#mold resistant paint

[sannyo-appreciation-posts]

Lego fans who are Touhou Fans. Are you seeing the potential in this set?

now, I'm certainly not saying the scales, specialized cloud pieces, and entire shape of Lego's New Year Auspicious Dragon Set would make a perfect exaggerated 4/3 size version of Sannyo's dragon pipe........

and I'm most certainly not saying those scales are a reasonably passable color for a stylized version of Sannyo's pipe.

I'm just heavily implying it.

There are some downsides:

If someone wants to use these perfectly shaped dedicated cloud pieces then you seem to be stuck with this color.

If you want to use these scale prints then you might need more these 90$ sets to do the belly and back. For that reason, it might just be better to avoid using the scale prints entirely.

However:

You can get them in large numbers in this near perfect lovely green from bricklink; but if you do, then you'll need to dedicate yourself to doing your full recolor of this set, and replacing every single piece. And ordering so many different things on Bricklink can potentially leave you wishing one specific piece was available. Not to mention all this complication is Defeating the whole exciting purpose of having this well shaped set with its molds and prints all nicely in one convenient package.

But, if you need some types of pieces and are willing to spend 170$ on the high quality Masters Of The Universe set by Mega Constructs. You can have a giant snakes worth of possible substitute parts in useful shapes and the right color

You'd even get to keep nearly the whole playset left over as is with it.

(Yes, Mega Constructs can generally fit with Legos perfectly well, and these days they can often even have higher quality at better prices)

But at this point we have moved insanely far away from the whole convenient idea of just using the perfectly shaped Lego New Year Dragon Set.

Anyway:

Regardless of the color you plan on doing this with you are going to need to remake the belly of the dragon and the back of the dragon to look more like a pipe and be the same color.

Then you simply need to extend the neck and tail, round it off with a gold end and maybe exaggerate the curves a bit.

Ultimately, if you were willing to accept the color as a stylistic choice, then you'd only need to redo the back and front of the dragon, remove the legs, position the clouds and extend it. You might need to order some pieces in a matching color for the belly and back but it could seemingly actually be pretty simple. Thus the whole point.

[jandlprecisioncllc]

Mold and mildew are common household nuisances that can wreak havoc on your health and property. In house cleaning in Hartford, Connecticut, where humidity levels can be high, combating mold and mildew is essential for maintaining a safe and healthy living environment.

[prettybabybaby]

¡ 18+ only ! ¡ minors do not interact !

content: stepcest (use of "brother" and "sister"), stepbrother!regulus, stepbrother!sirius, fem!reader, unprotected sex, breeding

a/n: found this in my drafts.... dk why i didn't post it

¡ marauders masterlist !

Regulus persists, rutting into you with desperation, cock starved of attention and stimulation. He has an iron grip on your hips, holding you in place when you try to thrash out of his grip at the sight of Sirius. His eyes are almost blank, darkened with lust, pupils blown almost comically as he chases his high, using your body to do so.

Sirius stares on, breathing in the scent of sex that fills your frilly bedroom. He crosses his arms, watching Regulus with an amused smirk. His eyes fall on you covering your face with embarrassment but your pathetic squeaks and moans continue, shamelessly loud and almost pornographic. Your cheeks burn red like Regulus’, blush high and painting the canvases of your pretty faces. 

Your parents hadn’t been out of the house in far too long. Regulus had begun to lose patience, but he had to hold off on playing with his sweet sister to avoid suspicion of his sinful urges he couldn’t help but act upon. And you let him so easily. Despite your protests and weak fighting, you melted into him, obeying his every command to spread your legs wide or open your mouth, flip onto your back, and prep your little holes for his cock to nestle itself into, abusing you until he was satisfied – or you were interrupted. 

This time, though, there was no stopping his eager humping into your fluttering pussy. Not even the presence of your brother standing by the door, entering with confident steps. He swung the door closed behind him as he approached the creaking bed, eyes raking your sweating bodies. Regulus adjusted his hold, pinning you to the bed even more painfully. You whined, trying to cover your body from the preying gazes of your brothers. 

“Couldn’t resist, Reggie?” Sirius spoke. “Y’playing with our sweet sister all alone?” Sirius’ ringed fingers danced across your exposed chest, meanly twisting a nipple before he pried your hands from your face. “Don’t play shy, slut. You’re letting your brother fuck you silly and you think you can be shy?” he tsks.

Regulus grunts as the dams of your eyes break, sending a river of tears down your rouge cheeks. He tries to thrust even harder, push himself even deeper into you, moving your hips up and down to meet his stuttering hips in his attempt to do so. You slide up and down the pillow where your head rests, hair tangling and back sliding against the soft bed sheets. 

Sirius’ fingers glide downwards, gathering a pinch of regulus’ curly pubic hair and pulling meanly. Regulus makes a sound at the pleasurable pain, digging his nails onto your hips before pinning you down, slamming into you, almost like he was trying to mold you and the soaked sheets into one. 

“Move,” Sirius says, “I wanna play, too.”

Regulus slows but doesn’t pull out, giving his brother a displeased look. Sirius looks back, raising a perfectly shaped brow as he touches up Regulus’ sweaty chest, circling his hardened pink nipples. Regulus’ hips stutter but he pulls out, mourning your warmth instantly. His cock is fully erect, angry, and red, wet with slick and come. He moves aside, grazing your wet thighs as he parts. 

Sirius takes his place, laughing meanly as he gathers the juices on his fingers. Your pussy’s throbbing, clit engorged and jumping in excitement. Pearly spunk drips in thick beads and you crave to push it back in, push your brother deep into your womb. “Look at you two,” Sirius laughs. “Fucking each other like virgins. Desperate dogs.” You and Regulus burn brighter in humiliation, a bubblegum pink covering every inch of skin on your face.

You can see the slight grinding of Regulus’ hips against the blankets holding up his cock. You almost whine in jealousy of the inanimate object. Your attention was brought back to Sirius when he slipped a come-coated finger into your sensitive little hole, swirling and curling it as he spoke. 

“You really let him come inside you?” Sirius chided, “that’s filthy. Are the poor puppies so desperate they fuck their own siblings?”

You sob and Regulus begins to thrust into the blanket. You reach for him, shaking your head pathetically, begging him not fuck anything but you. 

“You want his disgusting cum so badly?” Sirius laughs again, “you want him to fill you with his babies, huh?”

You close your eyes as you nod, “please, please.” you feel so empty, cold from the lack of your brother's hard ruts and warm spent painting your insides.

“You’ve had enough of Reggie, don’t you think?” Sirius begins to pull down the waistband of his pajamas, letting his own aching prick spring free. You stare at it, looking from the leaking head of Sirius’ cock to Regulus’. “Do you want my babies, too?”

[cntloup]

18+ MDNI G/N!Virgin!Reader corruption kink, possessiveness

As he lies on the white silk sheets, calloused fingers ghosting over your delicate skin, his hazel eyes glinting in the moonlight, gaze roaming across your sleeping form, beholding your tender beauty shining under the soft glow, his mind wanders. 

He can’t help but think that his ensanguined hands have corrupted your purity, his vile soul has tainted yours, he has desecrated you.

Guilt and shame engulf his heart, well... what’s left of it. It must be a sin to have taken your innocence away. 

When you asked him to take your virginity, his breath hitched in his throat. How could such a pure soul want such a monster?

He hesitates, tries to oppose the idea and warn you, keep you away from himself, but you don't budge, you want him, you need him.

His eyes follow the movements of your lovely lips and soft hands. And he wonders how they would feel like wrapped around him. But no, he shouldn't.

He tries to put an end to the thoughts with all his might. But he can't resist the urge any more. Thoughts of the filthy deeds he would do to you pervade his whole mind.

In that moment, something was awakened inside him, arising from deep within his wicked soul, a burning desire, a craving to corrupt your innocent soul, defile your untouched body.

And with that hunger, he was led into your chambers and within moments, his blood-soaked hands were painting your body crimson, his monstrous soul tainting your unsullied one, lustful eyes glaring into yours as he plunged into you vigorously, molding your pristine hole into the shape of his cock, his body enveloping yours as he ravenously ravaged your body, until only he was on your hazy mind, and you became entirely his, body and soul.

comments/reblogs are greatly appreciated ♥ 

[irisinluv]

Eric Minisode #1

Parts 1 & 2 from Eric’s perspective. I drafted this before my hiatus and while I still don’t know when I’ll write part 3…. Figured this deserves to leave the drafts.

She’s in my mother’s drawing room…. And I can’t say I’m upset. I watched her peek into a couple of rooms, curious to see my betrothed outside our usual hours. She seems…. Different than usual. More lively and curious. But then I suppose the only times we interact are at opposing ends of the grand hall, or at balls and social events where we must host and entertain. I know small details about her- like she loves to ride horses, spends her days in her personal drawing room working on embroidery and other ladylike things…. But they’re generic details I could guess at from any lady of the court.

It’s fascinating watching her when she’s in her own element… I can’t help but slip into the drawing room after her. She’s examining mother’s pottery with a small smile, seemingly lost in thought. I’m glad someone’s admitting mothers work- as a child, I’d often watch as she carefully worked the clay, teaching me how to mold it just right, and then watched in amazement as she would glaze it a few days later in intricate designs.

I watch my betrothed giggle to herself and I can’t resist revealing myself,

“What’s so amusing dearest?”

Oh…. Well this is fascinating. She always speaks with such careful measure, as if each word is thought out. She gets flustered on occasion, I have noticed that much, but she responds by stopping to collect herself before carrying on with the same careful grace.

This current version of my beloved is much more…. Open. I’m not sure she even notices how easily I can read her like a book- is this what she’s like when caught off guard? Perhaps I have misjudged my beautiful bride…. I can’t help the thrill the runs through me knowing I’ve surprised her, caused this shift. This thrill turns to shock as she asks to spend the day with me in the library. I see I’m not the only one who can catch the other off guard….

I can’t help but stare at her as she reads. This feels like a dream. I assumed we would have a polite yet distanced relationship, this is, after all, a marriage of convenience. But in the past several months I couldn’t help but admire her poise, the way she commands a room, and couldn’t help but latch onto the little details I’d been able to learn from her. Now, she’s here, in my library, curled up in my favorite chair, so enthralled by her reading that I can see who she truly is under her noble lady facade. And I suddenly find it rather hard to focus on my work. This feels so natural, so right, I wonder why we’ve limited ourselves to such formal meetings this far if what we both seem to crave is simply companionship? How have I not noticed how much she, too, wanted this?

With that thought… I invite her to luncheon and a stroll. I noticed her admiring a painting of a rose garden and I couldn’t get the picture of her under the rose pavilion out of my head… so that’s where I plan to take her. And that’s where we were heading until a rather unpleasant interruption arrived.

I recognized her, the ambassadors daughter. What was more important, however, was the sight of my intended, sprawled on the ground, skirts pooled around her, pushing herself up on her arms, face crinkled in slight pain, and throwing out a blind insult... yet another layer beneath that porcelain mask… my love is a spitfire. I lifted her to her feet, admiring the way it felt so natural to have her in my arms, before letting her go.

The offensive rodent who caused my dearest to go flying was simpering at me, and I couldn’t help the disgust that ran through me- she was completely ignoring the one she had offended, instead was directing her apologies towards me. I exchanged looks with the princess and she spoke before I had the chance.

What a tongue that woman has on her… I know it is my role as the gentleman to defend her honor, but I’ve realized my new favorite hobby is simply observing her. She so easily defended her honor, reminding the lower class woman of her station, and I couldn’t help the thrill that when through me as she referred to herself as the soon to be crown princess. So easily asserted her claim on the throne, on me.

The thrill only continued as she surprised me yet again, grabbing my hand and leading me away. I couldn’t help the look I sent toward the ambassador’s daughter, despite being enamored all the more by my soon to be wife, I can’t overlook that she was hurt and insulted. I’d be remembering this. But, that was for another time. For now, I was being dragged down the hall by my beautiful rose. When she finally released me, the blush on her cheeks was so divine…. I couldn’t help but think of all the ways I might fluster her more so I might see it again.

In one day I have discovered that the woman who has sat across from me each dinner for the last several months, is in fact, my soulmate. Just like I pictured, she looked divine under the roses- admitting they were her favorite. I noted which foods she gravitated towards as well- and realized we shared several favorites, and that she was unbearably adorable trying to hide how much she was enjoying herself.

I don’t believe I’ve ever been in such high spirits as when I returned to my quarters after an afternoon of memorizing the way her smile crinkled her eyes, laughing alongside her as she told me all about her novel, and receiving her rapt attention as I spoke of my day in return.

When I go down to dine with her I find myself flustered… I’ve never before felt this strongly about a woman, and now all I can think of is how the wedding couldn’t come sooner. My mood is dampened, however, we begin to eat, and I see that porcelain mask of hers creeping back up. I realize it now, how our arrangement thus far has actively hindered our relationship. Sitting this far from one another feels like miles of agony, I feel as if I’m addressing a crowd each time I speak, my voice carrying across the vast expanse. The quiet intimacy of the rose pavilion and our two chairs around the tea table, the sound of her pages and subtle inhales as she became engrossed in a new turn in her book, the feel of her arm in mine as we strolled. These things, and the cold, formal way we were currently dining, did not match.

She excused herself to bed, and I imagine she felt the same disappointment I did- I longed to see her face clearer as she sampled the roast pork- did her eyes flutter the way they had when she took a bite of that lemon desert earlier today? Or did her nose crinkle as she disguised her distaste? These are details I cannot know from afar. These are details I must learn.

I meet with the head waitstaff and fix this immediately. From now on, my dearest love and I shall hardly be apart if I can help it.

Also I’m not gonna resume the tag list till this series officially comes back…. I’m not gonna tease that many of y’all with an @ when it’s just a draft post.

[shalomniscient]

Feixiao sitting at her desk when you crawl into her lap, purposefully trying to distract her and rile her up. So when her patience wears out she grabs the collar of your shirt, stands up so you’re suddenly lying on your back, pinning your hands to the desk above you. All you can do is giggle because you know she’s going to give you exactly what you deserve wanted

[nsft utc]

“vixen, what do you think you’re doing?”

feixiao’s tone is carefully measured as you slip onto her lap. it would’ve been entirely innocent, if not for the lingerie you’re wearing—lingerie she picked out herself. it’s more decorative on your skin than anything actually contributing to some modicum of modesty. the fabric is a lace so delicate it’s sheer, wispy like it might just dissolve with a warm touch. feixiao can see everything, all of you; from your already-stiff nipples to the areolas a shade darker than the surrounding skin of your breast, just as equally exposed. the half of the set held up in delicate butterfly knots on your hips teases the shape of your pretty pussy, the plush flesh of your labia and the way it’s already starting to glisten with your wetness. clearly, you planned this. feixiao swallows. sets her pen down and flexes her grip around the meat of your hips. you sigh, pleased at the action—or the reaction, rather. you off her a charming, disarming smile, your finger tracing the bow of her painted lips.

