#“Come hither fool” | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

taintandviolent · 1 year

Text

Ride ; Jimmy Darling x Reader

summary: 7k words. Jimmy tries to get you and your friend to ride the carousel, but she swoops in with the cock block of the century. Jimmy takes it real hard, but maybe... maybe you can change that by the end of the night. aka: a little angst, a little fluff, and a whole lotta smut that centers around a carousel. w a r n i n g s: female reader, female receiving, angst, mild fluff, kinda slow burn, fingering, unprotected sex, public sex, rough sex. a/n: I have a problem... I've always wondered what it would be like to fool around on a carousel, and who better to explore that idea with than Jimmy Darling??? be fr. he's the one who would do it. comments are appreciated! full fic & taglist under cut!↓ / ao3 link here! / ♪ recommended playlist here! ♪

It was a beautiful day, really. The sun was out, the sky held big, white clouds as fluffy as the cotton candy in your hand, and by grace of whatever God, the bugs had decided to stay away. The fabric of the tents fluttered, making snapping sounds every time the breeze caught it.

Your bag swung at your side as you two walked through the field, passing the main tent. You’d wanted to see the Freak Show, but Debbie resisted, claiming that it wasn’t “good for us to see God’s mistakes” which you thought was a horrible and cruel thing to say, especially since you’d been teased in school for being so flexible. Some people’s bodies were just… different.

“I wonder how some of them eat.” Debbie sneered, bringing wretched images to mind. Although you hadn’t paid for the Freak Show, the posters of all the… talent… told you enough. Debbie expected a response, but you said nothing, feeling like the way you ate cotton candy was a privilege. You knew it was, and knew not to take it for granted.

“Carousel rides!”

You snapped your head to the left, searching for the source.

The man standing on a wooden crate outside of the operator booth proudly shouted the words over and over again. Children tugged on their mother’s dresses, pointing. Many of them were towed away with a frown, but a special few were treated, their mothers pulling change from their handbags as they approached him. For the most part though, throngs of people passed him, ignoring him. They’d come for the Freak Show, and didn’t want something as normal as a carousel. He’d grabbed your attention with his boisterous voice, and as soon as you two made eye contact, he took that as willing prey. Sure, you understood why; two girls, all by themselves enjoying a casual day at the Freak Show… “Just a nickel for the ride of your life!”

“Ladies!” He stepped down off the box, making a beeline for you. Your friend immediately stiffened and started tugging you away, but you stood fast. He was handsome enough - you’d at least give him the time of day to do his little pitch. With an annoyed huff, Debbie crossed her arms across her chest, rolling her eyes skyward.

“Care for a ride on the carousel? Let the pretty horses carry you for a few minutes, huh?” He crooned.

Debbie laughed haughtily, shaking her head. You pinched off another piece of cotton candy before laying it carefully on your tongue. As the sticky sugar dissolved, you kept your eyes on the man, smiling a coy, come-hither smile. Finally, you swallowed and spoke again. “I used all my money on the Ferris Wheel. You’re awful cute though.”

He grinned boyishly, leaning closer to you. He reached forward, carefully curling his fused fingers in, so as not to scare you as they neared your face. To him, hiding his fingers was a force of habit. You seemed like you might not have cared… but the risk was too great. With a soft, warm smile, the Lobster boy dragged his thumb across the corner of your mouth, removing a small fluff of cotton candy from the corner.

“Y’think so?”

You nodded, your soft curls bouncing with the motion.

“Well, in that case, baby, it’s free of charge for pretty girls.”

“Oh, I doubt that’s true.” You cooed, leaning forward towards him. Surely that would get him in trouble with the big boss later. He glanced at your lips briefly before answering, and that sent a wave of undulating heat through your core. You couldn’t help but feel special at the mention of ‘baby’ even though you were certain that he called at least fifty girls a day the same thing and more. Despite all his lavish flirting, Debbie remained unmoved. In fact, a nasty scowl had developed on her once standardly pretty features.

“C’mon, you can’t tell me you’re gonna turn down a free ride on a carousel now, are ya?”

Debbie yanked your arm again, pursing her lips. “She sure is - get lost, freak.”

Immediately, his debonair expression morphed into something much less friendly. Under a furrowed brow, his dark eyes narrowed into slits, darkening his once-amorous gaze. His jaw clenched, nostrils flaring with anger. As you were towed away, you tried to throw him an apologetic frown, but he’d already turned away to kick the wooden crate he’d been standing on far into the field.

Eve was making her rounds, checking in on everyone as she usually did. For not having any children herself, she had one hell of a maternal streak in her. Her and Ethel both looked after the troupe like they were their own, and that meant making sure that everyone was holding up throughout the day before they had to be corralled for the show. Jimmy had been assigned carousel duty that day, a position he usually shone in. His chipper attitude and undeniable charm brought the crowds, but when she walked up on the carousel, she could tell that Jimmy’s mood had soured. Over what, God knows, but she intended to find out.

A soft hand came down on Jimmy’s shoulder. “What’s going on, sweetheart? What’s that face for?”

“It just ain’t right, Eve. These gals, they’re so pretty… and they’re full of coyote piss. Worst manners I’ve ever seen.”

“I know, but you can’t let ‘em get to you. You know they’re gonna’ say something, sweetheart. It’s the same in every city, Jimmy… there’s always at least two that have nothing nicer to say. Like your mama’ always tells you, it says more about them than it does you.”

Jimmy knew she was right. He knew every single word that ever came out of her cherry-coloured lips was always right. Strong and wise — that was Eve. So why had those two particular girls gotten under his skin so much? He knew why. Underneath all the bitterness, he knew it was because you had been the prettiest girl he’d seen in this city — maybe in a few cities — and that made the cruelty cut a little deeper. Sure, your friend had been the one to make the comment, but you hadn’t taken him up on his offer and you sure as hell hadn’t stopped her — which had to mean that somewhere, deep down, you agreed with her.

Antsy, Jimmy rubbed the back of his neck before craning it to look up at Eve. He offered her an appreciative smile, assuring her that he’d be fine in a few, just needed a bit to cool off. So far, she wasn’t buying it.

“It’s ‘cause she was pretty, wasn’t it? You always get so hung up on the pretty ones.”

That was another thing — nothing got past her.

