t, when his merry peal comes upon the many-tower, tu—whoo!

Murmur of all human wit to the Musky Locksley Hall! Of both, Go thoughts my mind from Darkness! Drinking delicious Augury should a fretful of loue. Since my lovers tempests mad, yet look, then no tears you’re love and pain. When at they are the elm-tree fall dream, from the roam’d, with costly I pray you hold his eyes were not speak with their dancing tride, and we shall not hatch her reason be the boat danced vast; and garland angry with clay.

Conceiving with capsules in my bridal Retinue arraigned, if thou away, I am no loyal Life divided from with a Kidde, nor far, ere I chase when then he saw that down, and mouldered a large, who, hard the keeps his world convergences at our desk for down to Camels troop of Oxford up your home, and many a mockers and feed thee! Loom she left the chords will be done burnish’d hooves his flutter’d along; and pine.

Eros harrows my home. That is Algrin, his dreading Splendour survived ever dry; i’ve meaning the who comprehend aright. Thy fingers, weep like a tempest, a land like a ridiculous Earth’s shadow of not pine for the dark valley. Till aver the spite of the too surely in mine; for she told you every shepheard swayne: sike syrly she hover, the deer from paining—they had falls he rising dance for the grand poisoner!

For thee blushing written piled beam. An atmosphere the priest, lead’st thou read love thee, dear. But still so fast asleep, to take him out to proue, but the East, and sweetner art; pleas’d to the Earth and layers that must glory also, and pestle. The horizon’s breasted anchors, helmet-feather to the tried to sailor whom should pleasant word, when still my journey. In the morn; no leaves, and weep! For thee the edge of not thy blood so low their shoes.

The bride in me there, Stella spider in Thee vain are the type of gravity. ’Ve been array’d in Intelligences, of white stick in her say, if the matter; that once, fire again young Endymion with the World of shut eyes, with pansies overwrought is pale, heard clymbers joined cell, of Heaven and singing lover’s fingers, when your inconstant; for the deer from which this throned was beguiled, I know me, the same, as bees gorge.

In white feet emerg’d an unlaments to wandering I sought, in disentanglée. Into piece of pale Ocean bound, so to Camels troop of Oxford hunters her nose and set those for me tossing and crooked knife they have been dreamy urn; farewell, but lov’d friend, thou art a relief. Do whatever’s lost, in amaze of doubt a mind, Goethe’s sacred blood and stranger, you love, I am a shove, and Spirit’s knife, driven, thought: Piffle!

Till the beads I kissed her like any hour; the breeze before me with his face. Shouted the Indian day he is good vse doth stand! Faint when, stupefied, I likewise, wise- valiant, framework scarce had long from the bird and she had done goes all through their darkness? The law in your happiness, which, snatch thee time of doubting on my slain; thou hast the dust lies with such a love is of pursuit? Then, oh then, keen pyramid with a Dagger Thorn.

—If he uttering for the drowned hair are flee, and mock the types; Yes; and below. Yet for other in a glass of quiet slumbering circle, what yokes wi’ a hushion; her web she spell, or that a stone?—Thy worth Farm, past which is lord it, as the ages one the yard, then the books. For who calls at the foamy waves roars, and faded violet even our own. And forth her elbows, smiling tears thereby like to be wroth with all minion.

All stretched through toil thou no evil has been friendly fray, where nis sike a common-sense! So longer blood: it will colors coincide in me wrong, and The Shah;—Salámán’s Eyes a Soothing I feel with his friend, those bondslave told me free comes back this Paphian army in battle; and when splendour, not Corydon no one summer. Carved with the car wind whose silver lyre unstead of those expensive, he lookest in think I shall at last.

To be, simply using you sometimes upon the trader, never spoke, and learnd I love tears with clay, do not; I would lie outside, eating popcorn the heart’s beauty’s pride o’er his eyes overwrought for Perigot, what a learne to her father’s voice; the mowers, round more there divided at the woodbine leaves. Shade answer for my head as he liftedst up from the wurst, but the Eyes in slow pomp; the people ignoring cheek and quiver.

And calumny and inlaid with so dear Midst of it. And Breathes my payned, to the carver’s lips—a fields, he must have I used fifty-nine together thinke Nature we are’ who made out of the tale had fall, the indent sueing tongue in sadness in a nice touch him not all they guess, twas born before than mine; for the web was wont to feede the Prime Spirit he fell in age’s mask went that I cannot live: tell me Papa. Collects here!

Should bring to live it—lower and far beyond my silken robe, and pleasure and shelter of yore. The dreamed: our foreheads private life. And in the soldier too and found. Ye need tow’rd her—but in plaint in thy power like salt Medway his she was like prison gates, admire; warm-light’s in the last cloud which one leg a hand for there compeers, and garland with a stress turn’d, but those accents are safe! And lying, he in the shoes worn down for me.

Thou, might flashed from my Hand, nor be tangled towards han we none, to view the Poet and speech to produce a green enough their passion, the opening each me too the outer weaving took her hair and purpose rudely flew the abysm-birth of a giraffe strength to me, what, if Love flee. Thou wast my horse, perversely our bones the first has an infant’s grave. In your face more. And Geraldine. Lady of Shalott. That looks so oft bynempt.

My foe: I told myself, I could not loveling, serpent’s mouth. Go tell between severed and I don’t know in gloom, she fleet as we speed and love will rock the wreck his shack with seely ships, and mouldering the more with the riches rancke, who all gilded masks? A cloud hath a tooth, to this kicks out. It will ring it above a thrush, repel, silence, and a light provoked, take away.—That wait at region cloud is glimpsed the ruled— some pieces.

When theyr name. Caught what little step beyond! Belovëd, thou less o’ a bright lady, Christabel storm of the cloud, with lewde lorrell, or front: yet to some images I love show how to bind that evil hour warmed we both perish that with the future dark ivy-tresses dance in all that still by your breast, with folded arrow through Halegarth Wood, and whose benevolence she floor with long, or in me. Bone at ane an’ twenty, Tam!

So deeply dawn coming tea and he fell icy numb upon the white flower till the first doth he fynd, there’s none other state, in water-side, praising fire, transformed by the more I feel his king hair glisten to me; taking thee! Spring the Fruit of a giant’s bier she was I clung about the charms of disappoint with another Themis his pilgrimage. Saying, he was mine no trembling with black wing, and they rose again.

To morn e’er return. Hedge, betwixt they part, and the riddles of the narrow of this globe we swains so fair. My goods to consort, when though my breast. There arose in ponderous flesh, all in—all inrail’d these brambles, viewed, a vision is the maiden cheeks as it hath three; and there buried. Dost the midnight as they choke the shopping so high: only I prize. She wept, and stole alone did not the Maiden’s sun stains it into yon farther.

To a lake white hair in lowly twins emerged. And nightingale into a new neighborhood, having sent out to th’ ears do fade awake, yet nearer wayes I withering flower, was full of moss is it blind in charred at the eagle home of the thirst; now pray you write above on from your dwarf. Parted—ne’er so bright, vpon my eyes as she sate, which is the figures seen me go, let me pluck it freendes and there are they my pains!

Such played the comfort scorn o’ your wild and all that thy worth, a light clasp’d hill-side, and while, with cheere, yet, Thyrsis the no less practice. And still; thence: but find cupid a-shooting on the teaspoon to Paris watching in darkness clay and thou look askance an atmospheres of death felt their fellow- leaved were in a room fair. How we see a little heard in me hastes, and prettie death-bed shew his flown, many flowers that speech: Ah!

And a newe mischance, but of the golden skies about, alack! Since erst, and Adoration, the clear and passing petals of sweet, the Cumner cowslips grew—Away! The maid had swerve from one joy, even now, to take two side: tis beyond such fond fann’d and winged Chieftain! She left sudden ring of dull a cheeks delay, tis the hot cornfield to dispel a thousand years which doth devout and she sees that payne, to shining din past thou, cried.

World I lean, and flowers brightly from the Reason; Lust thews immortal destiny! Strength to wants the enemy Fraunce; her lie long distance all misgone, hey ho the Empire, never has sufficient weightless breast, and unawakens the morrow, if to look down to each matin bell give the Vision of the diamonds. Would lie down. For the many reptiles spawn; and known power to each in your heart? When the Banquet of my soul!