“keeping you company,” you answer, eyes like a pair of glowing half-moons. feixiao snorts, rolling her eyes.

“in lingerie?”

“i like to be comfortable.”

a growl rumbles in her throat. something flickers in your eyes, dark and deep, and you grind down into her lap. a quick, sharp movement, but it has feixiao sucking in a harsh breath, nails digging into your skin. there’s an almost angry tent in her shorts, like her cock is demanding to be freed from its confines. a laugh falls from your lip like spilled honey, thick in feixiao’s ears.

“temptress,” she says hoarsely. you roll your hips again in that sinful, perfect, circle, and feixiao resists the urge to bite down into your shoulder. you coo, then lean up on your knees above her lap to whisper into her ear.

“are you tempted?” you ask, and with the space afforded by the minor change in position, your hand slips down to cup the bulge in her shorts. white flashes behind feixiao’s eyes, and her self-control that has been fraying ever since you stepped into her home-office snaps.

feixiao surges like the north wind, a jetstream, unstoppable and unyielding. she grabs your wandering hands with only one of her own, the other bracing your hip as she lifts you up only to push you back down onto her desk. you gasp, high and pitchy, only to devolve into a needy moan as feixiao bumps her clothed cock against your dripping pussy that has now utterly ruined your pretty little lingerie. feixiao chuckles low in her throat at the sight, using her free hand to drag a finger along your drenched folds, pressing the sheer fabric against your lower lips and delighting in the way it molds to the shape of you.

“is this what you wanted, vixen?” she breaths against your ear, and you shudder. you bat your lashes at her, managing a cheeky, almost bratty smile. yes. feixiao’s lip curls into a snarl masquerading as a sneer. her head dips low and her teeth worry the skin of your shoulder.

“then we’ll only stop when i say so.”

(feixiao fucks you until your voice is gone and you’ve squirted around her cock enough times that she’s quite sure the leather of her office chair is ruined. oh, well. she’ll just get the artisanship commission a new one. maybe even one that’s waterproof.)

[rockwgooglyeyes]

Taking into consideration Till's history with sexual assault (i will be tw and cw tagging for this), it puts the Ivantill kiss in round 6 in so much more perspective for me. Not only that, but it gives a lot of context and reasoning to the way that Till interacts with other people (as well as his rapid, violent mood swings) into perspective.

I just to preface with this- I have never been the victim of sexual assault or sexual harassment, so my discussion on this purely comes from what I know at a psychological angle, in addition to what I know based on this video from pop culture detective on Youtube and his videos on the male interaction with abuse and generally seedy behavior in media. It's really good, I enjoy his content a lot. Anyways analysis below the cut. Content and trigger warning for discussion of sexual assault, sexual abuse, psychological abuse, and pretty much everything else relevant in this fandom (slavery, child abuse, etc)

Out of all of the characters in Alien Stage, Till is the most openly dehumanized. Sua is treated like a doll, Ivan is treated like a trophy horse to parade around, Luka is something of a combination of both- but Till is the lab rat. He's the losing dog that Urak is betting on. They're all dehumanized to a degree but Till is dehumanized so much so that his defining feature is his rebellion. Even amongst the fandom, he's made into Ivan's side piece or the idiot who's hopelessly in love with Mizi and yeah, I do think Till is a dumbass but I say that out of the deepest affection possible, I love this little freak and I want the best for him. I truly do.

He's so smart and talented and yet, he hates himself. He's passionate about music, he uses it to express himself in ways that he can't otherwise, and he's so good at music, too. He's not good with people and he has a temper and he's easily flustered, yes, but he's so complicated. He was hopeful and innocent to the ways of the world but when he was bought by Urak, he was shown how utterly and hopelessly cruel the world could be. Comparatively, even Ivan and Sua got lucky, with their absent and emotionally abusive owners- Till was put through hell, experimented on, forced into a cage and treated like a feral animal that needed to be shown who was boss- even when he was willing to go along with anything at the start. He wanted to be loved. He wanted to be cherished. Children always want so desperately to please their authority figures, I can't imagine that he would have resisted in the beginning, hoping that if he went along with whatever Urak told him to, that he would be rewarded and treated with tenderness and care.

He never was. He was beaten and broken and thrown through the wringer time and time again. They made him miserable because that's what Urak wanted- that's what makes good art, after all. A tortured artist who cuts off their own ear but paints the most beautiful night skies.

Even in Round 2, we see this dehumanization. Till has a tether, keeping him to the stage, because he's "dangerous." He's marketed as this rebel, who needs to be tied down, who needs to gagged and muzzled, we can't let him speak because if he opens his mouth, he'll bite. He's pushed down to the ground, subdued, IN HIS MARKETING. This is how he's presented FROM THE BEGINNING. He is forced into this role of the mad dog who screams and claws and bites because this is the mold he was given, he pushed himself into it because that was all he could do. He's giving Urak what Urak wants and even that isn't enough. Because he might be broken, he might have given in, but he's still a stubborn bastard.

Before Round 6 (but after Round 5), Till refuses to sing Mizi's song in the bar. He gets angry with a member of the audience for implying that Mizi is dead, maybe even saying shitty something about her, and he goes at them with a bottle. As @a-star-that-burns-brightly said, he's the only human we've ever seen to get violent with an alien within the bounds of Alien Stage, which makes Till all the more impressive- which means that they have to bring him down all the more forcefully.

I will admit- I didn't understand the scene to be SA until it was pointed out to me (not that I thought it wasn't, it just went over my head) but it adds so much to Till's character to analyse it through that lens.

They rape Till, punishing him for refusing to sing and punishing him to attacking an audience member. Terry Crews, who some may know from Brooklyn-Nine-Nine or other media, is a survivor of sexual assault, and he talked about it before the United States Senate Judiciary committee. He was assaulted by his manager, who was a man. And you may be wondering why I bring this up, and it's simply because I want to remind people that sexual assault is not about sexuality. It can be connected but correlation is not causation. Sexual assault is about exerting power over an individual to make them feel weak, lesser, and show them who is in control of the situation. It's not dissimilar to bullying (but far, far worse). After all, why would corrective rape be a phenomenon if it wasn't about exerting power over the victim and showing them that they don't have autonomy or agency? Because if they had autonomy or agency, they would be able to consent or conversely, the ability to say no.

Of course they don't have autonomy/agency, though, right? Because they're pets. They're possessions. It's akin to how we treat dogs and cats, we breed them and we don't let them say no, because they don't have an understanding of consent like we do, why would they need to say yes or no? They can just fight someone off if they don't want it, right?

Right?

Something that @k9punkout (Numso) said stood out to me, though, is that this might not even be the first time that this has happened to Till. This breaks my heart. Like, legitimately, it made me nearly cry when I read it, because the idea of sexual abuse being used as a form of regular and routine punishment against someone is horrible- but at the same time, that already happens. In prisons, in war zones, in households, sexual abuse is used as a regular punishment against people and that's horrible. The way that Till's experience specifically reflects that of a child in a toxic and abusive household is immensely interesting because of how people forget about that, how people don't seem to really care. He's a sopping wet kitten, yeah, he's a silly little guy, but he's been abused for his whole fucking life. He has a superiority complex that's teetering on an incredibly thin knife's edge and sometimes it wobbles into self-hatred and an absolute absence of self worth.

It's no wonder that Till clings so fiercely to the idea that Mizi is innocent and pure and hopeful, like he once was, because if she isn't- then does that mean he was stupid to ever hope at all? Was he stupid for expecting love and affection, from the people who were supposed to take care of him? Does that mean he's suffered for no reason, save Urak's amusement? Does that mean he's miserable just because, just because Urak demands that someone be miserable in order for them to be great? Does that mean he's been beaten, broken, made into this wretched, ugly thing simply because he's around? It's not so much that his suffering needs to have a purpose, it's more that if it's pointless and based on whim, then that says something about Till himself. That says that Urak saw something in him, something sturdy enough to be broken again and again and get back up. It says that he deserves this. (He doesn't, no one deserves that and deserving things is horseshit, but I can't imagine Till to be thinking anything else.)

Back, finally, to the whole reason I started writing this fucking thing: the Ivantill kiss in Round 6. I've seen some people call it SA, and while I can see why (and of course, I respect their opinions), I disagree.

Ivan shouldn't have continued to kiss Till after Till pushed him, yes, but at the same time, through the narrative of their kiss- it wasn't really a kiss at all. Not in the sense that it was an expression of sexual intent. And maybe this is because I'm on the acearo spectrum but. I don't believe Ivan wanted to kiss Till, it wasn't a romantic kiss, it was one last attempt to get Till to wake up, before it was too late.

Through the lens of knowing that Till is a survivor of sexual assault, the way that Ivan kissed him and his reaction to Ivan kissing him is all the more impactful because Till pushed Ivan away, yes, but he didn't seem horrified, or hollowed out like he is post assault in the bar scene. It shows his trust in Ivan, and maybe even the fact that he knows that Ivan isn't doing this to hurt him, Ivan is kissing him in a final effort to say "I love you. You're loved. I'm sorry."

Blue (@bluemoonscape) talked through this with me a bit earlier and he said something that stuck out to me as well "The kiss, if anything, shows how much control the aliens assert over them to put them in a position where this would be two friends’ last chance to communicate with one another, hence how desperate it is on Ivan’s part. (...) Ivan wasn’t trying to assert power over Till in any way; that just isn’t in his nature. Over the years, he basically lets Till dictate every aspect of their relationship, hell, he even gives power to Till over Ivan’s own freedom (power that Till didn’t want but nonetheless got)" and he really summed it up beautifully in my opinion. The ivantill kiss WASN'T romantic because it wasn't meant to be- Ivan was just saying that he loved Till period. It was a fucked up way to do it. I wish he hadn't.

But he was just trying to say goodbye.

(@atrophiedemotion because i mentioned this to you! <3)

[artdcnaldson]

https://x.com/softintimacy/status/1774382124268749079?s=46

idk why but this reminded me of patrick and reader in the art’s sister au

Link

And tbh this reminded me of it toooooo

But godddd Patrick playing just the tip with you 🩷 rubbing himself through your panties, all slick and messy with your juices, almost transparent because he’s trying not to go to fast with you— he wants to take things slow and be respectful. Figures Art would respect him more that way.

But you want if so bad. Your little cunt keeps leaking more and more cum into your thin, flimsy little panties, and you’re begging.

“Pat, just wanna feel you—“ you gasp, practically clawing at his wrist where he’s guiding his cock to slide through your panties where they’re molded obscenely to your folds. “Need you, please—“

He can’t resist. He tugs your soaked panties to the side and groans when his cock gets to rut against your hot pussy— the sounds slick and pornographic. His tip catches your clit and your body trembles, stomach tensing head falling back.

“This sweet little pussy,” he groans, jaw clenched. He wants to put it in so bad— and you’re parting your thighs like you’re begging for it. “You want me inside?”

A pathetic whine. “Yeah, yeah— please, Pat. I’m ready.”

Jesus Christ. His tip catches at your pulsing entrance, he can feel the way it flutters with need. But he can’t have all of you yet. He’s torturing himself with the wait like a fucking sadist.

“I’ll give you a taste, baby,” he says, sounding serious. “Just a little bit.”

It takes all of his fucking willpower not to bust the second he pushes the head of his cock inside of your tight pussy. Almost no resistance, just a delicious tightness that makes his body feel hot all over.

You moan, lips parting so prettily, eyes wide and wet. “Pat you can— want more—“ you murmur. The soft walls of your cunt pulse around the smallest intrusion, clenching, squeezing, begging him deeper.

But he can’t. He has to grip his cock at the base to keep from fucking all the way in, to keep it at just the tip he fucks you with.

With a calloused thumb, he rubs at your clit, teasing the tight little bud with fast circles. It doesn’t take much for you to cum— moaning soft and pretty, cunt spasming around him. He pulls out to paint your soaked, puffy folds with his cum— thick splashes of white.

[talesofadragon]

𝟓𝟎 𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐆𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐧

Summary: In a twist of fate, the seemingly heartless and enigmatic Draco Malfoy found himself falling deeply in love. His affection for Y/N knew no bounds, but he couldn't resist the temptation to test her patience. However, when he succumbs to the advances of a particular Slytherin girl, he soon realizes that he may have gotten more than he bargained for.

Warnings: Sexual themes. Minors DNI.

Pairing: Draco x Reader

Genre: Fluff | Smut  

Word count: 2.1K

All Masterlists | Draco Malfoy Masterlist

𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐛𝐫��𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐛��𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐠𝐥𝐨𝐰. Unapologetically and effortlessly, those people embrace the lackluster, emanating an aura that brings the moons and the stars of the universe to their knees. 

Draco Malfoy fell into that category. 

In the middle of the raging lights and the tumultuous fray, he sat back in the dark corner of the Slytherin Common Room, leisurely sipping a glass of Firewhiskey. At first glance, he was imposing. Veiny fingers, undoubtedly dexterous in their deathly ministrations. A chiseled jaw that commanded obedience from every man. And eyes that, although we’re mesmerizing pools of silver, held a hint of acidic intensity with every gaze.

Draco Malfoy was thought to be darkness in human form. Perhaps several individuals would concur, whether out of fascination or apprehension. But that was because none of them saw him through my eyes. 

In his nights, I saw the moon. In his shades of obsidian, I found depths unknown. In his prowess, I sought the nightjar, whose darkened plumage painted my soul with a mesmerizing array of vibrant hues.

And I despised, abhorred, anyone who dared to try and get close enough to bask in his glow.

“Y/N, sometimes I regret ever introducing you to Draco,” Clarissa remarked. I shot her an unimpressed glance. She continued dancing without missing a beat, leaving me the only one standing idle in the middle of a crowded room. “You have that devilish look in your eyes.” 

“Well, the she-devil has her eyes, and hands, all over him.” 

Clarissa's lips twitched, forming an amused grin. Her gaze shifted towards the girl with dark hair and an extremely form-fitting dress, which left little to the imagination, who shamelessly ran her hand along my boyfriend's arm.

“He’s not even looking at her.” 

“He’s letting her touch him!” 

“He’s not.” She rolled her eyes, brushing off the comment. One of her hands took mine, urging me to dance to the upbeat tone of the music that engulfed us. “He’s looking at you and is most likely enjoying getting under your skin.” 

“He’s being a dick,” I groaned in frustration. Clarissa was giving me her “well duh” expression. 

“He’s Draco. If you ask about him, you’ll have a porn site worth of dick picks and stories that perfectly describe your aggravating boyfriend.” 

I arched an eyebrow, subconsciously convincing myself that it was a common behavior and not something unique to Draco. “Remind me again what his relationship to your boyfriend is. Oh, that’s right, he’s his brother.” 