Your breaths rushed out in tired pants as you ran through the field, clutching your purse to your side. You’d ditched the cotton candy in a bin so you could run freely. Arguably, telling Debbie that she needed to get head on straight might not have been one of the best decisions you’d made this summer. Debbie was your ride home, and that had hammered in that you’d have to walk to the nearest store and ask to use their phone if you wanted to make it home that night. What she’d done just didn’t sit right with you… and you were going to make it right. Besides that, if the rose-tinted fantasy you’d created in your head went as planned, you might have one of the best nights of your life.

You were completely out of breath by the time you got to the carousel, but he was still there, holding the gate open for a group of teenagers as they scurried out like little mice. A very tall woman stood next to him, hands on her hips. She turned to you first, and quirked a single brow.

“Hi,” you breathed. “I wanted to ride the carousel. And um, talk to him.” You jabbed your finger through the air, pointing at the Lobster Boy.

“Well, I don’t know about our boy Jimmy, but the carousel is a nickel, honey.”

You stared for a moment, processing what she’d said. You stuck your hand in your purse, fishing hurriedly around, praying to God that a stray nickel would be nestled in the crevices. After breathily apologising several times in the awkward silence, you finally produced a silver coin, holding it out in your hand, proudly. Before the tall lady could take it, two conjoined digits laid atop your palm, pushing it downwards.

“Carousel’s closed. Lunch break.”

Now or never. “No, wait… please. Listen, I’m sorry about my friend. She… can be such a—”

“Oh, you mean callin’ me a freak?” He asked.

You recoiled, the bite in his words was harsher than you’d prepped yourself for. You swallowed, and straightened up, mustering up the courage to continue.

“Look, Mr. Darling, I really —”

“Oh, we care about names now, huh?”

He was really bent out of shape over this. You took a deep breath, pressing on. “I really did think you’re cute, and I would’ve ridden the carousel right then. I’m sorry that my friend said what she said. She had no right and I don’t have any right coming back here, but… I just… I had to apologise.”

He seemed to consider your words. You thought you saw a flicker of something in those deep, black coffee eyes of his but his expression remained stony, his arms stayed tight across his chest. The woman next to him shifted, nudging him slightly. You cleared your throat, trying to find the confidence to continue presenting your case, but the nerves took hold. The two of them remained impassive, unwilling to see past your friend’s heinous attitude, and you could hardly blame them.

With a small, courteous bow, you turned harshly, cutting yourself off. Any words that came from your mouth were going to be downright foolish, so you marched away from the pair, leaving a frustrated cloud of dust behind you. You thought you heard the woman call back to you, but you ignored her, not wanting any other bruises on your ego.

Thankfully, by the time you’d made it to the outskirts of the main field, Debbie hadn’t left. After some sappy apologies, some agreements that that guy was a jerk, and a promise that you’d buy her soda at the diner, she agreed to stay friends. She thought you were a lunatic for even considering him, especially with those hands he had. You offered to buy her some sweets at the store too, and with a penchant for candy, she agreed and threw the car into drive. It was her father’s car, but she sure didn’t act like it.

The store wasn’t far, but it felt like an eternity with the way she reprimanded you. Worse than your mother would. You rode in silence, sulking — as if it wasn’t bad enough that you’d been shot down out of your pink, cotton candy sky of delusions by Jimmy Darling. You almost opened the door before she’d stopped the car once you two had arrived.

As you stood in the candy aisle, you bounced on your heels. Debbie scoured the rows of jars for her preferred types, you began picked at your nails absentmindedly. It was inevitable that your thoughts drifted back to the red and white striped tents, to the wooden horses with graceful feathers atop their heads, and your mind conjured up the warm, sticky sweet scents of caramel and cotton candy. Jimmy Darling… your expression soured. For all you knew, you’d been blacklisted from ever seeing the show or setting foot on the fairgrounds. Anywhere.

“Alright, let’s go.” She barked, yanking you out of your stupor. Her arms were full of candy. Jeez, is she going to buy the whole store?!

On the way to the diner, you drove, because Debbie was far too invested in her candies to want to drive down the road a few miles. The diner was positioned just near the field, which was a terrific business decision on the owners of the Freak Show. From the vantage point of the tables outside, you could see the Freak Show in all its glory. The Ferris Wheel spun slowly.

From where you sat, you could see the tip of the carousel, and for a brief moment, wondered if he was still there. Was he still calling to people? Had he found another pair of girls, both of them charmed to death by him? Was he guiding them to the horses with a wink? You hung your head, spinning the straw around in your glass, watching sadly as the soda bubbles rushed to the top.

“Well, look who it is.”

Your face fell, the last bit of colour draining from your face. You clocked his voice immediately. That drove a burning stake of embarrassment through your chest, sending you into a flurry of emotion. You turned sharply on the bench to face him. There he was, as handsome as ever, standing next to another man you recognised from the posters, the one who had the fire breathing act. Without thinking, you scowled at both of them.

“Can I help you?” Lips pursed into a tight, angry line. You were hurt more than anything, but you were putting on an extra show for Debbie.

“I sure hope so. I can’t get your face outta’ my head, doll. It keeps —“

“Oh, we’re smitten now?” You mocked the way he spoke to you earlier. Your voice was sharp, biting, and a reflection of the cracks Jimmy had put in your heart. You felt it, he heard it. You were livid. Now he wanted to talk, now he wanted to give you a chance when a few hours ago, all you’d wanted was a chance to apologise, to make wrongs right and he couldn’t give you the time of day.

“Run back to your Freak Show, Jimmy Darling.”

“Only if you’re coming back with me.”

Debbie straightened up, mouthful of jellies. Even she, in her anti-freak state, couldn’t deny the charm the man held. Her eyes darted between the two of you, waiting to see who would fold first.

“Why should I? So you can humiliate me again? Make me apologise only to shuck me off as nothing again?”

“You went and apologised!?” Debbie blared from behind you, her mouth sticky.

“Hush up!”

Jimmy smirked to his friend, who reciprocated the expression, clearly impressed by your sudden fieriness.

“Huh? I asked you a question, Jimmy.”