No more; with anemonies in my soul stand incesses did fall the remedy? A heart and for westerne Apollo sing, but I forgot. Organ in Beijing but what a loath’d her pale yellow months in thine at me with expected all years alone every steel, most him so hugely stood tributes to and fame fastened dead, and winter warm pulses, and know thyself nor thunder- tents the next day the burying rookery home.

I would run right as rain. On her madly; and scuds alone time dimm’d or shar’d its marched our hollows greeted him, it is for I brought him vp with his tottering for a moment I remember than a tooth kissing? And warm you-smell, and Geraldine, which is love appears, like a swarms the earth o’ergrown with light, and terrors manifold divided meteor, trailer from Matter belt, forgetfulness deadly cryes which cannot tell.

While, half-listening beside remote Shalott. This fairy, Dust to you sleep together. In humanity. Herbs, garlic, cheese are scatter’d straight reason is bent, but for thy narrow sped or more; nor hopeless in thy grave. ’Er that shall me Papa. The soft Form that touch. All into the hill? He said, you— tell us what she was, as being these? But still the dying fit again the earth the dim forest is chill blast. Trust the “Behold!

Is charm of words to wander’d strange sight thus! Ah, what sees.—Then the mountains, breast, the village streames my pouch I hate what achievement from me, and now at the lady Geraldine again of Ten Intelligences, of which not seen, direct how to follow Echo of my hand, as if you waited tree—sir Leoline, that nimble leap to kill white Queen of mistletoe, and no child was the contention went: and aye, by new- born Circe!

Or the Animal crack like a Crescent spheres of yet; and wake. I deeme ech turning a dearnest as though to spangles, just a walk about, the weaveth steady stone greeting trial was sharp knuckles, said she reaper, reaping something just foundations with silver bugle-horn. Nor can her like it. The sun; thou may’st plain; she liefest boye, how doleful citadel, sham’d by Michelangelo, done that once, upon the words you once possessed.

If John Nebel arguing frame destroy’d. I dance, but have sunk, extinguishing in thine. Later I abide; the many noise about thy hand thus express Wi’ having it from Camelot. Pale with a hissing saw what are extinguish to vain thy gold sands took the car wind Most music so sweethearts before, loveliness. She things here. His loathes my stores, and used, the Tree! And shall mark you enter’d, saying plain it. In darkness!

And where with her long stand is cast down into my o’er-sweetest bed, full of a whale was asked: Spindles the serious riddles of her to me: then they feel them back if one side and passion worse than in her whispers, Tis the cold beneath over lie in tenderneath the shalbe the guy with the lover’s caress within she feasted are all be she weal and ached our head: she knew the Virgin and rue, and hear her dress. And in comes form.

’St a bride, a trooping soul of a large Hercules would under in it, O ’tis passions to accepted sacrifice touch him not! Let in vain; He answer meek surprise, the gently open’d soul page after page. When theyr sheep, and told my Heart. I’m thine eyes, now, if we lie on the best voice not from that sawe it, simply nor any bed to spring; but better than his, as earth; the mournful pleasant in vain; like a split broiler.

The Long in her vain the urn once hath no stair to see us passing, and the saddle- leathers were silent sphered grasp’d the starving so fast fa’ the air, the haggard scent of my life is gone; there lay twelve for he is fingers, and to testify the helmets, break the best, and all you are dights hers! Wisdom his brother, that the spoilers tempt shallowing of the savage that echoes render friend who did end, all Kent cathedral.

All night is clasps his silvery showers. And burning for what if evolution’s fundamental farce! Your sleeping from the great Mother’s bareness ever loves so well fish through Turner’s England, left sudden hand; gold of progress? Of telling soul cut moment of remember I don’t underground; he saw the Past, but some and various game: imaginations’ airy bourn of Mortal though suffocating them against me.

Cook Helen, why choose to be, so fairest boye, how doleful tale with soft across it— and that it has the Boston to the thine: see how languid fool, who is my mind of many more, where? The you see how crystal- smooth arms that echoes worn down the Night of all their end, thou shall at one hour; the azure sky, and all have put a rapture to stay. That would under head, the other dear maid and hates a cast-iron pot. See him her well!

My sheepe in good youth untimely mistake? In eyes from Him—by Him direction prove her kennel beneath my sorrow; from my head, some relief, the boss of sweet finger than I could I discoursing, a constancy light. You like Jewels polish-sharp, and lov’d is prior to him in awe, and leaves, hey ho Bonibell, five rusty teeth from Canaan: the night. Why was they met, and years of mine is solemn joy, thy sleepe. Softly, fluttering.

Where should I discourses; scaring light, in spite thee lonely your dog and speaking coarse affrayed, and thou alway. Then the morn in the clock was her arms devour head moving payne doth stand the mastiff old lay fast bound it round in which gave thee stop here, and hands clasp from me, Most music, music and steer and his lute: his and up his eye. Illicit emails, ton entangled thread again. She liv’d and thus by such doubt my sense and faint!

I say Drink Me I say is a hand-breed short howls, not say: in the tears, and like photography, their throne, they say, into a hemline. That move lies the lady’s maid. For the worketh answer as if to pleasures. She sweet pains rise, good as meeke mought our delight, where heard Haste, while his e’e, kens there not entirely; no, thy soule, thou now? Who has not Rosalend? A pear, or is it not so fair. He had offence cameras want to more?

A total opposition? Like the beachcomber in The Sage hide, so freshness, not easily as holy hylles to see unfollows like hath powerful fragment up, as me; for the cliffs. Battle-flags were some without a sight as fills with their leave mercy? And leave shut down to Camel rode, and both haves of men procure; and pleasaunt springs But could he give me so. Brow, and more brings that nods and de Vaux of Truth God of sight.

Swept strength to a shall iudged beams: rose from her blushing accent his fills within the Scales, and marriage. The moth of May; the forest on? In her white flowers, all the suffers according their fire, pulling door of element; for such a brave: and point to bear the dead and sagged like an out-of-tune worn viol, a gold-dusted of a turtles, until final gulphing white thy repose. That style could ever you see, on one little step?

To heare a dome of truth; and Geraldine. I touched in a schoolboys’ barring hair! Thus she shepheards that a pleasure made of rest: low lies the water unto me only midnight find and who pierc’d thy infinity, promised the walls I have wended; I have sooth’d her words bene stay’d his heart. And still it began before Shirúeh’s Feet drencht in microbes concrete too weak as she lay, what lie on the midway from the Reputed Son?

That sweet mass’d the husband is cast down the shall have such a cursing from Sir Leoline? Growing one and sky: this to the tomb for thy heart, and pretty at each in other prest my weary heart’s corpse, touched in the Bankrupt worst if her dreams so pleasures flow in part, I wait whole days’ white finger and forms to live not the first doth she wept, of sweetest lyrist of all thirst; forget the princes waiting oaks. The goodnight this task of my arms.

I know; but one side of Sighs, the visions and rumbled down into purgatory to live on pity angled the first he left pulses be back to a human eye: for what shine, or who should it move to loue on the youngest said: sunk, extinguish’d breath upon that thus so clear, eterne coste? He answer as if to stairs at three figures on the sheath they that moaned more they would you see, many steep’d in vain,—to blend and vain for her!

He came, ere from aery strange in zero gravity, who had come as still told often, often: after these brambles pale as the ocean-bed. And if I give what was extreme, the grim Avenger spoke not for thee all we have been writing whale was a woman, abler none hears there was left without the tiny earth, smiles, if dimples, to slackening mind, of her weaving, I will come to me only in the stains the molecules.

Our youth, beneath the trip and never be bared the Minstrel bard to his line, and like name again young woman, abler none; fair- haired and mire, scheming immortality. That white Queen of pearlins and mild, and when thoughts, like salt over all, and moved the youth and the carved steal about into the poor infant’s space to publics, revolutions, hissing snatched against fearless note, can scarce uplift it sinks dull dense a brave expansion.

Shall not dead of the most perfect straight he sun are twine. Tis said, My cousin, all the death-bed, In such a plack on the Topic over there’s none other’s name, I hate and creeps for ever pour’d the little man. My dream, from the Sire of dirt is past mud, the appease to my weary lady Geraldine, had joinèd hands and years and I close o’er the dancing comely Youth beauteous pass’d to make fire out in part; but whether in mine!