“Atlas is a sweetheart! Sometimes, I sincerely think he was adopted,” she argued. 

“Clearly not,” I countered. I nudged my head toward the table, catching sight of the girl in the navy dress leaning her body closer to my boyfriend’s chest. “If he’s licking his lips at the sight of that girl’s cleavage.” 

Clarissa whipped her head at the speed of light. I was surprised her neck didn’t snap. Her rage immediately molded into distaste when she noticed that Atlas wasn’t licking his lips as I said, but he was straining his neck, attempting to look away from the boob job that was begging for attention. 

“She’s a bitch.” 

“As am I,” I replied swiftly. Clarissa frowned, glancing back at me. By that time, the sound of my heels clicking against the marble floor had already begun, even though the music drowned out their noise.

Draco seemed impervious to the blaring musical notes as his silver eyes locked onto mine, capturing my movement. He had the audacity to smirk against the rim of his glass, going as far as to open the palm of his hand, indulging in the girl’s ministrations. 

Atlas, seated on the same couch as his brother but a few feet away, wore a bemused expression. He bit his lip, gaze wandering between me and Clarissa, who was trailing after me. 

As I crossed the two steps that separated me from my boyfriend, the harsh clicking of my heels echoed through the room. The blush on my cheeks seemed to mirror the hue of my dress, drawing attention toward me. Perfect, I inwardly mused, locking eyes with Draco. He observed my every move with his now grey irises, resembling a tempestuous landscape anticipating the thunder to unleash its chaos.

Confident and without a hint of hesitation, I made my way to his table, disregarding the curious onlookers, the girl with longing eyes, and even our friends. Choosing to ignore them all, I straddled his lap, allowing our lips to collide.

He must have expected my harshness or maybe my fire, but it was clear that he hadn’t anticipated my dominance. Draco Malfoy faltered, proved by the sound of the glass shattering on the floor and the shrieks of the nameless woman beside us. 

One of his hands fisted the fabric of my dress, clinging to the small of my back, while the other slithered into my hair. My hands, on the other hand, assaulted his neck. One wrapped itself around it while the other trekked down his collarbone, swiftly uncaging the second button of his shirt. 

As expected, Draco tried to dominate the kiss, attempting to force my tongue into submission. And while on a regular day, when my body was electrified by the dominance of his touch and my consciousness succumbed to the pressure of his pleasuring body, I would have relented. Today was anything but a regular one. 

I pushed past the overwhelming ecstasy that clouded my racing thoughts, attempting to transform them into incoherent murmurs, and assaulted Draco’s tongue. His hands began to trail my body, the one in my hair errantly moving towards my own neck. 

Immediately, I tightened my hold around his neck, restricting him further from the air we both so desperately craved. He gasped, hands falling to my waist and clutching me tighter. I teased him, bringing my lips close to his, allowing him to steal the breath coming out of my own mouth and greedily take it for himself. 

It lasted no more than two seconds because I knew this was a punishment and not a reward. I dove in again. Tongue-first, exploring the walls and ceiling of his mouth. Draco couldn’t keep his own tongue at bay, and I didn’t want him to. Before he could coax me into accepting his sensual offer, I let go of his lower lip and sucked on his tongue. 

Draco moaned. A sound that was both undiluted and unrestrained; I was sure he had forgotten where he was. His hips jolted, searching for friction. And when I didn’t grant it willingly, his hand found my thighs and hoisted me up until I was shamelessly grinding on him. 

“Moan for me,” he commanded huskily, voice breaking at the seams from being a captive of pleasure. 

I didn’t just want to moan. I wanted to roar from the way his crotch caressed my clothed pussy, squeezing the juices out of me and letting them trail down my thighs. 

But I didn’t. “Moan for me,” I rebuked, letting my fingers cradle the nape of his neck, pulling on his silver locks. Another moan rippled through the air, reaching my clit. And I knew if I didn’t stop any time soon, I would be the one moaning and begging on this very couch. “Good boy.” 

Draco’s eyes widened at the remark, his sharp eyes piercing mine. Immediately, I let go of him, standing up.

I dusted my dress, adjusting the neckline which almost exposed my breasts completely. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t see you there,” I commented with feigned innocence. This particular area only had a handful of students huddled around, and the one closest to us was a mere few feet away. The girl beside my boyfriend, Pansy Parkinson, didn't need an education to understand that I was directing my words at her.

Her jaw ticked, breath coming out ragged—maybe she was having a sex marathon in her head, getting off on the thought of my boyfriend and me. “I wish I hadn’t seen you at all,” she conceded, hastily scurrying away.

As she left, I saw Clarissa standing behind me. A shadow of confusion crossed over her features, quickly replaced by amusement. “Well, now that she’s gone. Why don’t we give Draco a few minutes to hide that bulge he’s sporting? Atlas, wanna dance?” 

“After what just happened, I won't let any chance slip away to have you close to me, Clares.” He wasted no time getting up. He side-eyed his brother for a moment, unable to hide his smirk. “Here.” Atlas reached out for his Elf Wine, extending it to Draco. “You look flushed. Why don’t you cool off a bit like a good boy?” 

Ignoring our collective laughter, Draco swatted the glass away from his face. He regarded me with an air of irritation, his pupils heavily dilated. 

“Remember when I warned you that it’s much harder for men to mask their wants? Bet you wish you were less of a dick now,” I taunted, earning myself a loud cheer from Atlas and an uproarious laugh from Clarissa. 

Draco had yet to say anything, and I knew he was meticulously considering the retributions he would inflict upon me for this audacious move. But I didn’t care. With a skip in my step, I turned around and strutted away. But before I could make my grand escape, a hand firmly wrapped around my wrist, halting my movements. In the blink of an eye, I was flung onto the couch, landing right where my boyfriend had been sitting just seconds before.

“Draco!” Atlas chastised. He was already taking a step forward, visibly astounded by his brother’s brisk action. Even Clarissa was worried. 

But I wasn’t. 

Draco didn’t spare either of them a glance as he let his gaze fall onto mine. The pools of silver were sizzling, menacing, and fierce—ready to consume me whole. But they were also lustrous, encasing ardent desire. And I found myself getting far more aroused than afraid by the visceral passion they exuded. 

Draco took three meaningful steps toward me, his agile strides reminding me that I was the prey to his snake. He stopped at a short distance, letting one of his hands extend to the back of the couch while the other casually reached for an abandoned shot on our table. 

“Open that sinful mouth of yours, Y/N.” I obeyed. Because if I didn’t, I would self-combust. Screw whatever punishment the devil has for me. I would take it without another word if it meant relieving some of that desire between my legs. “Good girl. Take it all, but don’t you dare swallow yet,” Draco demanded as he filled my mouth with the electrifying drink. 

My eyes welled up, stinging from the searing pain that consumed my mouth and pierced my heart, yet I resisted the urge to close them. Draco disregarded the empty shot glass and tenderly stroked my cheek with his free hand. The weight of the onlookers' gazes bore down on us, but I felt a profound sense of gratitude that the Malfoys were influential and esteemed enough that no one would dare intervene in what they were witnessing.

I squeaked when Draco took my cheek between his fingers and forced the burning drink outside of my mouth. I could feel my heart shuddering as the liquid trailed down my neck to my chest and the valley of my breasts. 

I couldn’t stop staring at Draco while desperately clenching my thighs. Of course, he was too engrossed with the trek the alcohol was taking down my body. 

“Draco,” I whined, practically begging for his touch. The bastard smirked, ever so slowly coming closer. 

“Starshine,” he breathed against my breasts. Immediately, his hand sneaked down, reaching for my thighs. His fingers dug deep into my skin. I moaned, then I cried out in pleasure when his tongue darted out of his mouth, tracing the remains of the alcohol all the way from my chest to my mouth. He hovered over my lips, his silent exhale caressing my mouth. “If I were any less of a dick, I’m sure you’d still cry out for me.”

He pushed himself off my body, the sheer abruptness of his actions causing me to wince. “Wh—”

“Go dance, Y/N,” he said. No, he dared. It was obvious what he was doing. Bold and bright in the middle of the night. He knew I needed him, craved him. And he reveled in the thought. 

So, I did what any sane woman would do. I straightened my hair, fixed my clothes, and rushed to his arms. “I wanna dance with you,” I whispered against his lips. He met mine in a sensual dance, and before I knew it, he was already leading me out of the Common Room and into his arms.

Draco Taglist:

@imabee-oralizard @ameliaphoenix @arcana-greenleaf @dittos-blog-dylanobrien

So this happened unexpectedly. Slightly inspired by that one scene from Culpa Mia (My Fault). Hope y’all like it.💚

[shankss-magnificent-ass]

Imagine Shanks finding out you're a painter

You: *humming along to some music as you apply a fresh coat of paint to the wall of the galley*

Benn and Lucky Roux: *walk in*

Benn: Hey Kid.

You: Hey

Lucky Roux: Did you make sure to use the mold resistant paint?

You: Yes Roux.

Benn: And you applied the sealant before the paint?

You: *nods your head* And the primer, I got this man, thanks for checking in on me.

Benn: Alright then, I'm just gonna open this here winder to get some fresh air in here, so you don't get high off the paint fumes.

You: aww, but that's the best part.

Lucky Roux: *snorts* Let me know when you're done, so I can start dinner. Also, when you are done, you might want to put up a barrier, so none of the others accidentally lean on it.

You: I enjoy seeing them covered in paint. So I think they're gonna be in for a surprise, or at least the boss will be. Because I bet you a thousand berry that he's definitely gonna lean in the paint.

Lucky Roux: I'll take that bet.

Benn: I ain't, because he'll definitely gonna do it.

The next morning

Shanks: *Still annoyed that he got paint in his hair the night before* is this shit finally dry?

Benn: yeah, the kid didn't paint in straight lines though.

Shanks: what! But they're usually so meticulous about doing tasks perfectly.

Benn: it was on purpose too, take a close look.

Shanks: *leans in and glides his fingers across a floral design in the brush strokes* do you think they like painting?

Benn: I believe so, that, or they inhaled too much paint fumes and decided to have fun with it.

Shanks: both are possible... Didn't they repaint the hallway, and bathrooms?

Benn: yeah? They painted patterns there too.

Weeks later

Shanks: Hey (y/n) I got you something! *Presents you with a colorful variety of house paints, and a bunch of supplies*

You: ... Wow, that's a lot of paint, are you wanting me to repaint every room on the ship?

Shanks: no silly, for you to have fun with. We noticed the patterns you painted in the galley and thought you might like more colors.

You: but where would I paint?

Shanks: where ever you'd like.

You: *Kisses him on the cheek, scoops up the supplies, and runs to your room*, Thank you!

Two days later in the galley

You: I finished my room is it okay if I paint this wall now?

Shanks: Go for it.

Benn: *watches you run off* they painted their whole room you know.

Shanks: I saw, I was impressed they managed to paint such steady line work with the ship moving so much.

Benn: I think the little maze design the pained on their door frame was my favorite. Do you think they take requests?

Shanks: I dunno.

You: *pushes the box of supplies onto one of the tables*

Benn: is it okay if I asked you to paint something?

You: sure!

Yassop: Wait, you take requests! I want the pillar in my room painted.

The crew: *crowd around you listing off the things they want painted*

Shanks: Guys, let em breathe for fuck's sake! Make a list so they can start painting.

Lucky Roux: I ain't writing down my request because it's simple, don't paint any more realistic bug on the damn walls. I nearly shit myself when I saw the cockroach you painted in the bathroom, that was not a fun surprise at three in the morning.

You: only termite holes, got it.

Lucky Roux: (y/n) no! No termite holes.

You: fine fine, although the fact that the paint on that cockroach didn't even get to dry before one of y'all smacked it, is hilarious.

Shanks: no more realistic bugs, dear, in fact avoid painting realistic critters all together please.

You: ugh fine.

Shanks: I have a project I'd like you to paint, but I'll need to get you a canvas for it. *Winks at you and wiggles his eyebrows*

Benn: Gross.... if he's getting a nude I want one too.

Shanks: You want my nudes too?

Benn: I want a nude of myself, ding-dong.

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[whispereons]

Oracle!Reader Part 16

Masterlist - Part 1, Part 15, Part 17

Warning! This is sagau imposter so expect some gore and manipulation this chapter! At least no death this time :D

Each step of your dirty shoes on the bare rocky terrain held more weight than Azhdaha's heart and soul. His body shuffled and shifted, resisting the urge to ram the barrier trapping him.

"Don't be so impatient, Azhdaha. You've waited for millennials, surely a minute for me to reach you is nothing." You slow your steps purposely to tease him with a deceivingly gentle smile.

The ground rumbles briefly as Azhdaha settles in place and rests his head on the ground. If he had fur instead of stone, you would believe he was just a giant dog.

"Forgive me your grace. The leylines I command are constantly blooming with power at your every step."

"Was it not the people of Liyue who harmed the leylines causing the events that led to your imprisonment here?" You ask, selecting your words carefully.

Red eyes carved from ruby stare at you as you stop right outside of the barrier surrounding his body. Not wanting to accidentally disable the barrier, you rest your hand on the closest pillar. 

Pillars with the same design and origin of the one who was a little too late to save his dear friend from this fate.

"Was it not the ruler of those people that failed to reach you in time?"

"Even you, your grace, are aware of the shameful state I have been reduced to. Morax may have provided me with these defective eyes but at least now I can view your glorious prestige."

Surprisingly there is no rush of anger and violence in Azhdaha's movement and tone. He moves closer till his face is gently pressing against the Geo-decorated barrier.

"I beg of you, Creator of all things. Let me feel your skin, your warmth. The memories of my creation are lost to the erosion of time. Whether it be your hand or foot, I will adore it all the same. I am nothing but the groundskeeper to your playground called Tevyat."

A originally blind dragon has no need for eyelids so all he can do is gaze pleadingly at your silent form. Blue crystalline clink on the ground as it drops from his eyes as the silence persists. Even still you stare at him with a blank expression until his head is completely bowed to the ground.

An isolated dragon desperate for even the slightest bit of affection was like wet clay for you to mold to your liking. The only thing that ruined any plans you had for him was that dreaded erosion. You seriously doubted that he could stay calm and lie to match your facade the way Beisht can.

"Rest easy now, Azhdaha." Your hand moves through the yellow barrier, which thankfully doesn't deactivate it, to lay on his rocky forehead. "A dragon like you, who I have created with my own hand before this vessel, is not easily forgotten. Many of your brethren have perished before I could return."

Cupping what little of his wide, rough jaw, you tilt his head to stare up at you. A delicate expression with sadness and love swirling together is what paints your face. "You have done so well to persist this long, Azhdaha."

A loud roar of anguish is let loose as he tries to move further into your touch. Ignoring the threat of scraps, you pet his stony exterior with a smile. 