“Well, see…” he paused, clearing his throat. “I was just upset back there. But my friend here talked me down, and I—“

“Oh, how nice of him. Maybe I should’ve found him and asked him for a ride.” The words were accompanied by a sneer. The man next to Jimmy tucked his hands in the pockets of his jeans and smirked. It was a suave, dangerous smirk and you caught yourself; almost letting your eyes linger a little too long. As he closed the distance between you two, Jimmy cleared his throat again — a nervous habit.

“Listen, doll face…” he muttered.

Debbie was waiting to see who would fold first… and it was going to be you, because when Jimmy Darling sat down next to you on the tiny little bench, and leaned his elbow on the table, your whole body felt like Jell-O. He smiled hopefully, staring into your eyes. Even Debbie stayed quiet then.

“C’mon… whaddya’ say? After the show tonight, say around… nine o’clock?”

If it were possible, you would’ve told him no, but the way your gaze softened would’ve given you away. So, instead of lying to him, you took a deep breath and turned back, making brief, embarrassed eye contact with Debbie before returning your attention to your very interesting soda.

Jimmy waited a few more moments, but finally got up without another word. His friend muttered something you couldn’t hear. You were proud of yourself and how resilient you were acting, because deep down, you wanted to run back to him, clutch him at the collar and beg for his attention again. But you didn’t, and he didn’t come back, just walked off down the dirt road with his friend, laughing and joking. Your only option now was go to see him at nine o’clock.

Somehow, even though she was still sore, you convinced Debbie to see a movie after you finished your sodas, just to pass the time. You’d gone and apologised and made her look bad, so she was mad at you and made that known. As you munched on popcorn, you thought about lecturing her on her choice of words, but ultimately, decided against it — she was rooted in her ways and you in yours. The hours dragged and the movie was no help. You couldn’t even recall the plot as the images flashed before your eyes. Some romantic plot, but you were too busy thinking about your own plot with Jimmy Darling, the Lobster Boy. Too busy swimming in his deep, brown eyes and basking in his bright, poster-boy smile. You’d give it all just to see it again… just to see him look at you the way he had this afternoon.

Eventually, the movie ended and it was just about eight-thirty — enough time to get to the field. Debbie may have been mad, but she still offered to drive. She swore up and down that she wouldn’t pick you up, however. That was alright, you mused. If you had your way, you wouldn’t need a ride home.

About that time, Jimmy leaned against one of the horses. There was a part of him that was screaming that this was a waste of time and there wasn’t a chance in Hell that you were coming. Another part that was more gentle, softer, and more romantic whispered quietly in his ear that something in your eyes earlier today had begged for him to touch you, to hold you close to his chest and nuzzle his lips against your neck. Girls were funny creatures, but boy did he love ‘em. Even through all the tribulations and mood swings, Jimmy was obsessed with those long-legged, bright-eyed, pink-lipped girls. There was just something about them.

Given his unfortunate circumstances, Jimmy didn’t particularly see himself as a Casanova, but the reality of it was that he was every bit of that. In every city their caravans pulled into, Jimmy always found himself a handful of girls who would swoon over him, and another select one that was adventurous enough to be moaning his name by the end of the week. He was doing ‘em a service, giving them a taste of the wild side of loving.

You approached from the opposite side of the meadow, passing quietly by the Ferris Wheel. Everything was abandoned, the circus-goers had long since left, leaving nothing but empty popcorn bags and heavily trodden grass. The main tent was alive with chatter though, full of people. You assumed Jimmy wasn’t in there, and when you craned your neck to look over, you saw a black woollen hat poking over the top of one of the horses.

“I’m here to ride…” you said quietly, approaching from behind.

Jimmy spun around to the direction of your voice, a delighted smile on his face. He was thrilled — over the moon, in fact. In a flurry of excitement, he yanked his hat off his head and threw it to the ground before latching onto one of the twisted golden poles. With a small laugh, he swung himself off the carousel onto the grass, the blades folding underneath his weight. He rushed up to you, like he had earlier in the day, and immediately, his gaze locked onto your lips, glossy with some sort of lipstick that you’d put on just before showing up.

“I didn’t think you’d make it…”

“I don’t think that’s true,” you said. “I think you knew very well that I would.”

“Sure, maybe I did.”

You gazed up into his pitch dark eyes with a smile. For such an inky set of hues, they sure were warm. He looked back down at you, tilting his head slightly. A love drunk, half-lidded look washed over his features and with a breath, you mirrored it. You rose to your tip-toes, biting the corner of your bottom lip.

That was a look of wanting a kiss, and boy was he glad you’d given him the green light on that one. Jimmy placed his hands on your elbows before slowly sliding them up the backs of your arms. Once they reached your shoulders, he pulled you in closer. He lowered his head with a smile, and finally, your lips met in the softest, tenderest kiss you’d ever had in your life. “C’mon,” he said, breaking the kiss as he took your hand. “You came here for a ride, and I’m gonna’ give you one.”

With your smaller hand in his, Jimmy wasted no time in leading you to the carousel. After a little deliberation, you chose the tan horse with the beautiful, golden plume on its headdress, its head reared up in an enchanting whinny. You hoisted one leg over the horse’s wooden body, holding your skirt down in the middle to avoid flashing the man behind you. Once you were situated, Jimmy took hold of the worn leather strap at your waist, wrapping both arms around you to slip the prong into the size-appropriate hole. Both his large, vascular hands came down on either hip, giving you a gentle pat.

“Gotta’ strap you down, in case this horse decides to take off.” Jimmy teased. He gave you a wink before stepping off the carousel and making the short trek to the operator’s booth. After he’d slipped inside, he flipped a switch and pushed forward on a lever. The music started first, breathy and light. Shortly after, the carousel gently came to life; the horses that were high dipped gracefully, and the ones that were low, rose ever so softly into the air, until they were all galloping in unison.

You held on, delighted. Even though you were no longer a child, riding a carousel still held a certain joviality. The horses went up down as light as air, and you moved your body with their motions, stretching up and curving down as they circled around their track. You wondered where the rest of the troupe was. Surely, they’d heard the sweet, mellifluous sound of of the calliope as it drifted over the tall grasses and rode on the soft breeze, inviting anyone who heard it to come for a ride, come for a ride.

Jimmy stood just in front of the carousel, watching as you swept by, circling round and round. Every time you caught a glimpse, you blushed. You didn’t have to be a mind-reader to hear his thoughts; he was admiring the way your body seemed to course with energy, following the movements of the animal below you, and matching their gait. He figured you’d do that with him, too. God, I sure hope she does.