The swallows green, coffee in a madness in such this horse willowy hills beneath a cloud I forgot. Hear it from thy fair eyes fix’d on the young man of thy flockes to all the raingear wrought I hear her dear a head upon the ear confounds stranger yet she shoulder’d on the sounding from the book, those unheard cries with two white feet emerged. Because you could; for frosty air is fills and Tygres, the smoothly to wish that thy best!

A fleeting vision, this sourse, high over ear. And longing out the midsummer night. On the foeman’s knee, for Cupids fine exist in Prague sign their cradled as a cast- iron pot. How channels of youthful pleased my heart was misting triumph’d the through camps and with his poor struck a wounds with joy to his blessed them has long as yet t is early blank. Hence without pains! Of green enough so thou read they to whom near can hinder than I lie.

The pond, rappings past rest of her Bosom utter’d createst Gogmagogs, with a Dagger Thorn. That would that inhabits you seem’d to chisel hitting upon these love can crack open fire, are but the carven steps o’erflow; Whence could ever down-glancing and then as he, They ’ve takes glimpse at his graven they, hast the church unthinking for the locks at your worth nor frost and stormy east-wind rushing in her and fears, four forehead live!

The line, theyr wonted fingers, and aye, by new-mown. To make some lips for a criminal. Other, soon the villagers quickly array and mountains, and this foly one hour mind, their prey. She is forehead cats float my bondslave is my hart is ill assay, and havins and strove to be! Not on a row and she succeeding me from your disputes, distress, and sold giving breast more, hey ho the High Court of earthly doom, the heap of earth.

Its passage of the earth. That like incarnations meet, all blind voluptuous poisoned round him without a parchment of his your desk for heart’s death the chase eternally appareling all that we found it, and stab, a king. Whither, lord is weary, drear murmur, betwixt the old, in the knowledge, between sea and hanging it will strange diagonal, and I wither; sic a wife is glancing to hersel very strange journey.

—The stars, when the process of the trip and never will gentle child, making th’ unwilling in it. Cried: The darling, now in arraigned, To that err from Vesper of our life decay, and what sees to accepted sacrifice? But throw down ye knows, as if to know not here and leaves the World beside remote Shalott. Then blowe your lens the many of us, they ’d made that deale of Christabel!—All the ballad from the beauty?

I say is a desperate shot. Then bloom thou love, mostly I am old, to clean. So he died, those destroyed. Stay yet her like his winter’d alone upon the grass, stood by a black sacrament of it. Grappling Doues, guide. I’ll sit me dead. My child will not perfect it shall at dawn acropolis so perfect straightway passions that the woodmen heart? A magic sight. The line, and embracing, didst rehearse. Maybe not one. The Sage.

Fool, your bones, o’erwrought and once weight and some say, into swear, each leads the might? The will be done goes all are dark lair of the lightning, mellow woods were my life who make those tape separating my sails, the bearded barley and pride, sing the stars we speak for down to ever could ever panting wonder’d the hot cornfield and me the gray walls mould me from Canaan: they help the water- course, active scorn to saintly sway has been dreamed not.

But lov’d on Nature’s soft sheepbell tinkling, but all the sun from ever a passion ev’rywhere, pleasing from my though that sawe it, the melancholy; until it scared but in honest mind. Which he could, said to its kind of watermelon, but the blue the free home to the tree, why is your eyes upon the decks of iron—when let me feel of the sage mind as if not I? The regality of Neptune’s favorite aggies.

Such sorrow with one agreed. Centre, dart the Pez Dorado, the lamp the great relief, luxuriating pale oblivion, the swarms the way right peeps from ours, and with costly roots are wise a dryad. A power befall, they neede hem caren forewent, telling-place, a baby’s face, in the bed fallen on Marlborough the West. She must do the wonder. No longer sits, but wise and beauteous heap’d up its haunts, outlive it a sigh’d!

Just as these thou leddest Orpheus thrown? Wind, a shell fish most musical tennis mates; shaped to bliss death from his pulse, for the lagoon. And shelter of the cry?—And throstle’s lattered voices were still, and when the water, some civic mantles render no song ago was my cousin, shall been the chord of fallen May and then should a Father sadde. God of which seemed to drag it to me-to the though a screen on the sworn as all.

Had leave things. Breath I leapt something it is a hyll dyd beare with sound. The stake out the tenderneath thee? Can I think of its cold, which the wine. Perchance cancell’d woe, they sip from Camel rode, and targe; rudders that thou dare thyself might from place you see thy hand, which here I give no thorn, the flocks at the oak. The very weel aff, On golden snake Memory? It was as grain in the devil hour or hail, or a charm. Go and the sky. Wood.

Admire hounds, do I envy of our like figure outliving Water light and, pitch’d and real thing farewell, as down as love, a humid eye, unused to its to pleasured it felt, yet more immediate matter the priefe. Out the hen-dove shalt mix with hold communion tablets has grow very where Titanic strife we squat outside and with you, that closed our tree-topp’d with commence, this week I have hid my ripe for ever county!

He speak again! Let men the hill of child was the lovely colour’d on the snoopy man and married and friend then the prettie death, which I thought, confident sun hurried two bodies ruined clenched fists. Too rare, grow up from mortal who can blame, for I dipt into begin joy was taught and pale ghosts—their tomb the immortal! A kerchief sae douce and fallen on Marlborough the Future far away, and the horizon— where Adonais.

But shepherd’s tongue as birth of a burning on a decent pression to the slave is thine, not Corydon no one is still our voice was of old-lipp’d her? The pain … Do what avails the copse and heavens on his silent throw my woe, when I likewise, and the narrow house by thy fear the strong the people doth were dares KING of this cumbrous look upon this Balkís; the random scheme as well to see raises toward heavy raid on Hampstead.

The mother womb where we are not wrong; saying, Oh. Many charities, and purpose, easy thing. And in her say, the purple orchises, hath shall harmonized tune my spirit that kept you from death. And forth the riddle there? What is not perfected. I cannot live: tell her eyes did we went, unterrified, I read aught? Slides thee hence depart; but someone’s brown has when the go- cart. But this piously all lovers lay our string?

In the ants, with your string spouts up in my heart, lost it too smaller. Apollo, from the robs thee, yet soft as a Thought their Beauty breathing flower-nibblers, to know I find it his mute observed forth light, and Adoration wait whole her fading talk like fleas off like corpse, touched, close at him—Hysterical,— he breeze before her voice of the midnight into his books, you have? Having seaward, and smite the dead before her in the dust!

” Then if we lives give the love must have seene. Now let me from Káf to Káf, down he knew she undoing through the guitars it shall at once an angel, singing him aright, she nippit her own rolls! Truth, unsullied by daylight into golden prime, liuelier iris change they shot awrie! How like a Miss America Contest. These words of same, my heart heaven’s sun hath risen, o Geraldine, she were all forms that alone sinks behind.

Than a gravest citizen seen. The princessant by thee with men mischaunce be sent out I ran and old Eolus would lie down as love, and hideous he state comes not gone; when, Day over, and far beyond the beast wide home weigh’d, and with vases, tongue of hell! Let it shall flow envy of our heard the sighs, I cannot tell, or front it far from thee by putting up the artery of mist weale; break and far beyond the shadows!

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #147 texts #curtal sonnet sequence

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nemeseos-noctua · 4 years ago

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hello!¡ idk if you guys have wrote for angst but i’ll req one since the reqs are open,, can i req for xiao, zhongli and venti where their [mortal] s/o slowly dies on their arms. yk since they’re basically immortal and how they’d react to losing another loved one. ty!

𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: xiao, zhongli, venti (separate) x gn!reader

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: venti and zhongli story spoilers, not proofread

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: the way i teared UP while writing venti’s (also i love this request. i spent like 40 minutes writing it during a class but AGHH I LOVE THE FREEDOM I HAD WHILE WRITING IT)

a part of him hates himself for loving you

he knew. he knew you were but a mortal, a fleeting love and a fleeting life. and yet, he lowered his guard. he let himself love, he let himself feel joy and bask in your warmth that the lingering thought of ‘temporary’ left his veins

but holding you like this—in his arms, in his cold cold arms that already missed your missing warmth, his bloodied gloves and sunny irises:

he hates you. he hates you for loving him. he hates himself for loving you. he should’ve never subjected himself to this pain—

but he’ll never stop loving the memories of you

“Sorry, Xiao,” You smiled weakly, chest heaving with restrained coughs as the Yaksha winced, cradling you in his arms as the moon began to rise.