"Your grace! Your holiness! Those words are what fuel my pitiful existence. The feel of your skin on this degraded body brings memories of my creation from the clutches of erosion."

Mindlessly stroking the weeping dragon, you think deeply on his words. 'Memories of my creation' is what he called it. Azhdaha was struggling at first due to the contrasting information from the eyes corrupted by the Gnosis and the leylines of Teyvat. All it took was your touch on his body for him to fully give in to you. 

Perhaps the other dragon sovereigns and primordial beings will recognize you easily with your touch as well. Could it work on the Archons too?

"Are you okay, your grace? I know that day, you were injured due to my own careless ruling. I failed to control my subjects and you suffered from it. If death is my penalty for my negligence then I will accept it wholeheartedly."

The strange and unexpected words laced with guilt made you confused. Caressing the rugged layer of stone near his eyes to grab his attention, you ask carefully. "What do you mean by that?"

His tail lowers onto the ground as he speaks lowly. "Not long ago, the Geovishaps were making their rounds on maintaining the leylines when two hatchlings got lost."

Oh, you knew where this was going.

"When they dug back up to the surface, they were in the city. While trying to escape, they hurt someone. They hurt you." That last word is said with bubbling anger. Resisting the urge to yank your hands away from the dragon capable of turning into a volcano, you brush your hands further to distract him.

"Teyvat had already warned us elemental beings about someone injuring you with malicious intent. To feel the leylines in your area go into a frenzy from that incident made my blood boil. It's only fair that the perpetrator suffers the bare minimum consequences."

So, it wasn't Teyvat that had the hatchling kill the other. It was Azhdaha.

Despite the harsh truth that Azhdaha just admitted, your hands seemed to move on their own to keep Azhdaha subdued. You aren't necessarily scared of Azhdaha, you're just more cautious on how to approach leaving him.

You couldn't just teleport out, who knows how Azhdaha's battered and worship-obsessed brain would interpret it. You didn't need a bunch of Geovishap and Geovishap hatchlings chasing you throughout Liyue.

But the thought of returning back to the city takes less priority than your current one. A dragon one head scratch away from rolling over at your command is vulnerable to your words. Just what could you strip from Azhdaha for future use?

"Azhdaha, you love me don't you?" You ask it with a deceivingly shaky voice as your hands halt their stream of pets. His reaction is immediate.

His claws scratch the ground as he stands to his full height.  Even still, his back hunches trying to keep himself respectful to your much smaller form. "My love for you will exist even after my death. Every Geovishap that roams this world and every leyline that reacts to your presence is proof of my love for you, beloved Creator."

A small, sad smile crosses your face at the words he utters with zeal. It was so easy to get his deteriorated brain to fall for your expertly crafted facade of vulnerability. It's not like he was your first or last victim to this 'side' of you.

School faculty couldn't turn a blind eye to the way you paled at the cost of lunch. Empathetic, heroic, and kind students wouldn't resist the urge to defend, tend to, or help you when any bullying started. Even strangers with bleeding hearts had no problem giving you food or money when you were a roaming teenager with nothing but a backpack.

The money you saved by not paying lunch almost always went straight to the locked box you had for when you would be inevitably moved to a new guardian. All the bullying incidents were helpful in making the other students invite and accept you into any group of your choosing. It's not like anyone would believe that meek and polite you could jump the bullies on their way home with a malicious smile and a blunt weapon, nor would a passing stranger that helped you be aware of the man and cat that you returned to completely contrasting the story you spun.

"Then you're willing to protect me, right? Ei, that Bakufu was intent on seeing me as an imposter. She tried to take my life right when I just returned. It's due to that, that I have to live in fear of this mask being removed."

Moving closer, you rest your forehead against his head, trembling in fear of the horrid memory.

"I'm sure if I arrived in Liyue instead of Inazuma, I would be able to walk on Teyvat with you proudly on the surface with me. You would protect me, you would fight for me. You would die for me, would you not? Dragons are known for their loyalty after all."

Azhdaha continuously repositions himself as he breathes heavily. There's no doubt he's torn between anger against Ei, happiness at your trust, and excitement at the prospect of being on the surface.

"You have my word, my grace. I would fight any enemy, defend any stronghold, obey any command you have for me. Simply relay your order and I will fulfill it to perfection. And if it pleases you, allow me the honor of destroying the Shogun for her unforgivable sins."

"But can you really protect me with those imperfect eyes?" Your words are spoken gently with a smile laced with sweet poison. "You are putting me in danger by using those corrupted eyes to watch over me. Do you not know why I crafted you without eyes?"

A sole finger touches the edge of the red jewel eyes as silence permanence the air. He doesn't flinch from the fleeting fingertips despite the slow unraveling of your intentions.

"Geo lifeforms that stay underground don’t have eyes as they have no need for it. And as thankful as I am that Morax provided you with eyes to enjoy the surface, it wasn't my original design for you."

Experimentally tapping his eyes and smiling at the crystalline texture, you speak with a low timber. "You were always meant to stay underground to properly care for the leylines. You didn't know it at the time, but accepting these eyes had the same effect as accepting Celestia's lies."

You let Azhdaha think deeply on your revelation as you pet the area around his eyes. The mere fact that he was contemplating it was a good sign, those eyes are proof of his contract with Morax after all.

"Your benevolence, are you requesting the destruction of my eyes?"

"Of course not, Azhdaha!" Laughing reassuringly, your fingers dig into the corner of his eyes ignoring the way he flinches in pain. "I'm commanding you to give me those eyes. I cannot bring you to the surface with me, so bringing a remnant of you will soothe my aching and lonely heart. It's convenient that those eyes prevent you from doing your job correctly too."

A low pained groan leaves his jaw as your other hand mimics the action of the former. Nails digging into his eye cavities, you feel the ruby eyes lift from the force. Azhdaha's body shakes, alerting you that you pushed him far enough. Releasing his eyes you take a step back to be out of the barrier in case he makes any attack.

"I once yearned to see the sun, that blazing ball of fire that lights up this world providing it with the warmth to live. All because I knew that you must shine even brighter than it. In those days of old, envy and despair consumed me as did the love and joy I felt being embraced in this world that you crafted. I know better now. I know that even without these eyes that I enjoyed from that traitor I once called my friend, I could still make out your glorious form. Every leyline on this planet shines like dull cobblestone in comparison to the gold figure that stands in front of me."

"I have no way to wretch these crystal eyes out of the unneeded cavities. Take them from me, your grace, take any part of my body that you desire. My sole regret is that I could not offer you my original body to pick from."

An excited smile stretches across your face with a heartfelt caress to the bridge of his nose. "Thank you Azhdaha, do not fret. The day that I craft you eyes worthy of the dragon you once were is near. Thank you for being such a good boy."

Despite the condescending tone to your last words that slipped out, Azhdaha still rejoices with the same fervor of a real dog. The tree tail wags slowly, revealing his happiness.

Carefully, you dig your nails into his right eye. It's heavy and hard to pull out. This would surely be easier using your sickle but you didn't want Azhdaha to feel even more pain. At least with you using your hands, he feels some comfort in your skin.

After a tough tug, the eye is finally out and stuffed haphazardly into your bag. Blue crystalline liquid coats your hands and flows from the now-empty cavity. Wiping it off on your clothes carelessly, you give Azhdaha a break by petting him.

"Just one more Azhdaha, then it'll be done." He leans into your touch without a single sound escaping him. You aren't fooled by that tough facade. He's silent in fear that speaking will only result in his pained cries.

The red jewel chips slightly as you dig it out of his head. Beads of clear blue roll down as you grit your teeth. It finally comes out and that trickle becomes a stream. Putting the eye into your bag, you peek at the now blind dragon.

A slow, continuous dribble of aqua crystalline stains his face as the cavities slowly stitch close. The cavities closing simultaneously are heard by the cracking and grinding of rocks. Azhdaha curls into himself from the pain but refuses to allow any sound escape him.

Your body moves on its own to hug the suffering dragon. Murmurs of praise and thanks leave your lips as the rocks creak louder and faster. The tear tracks left on his face stain your clothing blue yet you can't find it in yourself to care.

A selfish person, that's what you were to your core. There are no words you can use to justify what you have done to Azhdaha. You may never have the power to craft new eyes for him. You may not even live long enough to research how. Yet, you still manipulated him into giving it up. The bitter self-hatred and burning feeling of loathing yourself builds up inside you.

"As sad as I am to surrender my eyes, there is nothing that brings me greater joy than to be of use to you your grace. I will readjust to living without eyes."

Releasing him, you stare at his now-healed face. The cavities have been completely sealed shut as if there were never eyes to begin with. His voice is deep and rumbles softly.

"The leylines of this world relay to me more than elemental crystals shaped in the visage of eyes can."

The words do little to ease the guilt you feel for your cruelty but before you can do anything, a loud sound interrupts your thoughts. Frowning, you adjust your bag back onto your shoulders and look at the entrance to Azhdaha's lair.

It's silent and it only makes you more suspicious. Taking a few steps toward the lair's entrance, a glow behind you makes you whip around quickly. Azhdaha's body glows with white cracks throughout his body as he roars ferociously.

Backing up in confusion, you watch in disbelief as Azhdaha's body shrinks and compresses. Loud bangs echo from the lair entrance in sync with Azhdaha's deafening cry.

That loud bang is accompanied by the sound of the seal covering the entrance shattering. Deciding to focus on the unknown intruder first, you catch the sight of a tall figure walking with powerful steps toward you.

A sole amber eye is what catches your attention first.

Brown hair with glowing tips loosely drapes over an earthy-colored hanfu. Only a stub can be made out from inside one of the dark sleeves as the tall man looks at you with an emotionless expression.

"Zhongli. It sure is a surprise to see you here." Your mind spins as it tries to comprehend just why Zhongli was here. Azhdaha's unwavering roars, his missing eyes, just everything about this situation was suspicious.

His other arm, which thankfully hasn't been cut off, raises to cup your face. Gloved fingers are featherlight on your dusty cheek as you stare up at him with perplexion clear on your face. He leans closer to speak with unwavering confidence.

"Why did you leave?"

He's got to be kidding.

"Why wouldn't I leave? I wasn't interested in being a third wheel to your conversation with the Creator." You answer back with a disbelieving tone before getting startled at the slam of a hulking body hitting the ground.

"MORAX! How dare you reappear in my prison after all that you had done?! What audacity have you fostered that let you dare to touch the Creator?!"

Fuck

Shit, oh fucking hell. 

Thousands of curses swarm your mind at Azhdaha's words, you keep your face in its confused expression as you run through any plan or excuse to survive.

"You're making Y/N uncomfortable with your insane claims, Azhdaha. They're an Oracle sent from the world the Creator is residing in." Zhongli is calm in his refute to Azhdaha's tantrum.

Pushing Zhongli's hand off your face, you turn to look at Azhdaha who is now much smaller. His stature is exactly like you saw when you played Genshin. That bright light must have not only degraded his body to the erosion-damaged body but his brain too. It's simply too suspicious that he became this wildly angry at Zhongli's presence.

Looking up at Azhdaha with sad eyes and a kind voice you speak gently, as if trying to soothe the dragon with no idea of what he claimed.

"I know my presence is similar to the Creator due to my otherworldly origin, but I'm really just Y/N. The erosion must be so painful that it even brought you down to this point. The creator hasn't forgotten you, I can promise that."

Zhongli frowns as Azhdaha tries to refute you. "NO! Don't you see, your grace?! That traitor is merely trying to keep you from reaching your full glory to keep you to himself!"

"How can you say that when you can't see at all?" Zhongli's voice is chilly as he places his gloved hand on your shoulder. His grip is tight and you try to step away. He doesn't budge and merely pulls you closer to him.

"Solidify!" The familiar line is yelled before a dome-like shield completely covers you and Zhongli. Your confusion on his action is answered when rocks from the ceiling start to rain on the shield. His hand positions your head to look back at him.

"Why won't you look at me Y/N? Do you still hold bitterness against me for my doubts against you? I was proven wrong utterly and completely, I apologize for my rudeness."

His voice is pleading and his lips tug down into a sad frown. You really can't understand why Zhongli's just ignoring all the suspicious things in this situation. Was the attachment acolytes feel towards you already affecting him this strongly?

"I'm not mad at you. Sure, it was annoying that you kept suspecting me despite all my efforts but you do believe me now after sacrificing so much. Actually, just what and how much did you offer? The sky lit up quite a few times."

An excited smile graces his lips as he takes a step closer to you, but unexpectedly sways making you grab his arm in worry. He laughs gently before speaking.

"After I noticed your disappearance, I gave as many offerings of my body as I could. Not only as my repentance toward the Creator but also as an apology to you."

Your eyes trail down his change of clothes. The hanfu is black with brown, gold, and white parts to it. The Geo symbol sign is clearly stitched into the inner robe.

"Is that why you have a change of clothes and are swaying so much? Be honest and tell me what part of your body you gave."

With closed eyes and shaky breaths, he places your hand on the top of his head. His hair is ticklish to your bare palms. "This human body wasn't nearly enough to make an impactful offering. But my Exuvia is adequate for our beloved creator. Naturally, my horns were the first to go."

The slight nub you feel between his locks must be the stump from his horns. You aren't sure whether to be sick or amazed. But Zhongli doesn't stop there, he takes advantage of your bewilderment and takes hold of your other hand.

"My spines were the next to be cut off. Those jagged ambers were more helpful for flying than anything else." His head nuzzles your hand on his hair as he takes your other hand to the spine of his back. You can feel the ridges of the amber remnants.

"My tail was in a similar position, useless in my current form. If only they didn't bleed so much. If the creator took any longer to accept my offering, I would have passed out from blood loss."

Even more worried about his physical state, you try to pull your hand away from his back and graze his side making him hiss in pain. He's quick to grab hold of it again and press it deeper into his side. Your jaw drops as he groans in pain and gives you a pained smile.

"I severed my claws yet got no response. I really believed I would have to stop at that point but I remembered another draconic part of my body that I could offer."

Your eyes filter between his happy and pained smile and the hanfu that was starting to blossom with red. Just where the fuck was he going with this?

"My skin, or rather, my scales were still in my body. Each clink of the scales as they were torn or cut out of my body may have left me lightheaded from the gushing wounds. But nothing could compare to the feeling of the Creator accepting me."

Blinking in pure shock, your mind struggled to comprehend the mere insanity of his actions. You were joking about him having the possibility of sewing his mouth shut from finding his idle annoying. This motherfucker would actually do it!

Zhongli takes your reaction, or rather lack of reaction, in stride with him pulling you closer to him. Your hands rest on his body to not be pressed against him but that only has him wincing in pain. He stubbornly holds you closer as you cringe from the feeling of wet blood seeping through his hanfu and onto your skin and clothes. 