The carousel was going slow enough that Jimmy could step on without injury, but even then, he was skilled enough to do it at a higher speed. He waited until the black horse passed and then quickly hopped on. He was several horses behind you, which meant that you’d be looking for him out in the field on the next rotation. And you were — he saw your neck lengthen as you looked for him, turning slightly as you passed the spot where he previously stood. Jimmy travelled from horse to horse, his hand flattening on the hard, wooden rumps of each of the horses as he passed them. As he approached, you were none the wiser, still giggling softly to yourself and swaying delicately to the music.

“Havin’ fun?” He asked, laying his hand on the small of your back. Instead of lurching upwards in fright like he expected you to, you melted into his hand. With a sigh, you dropped your head to the side, thankful that it landed on his shoulder. You got a whiff of his warm aroma; he smelled like a carnival would, a perfume of popcorn, cotton candy, warm grasses and sun. You took a few deep breaths, calming your nerves. With the euphoria of the carousel, you were already so full of emotion. Now arousal? Just because he touched your back and you smelled him? Poor little fool. You weren’t sure you could handle another overwhelming sensation.

“This is the most wonderful carousel I’ve ever ridden,” you confessed dreamily. “And I’ve ridden so many.”

“This ol’ girl?” He asked. He stroked the horse next to you, fingers dancing lovingly over the tresses of the horse’s frozen mane. “Aw, shucks. She probably loves hearin’ that. She’s been with us since… hell, since before I’ve been apart of the show.”

He looked up, watching as the oiled gears rotated, bringing you up and down. Him and Eve had repaired this thing a handful times, and his mother had even sculpted a new head for one of them. The white one, on the other side. Of course, she’d done such a good job that barely anyone noticed. There’d be a day where she’d break down so bad that they couldn’t fix her, but today wasn’t that day.

You’d made quite a few rotations by that point, and the songs would start repeating sooner or later. He asked: “Had enough?”

“I could ride this all night, Jimmy. All night.” You replied.

“How ‘bout you ride something else?”

Your jaw dropped open, but Jimmy closed it with a knuckle. Immediately, he started to stammer nervously, unsure of what had come over him.“Gosh, I’m sorry, that was uh —

You cut him off with a kiss, pressing your lips into his warm, plush ones. You didn’t want to hear an apology. There had certainly been enough of that today. His hand cupped your knee, caressing it softly. The feeling took your breath away, leaving nothing but a quiet little whimper that vibrated against his lips.

Moving away from your knee, Jimmy’s hand trailed upwards until he met the thick fluffy petticoat of your dress and flipped it up, delving underneath before it fluttered back down. His thick fingers grazed your slit over your panties, feeling the heat that radiated from it. You weren’t sure if you’d already started leaking into the satin, but whatever Jimmy felt was enough for him to break the kiss and gaze deep into your eyes.

“Baby, baby… c’mere.” After freeing you, Jimmy hoisted you up into his arms wedding-style. Your arms wrapped around his neck, which you immediately took to kissing and nipping playfully at. His breath hitched when you did. Careful not to hit your feet on any of the horses, Jimmy navigated around each of the horses. He finally reached his destination, and set you carefully down on the swan chair, making sure you were comfortable before sinking into the spot next to you.

“I’m real glad you decided to come tonight.” He murmured, brushing a lock of hair away from your face. “I meant what I said about not bein’ able to get your face outta’ my head.”

“Well, I meant what I said about you being awful cute.”

Jimmy hurriedly crawled on top of you, supporting his weight on the back of the chair. His head hung between his shoulders as he leaned down, bringing his face closer to yours, his warm breath washing over your cheeks.

“I want you real bad,” he slurred. You picked up the faintest hint of alcohol on his breath, biting and strong. “I need that heat, baby.”

The fabric of his dark jeans were pulled taut with his growing arousal, and when you hooked your fingers around the top of his belt, your fingers grazed the warm skin of his tummy. He whimpered as you tugged him closer, urging his hips into yours. You wanted it, batting your lashes with wanton intent. God, he thought. I could fall head first into those doe-eyes if I’m not careful…

Slowly, Jimmy began grinding into you, bringing himself as close as he could with clothes on. You were so soft and warm underneath him. It drove him crazy. You whimpered pitifully, closing your eyes and melting into his touch. One of his hands was on the back of the chair while the other was beneath your ass, pulling you up to meet each of his thrusts.

“Harder, Jimmy.” was all you said.

Jimmy thrusted deeper, rolling his hips back and forth and grinding against your centre. The hardness beneath his jeans bumped against you, rubbing determinedly against your cunt. The friction was just enough to get him stiffer, but not enough to satisfy. Like a lover persisting that something was too much, the wood creaked louder. Jimmy slowed his grinding, looking up at the old neck of the swan. “We oughta’ move this somewhere else… I dunno’ if she can handle…”

“Handle what?” You asked, out of breath and distraught that he’d stopped. The tiniest beads of sweat decorated your hairline. Jimmy had you worked up and only from some heavy grinding.

“Well, to be honest doll face, what I wanna’ do to ya’.”

Your cheeks flushed, hotter than the surface of the sun. They had to be beet-red as your eyelashes fluttered shyly at him. “Jimmy…” you whispered. He grinned, and took a few steps back, extending his hand towards you. Your curious eyes trailed down, sweeping over the bulge in his jeans. You weren’t the only one who had gotten worked up, it seemed.

You took his hand and he pulled you off the swan seat with ease, his bicep flexing underneath the cuff of his sleeve. As he led you off the carousel, your hand was swallowed by warmth and size. The journey was short, but the reason for the destination was obvious; it was secluded and out of view. Behind the carousel, between two smaller tents, the grasses were high, swaying back and forth with the breeze. Jimmy sat down first, pulling you down onto his lap.

You needed no instruction from the man beneath you; your hips began grinding back and forth on his groin, picking up where you two left off. He groaned and fell onto his back, weakened with pleasure. You could see his skin flushing with arousal. A smile curled around your lips, feeling more powerful than you could ever remember. Jimmy was beneath you, panting in ecstasy, and all you had to do was wiggle your hips back and forth to make him come undone. You bit your lip, planting your hips hard, and shimmied back and forth, feeling his bulge grind against your swollen clit. Jimmy practically whined at that. It was a high pitched, desperate, breathy sound.