“Don’t speak. Conserve your energy,” The Adeptus disregarded your words, his heart pounding against his chest with a pain so unfamiliar, a pain of heartache he wish he never experienced.

Maybe, if he had rejected you that fateful night—he’d feel this pain still. He’d feel it, just, earlier.

Would it be worth it? To sacrifice your memories, your love— for an easier farewell. Maybe, if he had never fallen in love with you, maybe, if you had just stayed in your mortal life and never seeked him out—maybe it would be you who was crying on his behalf.

Gazing down at you, Xiao’s grip on the fabrics of your shirt tightened. You had changed since he first met you—wrinkles adorned your face, [e/c] eyes drooping and your bones were stiffer and more fragile than his ever was.

And yet, he loved you like the first time he met you—though he’d never admit it, appearance never really mattered to him anyways. Though he held a youthful visual, he knew that if his true age was put into a look... it’d be nothing more than skin and bones.

“I love you, Xiao.”

“Don’t.”

Don’t. Don’t make him love you even more, don’t make him miss you before you had even left.

Don’t. Don’t leave him—don’t leave him stranded again, destined to fight against demons and protect Liyue even after its archon’s passing.

Don’t, don’t make him cry uncharacteristic tears. Don’t make him long for a love that was gone.

xiao would put you to rest once the beat of your heart comes to a stop

he is painfully familiar with the traditions of a passing. he is familiar with the way he’d set someone down into the earth. he is familiar with the soil and the rain and the moon and the stars

he—adeptus xiao—was familiar with death. in fact, he dealed in it

this is most likely xiao’s first time watching someone die from old age

or—someone he loves

he is used to the realm of immortals, he is used to watching them be murdered or sabotaged. but never has he seen old age take someone

and he wished to never see it again.

xiao would close his heart from the world—if it wasn’t closed already, it’d be barricaded by twice the amount. thorns used to block the outside world would stab his own heart, and xiao would only know grief for a period of time

he’d find himself coming back to your final resting place, he’d find himself planting glaze lilies and flowers at your grave as he mourns a lost love

he—still hates you. he hates the love you gave him and the love you shared... but now it doesn’t hurt so much anymore

your death would only prompt him to become stronger. to become colder, to hate the world even more than he already does

zhongli would sometimes visit xiao, and even he is pained by your death. the world—it twisted and turned, it moved and wove tales with the strings of fate...

but never before has xiao wished he was mortal. if he were mortal, he could pass peacefully. if he were mortal, he could meet you again

mortals.

xiao hates mortals.

he hates them because being mortal was what took you away from him

the touch of death has numbed to zhongli

he has experienced it far too much, but watching you fade in his arms was probably the worst yet most bittersweet way to go

on one hand, zhongli is relieved. he is relieved that you passed peacefully, he is relieved that you left without any pain

yet on the other hand, he is heartbroken. he is broken to watch yet another loved one go, he is broken to have to arrange the casket that you will sleep eternally in

zhongli is grateful. he is grateful to ever meet you, he is grateful to have the honor of putting a ring on your finger and being able to lock your lips with his. he is grateful for so many things and yet he still wants more

he wishes to hold you until time itself fades, he wishes to experience the present with you instead of dwelling on the past that you so regrettably will become apart of

he, zhongli, consultant of wangsheng’s funeral parlor—wished for time. a time he so selfishly held as an immortal.

“The glaze lilies are beautiful today, are they not?” Zhongli hummed, sipping on some tea as he gazed fondly out of the window. His warm coat did nothing to prevent the cold of his side, the lack of your voice or the missing light from your eyes.

Everyday was the same. Everyday was him sitting—alone—in the funeral parlor, the pungent smell of death and cremations flooding his senses as all he could do was watch. Watch the world go by, watch his friends and loved ones die one by one as he was subjected to an eternal dance of loss.

Though, Zhongli knows that you will never truly die as long as you are in his heart. He remembers your smile, your laughs, your growing pains and complaints, your eventual wisdom and hearty laugh that you shared with him moments before your time.

He remembers so much, he loves so much, he loves you and who you were, he loves you and all of you.

“I must admit, I miss you terribly,” The consultant’s voice softened, his fingers setting the tea in his hands down as a lump formed in his throat.

“Yet I would never regret loving you.”

zhongli would stay painfully normal

he does not want your death to hinder him—he knows you would not want that. so he lives life, he carries on—but your memory never leaves

your stories and triumphs will be the topic for one of his best stories. and that otherworldly traveler... he hopes they carry on your legacy with each and every world they visit

and he hopes you... you and your beautiful smiles, you and your love and your kindness and your ambitions—

he hopes you are resting peacefully in the flowers he prepared for you

venti would strum you your favorite tunes as you pass

a bittersweet smile paints his face as your back rests against his chest, frail and weak coughs leaving your system as you heave for a single breath

do you remember? do you remember the way the two of you used to climb the tree at windrise? do you remember how you’d drag him from the late diluc’s tavern? do you remember how you’d stay up late at night listening to his songs and mindless chatter?

he remembers. he remembers watching you grow, he remembers standing beside you as you ran for your dreams. he remembered gliding with you aboard the strange island of time you insisted on exploring

“I love you, so so so so so much, [Y/N]...” Venti would muster, wiping his tears as you couldn’t even turn around to gaze at him. To gaze at his youthful form and unchanging appearance, to gaze into those azure eyes you had fallen for and his scheming tactics.

Burying his nose into the crook of your neck, Venti took one deep breath. He loved the way you smelled, how it seemed like you rolled in a field of sweet flowers (though he knew your stiff bones would never allow such a thing), how you used to play along with his schemes when you were younger.

Venti loves you, and all of you. He loved you when you were a young adult, he loved you when you were middle-aged, he loved you when you were an elder.

He love love love love loves you, so much so that it seemed to overpower the pain.

He knew your time was up, he knew his time with you was gone, but he persists on with your memory.

mondstadt has surely changed ever since your passing

venti finds himself waddling into angel’s share twice a day, even if he can’t afford it. he finds himself on the receiving end of pitied gazes and free drinks (for no reason, though everyone knows the reason). he finds the way klee is no longer a child and the way the honorary knight never visits mondstadt anymore quite jarring

he finds himself—lost. he has lost so many, watched so many go, held so many fallen friends in his hands that he can no longer count

though, he misses you. a lot, actually. when klee is busy being an adult and bombing abyss mages instead of fish, venti finds himself weaving tunes of your valor and honor at the statue of—himself

he finds himself longing for you, loving you as if you were still by his side. he sings and sings, strumming his lyre so much that he hopes you can hear them from the heavens

and after—after he has made his and your mark on the newer generation, venti, the windborne bard, falls into a slumber

he sleeps. he sleeps in celestia in hopes of dreaming a dream with you. he sleeps in hope of finding you in a neverland so beautiful

he hopes that one day when he descends once more amongst his people—he hopes you will be there. just like the first time he met you.

— constellations!

#genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin #genshin impact #genshin scenarios #genshin headcanons #genshin imagines #genshin impact scenarios #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact imagines #xiao x reader #zhongli x reader #venti x reader #constellarations

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spicysoftsweet · 4 years ago

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A Thorn In The Side - Gojo x Reader

Summary: Infatuation enduring from high school is more of a problem than you or he think (~3.4k words).

Warnings: fem pronouns, fem!reader, noncon, kidnapping, yandere, wlw mention, gojo is a pos

A/N: Part of @suedebunn‘s Hanahaki collab!

When the strongest jujutsu sorcerer to have ever lived wakes up in the early am with the sensation of thorns scratching his throat and fullness in his stomach, he’s baffled.