"Stop. Doesn't this hurt you? Just how long will it take you to heal, let alone regain those dragon features?" Asking him with the purpose of distracting him, you speak in a rush. He merely hums as his arms stay around you firmly.

"Elemental beings like myself will always recover. I'm exceptionally strong with my status as an Archon, I'll be fully healed within a month at most."

You couldn't even linger on the idea that in a single month, he would be completely back to normal. The ground shook as more and more rocks fell on the shield. You couldn't stay trapped in Zhongli's embrace, at this rate you couldn't even stay in Liyue for much longer.

The slight sway of his movements, the slow speech pattern, and the rising of his body temperature permeating through his clothing gave you an idea.

Halting your resistance to his hold, your hands trail up his clothing with a pitiful smile. Rough and dirty hands from all the hardship you faced to get here cup his face enhancing the contrast of his smooth skin. His eyes immediately close at the contact with a deep rumbling sound coming from his chest.

"Still, it must be painful. Not just physically but mentally too. You have gained and lost so much over your lifetime. I have no doubt that it won't stop here. Just stay strong a little longer, won't you? Be patient till the Creator arrives and rewards you properly."

Zhongli's features soften till his eyes droop and his lips tremble. His full vulnerability is on display as he nuzzles into your palms shamelessly.

"Just what kind of ability do you possess? Young as you are, your ability to perceive and empathize with feelings is beyond your years. Do not stress for me, I have already been awarded by the Creator."

You frown slightly at his last words, not fully grasping at what his 'reward' from you was. The sacrificial method? The artifacts and weapons? He smiles at your confusion with half-lidded eyes.

Grasping your hands, he brings them closer to his mouth and kisses your knuckles with a smoldering grin. You aren't completely sure whether the pink decorating his cheeks is from embarrassment or a fever from his injuries.

"What greater reward than an Oracle sent from our God to soothe my soul?"

Suddenly you don't like where this is going. The thundering sound of rocks being thrown agrees with you.

"As fellow devoted servants to the Creator, should we not join in union? Marriage is a contract till death does us part after all."

There's no way this was happening. You were not getting proposed in a basement with a raging dragon just a few feet away from you.

Sensing your hesitation, Zhongli continues to speak with a romantic timber as he places a kiss on your palm.

"This may be sudden but I can assure you that I'll take care of you. I'll protect, provide, and love you as the closest person to our beloved creator. You may not love me now but just being from a different world has caused many problems for you. You are the only person who can match the amount of devotion I hold to our creator."

If this was a true confession of love at first sight or any other extremely fluffy trope, you would seriously contemplate saying yes. He wasn't wrong about your life being much easier with him by your side.

But it instantly died when he revealed that it was from you being such a strong believer and being the most intimately connected to the creator. It killed any romantic prospect of the situation. All you felt was dread and a longing to just leave.

You truly hope that he was only saying this shit from the blood loss getting to him. The annoyed expression you wear isn't even covered up, letting Zhongli see it plainly. His affectionate expression breaks and his lips part to ask you something but it's cut off by a bang.

It seems Azhdaha unknowingly agreed to break you out as a rock finally breaks the dome shield that had been protecting you all this time.

"Succumb to my fury Morax! Not even addressing the creator properly during your whole conversation is a disgrace to the Geo element and dragons alike!"

Wrath seemed to have consumed Azhdaha enough that one of the pillars of the barrier broke. Zhongli summons his spear and walks past you to stand protectively in front of you.

"Do not fret Y/N, I'll subdue Azhdaha so that he does not cause any more problems. Permanently." You absolutely did not want that but at the same time, you really wanted to escape this whole situation.

Azhdaha is going insane, Zhongli's bound to realize what you had taken from Azhdaha, and the duo of women are bound to get closer from the activity. That's not even counting how close this cave seemed to be from collapsing. 

"Azhdaha is still the creator's loyal creation! He may have deteriorated from the erosion that you failed to prevent, but don't kill a loyal and faithful follower like him!"

Hitting Zhongli with such a sharp remark, you watch his deadly glare weaken. Azhdaha begins to make careless attacks toward Zhongli's vicinity which, unfortunately, you're still in.

Picking you up with ease, Zhongli dodges the many attacks and stops near the lair's exit. Azhdaha does his best to give chase but isn’t much of a threat in that size.

Setting you down and wiping away the small pieces of rock from your face, Zhongli gazes at you warmly.

"You should return to Liyue Harbor. I'm sure many things require your attention considering how much trouble you seem to get into. And when we meet again, I expect an answer to my question."

Trying to ignore his last words, you wave to him before he jumps back into battle with Azhdaha. As soon as his back is turned you book it out of the lair. Leaving the small cave entrance the night sky shines above you.

Thousands of stars shimmer as you stand in silence. It felt good to have a break from everything going on below ground. Walking slowly your eyes gradually climb up the Dragon-Queller tree trunk to admire its full beauty.

It seems you were correct in assuming that the crystalline blue glowed brighter at night. The cerulean-colored branches pulsed with an eye-catching glimmer. The orange leaves blew in the night air as the pink petals of the flowers below you swayed.

You spot a familiar-looking constellation in the sky that seemed to twinkle for your attention. Lapis Dei, Zhongli's constellation, was lit up by four points. It was pretty incredible that you went from a C0 to C4 in a matter of hours.

But, just what effect did constellations have on characters other than making them stronger? It was closely connected to your creator power so it must be important outside of the game. Would whatever effect it have differ between humans and archons? 

What would have happened if you had gotten Zhongli to C6 before coming here?

Setting those lingering questions aside, you gaze up at the Dragon-Queller tree one more time before bringing up your game screen. You've finally witnessed everything about this area giving you a sense of satisfaction. 

Creak

The sound makes you pause and lift your head up from the screen in confusion. It's silent for a few moments until Teyvat bombards your mind with a sense of something going wrong.

CRACK

Ice. Lots and lots of ice spring up from the ground circling around your feet. Quickly moving back from the ice, a sharp and cold solid spike tears through your calves. A cry of pain leaves you as you stop in place. Red drops of blood stain the spikes of ice that impaled you.

Did it break your bones? Was it an important muscle for running? If you pulled it out, would you lose too much blood? 

Those thoughts swirled in your mind as the pain blinded you from the fact that Teyvat never stopped warning you.

Keeping a hand to your heart trying to slow your breathing and push down the rising sobs, you focus on what you can do now. But it's already too late. Something glints in the distance and a swish of air is heard before pain blooms from your chest.

Scalding water leaves boils on the right side of your chest as an arrow stays embedded into it. Tears of pain and anger stick to your eyelashes as you carefully move your head trying to spot the woman.

You knew Yelan and Shenhe were somewhere here. Even with the tears sliding down your mask, your lips were curled into a defensive snarl.

The small breaths you let out don't feel wet or painful, therefore your lungs are unharmed. Yelan had the skill and power to hit your lungs if she desired. This means she wants to speak to you, she wants some information you have.

She won't kill you yet.

Commanding Teyvat to show you where they were hiding, you blink sluggishly at the elemental sight being activated. Teyvat creates a path of Anemo leading to two separate points making you smile through the pain.

"Yelan, Shenhe. Shouldn't you both at least reveal yourself when taking a hostage?"

There's no need to play dumb at this point. They already suspect and harmed you to the point where it just wouldn't be smart to act ignorant.

After a beat, both women leave their respective hiding spots and make their way to you. Yelan is relaxed with an easygoing gait showing that she has all the time in the world. Shenhe is more ferous in her approach, weapon on hand, and a dangerous glint in her eyes.

Except Shenhe begins to sprint at you once you lock eyes with her. Despite the rapid thumping of your heart at her stance, you stay still not wanting to show that you could escape when needed.

As expected; Yelan grits her teeth in annoyance and activates her skill to catch up to Shenhe. Shenhe is just a few feet away from you, her spear is held out prepared to slash when she's pulled back by Yelan's lifeline. A sigh of relief escapes you as you slump into place.

"Not yet Shenhe, I need them alive for my job first. Afterwards, you can kill them as you please." Dropping Shenhe from her lifeline Yelan sighs in exhaustion. 

Shenhe doesn't react much to Yelan's attitude. Merely brushing off the dust and repositioning her weapon while watching you. 

"Eyes over here Y/N." The sound of your name from Yelan's lips catches your attention. She smirks at your wary glance and spins her bracelet. "Why don't you and I have a little chat?"

It's done! This one didn't take as long since I have been getting settled into school. If everything is cool and I'm fast then I could finish a chapter every weekend. But let's be honest. I'm far too unlucky for that. This was edited by my annoying dear editor @serpent-benediction . Don't pay attention to him tho. That was mostly a joke! I know the Zhongli cutting limbs wasn't as much as one would think since he goes around without his dragon features most of the time anyway. I just couldn't find a good reason on him cutting off his legs and still managing to fight Azhdaha. So, I hope everyone isn't too disappointed by that and can enjoy the most yandere character so far! Personally, I would not accept that marriage proposal. But now we get to focus on Yelan and Shenhe! I've taken great care to keep Yelan's intention very vague, but I think those that have read her story have a good idea on why she's here. The next chapter should be quite exciting! Taglist - remember if you're username is in italics, that means I couldn't tag you! @vvyeislazzy, @nikqi, @the-dumber-scaramouche, @etherisy, @yourlocalstranger123, @ra404, @iruiji, @goldenglow149, @haru-tofuu, @lsleepysimpl, @bebobeboben, @yuyuzi-ling, @amidst-the-tempest, @resident-cryptid, @mxd1zzy, @mochicurls21, @nervouseaglelover, @thedevioussmirk, @yumuramma, @kwqsla, @undecidingfate, @ehjane, @game-savvy, @akiramirae, @liansh3ng, @fluffy-koalala, @formacoon, @sxftiebee, @khxii-i, @ursinaw, @chuuya-brainrot, @sweetbills, @kazuchaos, @snowfoxnix, @bluebelony, @shellofthewell, @pencil-of-ashes, @ghostlyintervention, @taiformaifoe, @goaudduck, @carminerin, @maddysflowers, @zenith-of-all-zenith, @crazydreamcat, @leafanonsforest, @grimreapersscythe, @leylanx, @sapphireknown, @help-whatdoimakemyusername, @zhonglisfruityass, @mer0n37, @victoria1676, @mochinessss, @sinnful-darling, @emilymikado, @pix-stuff, @esthelily, @luxie963, @emmbny, @millienolife @kbar1013, @xxblackroses623xx, @chxrlxtteee, @aludicpoet, @yandematic, @atrcclovsxoxo, @0lshadyl0, @esthelily, @t-rex-red, @ck123, @steadybreadbluebird, @118gremlin, @stratonia

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hollow // chrollo lucilfer

tw ⇢ graphic descriptions of physical violence, torture and mutilation, psychological abuse/mind-break, implied sexual content, obsessive/delusional behavior, reader is catatonic, depictions of bodily deterioration/decay

wc ⇢ 4.9k

The rhythmic dripping of water echoed hollowly down the dimly lit hallway, each drop hitting the stained floor with a soft plop. Chrollo's footsteps were cautious, familiar with every creak of the warped wooden boards beneath his feet. His gaze traced the peeling jungle green wallpaper, faded and curling away from the walls in long strips. Small holes pitted the popcorn ceiling above, remnants of who knew what past damage.

It was an all too familiar sight - this decaying hallway that he had walked thousands of times before. The musty, dank odor of rot and mold hung thick in the air, assaulting his senses in a way he had long since grown accustomed to. Chrollo could have mapped every discolored water stain, every flake of crumbling plaster from memory alone. His eyes lingered on the dark, rust-colored splatters streaking the wallpaper - unmistakable bloodstains that raised no alarm.

His hand trailed along the flaking paint as he approached the last door on the left, the bedroom. The door stuck briefly when he tried the tarnished knob, requiring Chrollo to lean his weight into it before it gave way with a groan of protesting hinges. As it slowly swung inward, his lips curled into a small, practiced smile.

"Good evening, my darling."

Chrollo's smooth voice seemed to caress the stagnant air as he stepped over the threshold. In the shadows of the dimly lit room, your silhouette was motionless, a solitary figure framed by the broken panes of the drafty window. You didn't so much as twitch at the sound of his voice, your distant gaze fixed through the grime-streaked glass.

Closing the door behind him with a soft click, Chrollo followed your line of sight beyond the confines of the cracked, spider-webbed window panes. The same stark view opened up before him - a dead tree, its twisted, gnarled branches reached up in blackened claws towards the perpetually overcast sky. The rusting black metal fence lined the property, separating the derelict house from the decaying remains of its abandoned neighbor.

Your eyes seemed almost unseeing, pupils trained on some invisible point far beyond the gloomy view. As if you could pierce past the decrepit scenery to something only you could perceive. The distant, glazed look was one Chrollo recognized.

With a soft huff of amusement, he stepped up behind you, his hands sliding along your upper arms before gently grasping your biceps. His fingers caressed your cool skin as he pulled you back, away from the broken window and the dead world beyond its panes.

With a tender grip, Chrollo eased you backwards, guiding your motionless form away from the shattered window. You offered no resistance, your limbs pliant, feet dragging slightly as he maneuvered you across the stripped bare floor.

The weathered bedframe groaned when he nudged you down to sit on the sagging mattress. Dust motes swirled lazily in the pale slivers of light slicing through the gaps in the curtains. Chrollo knelt before you, his movements slow and practiced as his eyes raked over your features.

Your face was a porcelain mask, devoid of any emotion or flicker of awareness. Eyes dull and unfocused, the usual warm depth you once regarded him with had long since turned glassy and distant. It was as if you had retreated so deeply inwards, tucking that spark of life away where he could no longer reach you.

A melancholic fondness played across Chrollo's expression. With deft fingers, he reached up to tuck a stray lock of lank hair behind your ear. The strands felt coarse, dirty - a reflection of your deteriorating state that he chose to ignore. His palm cupped your cheek, calloused thumb brushing the hollow beneath your eye.

You didn't lean into his touch or blink at the contact. No minute reactions registered on your vacant features. But still, Chrollo leaned in close, lips brushing feather-light against the throb of your pulse point. He lingered there, feeling the faint flutter of your heartbeat against his mouth before peppering a trail of whisper-soft kisses along the elegant column of your throat.

Each press of his lips was unbearably tender, an intimacy he reserved only for you. But you remained unmoving, unseeing, disassociated from the present as a thousand-yard stare bored through him. With a resigned sigh, Chrollo rested his forehead against your bony shoulder, curling himself around your petrified form like a wilted plant seeking warmth from the sun.

Chrollo's lips brushed reverently over the pale skin of your knuckles, tracing the delicate bones of your motionless hand. Each gossamer kiss was featherlight, almost worshipful in its tenderness. He found himself sinking into the memories evoked by your touch, letting the present recede.