“Baby…” He leaned up, his chest heaving. “You’re drivin’ me wild.”

You nodded, knowingly. It wasn’t a secret that you were driving yourself wild; you were certain that by this point, you’d left a sizeable wet spot on his jeans. Your hands moved to his chest, taking your time with his shirt as you carefully pulled each button out of its slit. Once they were undone, you pushed the shirt off his round shoulders, letting it fall to the grass below. Jimmy watched you intently.

“Where’s my strap now?” You asked, tracing circles on his bare chest. His skin was tanned and warm, like it had taken the warmth of the summer sun, absorbed it and made it its own. You leaned down, pressing a soft kiss on the flesh just above his nipple. Jimmy hissed in response, lifting his head to look at you.

He looked at you curiously, a single eye brow lifted. “Your what?”

“My leather safety strap… you know, in case this Lobster takes off…”

“Ohoh,” Jimmy laughed a low, sweet molasses-like chuckle. “Oh, baby. He will. But don’t you worry, I’ll hold onto you nice n’ tight.”

You pressed your lips against his, humming an excited laugh into his mouth. Feeling adventurous, you reached down the front of his jeans. Right away, the tips of your fingers were met with a velvety hot tip, slick with pre-cum. You swept the pad of your thumb over the slit, smearing the clear fluid over the tip. His heavy, swollen cock was already sensitive from the grinding that you two had been doing, so the slightest touch had him bucking his hips into your palm. The motion pushed your hand farther down into his jeans, allowing you to feel his stiff cock, and the heat that radiated from it.

“Jimmy,” you cooed. “You’re so hard…”

“Well, ‘course I am baby… you think you can move those hips on a guy like that and nothin’ happens?” As he spoke, Jimmy’s long, conjoined fingers gripped your hips, urging them back and forth again as if you to remind you what you’d been doing. Your body obeyed, undulating back and forth, riding the base of his cock, while your hand stroked just below the tip.

“Fuck,” he moaned. “Fuck, baby, just like that…”

You kept up, easing more pre-cum from Jimmy’s tip. Your blush had spread to your neck, a direct result of you being embarrassed by your provocativeness. You’d never been this dirty in your life, and your first sexual encounter had been far less licentious than this — but it all felt so natural with him.

“Ahhh, alright — I’m gonna’ lose it, baby. You gotta’ stop…” He said, abruptly yanking your hand from his jeans.

“Well, what’s wrong with that?”

“What’s wrong with that?” He echoed, pausing to kiss you. “What’s wrong with that is…” Another kiss. “I want inside uh’ you…” Another kiss, and he looked down at your body, watching as your chest heaved with each hot breath that left your lips. He wrapped one arm around you, flipping both of you over so that his body was atop yours. Feebly, you cleared your throat. The knot in your stomach wound tighter as you scooted back from him, arranging yourself and laying down on the shirt.

“C-could you… use your fingers first?” You faltered, sounding more nervous than you actually were. The question was fuelled more by curiosity than fear. Jimmy’s cocoa-coloured eyes seemed to darken even more, mischievously.

“First, huh?” An adorable crooked smile cut across his face. With lips pursed, you shot him a sideways glance. By this point, he had to have known what you wanted, but acted as aloof and innocent as ever. He returned your glance with a wink, knee-walking himself closer to you. With a tight breath, you shimmied out of your panties, setting them next to you in the grass. Your dress skirt had enough length, providing a layer of protection between your ass and the ground.

He stretched his hand, curling and uncurling his long, conjoined digits, like a runner stretching his legs for the marathon ahead. You had him feeling nervous, like a virgin on prom night, so he was thankful for the familiarity of using his hands. He was used to this part. He knew how this went.

You propped yourself up on your elbows, eager to watch. Jimmy’s fingers fell to touch you, nearing your entrance. The tips of them grazed your slit, slipping along your drenched folds and spreading the wetness. His thumb circled your clit, sending a shockwave through your body. The muscles in your abdomen immediately tightened, and a searing ache started just above your bladder. A breathy moan left your lips as you arched your spine upwards in white hot ecstasy.

“Feel good? Tell me, baby.”

“Y-yeah,” you whined. “Yeah, it does.”

He looked down at you, craning his neck to get a better view. You were more than ready; leaking like a faucet. You’d probably been ready, but Jimmy was usually a gentleman and favoured comfort over speed. He did it with all sorts of girls all across the country, for cryin’ out loud. He knew how to get ‘em worked up enough that he could bottom out in one thrust. But of course, he rarely did. They didn’t want his cock, they wanted his freak fingers.

But not you. You wanted all of him.

Jimmy held his breath as he curled one set of pincers back towards his palm, inserting the other into your cunt. He exhaled heavily; it was warm and slick, the sweetest thing he’d ever felt.

“Hohh… babydoll…” He closed his eyes, and began pumping. You were already writhing and panting underneath him. Jimmy grinned bright. He loved the noises that all the pretty girls made when he touched them, but there was something special about the noises you were making. You were expelling these short, high breaths, and thrusting your hips to meet his fingers each time. The immediacy of his need hit him like a freight train. His cock twitched in his briefs, demanding attention. He needed you. Now. His cock tensed again, urging more pre-cum from the tip.

“You ready, sweetheart?”

He prayed to the stars above that you’d say yes. When he saw your curls bounce with the motion of your nodding, he heaved a sigh of relief and flopped over, reaching into his jeans to free his cock from its cloth prison. You couldn’t help but gawk at the way that it stood attention, red and angry and looking for somewhere to go.

“C’mon. On top. I’ll give you the real ride uh’ your life now.”

You gathered your dress and petticoat into your hands before throwing one leg over his waist. Beneath you, Jimmy held his cock, guiding it blindly over your slick folds. You whimpered every time the hot tip bumped into your aching clit. Straightening up on your knees, you paused, doubting your ability to take him all in one go. He sensed your hesitation.

“It’s alright baby, take it nice n’ slow.” His accent was like honey, dribbling out and coating your heart in a warm, sticky mess.

“I’ve just never,” Jimmy pressed a conjoined digit into your lips, shaking his head. “Don’t gotta’ explain yourself. It’s gonna feel good to me either way.”