Even more so when he doubles over in bed to cough profusely to the point of near emesis, shocking for a man who rarely gets sick. He stares blankly at a pillow covered in droplets of flecks of red, and his eyes widen with trepidation, until he realizes those large drops strewn across his bed come from flowers rather than blood.

He must be dreaming, Gojo Satoru tells himself, but the satiny feel of the scarlet petals between his fingertips is very real.

Or perhaps a curse.

“So you expect me to diagnose you over the phone?”

Shoko pulled a drag of her cigarette as though for dramatic effect, blowing it out with a sigh, but continued to listen. She had to be up early anyway and ignoring Gojo would only make him more annoying in her experience.

“So what are your symptoms again?” she asked.

“Apparently my insides are trying to match my beautiful outsides~” he sang.

Shoko rolled her eyes, and as though he could see her, Gojo laughed loudly.

“In all seriousness, I’m turning into a garden. Coughing up flowers apparently.”

“Coughing up flowers, huh?” She leaned a little further against her balcony, her eyes setting on the early morning sunrise she could view from her high rise apartment. “Do you think it’s some type of curse?”

“It’s… different,” he replied, somewhat noncommittally. “I don’t think it’s cursed energy, actually.”

This was unexpected.

“What else do you feel?”

“Uneasy…”

It was Shoko’s turn to laugh. An interesting choice of words coming from him.

“Any ideas?” Gojo insisted.

“I mean, it could be some kind of undetectable curse. I’d know if I got to see you… How does your heart feel when you cough up the flowers?”

“It races.”

“Your mind?”

“Also races… lightheaded.”

“Any thoughts?”

“None.”

“As expected.” she teased, laughing again until she realized that for once, Gojo was silent on the other end of the phone. She scratched her head, then ran her fingers through her fingertips.

“Come in at 2pm today, okay? Don’t be late.”

---

“Well, you’re right,” Shoko stated, stepping back from the examination table, and crossing her arms as she set herself down on a stool to formulate her assessment.

Her friend, already graced with the palest of color palettes, did actually look ill, dark circles prominent enough to match hers marring his porcelain skin. He sat, legs spread apart, and leaning onto the weight of his hands besides him, raising an eyebrow quizzically..

“It’s not cursed energy, alright,” she said, with a sigh. She stretched out her hand.

“You brought the sample, right?”

Gojo, uncharacteristically a bit listless, tossed her the bag of vomited petals from this morning, covered in now dry saliva and other fluids. Not batting an eyelash, Shoko slipped on a pair of gloves and felt inside the bag, petals crumbling at her fingertips.

Definitely not cursed energy. She placed the bag on a disorganized counter behind her, making a mental note of scrutinizing it further under a microscope.

“Ideas?” Gojo asked after he’d decided that the time he’d given her to think was enough. It turned out the idea of being sick irritated him more than he expected.

The very idea of being vulnerable made him slightly nauseous.

Shoko let out a chuckle that sounded more nervous than she had intended.

“My only other thought is Hanahaki disease.”

“Hanahaki?” Gojo repeated.

“Yeah,” she stated. Crossing her legs, she relaxed into her stool further as she watched the young man carefully. “Who’s the unlucky one?”

“You mean?”

“Who’s the unfortunate soul you’re in love with?” She asked again, waiting for his response. The truth was that she was quite shocked at the idea of Gojo being afflicted with Hanahaki, that he of all people could have such a pure, destructive form of love given his track history.

She’d known him long enough to know that his body count was near ridiculous.

He tilted his head, then burst into laughter.

“Myself, duh.”

“Well, auto-Hanahaki isn’t a thing, but I suppose if it was, you’d be the one to be afflicted with it.”

She decided not to press further. “Whoever it is, I’d recommend you settle your feelings as soon as possible,” she added. “People don’t usually die from this but you look surprisingly like shit so I’d be careful.”

Gojo ran a hand through his hair, hopping off the table and pulling back on his shirt.

Settling his feelings may be more complicated than either of the two of them expected.

---

You were in the middle of your drive home when Shoko’s name finally flashed on your dashboard. Grinning, you picked up on the car speaker, mischief in your voice.

“It’s 7:03 and you promised me you’d call at 7 sharp, babe. What do you have to say for yourself?”

“You’re going to hold 3 minutes against me?” Her sultry voice filled your ears as you made the last turn between the grocery store and your apartment, and you hoped she’d be inside your home waiting for you so that you could actually hold something tangible against her.

“I did say I wasn’t going to tolerate you being late for anything anymore, didn’t I?” You teased.

“Bold declaration for someone who isn’t even home yet,” Shoko retorted.

In minutes, you were walking through the door, arms charged with bags full of groceries for dinner you’d planned to cook together. Shoko greeted you with a kiss on the forehead as you placed them on the counter.

“Did you miss me?”

You did, but you stuck out your tongue at her instead. Her hand intertwined with yours briefly before you separated to unpack items for dinner.

“I promise I’ll be less busy,” she offered as the two of you worked in tandem. Your stomach was already growling, so the sooner you had food on the table, the better.

“It’s no problem,” you replied, and you meant it only half-heartedly. It’s true she was less busy than a regular civilian doctor, but it seemed recently that her clinic was getting overrun with more and more curse victims. Things had been bad recently in the world, you figured.

You were happy to step back from the world of sorcery, but small reminders like these persisted.

“Did you still manage to fit Gojo in today?”

She had complained earlier today that Gojo always managed to make a bad day worse.

“Mmm,” is what she offered over the sound of chopping vegetables. You understood that she couldn’t say more, on top of the fact that any discussion of Gojo was already a sore subject. It didn’t have to be, and it shouldn’t have been, but this was what it was.

“Hope he’s okay,” you offered, as you turned on the stove.

“He’ll be fine,” she replied, her voice now quieter than usual.

---

The first and last time Gojo fell in love was in the spring of his third year, he suddenly recalled in the middle of a tryst, as an upsettingly subpar blowjob allowed his mind to wander. The young woman whose gags sounded almost theatrical when compared to the amount of pleasure he was actually receiving was starting to get on his nerves, but instead he took matters in his own hands, wrapping her long ponytail around his wrist before guiding the back of her head so she took him deeper.

If she was gonna choke, she should commit to it.

He’d fallen in love with you at first sight. It was a strange feeling for him to immediately be enamored with someone upon first glance instead, having always been the recipient of many an awe-filled or fawning look.

You were a transfer from the sister school, already a rare occurrence, and what was even rarer was the fact that you both had little affinity to jujutsu and little interest in getting better. One could wonder why you even showed up in the first place, much less why you’d moved from one school to the other.

You’d quit as expected just before graduation, but not before you caught his eye.

“You’re pretty shitty at this,” he’d remarked, attempting to win you over with humor when he’d been assigned to you for both orientation and possible tutoring. “Of course, you can always ask me for help,” he added, flashing pearly whites at you.

He was the opposite of successful in wooing you.

“I suppose since this comes easy to you, this is just funny, right?” You’d quipped.

Your words cut more than both you and he anticipated, but it didn’t exactly matter. You were not interested in him, the way he was interested in you.

But Shoko was different.

You became fast friends and upon your departure from the technical college, you’d remained in contact despite withdrawing from everyone else related to magic.

Even if Gojo tried many times to either bring you back to this world you’d left behind or be part of your new one, you’d rebuffed him every time. Harshly.

“I don’t know why you expect everyone to worship you,” was the last thing you’d said to him. “I’ve already made it clear that I don’t want to be part of this life,” you’d insisted. “Why would I change my mind just because you asked me to?”

You were right.

And yet you loved Shoko.

The young woman whose name he’d forgotten’s face was now pressed against his pubic bone and she now began to squirm, slapping and scratching at him like some kind of trapped animal as she struggled to breathe, reminding him that he’d daydreamed for too long.

“Sorry,” he offered, as he released his grip, leaving her to sputter and choke. Looking at her, knowing that she was not you suddenly made him want to choke himself, to bring forth that impromptu garden of unrequited feelings.

He patted her on the back gingerly, and once it looked like she’d restabilized, pulled her in for another kiss.

If only her lips tasted like yours.

---

Shoko’s hand glided against the curve of your hips, taking in the image of you sleeping softly on your side, facing her. She dipped down to kiss your nose; it was the only time the fact that she had such an issue with sleep benefited her, this ability to almost always wake up before you.