His mind drifted back years, to the first time he had laid eyes on you. That crisp autumn day when you had quite literally fallen into his world...

The towering shelves of ancient tomes seemed to stretch endlessly in every direction of the library's echoing halls. A reverent hush blanketed the cavernous space as Chrollo trailed his fingers along the gilded spines, searching...

There. His hand stilled on the tooled leather binding, the familiar title raising a faint smile. As he slid the thick volume free, a voice suddenly piped up from his elbow.

"Ah, one of the great paradoxes. Interesting choice."

Chrollo went still, sidelong gaze catching on the petite figure who had materialized beside him without a sound. You didn't so much as glance up from examining the book's cover with an appraising look.

"Though I always found his theories on the duality of truth to be rather paradoxical in themselves." You tsked softly, plucking the book from his grip to flip it open. "Take this passage for instance..."

Slender fingers skimmed down the aged pages to tap at a paragraph of dense text. Looking up at him through the fan of your lashes, your lips quirked in a half-smile. "He spends multiple chapters expounding on the inherent contradiction of subjective experience muddling objective reality. But then doesn't he fall into that same trap himself by attempting to define an absolute truth?"

Chrollo found himself caught in the spark of wry intelligence glinting in your stare. You presented the mild critique with such matter-of-fact certainty, unburdened by pretense. It was...refreshing. And more than a little intriguing.

"An insightful observation." His voice was neutral, but something about your easy confidence piqued his interest. "You're well-versed on the subject matter."

"Oh, I've practically lived in the philosophy section since I was a kid." You waved your free hand in a careless gesture, as if dismissing the notion of erudition as commonplace. "My coping mechanism for insufferable questions has always been to counter with even more insufferable questions."

There was a teasing lilt to your smile then, homr truths offered with a self-effacing humor. Chrollo couldn't resist the curve tugging at his own mouth in response. You hadn't cowered from his scrutiny or blustered with feigned modesty. Instead, you simply met his gaze with composure and clever irreverence.

Yes...you were shaping up to be a captivating anomaly in Chrollo's experience. One he found himself abruptly keen to unravel.

Extending his hand in an unhurried motion, he re-claimed the book from your grasp - though made no move to extricate himself from your proximity.

"I'm Chrollo Lucilfer."

The memory dissolved like smoke on the wind, and Chrollo found himself abruptly drawn back to the present. His mouth was still brushing over the bony ridge of your knuckles, lips whispering across your motionless hand.

He pulled back slightly, dark eyes roving over your vacant features. The life and clever spark that had so captivated him that very first day was utterly extinguished. Your gaze remained glassy and distant, as if staring inward at some unreachable abyss that had swallowed your brilliant essence.

For a long moment, Chrollo simply studied your hollowed visage, taking in the sallow tinge to your skin and the sharp jut of cheekbones. Your wrists protruded like delicate bird bones from where they lolled in his grasp - a cruel facsimile of the vibrancy you had once exuded. And yet...not a flicker of remorse or guilt flickered across his expression.

If anything, there was a strange tenderness limning his stare, suffusing the pad of his thumb as he stroked along the raised veins of your forearm. His other hand smoothed stray strands of lank hair away from your brow in an almost doting caress before he leaned in closer.

"Do you remember, my love?" His voice was low, hushed with the weight of recollection. "The day we first met in that musty library, surrounded by the books you adored with so much passion?"

Chrollo's lips brushed your temple, callused fingers curling around your nape as though to tether you to his words. To draw you out from the depths you had retreated within.

"You were a paradox unto yourself then - keen and irreverent, brilliant yet disarmingly self-effacing. A rare mind unbound by the pretenses I had grown accustomed to." His mouth trailed lower, warm exhale ghosting your cool cheek. "You captivated me from that very first quip."

His nose nuzzled along the sharp line of your jaw before he nestled into the crook of your neck. Tension coiled in the lean muscles of his shoulders and back, yet Chrollo did not loosen his embrace. Instead, he coiled himself more tightly around your unresponsive form, clinging to the impassive shell of what had once been his greatest obsession.

"I knew then that I had to unravel the enigma you presented. To unlock those complexities lacing your mind and make you wholly, utterly mine..." A tremor rippled through his voice, baring the faintest hint of strain beneath its veneer of devotion. "And so I did, didn't I? Through my own particular...persuasions."

Chrollo fell silent then, simply breathing you in - the lingering hint of your natural scent still clinging to your pallid skin despite the omnipresent reek of decay and mold shrouding this place. His haven, his sanctum where he could revel in the spoils of his conquest. No matter that the light had long since dimmed behind your eyes.

For though your corporeal form had withered, the essence of who you were remained eternally preserved - a prized butterfly trapped in amber, yours to study and revel in at his leisure. You may have drifted irrevocably out of reach, but at least here in this sanctum, your brilliant mind would never escape his grasp.

The silence stretched, weighted with half-remembered moments replaying in the recesses of Chrollo's mind. His cheek nestled into the curve of your neck and shoulder as snapshots of your earlier encounters together began flickering through his thoughts.

One particular scene coalesced, vibrant and stark…

The bustling cafe was alive with the rich aromas of espresso and freshly baked pastries mingling in the air. Chrollo's gaze cut briefly over the clusters of students and professionals huddled around the tiny tables before settling again on you.

Even seated across from him amidst the crowded atmosphere, you seemed completely at ease - blissfully unbothered by the cacophony of clinking dishes and murmured conversations surrounding you on all sides. With one leg crossed over the other, you lounged back in your chair, slender fingers wrapped around the ceramic mug cradled before you.

The soft furrow of concentration furrowing your brow was the only indication of your focus as you pored over the battered paperback novel propped open before you. Sunlight gilded the flyaway wisps of hair framing your face, casting deep crevices in the hollows beneath your high cheekbones. For a suspended moment, you looked almost ethereal - the embodiment of a tragic gothic heroine plucked from the very pages before you.

Chrollo found his stare snagging on the elegant drape of your throat, tracing the faint throb of your pulse fluttering beneath the surface before dropping to follow the enticing vee of cleavage peeking from your blouse...

You must have sensed his heated regard. Without even glancing up, your lips twitched in a knowing smirk as you reached for your mug. Bringing it to your lips, you took an unhurried sip - holding the scalding liquid on your tongue for a calculated beat before swallowing with a soft hum of contentment.

Only then did you finally lift your eyes to meet Chrollo's hooded gaze from beneath the fan of sooty lashes. "Something on your mind?" The deceptively innocent query was undercut by the simmering spark of challenge glinting in your stare. "Or are you just enjoying the view?"

The shameless quip and utter lack of self-consciousness should not have been so utterly enthralling. And yet...Chrollo could practically taste the thrill sparking down his spine at the bold implications lacing your tone. You somehow managed to come across as both deliciously inappropriate yet well-bred in the very same breath.

Unable to resist leaning into the tease, Chrollo allowed the barest of smiles to ghost over his lips as he mirrored your casual pose - elbows braced on the table's surface, chin resting atop steepled fingertips.

"Perhaps a bit of both," he mused in that low, dangerously warm timbre. "I do so enjoy seeing that wit of yours in action..."

His gaze was all too knowing as it dropped momentarily to your mouth. "Among other things."

The words hung in the air, rife with unspoken suggestion and subtle challenge. You regarded him evenly, holding his stare without a hint of the flustered demurring he typically encountered. For a protracted beat, the charged silence stretched taut between you as the clamor of the cafe faded to mere white noise.

Then, eyes glinting with newfound determination, you slowly reached for the bundle of pages resting abandoned on the tabletop beside Chrollo's arm. Never breaking that heated eye contact, you brushed your knuckles deliberately, intentionally, along the taut cords of his wrist before claiming the sheaf of looseleaf papers.

Lips still curved in that private, enigmatic smile, you reopened your novel - effectively ignoring or accepting his suggestive flirtation in one fell swoop as the embodiment of effortless poise.

It was subtle, masterful even in its nonchalance. And abruptly, Chrollo found himself well and truly enraptured by the delicious paradox of barbed wit and refined composure that you presented...

The memory ebbed away, siphoning back into the recesses of Chrollo's consciousness until all that remained was your pliant form coiled against him on the sagging mattress. He nuzzled deeper into the juncture of your throat and shoulder, chasing the lingering remnants of your essence still clinging to your pallid skin.

"Do you recall that afternoon, my love?" His words were a rumbling murmur against your nape. "How you matched me tease for tease without ever losing that practiced decorum society expected of you?"

A wistful sort of yearning bled into his tone, tempering the ravenous edge. "You were diabolical - all coy propriety deftly wielded to entice with just the faintest indecencies lurking beneath. Like some Wildean libertine in another skin..."

Chrollo's free hand curled into a fist where it rested on the mattress beside your hip, as if to anchor himself. There was a fevered sort of hunger simmering in his voice now, trembling with the weight of rapturous recollection.

"I knew then that I could never be content until I'd unraveled those contradicting layers shrouding your core - no matter how far into the abyss I had to descend in pursuit."

The arm bracketed around your waist cinched tighter, knotting you flush against his chest. It should have been suffocating, possessive...Yet Chrollo somehow imbued the crushing embrace with an unsettling sort of devotion. He was fastening you to him with that same ravenous ardor as one might clutch a cherished, half-coveted treasure.

His thumb traced the sharp ridge of your collarbone over...and over...and over again. "And you let me plunge into those depths so willingly - your brilliant mind falling open around me until I could see...everything."

A shudder rippled through his lean frame, momentary loss of control swiftly reined in. When his sable gaze finally lifted, there was a peculiar desperation simmering behind the usual impassivity.

"Don't you see, my love? This..." One calloused hand slid up to frame your face with infinite care, thumb caressing your lax cheek. "This hollowed essence is what you were truly meant for. An exquisite lapse of mortal confines into something sublime..."

Chrollo leaned in then, parted lips a scant breath from yours as he searched your vacant stare for any resurgence of vibrant awareness.

"You are perfection..."

The scenes continued unspooling through Chrollo's mind, each recollection seeming to unfurl within the dimness of the bedroom. Another fragment soon took shape...

Amber liquor sloshed over the rim of the heavy glass tumbler as you tipped it back, downing the harsh burn in one defiant swallow. A harsh grimace twisted your features before smoothing into a morose blankness once more.

It was well past midnight, but the dimly lit bar showed no signs of thinning out. If anything, the press of bodies seemed thicker - a sea of desperation and vice-fueled oblivion swelling with each passing hour. Chrollo slipped through the throngs like a wraith, his sable gaze cutting through the smoky haze as it snagged on your lone, hunched figure at the far end of the polished oak counter.

Even amidst the drunken revelry, you seemed utterly cocooned in your own world of misery. One dainty hand painted crimson nails over smeared trails of mascara streaking your cheeks like inky rivulets. Yet you were oblivious to the ruined cosmetics - focus zeroed inward as you gestured blindly for another refill with your other hand.

Something very much like concern flickered through Chrollo's expression as he watched the bartender dutifully splash more amber poison into your upturned glass. Before he could reconsider, his strides had already eaten up the distance between you.

Distractedly, you swiped the fresh drink towards you - only to freeze when his fingertips materialized around your wrist, stilling its trajectory. Your bewildered gaze snapped up, all blurred crimson rims and swollen lids as you blinked at him in open confusion.

"Chrollo...?" His name slipped out garbled, thick, like you couldn't quite recognize him through the alcohol-soaked haze fogging your brain. Still, there was a reluctant ember of lucidity flickering in those depths. "Wha...?"

"Easy there." His tone was infused with a carefully modulated gentleness as he extricated the tumbler from your tenuous grasp. "I think you've had more than enough for one night."

For a suspended beat, you could only gape at him in wordless bewilderment - as if you couldn't quite comprehend that he was even real. Then all at once, your fragile composure simply...crumbled. A strangled sound, somewhere between a hiccup and a sob, gurgled up from your chest to clog your throat.

You were crying in earnest, shoulders quaking with the force of your abject despair before Chrollo could even parse your reaction. Instinct overrode reason as he sank into the stool beside you, one hand settling over the sharp jut of your shoulderblade while the other curled soothingly around the nape of your neck.

"Shh...just breathe, darling." His words were hushed, lulling as he pulled you against the solid line of his side. "Whatever has you in this state, tell me. Let me help."

Babbled, hiccuping gasps tumbled from your parted lips as you curled into the hollow of his shoulder and throat. You reeked of sour booze and salt, yet Chrollo did not recoil from your distress. Instead, he stroked the sensitive hairs at your nape in an anchoring rhythm, waiting patiently for the torrent of misery to ebb enough for intelligible speech to win out.

"He...he was with her! With that vapid little t-tart from his office!" The confession emerged in a wretched outburst, fraught with venom and betrayal. "After everything, he still...he was sleeping with her behind my back!"

Ah. So that was the root of this maudlin display - infidelity. Chrollo's lips pressed into a grim line as the pieces slotted into place. Of course some base, undeserving wretch would be foolish enough to wrong you so egregiously. To discard a brilliant mind like a banal plaything when they could scarcely begin to comprehend the depths of your worth...

His palm trailed in soothing strokes down the tense ridge of your spine as you heaved another juddering sob against the lapel of his coat. "Shhh...we'll make him regret the day he took you for granted, darling. We'll make this all go away, for tonight at least."

The rumbling murmur was laced with a conviction bordering on zealotry. Chrollo was utterly undone by your naked anguish - mired in both protective tenderness and dark contemplation over just how he might erase this slight. For you were meant for so much more than these kind of vulgar pains, this reductive mortal torment...

You reeled back slightly, eyes glassy and rimmed with clumped mascara as your brow knitted in confusion. But then Chrollo brushed the pad of his thumb along the swell of your lower lip - just a whisper of contact yet somehow searing with intensity. The hitch of your breath and instinctive part of your mouth was all the answer he needed.

Neither of you could rightly say who instigated the first crush of lips in that moment. It was needy and desperate, a frantic meshing of mouths tinged with the bitter fuel of anguish and something darker still. Chrollo's hand cradled the back of your skull as he angled closer, tongue lancing past your parted lips to taste the remnants of liquor and salt on your own.

There would be no gentle coaxing on this night. Only a frenzied tearing away of hurt and betrayal before the wounds could fester into something more insidious. A shedding of mortal flesh to reveal the brilliant essence burning beneath as you yielded into his possessive embrace...

The fragment drew to a hazy close, the visceral urgency of that encounter still pounding in Chrollo's veins. His grip tightened almost imperceptibly where his hands cradled your face and waist. Remembering the pure desperation fueling your surrender that night - how you had clung to him as the only tether left in the maelstrom. How he had claimed you wholly unto himself in the throes of solace and unraveling...

"Mine," he rasped against the seam of your lips, savoring the phantom memory of how pliant and undone you had been for him in that moment. If only for a handful of searing hours before the mortal coils began reweaving around your brilliant spirit once more.