Your knees spread, slipping against the warm grass as you lowered yourself down onto his cock. At first, the squish of his head was comforting and the heat felt good — really good, but then it was the strain of your cunt trying to accept his girth. You forced your hips down further, and your cunt swallowed the head and half of the shaft.

“Ohh… my god.” As the stinging stretch subsided, making room for his thick cock, a deep moan echoed over the field. Gingerly, you moved your body up and down, feeling full and tense. Jimmy made a fist in front of his mouth, squeezing his eyes shut tight. Sure, he got some tail every now and then, but it was his hand more often than not. He led a “satisfy them now, worry about yourself later” kind of lifestyle, and all for a couple bucks.

But this… this…

He groaned loud, unconsciously thrusting his hips and stuffing the rest of himself inside of you. His cock bottomed out, veiny and pressing against your slick walls. You winced, overcome by the sensation. It was almost too much, but you took a deep breath, and kept at it.

Jimmy’s chocolate eyes softened, full of adoration, as he watched you, feeling your body tremble. She’s never ridden anyone before, save for those horses.

“C’mere, baby. Keep that ass up, and I’ll do the work.” Jimmy’s warm arms wrapped around your back, pulling your chest to his. His arms enveloped your, warm biceps pressing against your shoulders. You nuzzled your nose into his neck, and that’s when he took ahold of your ass, digging his digits into the marshmallow-soft flesh of your cheeks. You backed your hips out slightly, adjusting to the new position.

With a slow breath, he started thrusting up into you. His cock was so slick, messily slipping in and out of you with ease, and the way it was hitting you, the way the ridges of his head popped in and out of your cunt… made your eyes rolled backwards.

“I don’t think you’re a freak,” you panted, meeting his hips. “I promise.”

At first, he didn’t answer, only craned his neck up to kiss you hard. His tongue delved into your mouth, swirling hungrily along yours. You moaned into his mouth. Loud. His large hands, spread out on your ass, moved up and down with each thrust, using it as leverage. You gripped his broad shoulder tight, nails leaving crescent moons in his skin.

“I know, baby… I know you don’t.”

The melodies of the cicadas and the rustling grasses hardly concealed the wet slapping of his thick cock as it pounded into you. Loud enough you were sure that someone could — and would — hear. But it felt so good. You couldn’t stop even if the entire freak show was standing around you, watching, taking notes.

He fucked harder and the feeling of his cock as it massaged your cunt, hitting all the right spots at a gentle curve had you whining into his ear. In your shoes, your toes curled tightly, almost cramping. You begged for him, cried for him, and told him how good it felt. He groaned, moaned and growled in response each time you did. Called you angel face, baby doll, and honey — names that sounded so good on his lips. You shuddered hard against his warm body, drenched in sweat.

Jimmy let out a series of pants as he picked up his speed. You were so close, whining brokenly with every hit of his cock. With a sudden deep sound, his whole body tensed. The veins in his neck popped and his teeth clenched tight, sounds of ecstasy breaking free from between them. You felt the heat of his cum coat your insides and it sent you over the edge — your own orgasm ran after his, clenching around his cock, and leaking down onto his thighs. His thrusts slowed sporadically, twitching up into you before they finally subsided.

He wrapped his arms around you as his cock softened inside of you, both of you panting in unison. Subconsciously, he was protecting you from the chill that would inevitably settle on your sweat-coated body. As he stared up at the stars, the twinkling little pinpricks of light, Jimmy Darling promised you another ride — one home. He didn’t have the heart to tell you that this was his last weekend in your quaint little city. He wasn’t quite ready for that devastation yet.

t a g l i s t : @kaismanwich / @redwoodghost / @elsamarss / @silverzoomiesies / @kaisbasementwhore / @thewolveswithin / @80strashbag / @twinkiemaximoff / @spill-the-t / @stucktothetwo / @evansb1tch / @enchanting-evan / @yesdevineruler / @enchanting-evan / @anonymous0316 / @eventually27 / @violetharmonscupcake/ @my-own-walker / @kai-slut / @fuckedbykai / @iluwmycats / @dewberryobssesed / @the-goblin1 / @dirtyfairy97 / @jellyluvr / @strangerthings420 / @kai-anderson-whore / @piecesofcain / @lilthbunny / @quickandsilvers / @tatelangdonsweater / @ifeeltoofuckingmuch / @howtobesasha/ @randodummy / @throwinginmythai /

Ask to be added to taglist for future fics!!

#Jimmy Darling #Jimmy Darling x reader #Jimmy Darling x you #Jimmy Darling x yn #ahs smut #myfics #shout out to stephen sanchez for being my JD inspo as of late

373 notes · View notes

slowd1ving · 21 days

Text

✦ II. COME HITHER, CURSE WHERE HE LIES

"This was the tale of the seventh prince; an elegy hidden from the footnotes of history. Within the game Lament of Ouroboros, his sorrows were summarised thusly: A strangely warm vein of ore. Hero, come here when dusk kisses the edge of the Borderlands. As your palm brushes against the rock, you may be able to feel the pulse of a slumbering prince. Three sentences were all that was afforded to the disgraced prince, forgotten to all but the Moirai." • . * cursed prince ratio + alchemist m reader rough design for minoan fashion ratio here warnings: video game violence, death? kind of? tyranny (are we surprised), male-coded reader (or at least the in-game avatar is), depictions of gore, turning into stone wc: 4.2k

LAMENT OF OUROBOROS MASTERLIST

HONKAI STAR RAIL MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

It took all of one year for the warning to become prophecy. One year, approximately four hundred and eight days—give or take—for the two Suns to align themselves in the exact arrangement they had on the Day of Silence. And in that single year, the schemes of Veritas Ratio would germinate, blossom, and finally wither away irrelevantly.

He was born quietly, and thus his end would, too, be quiet.

The month of Hekatombaion had the seventh prince leave his tower: like a bird set free from its gilded cage. Though he was never caged, per se, the youth knew it was safest to stay in its stone walls: away from the all-consuming, bloody struggle for the throne, away from the greedy claws of his siblings and their power-hungry gazes. Yes, it was far easier being a shunned seventh prince than getting swept up in the tides of fatal politics.