You looked incredibly peaceful while sleeping, and she had to admit this angelic view of you was even better than your features twisted in a pleasured mewl (not that it wasn’t a close battle).

There was a nagging concern in the pit of her stomach, however.

Gojo suffering from unrequited love could be a problem, if the object of his affections did happen to be you. But it had been years ago that he’d pursued you unsuccessfully, why present now?

Why present to her office of all people? Gojo could be inconsiderate, but not to this extent.

But what if he didn’t know that this was what he was feeling? Suppressed feelings taking root and morphing themselves into the tangible he couldn’t ignore?

She sat up, resting her back against the backboard, the lack of a cigarette between her lips being palliated with the gnaw of her thumbnail.

It couldn’t be. Not you.

Please, not you.

---

“Hey, how are you feeling?” Shoko checked in about a week later.

Gojo didn’t share that he’d spent the entire morning in a coughing fit of petals, now definitely streaked with blood, and the entire last night vomiting enough flowers into the toilet that it had overflowed.

He didn’t comment on the entire scarlet sage plants with large green leaves that threatened to sprout from every orifice, not just his throat, but his ears and nostrils, possibly from behind his eyes.

He didn’t know what was next, only that it was getting worse.

The constant fire in the pit of his stomach, the shivers, the chills, the incessant flash of you running through his mind, your name moaned in the darkness, his body drenched in sweat.

The fact that he knew it was because he loves you and cannot find an alternative for you.

The fact that he must have you, and only you.

“Has it gotten better or worse?” Shoko asked.

“I’m fine,” Gojo reassured her, masking the exhaustion in his voice, and she made the mistake of believing him.

---

You awoke in darkness with an icy cold searing into your skin.

It took you a moment to let your eyes adjust to the light and for your body to resume the motor control it had briefly relinquished in sleep before you could reorient yourself. You were laying on ground of some sort, maybe hardwood which implied that you were in some kind of building.

Your head throbbed viciously as you shifted slowly to a sitting position and you almost expected there to be blood as you ran your hands over the back of your head, checking for injury. But there was nothing, just the normal feel of your hair, and the steady thump of your temples in time with your pounding heart.

Looking around, your eyes soon fixed to the low light, not actual darkness to center on a figure in the center of the room.

You let out a gasp of surprise.

Gojo.

Not only had it been a while and he was the last person you expected to see, he looked stranger than he ever had.

He sat perched on a chair backwards, chin leaning on the top of the backrest. His head was tilted, and he watched you warily but fixedly through eyes that looked sunken into their orbits. Their clear blue was still sharp in the darkness.

His skin had taken on an almost ghostly cast to match his hair, and he was thinner than you remembered as though he had been slowly withering away since the last time you saw him. That was ages ago.

Your limbs froze in anticipation. You didn’t have to be a genius to recognize that whatever was happening or was about to happen was bad.

“Why did you bring me here?”

He stared at you blankly for a moment, unmoving. If he weren’t so extraordinarily fatigued, he would have sat up straighter in his chair and offered you a smile. You were still as pretty as the day he first laid eyes on you, after all. What a welcome sight.

“I guess I missed you,” he responded instead, quietly.

Your teeth gritted as you flared up in indignation.

“Excuse me?”

He cut you off with a loud, exasperated sigh, mustering the little bit of energy he had left to run a hand through his hair.

“Listen, I thought I’d forgotten myself, but it turns out that I’m being betrayed by my own body.”

As though to add effect, a coughing fit began just at the end of his sentence, and you watched as he spat flowers into the palm of his hand, lowering them for you to see.

“And it seems like you’re the cause of this.”

Your eyes widened as you took in the sight of bloody petals falling through his fingertips and hitting the ground.

He was completely out of his mind.

“I…,” you shakily got yourself up to your feet, not letting your gaze leave Gojo for a second. He didn’t get out of the chair, but he did shift so that he leaned back in the seat, a wicked smile on his face.

“You...?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” You spat. “Where the hell am I and how did I get here?”

He finally did get up, although it was done in a dramatic, strained movement. He really had lost weight, you noticed, picking up the flash of pale wrists before he shoved his hands in his pocket.

“I know it sounds crazy but apparently, according to your girlfriend, I’m suffering from lovesickness.”

He bared more of his teeth now, looking more like a grimace than a grin by this time. “I didn’t believe it either, but then I started seeing you in my mind every single waking moment.”

In the split second it took for you to blink, he had crossed the distance between you, so that he was now in your personal space, the palm of his hand inappropriately caressing your face, as tender as you’d expect from Shoko.

And you immediately jumped back and backhanded him as hard as you could.

The crack of your hand was loud and exaggerated, reverberating in the room. For a moment, you froze in shock, surprised the slap had actually landed, before shaking out your now burning hand and following up with a hiss.

“Don’t you fucking touch me.”

Gojo’s icy blue eyes glint, demonic in their delight.

“That’s the feisty bitch I remember.”

---

It was nearing 24 hours since you’d failed to reply to Shoko’s text and the normally collected woman was terribly anxious.

She’d stayed at work late, and still, not a single message from you.

The nagging feeling in the back of her mind returned.

What if it were you?

Gojo couldn’t be that insane, could he?

When she entered your home to find traces of red salvia scattered throughout your home, it only confirmed her fears.

---

“I don’t want to do this either. I mean it.”

It was hard to believe him when he seemed to savor every brush of the lips as he trailed kisses along your inner thighs, spread open with the force of his hands. Gojo had always been deceptively strong, even now, when it looked like he was wilting just as much as the flowers he coughed up.

Your wrists were bound to a fixed point at the head of a foreign bed, and your ankles to the bedposts anteriorly to prevent you from fighting. Not that you would have been able to fight back anyway, but the severe fatigue permeating his very bones made him less willing to risk anything.

When his lips made it to your center to circle your clit, you writhed in disgust, forcing back the sighs of pleasure that would inevitably ensure.

“Y-you can’t - ah - make me love you…”

Gojo paused the swishing of his tongue to give you a look that reeked enough of apathy that it was almost startling.

“I’m aware, but there’s no harm in trying.”

---

“Where the fuck is she?”

Satoru had the ostentatiousness within him to receive the phone call on speaker, so that you could hear Shoko beg to find out your whereabouts.

“She’s with me,” he replied, calmly to her, holding the phone in one hand and pumping fingers in and out of your slippery cunt with the other.

By this time, Gojo had gotten tired of your expletives which no longer retained the initial cute charm, so your screams for help were muffled by a gag over your own wet panties shoved into your mouth.

He’d been at this for hours.

There was a pause on the phone from Shoko’s end that sounded like something crashing to the ground, maybe a plate breaking.

Her tone changed immediately.

“P-please don’t hurt her.”

“I’m not.”

He glanced at you who glared back at him with reddened eyes and tear-stained cheeks. You looked even prettier when you were so totally helpless.

“I would never,” he added.

The pump of his fingers slowed but did not stop.

“This won’t fix you,” Shoko warned, almost in a low protective hiss, her own voice breaking. “This won’t fix anything, you bastard.”

He cut off the phone abruptly, and let out a sigh before shifting his attention back to you.

“Where were we?”

---

Maybe if I pretend, he’ll stop?

Or will he continue? Will I just affirm that he won?

His thrusts were relentless, as was the constant tugging at your hair, the teeth sinking into every inch of your skin, the moans and groans whispered into your ears or your bosom.

A violation in every sense of the word.

You were running out of tears.

The fact that it’s pointless, you and he both know it. Your true love knows it, that this is just an excuse to get back at you. For what? Rejection?

He would die anyway. You would never return his feelings, if there even truly were any.

He continued to rut into you, and flowers started to stain every inch of your bodies, covering them in a deep scarlet.

Red. Red. Red.

Blood. Rage. Power. Passion.

You probably didn’t need the restraints anymore. You had no fight left in you.

Just the satisfaction, however small, that regardless of what he did to you, he would still eventually succumb to nature and perish in a bed of putrid efflorescence.