But he would eternally relish that glimpse behind the veil, where your unbound essence had shone through unto him alone. The start of his fervent devotion to keep that flame tended, no matter how deeply he had to delve to stoke its radiant spark.

The memories began to scatter like ashes on the wind as Chrollo pulled back just enough to drink in the devastation he had wrought. His thumbs traced the sharp blades of your cheekbones, reverent despite the mottled bruises and lacerations maring your once unblemished skin.

Chrollo's grip tightened possessively as he vividly recalled that fateful night when he had first tasted the intoxicating depths of your psyche. Even as you had fallen apart in anguish over your unfaithful lover, there was an incandescent fire that drew Chrollo to you like a moth to the flame.

He had meant to simply provide a brief respite - a single night of forgetting your mortal turmoils as he indulged in the radiant essence you unconsciously exuded. But from the first crush of your pliant lips against his own, Chrollo found himself utterly enraptured. Each desperate roll of your hips and keening cry spilling from your throat only stoked his covetous obsession.

You had been so gloriously undone in those feverish hours - defenses obliterated, self discarded like a shed skin as you surrendered your entire being to the oblivion he offered. And in doing so, you had revealed the scintillating truth burning at your core. An existential fire, brilliant and rapturous...yet simultaneously fragile within its corporeal confines.

Chrollo's body was rigid now as he curled around your vacant form, conscious mind awash in the recollected sensations. The salty musk of your spent passions...the litany of ethereal sounds he had drawn from your kiss-bruised lips...the exquisite rapture of joining his essences with yours in those scorching instants of coalescence.

It should have been enough. One soul-searing glimpse into the untrammeled truth of your existence before allowing you to resettle behind your mortal veneers as societal dictates demanded. But even as he held your utterly spent form in the aftermath, body humming with satiated contentment, Chrollo recognized the obsession had taken insidious root.

He could never be complete until he had experienced the full unbridled depths of that prismatic flame he had witnessed refracting through your fragmented psyche. No matter how far he was required to descend in stripping away the superfluous layers masking your truest self from view.

Which was why, in the end, such...radical measures had been required to liberate you.

Chrollo's stare bored into your vacant eyes as if seeking any residual spark still banked behind that thousand-yard emptiness. His mouth brushed your cooling temple with something akin to devotion as the memories of your systematic unraveling played out in his mind's eye.

The isolation...the escalating torments he had ceremonially unleashed to flay both psyche and flesh from your core essence...the rapturous fervour of witnessing your final fracture into this transcendent, pristine stillness.

"You are the ultimate absolution," he murmured, clutching your husk closer. "My luminous ossuary - shedding at last your ill-fitting bodily accessories to reveal the immaculate truth shining beneath."

His lips brushed your slack, parted mouth, savoring the liberation of having reduced you at last to this perfect, unbound state. Preserved forever as the concentrated epiphany he had coveted from that first, searing taste of you drowned in mortal anguish so long ago.

"Mine," Chrollo rasped with heated finality. "You are mine, now and for all eternity to come..."

Chrollo cradled your deteriorated form against him, that flickering obsession still burning bright in his breast even as he drank in the full extent of devastation he had wrought upon you. For a fleeting moment, something almost like guilt sparked behind his impassive mask.

The once vibrant, brilliant essence he had fallen rapture to now lay utterly unmade. Your eyes stared back at him, unblinking and devoid of the soulful spark that had first ensnared him so completely. Just...empty. A hollowed vessel in the wake of shattering your very spirit to reach that primal truth buried beneath.

Chrollo's thumb traced the sharp jut of your cheekbone, calloused pad catching on the ridges of mottled bruises and lacerations peppering your ashen flesh. He had been the architect of this ruination - methodically flaying away every layer of identity and reservation until only the naked essence remained. A scorched earth approach in pursuit of cradling that luminous fire unbridled at last from the confines of your corporeal self.

But surely even this devastation was a brutal form of preservation? Eliminating every potential tether that might restrain you from the transcendental state of pure, unfettered being he had laid bare...

His grasp convulsed minutely, fingertips pressing almost bruisingly into the fragile dips of your body. Perfection, he tried to reaffirm. This was the apotheosis of preserving your immaculate truth in stasis. The self-aware cosmos distilled to its most sublime....

And yet...

The briefest flicker of uncertainty lanced through Chrollo's stare as he studied the desolation reflecting back at him. For the span of a solitary indrawn breath, his convictions seemed to teeter on the precipice of horrified doubt. The full magnitude of what he had unmade you into crashing against the uncompromising fervor of his beliefs like a sanity-shattering wave.

Then your lips parted with the barest sigh, the slightest tongue movement giving audible shape to a single rasping exhalation. A phantom whisper seeming to give voice to the oblivion reflecting from the depths of your vacant stare.

"Chrollo..."

The tenuous moment fractured. Whatever fissure of trepidation that had pried open an instant before was abruptly extinguished by the guttering embers of Chrollo's dedication. His palm cupped the sharp hinge of your jaw as his brow creased in a minute frown of reproach.

"Shh...no more," he soothed in a hushed murmur. "Your essence has transcended such temporal limits at last."

With agonizing tenderness, Chrollo brushed the faintest whisper of a kiss across your placid lips. There was no response from your end - no flutter of lashes or instinctive reaction. Just the weighty stillness of a mind and spirit severed completely from any lingering mortal confines.

Chrollo pulled back a bare fraction, his sable stare glittering with something like reverence as he studied the husk before him. The fate he had meticulously crafted for you in pursuit of undoing every superficial strand barring his unfettered view of the unfurling truth laid bare at last.

And in that moment, a twisted sort of absolution seemed to settle over his expression. This bleak squalor was both sanctum and crematorium - the smoldering aftermath in which your indelible imprint had been forged into existence eternal. No matter the state of the vessel's decay, your essence would endure, preserved forever in the chilling serenity Chrollo's morbid dedication had produced.

As for the systematic dismantling and agonies required to unmake you to this degree...? All such atrocious steps were hallowed by the certainty still burning in Chrollo's conviction as he cradled your emptied husk with the covetous desperation of an obsessive widower. The indelible truth of your being had ultimately been preserved in a state of perfect, pristine deliverance.

And whether that ultimately amounted to an abhorrent defilement or the most sacred of consecrations....Only Chrollo could rightly bear witness to the full breadth of that existential paradox now.

[melodygatesauthor]

Steven Grant - Yandere Edition - Random Horny Thots #1 - Claiming

NSFW - NON-CON WARNING - Virgin Reader

——

Steven's been watching you for a long time, so imagine his excitement when he finally has you tied up, wrists stuck to the headboard and your mouth wrapped in duct tape. You're crying so hard while he's pressing himself against your tight and never broken entrance. He's prodding gently, feeling the resistance of your hole. His eyes are crazed with excitement. A trickle of drool is spilling down his chin.

"Oh love, no one's been in here before have they?" His face turned into an affectionate smile, "you've been savin' y'self just f'me? Darling, that makes me feel so special."

You're crying, and internally begging him to let you go, but he doesn't seem to care...or maybe he likes it.

He has the fat, bulbous tip of his cock in here. He can feel it stretch a little, and your screams get a little louder. He bites his lip, trying to contain his excitement. He pushes forward, feeling the way your tight hole gives out and tears around him. You shriek again, sobs getting heavier as you struggle.

"Now, now love. You're alright, shhhh," he grabs your hips tightly and leans in, kissing your tearstained cheeks.

Steven's enjoying it so much, listening to your little cries, but even more than that he enjoys the way your blood is painting his cock when he looks down at where your bodies are joined. He’s surprised at how wide he’s split you open, seeing your little pussy lips gripping around his cock so tightly. It’s almost too tight, but it feels so fucking good. You cry again; fresh sobs falling down your cheeks and soaking the pillow under your head.

“S’alright love, I know…” He leans forward, reaching his arms around your back and pulling you close, kissing just below your earlobe softly. “I’m happy too, so happy that you’ve given this to me. What a gift you are.”

He shudders, feeling such a sense of pride for being the only man to have you, and the only man to make you sound like this. You were crying tears of joy, he knew it had to be true. The noises were too good to be anything else. Of course you were a little pained, but it would feel better soon. You were meant to take him, it had to feel good.

He leaned back, lifting the backs of your legs and pushing your knees up by your head. He could see you all spread out now. He could watch your cunt swallowing around him. He could see the blood all over his length. He could hear you screaming louder in this new position, this tighter position.

“That’s it love, feels good dunnit? Yeah, bet it does. You like a bit of pain don’t you?”

All he can hear other than your muffled cries is the wetness between both of your bodies. Your cunt and his cock are drenched in fluids; a cocktail made up of your arousal, blood, and his precum, which you were certain he had a steady stream of since he started his assault.

When Steven comes, it’s messy, and he’s squeezing you so hard you think you might suffocate. His body is shaking, breath huffing out in sharp, short gusts, and he’s telling you how lucky you are to have someone like him giving you his all. No one else will ever love you like he can, and no one else will ever care for you the way he does.

“There love…” he says, wiping away your tears, “now you’re all mine. Molded your little cunt to fit around me perfectly.”

And with that, you belong to him, forever and always…

——

Any of my blurbs can be used as inspo for a fic. Please tag me for credit. Thank you!

Random Blurbs Masterlist

[runariya]

Three-Shot: Infinity (JJK) • 1

pairing: alien!Jungkook x human!reader genre: alien!AU, dystopian!AU, dark, angst, S2L rating: 18+, MDNI warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, captivity, MC's cell is the filthiest place in existence, physical harm, MC is a test object, prostitution against will, drugging, death of mentioned friend/family, suicide attempts, pulling of fingernails and toenails, failed escapes, gore, angst, panic attacks, malnutrition, please lmk if I forgot something word count: 3.287

a/n: This work is purely fictional. All characters and events are entirely imaginary and do not reflect reality. Please do not use this story as your own. No translations are allowed without permission. Thank you for understanding! 💕

MASTERLIST • 02 • 03

Year 3709

You wake to the familiar sound of dripping water, the rhythmic tap of soiled liquid against the stone floor counting the seconds, minutes, hours of your endless captivity. The air around you suffocating with the stench of mildew and decay, continuously reminding you of the cell’s dampness. Your breath forms clouds of mist in the freezing air, visible even in the low light seeping through the narrow slit high in the wall, the only connection to the world outside your prison.

Your cell, a narrow rectangle of concrete and iron, is barely wide enough for you to stretch out both your arms without brushing the icy walls. The rough stone floor is slick with gooey moisture, perpetually wet, seeping through your thin, tattered clothing and chilling your bones for days on end. The ceiling, low enough that you can touch it when you stand on your tiptoes, is a mosaic of black mold and peeling paint—something you learned from the time you resisted being pulled from your cell.

In one corner, a rusted metal bucket serves as your latrine, its putrid stench a constant assault on your senses. The bucket overflows frequently, its contents sloshing onto the floor to mingle with the ever-present puddles. Opposite, a single iron cot is bolted to the wall and the mattress lying on it, is a threadbare remnant of its former self, its stuffing long gone, leaving only a few stubborn springs that dig into your flesh each night. The scratchy, coarse blanket provides little warmth against the biting cold, and you often wake shivering, your teeth and limbs chattering uncontrollably.

The days here are indistinguishable from the nights, a ceaseless parade of darkness day in and day out. The only light comes from the slit in the wall, which is sometimes covered by a thick, opaque sheet to plunge you into total blackness if they see fit. You have learned to hate this darkness, for it brings with it the scuttling of unseen vermin and the oppressive weight of isolation. When the sheet is removed, a sickly, green light filters in, casting eerie shadows that dance across the walls, transforming your cell into a landscape of nightmares you can't escape.

There’s silence surrounding you if it weren’t for the endless dripping. Not even a sound from neighbouring captives is heard. You weren’t always alone. Jenny, once your cellmate, the only other human you had ever seen. She was your friend. Your only family, a fragile connection that scared off the isolation you now have to embrace to stay sane. Despite your efforts to protect each other, one day they took her away. That day, she didn’t return like she always did. Like you always did when they took you. That day, she was gone. And without her, you were alone. 

Your lungs feel heavy today, and each breathe is a struggle, a fight against the encroaching dampness that seeks to claim you. Your captors care little for your comfort or health; they provide just enough to keep you alive, a thin gruel that tastes of ashes and despair, and a trickle of water from a rusty pipe that runs along one wall.

The pipe is the only constant source of noise, gurgling and hissing as if it were alive, mocking you with its endless, meaningless chatter. The water that drips from it is icy cold, and you often have to cup your hands and drink quickly before the chill numbs your bony fingers. Your captors use the pipe to deliver their torturous messages, their disembodied voices echoing through the metal, words distorted and sinister. Only there to mock you. They speak in a language you barely understand, a guttural, alien tongue that makes you want to vomit. 

Kaldreks, you’ve learned. The most vile species known in all galaxies. Towering, gaunt figures with pale, frostbitten skin and luminescent green eyes that pierce through the darkness. Their elongated limbs, webbed for navigating their swampy world, end in razor-sharp claws, also used to inflict the worst wounds you had the honour to experience. 

Jagged, icy exoskeletons cover their bodies, providing both armour and a terrifying appearance. Sharp, serrated teeth protrude from their snarling mouths, perfect for rending flesh. 

Your body bears the marks of their cruelty. Scars crisscross your skin, each one a relict to their unspeakable experiments and tortures. Your muscles are weak from malnutrition and disuse, your bones aching with a dull, constant pain. Each movement is an effort, showing off your frailty and their power. They come for you at irregular intervals, dragging you from your cell to a sterile, white room where the cold is even more intense, biting into your barely covered flesh like thousand needles.

It was at the beginning of your captivity when they started to probe and prod, their instruments of metal and glass invading your body, extracting fluids, inserting needles. You and Jenny were a specimen to them, a curiosity to be studied and dissected. Their faces never hidden behind masks, their eyes devoid of any empathy or recognition of your suffering. They spoke in low murmurs, their voices blending with the hum of their machinery, discussing your fate as if you were dead meat and nothing more.

Your fate arrived sooner than you expected, knocking you over at full force. When they tired of using your body as a test subject, they found other purposes for it. Purposes specialised into the pleasures of other species. 

At first, they seized you and scrubbed you clean with freezing water. Standing naked and chained from the celling, they prepared you with various oils with their webbed claws, as cold as the water, coating your skin. You learned quickly that their touch on your pussy wasn't the worst. No, the worst came after they finished their preparations.

Over time, you were used by all sorts of species in the galaxy. Fucked until your holes bled. Bitten and scratched until you passed out from blood loss. Drugged to be fucked again. Woken only to be violated once more. Choked until you thought you had finally died, only to wake with a dick bigger than your thigh being shoved into your mouth, or worse. 