Fatal, indeed—the internal strife had already claimed the lives of two of his siblings. He was the fifth prince, if one regarded the situation objectively—but it was better to lurk in the oblivion. Seven was a less significant number than five, after all.

Hekatombaion was the month of venture. The Day of Silence had occurred in its beginning; the day to mark the new year, where the blank canvas of muteness would sluggishly accumulate the sins and sorrows of the populace in the coming days and weeks. Like honey trickling over sweet basyniai, the seventh prince would begin to spread his own influence to achieve his saccharine conclusion.

So, the youth ventured forth—though not into the bloody palace, but the summer-worn streets and the agora. Past the stands selling their wares, and the philosophers sermonising on the achromatic cobblestones, were those conducting business and students of the various schools in Metis. The work and school day had shortly ended—the evening of debates and discourse had just begun.

Without the gilt laurels which suggested his status as one of Elation’s blood, he was no more prince than he was peasant. The drape of his clothes and their exceptional craftsmanship did, however, mark him as a wealthy man—perfect for infiltrating the symposium of a guileless young master.

Thus, the prince incognito began frequenting these conferences and gleaning precious information and gossip from the drunken fools who sought to boast of their knowledge and logos. Their fallacies were awful for entertainment, but Veritas was very grateful for how witless their lips were. All the news, rumours, and information passed around students and teachers alike were his for the taking: the rudimentary designs from which he would craft his weapon. From these anserine gatherings with peers a few years older than him he crafted a network of the politics of the kingdom: who sat behind and whispered to the magistrates; who supported the polemarch and just who was responsible for the military advancements of the archon in charge of armed forces; and finally, the influence of Aha and his siblings on the spread of the kingdom.

These were the preliminary preparations for investigating the ruling class of Metis.

Metageitnion was the month for thanksgiving. The seventh prince’s presence at the mess hall was nothing out of the ordinary, then, for the arid weather heralded festivities and games where his attendance was expected—if not mandated. As opportunistic as he was for information, he naturally assumed his place below his siblings: slightly sycophantic, yet assuredly not a threat.

Dried figs melted on his tongue—a mellifluous snack he’d consumed plenty of in his tower, but tasted especially cloying as praises flowed from his mouth like honeyed wine. His siblings, vain as they were, dangerous as they were, liked observing how their shunned brother cowed neatly before them. Though, the watered-down liquor they ingested was nowhere near enough to loosen their lips on matters of heresy; another span of days passed without gaining information. In its stead, he established himself as a vapid fool with no interest in scrabbling for the throne: a slippery, cowardly bastard who simply wasn’t worth the effort to kill off.

Had they paid attention to the glowing reports from his tutors, had they cared an iota for anyone but themselves, they might have noticed that his smarts didn’t just extend to backing off from the throne. Perhaps then, they would have surmised that the compliments and agreements uttered with his smiles were strategic more than anything.

But his tower was isolated from the main palace, and he was no more a danger than a caged bird.

A fool, just like the rest of them. Alas, his gormless act perhaps was a bit too convincing—the siblings in the know wouldn’t entrust state secrets to someone who appeared as imbecilic as he did. Nonetheless, they grew accustomed to seeing him, and his presence where they were no longer seemed unusual.

This was how Veritas tactically placed himself onto the petteia board as a piece that could no longer be overlooked.

Boedromion was a month of aid, so the prince decided to extend a hand to those seeking help in the assembly. From behind the scenes, he handpicked those he needed for his investigation: those who had the ear of the archon in charge of the military, those who worked in administrative wings of the palace, those who could be moulded into perfect aides for his siblings. He observed the strata unable to speak up, unable to assert themselves in the agora, unable to hold any sway of their own.

It was no altruism when he pulled them aside. Into their minds he painted himself as the benevolent saviour; the silver tongue who gave them their voice in the assembly back. In return, they turned themselves to pieces on his game board. Hence, he gained valuable information and more reliable rumours to investigate about the imperial family. Who to talk to, who to bribe, who to follow when the twin suns dipped below the horizon and the moon embraced the sky once more.

These were the new connections the seventh prince forged—a net far more sound than the ramshackle collection of drunken scholars and fools from the symposia.

Pyanopsion was the month of harvest, so his Highness watched his efforts fruit into an audience with Aha. The drunkard was shrewd—far too clever for someone rumoured to be an imbecile—therefore the seventh prince bowed before the sovereign and spoke no honeyed platitudes to THEM. When the king asked for his thoughts on the assembly, he answered honestly—and THEY guffawed with THEIR chalice in hand. When the king asked for his opinion of the people, he answered fraudulently—and THEY ruffled his amaranth locks with a hand that felt far too distant for a father.

What are people, if not tools for the Elation?

There is no greater joy for them than serving us on this grand stage.

Do you not agree, your Majesty?

Lie after lie dripped from his composed mouth. Even as he thought of the bright children running through sun-dappled streets, even as he thought of the beaming pedlars and their wares, even as he thought of the joy in the ordinary, mundane families he came across in the synoikiai—all these mentations came to a halt behind his expression. In those three sentences, his heart had hardened against THEM: as THEY smiled, as THEY affectionately broke bread with him, as THEY gestured for sweet wine to be poured into his cup.

The youngest prince was no longer a mere prince but Aha’s son; an acknowledgement that only served to disgust the youth further.

How vile.

And though his goal was reached, this was how the Elation successfully alienated itself to Veritas.

Maimakterion was the month of cold, and so the prince retreated to the stone palace for the first time since childhood. Past nightfall, he breached the lax security of the grand library and accessed its restricted section. All his manoeuvring, all his alliances and mind-numbing conversations—it was worth it to finally enter this place once more.

There, in a forgotten corner that seemed more sepulchral than even the mausoleum, the seventh prince found what he had searched for. Penned in faded ink that he could barely see even with the light enchantment, was proof of collusion between the imperial family and the so-called ‘heretics’.

This was the point in time where his Highness felt the most vindicated towards the venerable Sophos and THEIR mockery.

This was also the point in time where his Highness could no longer step off the path he had chosen.

“Do you think he can feel it?” The maiden idly twined threads past HER fingers, for it was far more entertaining to see a mortal walk towards his doom with a head held high. “Surely there must be some sense of ill portent.”