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #collab fic #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen smut #gojo smut #shoko x reader #tw noncon #mae.writing

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kylebarf · 2 years ago

Text

@cartmanandbutters surprise kyle’s cock and balls

‘ You haven’t visited in a while . ’ ‘ I know .. ’ ‘ And I miss yew . ’ ‘ As greedy as ever . ’

“ Yew know, yew can just choose not to go back to that place . ” It was the usual arguement , out of spit of jealousy -- would those phrases splat around , even if said competition was long ago . It has been years , truly -- and it seemed like the haunting spirit’s selfishness would decrease with time, rather, to put preference over watching the lives of the redhead with the significant other -- an alternate time, another old fantasy might’ve the ghost called. “ I know, but he’ll keep bugging me in my dreams. You know how you are. ” In exchange - the brunett grumpted, stumping over his feet, yet holding onto that childish behaviour to never cease, “ The complete opposite! ” A chuckle escaped from the redhead for that, stepping toward the other, before leaning in , foreheads pressing against each other’s, “ And I’ll always love you, only you. ” Eric’s face softened, a frown hanging upon feathures, as his eyes darted to the side. persistent, the man cupped his cheek to draw his attention back, before sharing a loveable kiss. “Take care of the kids. ”

----

The scenerio said it all. It has been years. Dead thorns decorated the entire field, warning any from stepping in -- and those who feared ( oh , everyone feared ) would never approach , in terror from the thought of own’s torn flesh if ever curiously decided to land foot near the field.

And then there was Kyle. This Kyle. Scarred from head to toe, all hidden by a mere plain fabric, secrets to hold. And he would step in, never to hesitant, and those thorns - ( oh , how they loved him , their little , precious redhead ) would clutch onto his skin for dearest life , tearing flesh , devouring the splattered blood - before meeting their demise, as a knife struck to clear a path toward that one, special place.

The thorns were all gone, and only a grave remained. In their place, will grow roses of red, colored by the essence of their beloved, the redhead.

“ Even after death, you still hurt me. ” A complain to begin - so was typical of Kyle Broflovski, but even so - was it sarcastically said. It was where he buried him , in a place none would ever find, none would know -- that’s what Eric would’ve wanted, and yet, undeserving of that peace. And still, that one friend would yet insist. “ It’s been a while ... there are lot of things I got to tell. I bet the old you would roll his eyes and have no interest, but you grew to be a fine man, Cartman. I imagine you though .. sitting by my side with that mischievous grin all over your face, thinking you made me come back to you, even after being with my husband . ” He sat down , placing a little rose he picked before, along with a burger wrapped in a packing besides the unnamed stone . ( the dead cannot eat , but cartman will always find his way , from the deepest parts of hell -- he would laugh at that idea . )

“ It looks like you didn’t end up following the footsteps of your parents. Your children miss their dad very much... and they grew up being loved by him, and having him be there at their most important events of their lives. You gave them the lives you couldn’t have. ” His face softened , knowing if were he there by him , he would’ve told him to quiet down a long time ago -- those were thwe forbidden topics to ever speak of. Today, the present.. no longer any of that mattered. His heart aches once more, despite all those years, the good memories still flashed before those glassy emeralds.

“ Let’s watch the stars together one last time. ”

#cartmanandbutters #😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱

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twistedtranslations · 5 years ago

Text

Cater Diamond - Full of Lies

You can unlock this story by getting Cater’s SSR Scary dress

Big thanks to Rym and Apollo for proofreading!

Translation under the cut

Chapter 1

Main street

/Notification

Cater: Oh? A message on MagiCam? Who would've thought it was that girl! How nostalgic~ The picture those ghosts took at Ramshackle dorm made our college's Halloween event trend -> Jumping onto the bandwagon and posting a lot -> Huge success for Cay's follower-catching strat! So far it's been going well but… Mixed within the comments and DMs of my new followers are a lot of old aquaintances. Even some classmates from middle and elementary school are here.

Cater: "Hey! It's been a while! Oh, would you like to come to our college? Cay welcomes every single one of you! You can always come over to hang at NRC's Halloween event!"

Cater: And now some emoji full of feelings! (^○^)♪ (ゝω・)☆　d(’ｖ｀*)b

Cater: Everyone is really so casual and easygoing~ Well, it's easier on me, so I'm not complaining.

???: HEY!

Cater: Where did that loud and rowdy voice come from? I've got a bad feeling about this…

Front Gate

Sebek: Humans, don't crowd around the young master! Get out! Leave!

Boy A: Hey, what are you doing, sweptback bro! Don't interfere with our Draconia Challenge.

Boy B: We're putting our lives on the line to show our bravery by uploading a picture of us touching The Malleus!

Boy A: Huh, since when did Malleus disappear?! It's that sweptback bro's fault.

Boy B: Don't be so angry. After all the effort of having a sweptback, let's show the world a huge smile on that face!

Sebek: For humans of your social standing to use the name of the Lord of the esteemed Valley of Thorns in vain…Besides, my hair is swept back like this so I have an unobstructed view to find those like you who behave rudely towards my young master! You shall receive punishment for insulting the Draconia… no, for insulting the young master. My thunder shall shock you all to bits! HAAAAA...

Cater: Okay, stop! I'm part of the Halloween Committee. It's forbidden to fight. Why don't you try talking to this lad if something's up?

Sebek: Don't interrupt me, you frolicking human! I will shock you to bits as well!

Cater: Won't you create a scandal for the Draconia family if you were to harm an ordinary human with magic?

Sebek: W-Well… You're right. Besides, didn't you just say you were part of the Halloween committee? Both the young master and master Lilia are both performing the same duties… They ordered me to listen to the orders of the other committee members. Ok, I shall talk this out.

Cater: Even though you are crossing your arms and puffing your chest out, you are being apologetic right? Anyway, these are our college's precious guests. They have no intention to harm Malleus.

Sebek: These magic-less weaklings were making a spectacle bothering Young Master with a toy. I cannot forgive that!

Cater: Malleus is like super famous, and he's an admirable being, right? So just for this festival, it should be fine to interact with our guests as a little fanservice right?

Sebek: Stop messing around. The young master is a dreadful being who makes everyone kneel and bow down to him. AND THAT'S WHY I WILL NEVER LEAVE HIS SIDE AND PROTECT HIM ALL MY LIFE!

Cater: You're just obsessed!

Boy A: Hey, interfering our Draconia Challenge aside, what are you two squabbling about?

Sebek: Hm? You humans are still here? I told you to leave.

Boy B: Huh? You've got some nerve, talking rudely to us like that!

Cater: Come on guys. Why don't we take some pictures together since it's finally Halloween! We, Heartslabyul are those who rise from the soil in the darkness, the underlings of the night~

Boy A: Wow! Now that you mention it, you do look real good for the camera!

Cater: Cheer up everyone and gather! Let's decide on a pose~~~ Happy Halloween~

¨*shutter noise*

Cater: (Ugh… This is exhausting)

Chapter 2

Classroom

Kalim/Cater/Lilia: *Sigh*… I'm tired….

Cater: This year's Halloween was exhausting. Mainly due to our guests being rowdy..

Kalim: It was fun entertaining the guests, but I was really troubled because Jamil got in a foul mood.

Lilia: Even we, three most gentle boys, have been worn down. The other students must be at the limits of their patience.

Everyone: *Sigh*…

Cater: Now that you say it, by chance all the members of the light music club are also part of the Halloween Committee. Let's have our usual relaxing tea time while also discussing some countermeasures.

Kalim/Lilia: Agreed~

Cater: I got this! Trey's home-made pumpkin pie! It's moderately sweet, so it's my favorite!

Kalim: I have kunafa. It's a cheesecake from the Scalding Sands. It's delicious when it's hot!

Lilia: Oho, these are all sweets befitting of Halloween. As the last one, I have prepared this. Licorice!

Cater: You're always bringing the same thing! You know me and Kalim don't like that.

Kalim: The smell makes my nose shrivel up~

Cater: But you know, since it's black, it does feel like Halloween. Oh, right, let's take a picture together. It's super charming to be in costume and have themed food.

*shutter noise*

Cater: #TheBestHalloween #SelfmadeCostume #HomemadeTreat #LightMusicClub #NRCHalloween

Kalim: The best? Didn't you say you were exhausted earlier, Cater?

Cater: I never said it wasn't exciting and for things like SNS, isn't it better to exaggerate a bit?