Even though the Kaldreks subjected you to unspeakable horrors and other species weren't far behind, it is the Nepturians who instil the deepest fear. Their human-like appearance, marked only by bioluminescent markings on their arms and spine, along with their imposing height, makes all the nightmares seem like a fairytale. You learned that Nepturians are typically monogamous, bonding for life. Yet, with their females dying for unknown reasons, the surviving males become the coldest of lovers. Their human resemblance haunts you, affecting you more than the others ever could.

You tried to escape more than once, but each attempt ended in failure, teaching you what the Kaldreks were truly capable of. The treatment worsened over time, more often you were used by Nepturians, yet the routine remains the same, spiralling into infinite torture you’re not able to escape. 

You tried to take your own life more than once, believing it was the only control you had left. You used your fingernails, attempting to pierce your arteries, succeeding briefly. But the Kaldreks' senses were too sharp, 'saving' you before you could fully succeed. After the second attempt, they pulled out your nails with tongs. For good measure, they did the same to your toenails. 

Each time, you are returned to your cell broken, barely conscious, your mind fogging with pain and exhaustion. The cot is a cruel joke, offering no comfort, only a hard surface to collapse upon. Sleep is your only escape, but it is fitful, plagued by nightmares of their touches, of endless moments and cold, inhuman eyes that somehow look human. You wake often, drenched in sweat despite the cold, your heart racing as if trying to escape your chest.

Time has lost all meaning. Days, months, years blend into one another, a seamless continuum of suffering and despair. You have no knowledge of the outside world, no hope of rescue. The Earth as you once knew it only a distant memory, a ghost of a dream long forgotten. The planet has been transformed into a barren, hostile wasteland, and you are its last surviving inhabitant, a relict of a forgotten age and species.

You cling to fragments of memories, half-remembered stories of a blue sky and warm sun, of green fields and the sound of laughter. These memories your only solace, a fragile thread of happiness in a world devoid of light. You wonder if you will ever see the sun again, feel its warmth on your skin, breathe air that is not tainted with misery.

But, your captors are meticulous in their cruelty. They keep you alive, but only just. The silver and pink scars cluttering your body proof enough. You are a tool, a means to an end, a living plaything. They are relentless, their personal gain insatiable, their methods devoid of mercy. You have learned to endure, to survive in the face of unimaginable hardship. Each day a battle, a struggle to cling to the remnants of your humanity in a world determined to strip it away.

Yet, somewhere deep within you, the light remains. A flicker of defiance, a refusal to be broken. You are the last human, the final witness to a world that once was. You hold on to this, clinging to the knowledge that as long as you live, there is still a sliver of hope. The Earth may be dead, but you are not. Not yet.

As the muffled voices echo through the pipes, you strain to discern their words. Hints of a plan for tomorrow seep through, reminding you once again of the relentless cycle that bound you. You know you need to escape now; the uncertainty of time on this planet makes it impossible to know when daylight would bring more torment. The Kaldreks are cruel, but the possibility of freedom flicks in the depths of your mind.

In the dim confines of your cell, you take a moment to assess your surroundings, willing the fog clouding your mind to go away if only for some seconds. Your last attempt to escape through the metal bars had failed, rendering that route impossible now. The chains that hold you are worn but sturdy. The glimmer of moonlight through a narrow vent suggest a weakness—a potential path to freedom, you were too scared to use before. You have watched their routines long enough to understand when they were most distracted. Tonight, you would act.

With caution, you manoeuvre your body, testing the chains for any sign of give. Each movement forcing to be as calculated as possible, the cold metal biting into your skin only moves sporadically and as quietly as possible to not alert the Kaldreks. Their voices fade, replaced by the rhythmic sound of your heart pounding in your chest and ears. Time is slipping away, and you have to move immediately. 

You again focus on the vent, its edges slightly corroded. The Kaldreks had grown complacent, and you use that to your advantage. With a surge of adrenaline, you twist and pull at the chains, feeling them loosen just enough to allow your wrists to slip free. The pain is agonising, but you welcome it; the burn a needed confirmation that you are still alive, despite losing more weight to slip through the chains. 

Quietly, you approach the vent, each step as careful as possible against the wet floor. Your fingers brush against the cold metal, feeling the contours of the cold opening. It is a tight fit, but desperation fuels your determination and you pull yourself up, squeeze through, the sharp edges grazing your skin, but you push on, driven by the hope of escape.

The passageway is dark, the air even more damp and musty than in your cell. As you crawl, the sounds of the Kaldreks fade completely, replaced by the distant noise of the wild outside. You navigate the narrow tunnel, each twist and turn feeling like an eternity, until you finally emerge into the open air.

Outside, the wild of the Kaldreks’ planet, Morthak, sprawls before you, a labyrinth of dense foliage and shadowy figures. The three moons bath everything in an eerie green glow, illuminating your path into a better life. You take a moment to catch your breath, savoring the taste of freedom mingled with the cold of the night.

Behind you, the sounds of Kaldrek chatter is gone, replaced by the rustling of leaves and the calls of nocturnal creatures. With your heart racing, you plunge into the underbrush, the foliage thick and tangled but a welcome barrier between you and your captors.

As you try to run, you feel the weight of the past begin to lift off your chest. Each step carries you further from the horrors of captivity, and with every heartbeat, the fear begins to wane. Tears start rolling down your cheeks with every step, sobs sporadically escaping your parched throat. The wilderness, though just as deadly for you as a prey species, is a refuge compared to the cold confines of your cell.

The terrain is uneven, but you navigate it somehow unharmed. Shadows dance around you as the night deepens, the sounds of nature becoming a chorus of freedom rather than threat. You feel the cool breeze on your skin, igniting a spark of hope within you.

Eventually, exhaustion claws at your limbs, your vision too blurred from tears, but you push through, knowing safety lay just beyond the next thicket. You stumble through the undergrowth, the moonlights guiding you like a compass. Finally, you reach a small clearing, the weight of your journey settling heavily upon you.

In that moment, you collapse to the ground, the cool earth contrasting with the heat of your racing heart. You roll against the soil, desperately rubbing your body to mask your scent as much as possible. The wilderness envelopes you, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you allow yourself to breathe deeply. You are free, at least for now, hidden in the wild, away from the claws of the Kaldreks.

As you lie there, surrounded by the sounds of nature, the gravity of your escape begins to sink in. You have taken a step toward freedom, and though the journey ahead remains uncertain, the wild holds the promise of survival.

You wake again in a white room, lying on a bed with a thin, soft blanket covering you up to your torso. Your skin tingles with the sensation of cleanliness, the dirt you covered yourself with gone, and you notice you’re dressed in an oversized black shirt. The unfamiliar garment feels alien against your skin. Though you’ve never worn black nor such garment before and the white room looks different from your previous cell, a chilling certainty grips you��you’re back with the Kaldreks. The realisation crashes like a wave of dread through your body, making your sore and tired muscles tense in fright. 

Panic sets in right after. Heart racing, you breaths come in rapid, shallow gasps, and it feels as though the walls are closing in around you. You scramble off the bed, blanket thrown off you, your heart pounds in your ears like a war drum. Desperation fuels your movements as you search the room for an escape, every nerve ending on high alert. Your hands claw at the smooth, featureless walls, finding no purchase. The air grows thin, and your vision starts to blur at the edges as hyperventilation takes hold. You stumble, your legs barely able to support your weight, driven by sheer terror.

Every corner of the room mocks your frantic attempts to flee. Your fingers trail over the seamless joinery, seeking a hidden exit, but finding none. The sterile whiteness amplifies your panic, memories flashing one by one before your eyes, each failed effort to find an exit compounding your fear. The room spins as you struggle to draw breath, your chest heaving with the effort. Sweat beads on your forehead, trickling down to sting your eyes. Your mind races, a chaotic flurry of thoughts, each more desperate than the last. You press your ear to the walls, hoping to hear something, anything, that might indicate a way out, but there is only silence.

Suddenly, the only door in the room hisses open with a hydraulic huff, and a Nepturian steps inside. Your worst nightmare manifests before you, making your heart stop immediately. He towers over you by more than half a meter, his features disturbingly human. His skin shimmers with a pale blue hue, his black doe eyes feigning innocence. But you know better than to trust them. His hair, a deep vibrant blue, is buzzed at the sides, the top long enough to partially fall over. He’s dressed in a similar black shirt, though on him it fits tightly, emphasising his dangerous physique. Each step he takes, his combat boots fall heavily onto the floor, his face void of emotion. The weight of his presence presses down on you, suffocating in its intensity.

You notice his markings—they look different from those of other Nepturians—different patterns and colour. Stress clouds your mind, preventing you from discerning whether this difference bodes well or ill for you. The bioluminescent patterns seem to pulse with a life of their own, casting faint glows that dance across the room’s sterile surfaces. You try to recall any fragment of knowledge that might explain these markings, but your thoughts are too scattered. The disparity in his appearance lastly only heightens your fear, leaving you paralysed with uncertainty.

You scramble away from him, your body trembling, adrenaline surging through your veins even more. Your breathing remains shallow, and you sense the impending collapse into unconsciousness. Each movement feels sluggish, as if you’re wading through thick, suffocating air. Your mind screams for you to run, but your body betrays you, locked in a state of primal terror. The room feels smaller, the walls collapsing as the Nepturian advances, his expression unreadable.

“Sit down,” he commands, his voice the softest you’ve heard from his kind. But you’re not surprised by his authoritative words, the courtesies of humanity foreign to other species. His words cut through the haze of your panic, grounding you in the reality of the moment. Yet, the command feels like another layer of your imprisonment, a reminder of the control he wields over you and the things that are going to happen to you. Still, you hesitate, weighing your options, the urge to flee warring with the need to survive.

After all, survival courses through you. You assess the possibility of darting past him to escape. But as you glance into the corridor beyond the door, you realise you’re not with the Kaldreks as you feared—you’re on a spaceship. The sleek, metallic walls and the hum of advanced technology signal a different captor. The realisation confirms your doom, multiplied by the presence of the Nepturian. The corridor stretches out, seemingly endless, but each step you might take towards it feels like a step deeper into your personal hell.

Your eyes snap back to the Nepturian as he repeats, more impatiently, “Sit down.” Seeing no other option, and hoping unconsciousness will soon claim you, you comply. As you lower yourself to the bed, he stands before you and, in that same soft voice you first heard him speak, says, “I won’t hurt you.” His words fail to soothe you; you remain terrified, too traumatised to trust anyone, especially a Nepturian. The tension in your muscles barely eases, your mind vigilant and ready to react at the slightest hint of danger.

MASTERLIST • 02 • 03

a/n 2: thank you so much for reading! lmk what you think - also: tag list, drabble requests and character asks are open

All Rights Reserved © @/runariya 2024

[littledeathdove]

There are a few things cute about Mother Miranda. Her crows are cute, how she looks when she is spaced out/looking up at Lady Dimitrescu, and the fact she can draw very well. But there is a specific thing I feel that is cute about Miranda even though we never see it in the game.

This thing is how excited she must get when she makes little or major progress in bringing back her daughter through the mold. Just imagine with me, alright?

Mother Miranda looking over her notes on the mold, files of experiments that failed, and notes over experiments that had some effect that hadn’t occurred before in previous experiments. Her head in her hands as she tries to find any possible errors she made, things she did that lead to more success in experiments, anything.

She has forgone the priestess look she wears around the village, the mask that covers most of her emotions and expressions is long gone also. Her face is laced with exhaustion even though she doesn’t have the basic need to sleep like humans have due to the mold. Miranda isn’t tired in a way that she wants to sleep, she is tired of this. The failed experiments, her being stuck right after she thought she made a success in her research, the damned fact she still doesn’t have her child in her hands. All of it is starting to eat away at the energy and hope that she still has.

Miranda's hands suddenly balls into fists as she lifts herself off the wooden chair she has been sitting in for hours, resisting the urge to throw the damn table across the lab. Pacing around, her hands now on her hips, Miranda breathing heavies out of frustration building into anger inside of her. Miranda hasn’t felt this stuck in her research in so long and she doesn’t miss the feeling at all.

It doesn’t take long for Miranda to find herself sitting on the floor, unshed tears boarding her eyes. Miranda usually would insult herself when she found herself in this type of state, reminding herself how tears don’t help at all. But at this moment she couldn’t think of anything due to the amount of flashbacks she was experiencing. Eva’s laughter was music in Miranda's mind, one that the older woman couldn’t help but love and hate at the same time.

It’s all nonstop in Miranda’s mind until suddenly everything stops. Miranda's mind is as blank as a white canvas for a moment, and Miranda doesn’t try to mess up the canvas by thinking of anything. It is like that for a couple of minutes as Miranda's tears finally start to fall and her hands are shaking all without her knowing.

Then it happens, an imagine is suddenly painted on the canvas. Miranda immediately recognized what the imagine was it is notebook where she wrote about three specific experiments that were overall failures but brought some success.

Find it, look through it

A voice mumbled so softly inside of Miranda’s head that it was lucky the blonde woman even caught the words. Miranda doesn’t immediately listen letting herself soak in her sorrows some more. But when she does finally dust herself off and gets up to grab the notebook it truly proves to bring great results.

Her eyes slowly brighten more and more as she realizes a piece of information she had forgotten about is located in this very notebook. It wasn’t just any piece of information though it made all three of the experiments successful in their own right. Wings now puffing up from the feeling of realization and even happiness.

She just made another break through.

—————

Basically am saying that Miranda’s reactions when she makes breakthroughs in her research would be adorable. Honestly, that woman only ever gets happy when it’s about Eva so making amazing breaks though would have her smiling and all.

Wrote most of this like a month ago so it likely doesn’t make sense but I hope y’all get what am saying.

[lemontartca]

It never fails to amaze me how much of a difference adding paint to Monster High accessories makes! I fell in love with the Hissfits set hard, so I had two pairs of these boots and only intended to customize one... but I got a little carried away and did both in different styles. No regrets! (Except being too liberal with the prep varnish on two of them... it got too shiny despite supposedly being matte)

Seriously, MH shoe molds are GORGEOUS and they do themselves no favors casting it all in one color! Whenever a pair of shoes has chompers like this on them I can't resist the teeth/red/black color scheme. Once again that matte varnish is a lie but I don't really know what to do about that since Liquitex is supposed to be a good brand.

They tried more with Twyla's shoes here (though I had to clean up errant factory paint around the laces), but I didn't even realize it was a bookshelf until I looked closely at it, and that is so cool! So I gave the books some different spines and highlighted the "Quiet Please" (and matching book on the other one) on the underside of the shoes, in addition to painting the chains on the back heel. Since I like to pose my dolls mid-step so much, customizing the bottom of the shoes actually has a purpose for me.

Twyla wearing my new favorite boots 💖