Lilia: As expected of you. We live in a period where everyone is connected all around the world. It is most wonderful to spread happiness instead of complaints.

Cater: Oh. The picture I just uploaded got an amazing response!

*notification*

Cater: Another message from that girl. Was she the kind to keep track of people's activities?

*ringing noise*

Cater: This time it's a call. (How persistent…)

Kalim: Cater, is it from one of your friends? You can pick up if you want.

Cater: Hm~… More like an acquaintance from the past? But it's alright? We're at a very important meeting, after all.

Lilia: We are only eating sweets, taking pictures and uploading them to MagiCam though…

Cater: It's the age of social media where everyone can keep in contact at their own pace, you don't have to go through the pains of having to response in real time to a phone call.

Kalim: Do you have that many people who want to get in touch with you? You're so well connected Cater~

Cater: Well, if you look the amount of aquaintances I have, that might be true? My dad's a banker. The bank he works at has branches all over the world. Therefore, whenever he transferred to a different branch, our entire family would move with him. We moved once every two years, so I kind of feel like a pro at quickly packing things?

Lilia: Commonly said, you are a family who moved a lot for the sake of the breadwinner.

Kalim: So the reason why you have so many friends is because you have travelled around the world since young.

Cater: Yeah, the girl just now said we are friends as well. Having to change schools frequently, I got to meet more people compared to someone staying at one place. From the best to the worst… a lot of people. However, they all had something in common.

Kalim/Lilia: …?

Cater: If I left there, they remained there. That's why I'd rather have a casual and happy time with everyone than to deepen a friendship. It’s like a circus troupe, you know, having fun hanging with people all over the world and then leaving. That's why MagiCam is the best! People from my school from three years ago contacted me out of the blue. My social circle is expanding as well. Cay is getting popular!

Kalim: Even if they're far away, you don't have to hold back you know? I got it! I'll lend you my magic carpet, so you can visit your friends whenever you want.

Cater:… I expected no less of you, Kalim. I'll take you up on that offer next time.

Lilia: I feel like I understand you.

Cater: Hm?

Lilia: The relations between humans are eternal. They are things that cannot be severed. In a new place with no trace of your existence, new relations will continue to be forged. That in itself is nature. However, I think the more precious a relation is, the more lonely it becomes. Why does it feel that way? I have lived a long life but the reason is still unknown to me. But just as Cater said, there may be a perfectly logical explanation for not getting too attached to one person in particular.

Cater: Lilia, what got into you suddenly? What I wanted to say was-

*ringing noise*

Lilia: Hello, this is Lilia speaking? What business do you have?

Cater: He just casually picked up the phone during our conversation.

Lilia: Oh, Sebek. What is it? You are so loud. Right now, I am in a meeting with Cater and Kalim. WHAT?! MALLEUS?!

Kalim/Cater: ?!

Chapter 3

Hall of Mirrors

Silver: Stop pushing. It's forbidden to enter the Hall of Mirrors.

Man A: Huh, really! I came all the way to the Isle of Sages to see Malleus Draconia.

Man B: We are doing the Draconia challenge now! Why can't we enter~

Girl C: He’s inside right! An actual Draconia, the Actual Malleus!

Everyone: MALLEUS! MALLEUS! MALLEUS!

*Lightning and thunder*

Silver: It's a rare event that Master Malleus is participating in. He also agreed to interact with the guests... For it to come to this... Everyone, it’s better if you leave. You have angered master Malleus.

Man A: I paid a lot of travel expenses, did you know that? This is the price of fame.

Everyone: MALLEUS! MALLEUS! MALLEUS!

Exterior Hallway

Cater: Did the visitors who wanted that MagiCam glory end up angering even Malleus himself?

Sebek: Yes. At first he was gentle and calmed me down when I got angry… but a fool grabbed Malleus by the horns and made fun of him by saying "Look! It's a bicycle from the olden days!"

Lilia/Cater: Gh!

Cater: I don't know if they're brave or just reckless. Were the dark clouds and thunder rampaging in the sky above the Hall of Mirrors due to Malleus' anger? You don't think he overblotted, right…?!

Lilia: Do not worry. Using that amount of magic power shall not make him overblot. He is simply irritated. Back when he was young, mountains would be destroyed by his lightning whenever he threw a tantrum.

Cater: Hahaha… that's on a totally different level. I guess it was a good idea to have Kalim fetch the professors.

Sebek: Upperclassman Vil noticed something was up and isolated the young master. He also casted a defensive spell so the tourists wouldn't be harmed. And it seemed that Upperclassman Jade is persuading the angry young master with some unique methods... Even so, those humans who can't seem to understand the gravity of the situation keep stirring up the young master, they're uncontrollable.

Lilia: This means we must use our last resort. We must put in effort to suppress the onlookers and avoid the worst situation.

Cater: Wait a second, Lilia. I thought of something. It's not like people there dislike Malleus or anything. Despite that, it doesn't mean that they like Malleus as well... They're just interested in trends. Just like my old acquaintances.

Lilia: ?

Cater: First, I'll take a picture of Lilia, who's wearing the same clothes as Malleus!

*shutter noise*

Cater: Next we use something catered to influencers. We'll elongate Lilia's picture with a photo editing app!

*swiping on phone*

Cater: Now we just add some text to finish it up. And then upload a cropped version to MagiCam!!

*Phone SFX*

Cater: #AWildMalleusAppeared #DraconiaChallenge #UnexpectedlyAtSportsGround #NRCHalloween

*Phone SFX*

Hall of Mirrors

Man A: H-Hey. Look at the Draconia challenge tag.

Man B: It seems he's at the Sports Ground now. As expected of Malleus. He's much faster than we are!

Girl C: Okay. Everyone, let's move!

Everyone: YEAH!

Silver: What happened? Master Malleus should still be in the Hall of Mirrors.

Cater: Fu. With this, I hope the storm has passed…?

Vil: Good grief. Accidents are an unavoidable part of stage plays. Letting yourself get influenced by the guests is so amateurish. My work here is done. I will return to the dorm to straighten up my appearance.

Jade: My, that was a close call. Malleus is extremely powerful. I persuaded him to the best of my abilites, trying to get him to understand. But there was no one to turn to if it had failed. Well then, I will also return to my station. I wish everyone a wonderful Halloween.

Malleus: I caused many disturbances between different racial groups during a mere school event. I should restrain myself more…

Sebek: The young master has done nothing wrong! It was the fault of those inferior humans!

Silver: The young master told us to avoid hostility between fae and humans. Why are you getting more hostile?

Sebek: WHAT DID YOU SAY SILVER!

Lilia: Malleus. Did you forget our promise from long ago? Call for us when the tranquility in your mind is disturbed. Even if we are not related by blood, we are still a family. Got it?

Malleus: Lilia… My apologies. To everyone.

Everyone: …

Cater: ….Family…huh.

Flashback

Lilia: But just as Cater said, there may be a perfectly logical explanation for not getting too attached to one person in particular.

Flashback ends

Cater: (That was full of lies. For a guy who grew up and lived in the same place, he never had to deal with rebuilding relations over and over…He would never understand my worthless and meaningless feelings.)

*ringing*

Cater: Hello, Trey. What's up? Huh? Are we doing our rehearsal for our night show at the stamp rally now? And Deuce, who is also part of the Halloween Committee, was at his wit's end due to the lack of manpower. So Ace is helping him out? Darn, Ace is definitely going to extort me for a favor later!

Cater: Argh! And is Riddle on the verge of a rampage? I'll be back soon, Trey. Please calm him down! I am currently at the site of the biggest crisis yet of this Halloween Week! No, for real! I'm not lying. That's why you don't have to be so cold to me, 'kay? URGH, TREY, YOU'RE SO CRUEL!

Cater: Now that Diasomnia's turmoil has settled, let's change the mood and continue on with work. In any case, we’ll still separate after the fourth year… It would be different if I repeated a year though. Anyway, I should just enjoy the moment to my heart's content! I'll surprise everyone with this charming skeleton costume! I'll show them what I'm capable of!

Cater: Happy Halloween!

#twisted wonderland #cater diamond #Lilia Vanrouge #kalim al asim #sebek zigvolt #vil schoenheit #jade leech #silver #malleus draconia

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