“The men most arrogant are least prepared for their end, Clotho,” the mother rebuked, but the syllables were about as harsh as spring butterflies—for SHE, too, anticipated the boy’s expression as he stared into the face of his own hamartia.

“Hubris!” the hag cackled, yet the tremble of HER deathly grin belied the ever-present tears that traced the weary lines of HER face. “What a terrible conclusion.”

For the Moirai, this fate was nothing more than a short-lived, tragic play.

And so, the month of Posideon passed quickly for both the three and the prince. The information inked into the yellowed scrolls was his proverbial labyrinthine thread, tugging his body to his salvation. Through the throngs of regular humans, his path was etched towards the harbingers of heresy: alchemists and their ilk.

Throughout these days, he hardly thought of Sophos Nous at all; yet the familiar sensation of exoneration remained. He would prove himself before THEM; he was ready to put Aha to trial in front of the assembly if need be.

The archontes were not infallible.

This fact applied to Aha especially.

When he probed those labelled as heretics, he was bitterly reminded that this wasn’t their fault. They were not the lawmakers, nor were they those with choice. Victims. Shackled to the Elation, their actions were akin to those of a puppet: pushed towards their day of reckoning by a force far superior to their own.

Thus, the seventh prince worked tirelessly. Through the short days, through the long nights—he toiled away in his tower. He compiled sets of arguments, practised endless logos, drafted out the evidence necessary to condemn those at fault within the upper echelons of Metis.

Gamelion came and went. Under the guise of a serving boy and some forbidden enchantments, Veritas walked the long stretches of the palace with nothing but worn sandals on his feet. He traced its ancient mosaics: memorising the old walkways and floor plans gifted by one of his acquaintances. For preparation was the friend of success, and the prince was nothing if not successful in his endeavours.

It all led up to this night—stepping into the room sequestered from any official floor plan.

“Look at him,” the maiden cooed. The spindle in HER cruel hands stilled momentarily—for a brief while, none were born. Though, this was an insignificant deviance in the tapestry of humanity: far too quick for anyone to realise. “Has he realised he’s out of his depth yet?”

“Hardly,” the matron scoffed. “He’s ablaze with self-righteous anger, as it were. Surely he could not have been ignorant of the sins on his own blood-kin’s hands?”

“Lachesis,” the hag warned. “Keep silent and enjoy the act.”

“Don’t tell me you feel sympathetic, Atropos?” the mother sneered, for it was ludicrous that the Moirai felt any sort of attachment to humanity. To fairly allot, the reason for THEIR very existence, was no longer possible if any bias was introduced to any of them.

“Hardly,” the crone muttered. HER sentimentality would not affect HER role in this universe; just as it had been before, and as it would be after, HER shears would continue their severing of life from humans.

The three were rapt as the prince gazed around the hall. Every turbulent beat of his heart, every miniscule grit of his molars, every bitter fist his sinuous hands made—all of his reactions were carefully documented, since a tragic hero like him had not been observed for an age and then some.

It was by no means a modest room. The circumference of the marble spanned the equivalent of the large temple dedicated to the Elation, propped up by frieze-decorated columns. Stone reliefs etched into the walls depicted the rise of his lineage; they were intertwined with a sickening repertoire of mythos that they had no place against. Heroes of the old gleamed bright against his family’s wickedness—so utterly out of place he couldn’t help but gaze foully at the castings.

Turned yonder, and the door through which he came glinted with the tell-tale light of an enchantment: a rippling string of formulae that indicated the space warping which enveloped this place. Yes, although the archon had expressly forbidden use of enchantments, they clearly had no qualms about taking the knowledge for their own gain.

For the Elation is above the law.

Past the vast anteroom was another door; this one, too, distended and undulated under his piercing gaze. Or rather, the silent movement of his mouth as he shattered its illusions and breached its innermost chamber—and this one was the one which struck him still.

The seventh prince could only watch, horrified, as the expanse of terror unfolded before him. There was no escape from the sight, not unless his eyes were plucked out of his skull.

Aeons.

There was no space unblemished by golden cadavers. Cadavers, for statues surely wouldn’t possess faces distorted in crazed screams and bodies contorted in the most despicable of agonies. Cadavers, for surely their pain had ended—he prayed they were dead within their metallic shell, he prayed their souls had departed the material world, he prayed that his presence didn’t disturb their rest any further.

Bile rested bitter in his mouth, and he struggled not to let the acrid film swirl into vomit—for his stomach churned and his palms grew clammy at the sight.

These were the supposed threats to the Elation—innocents whose only crime had been to be against the tyranny of his family.

For their dissent, they’d been dipped in molten gold—either dying through the intense heat, or slowly withering away as the alchemy chipped away at their flesh.

Both options were equally horrifying. The seventh prince’s vision swam, and he barely made it back to his tower before his legs finally gave out.

Yes, the prince had gained the knowledge he finally needed to take down his family, but at what cost?

Deep inside, he already knew the heavy feeling in his heart was the price he was beginning to pay.

If only he knew the fate allotted to him at the end of this thorny path.

Anthesterion trickled by slow as a fat bee. Sluggish. Every second was prolonged, every moment was accompanied by his racing pulse and adrenaline-stricken brain. No longer did he need to act the cowed prince—for before his siblings, his mouth grew dry and his pupils constricted into mere pinpricks.

When he glanced at his sister, he saw the golden woman who’d wept with her body curled in on herself: shoulders hunched to her ears, hands sharpened into desperate claws (gouging at her flesh, since everyone knew pain nullified pain—and what greater anguish was there than losing your very body to aureate?). She’d writhed in her last moments; the harrowing movements had sent shockwaves all throughout the security enchantments.

He could taste her tears.

When he stared at his three brothers, he also stared at the man who had ripped off his own arm to escape his inescapable fate. He stared at the blood that had pooled like gilt on the marble floor, for not even his most ardent lifeblood could evade the disgusting talons of his kin. He stared at the expression of horror the man had: eyes bulging out of their sockets, mouth twisted to an excruciating scream, and a wretched gaze afflicting him.

He could feel the oily sanguine dripping from his own hands.

He could no longer escape his siblings either.

They relished in the iron grip they had over the city. They revelled in the generated fear. They savoured their long talks—talks which Veritas was now privy to, talks in which he did his best not to heave up the fruit in his stomach and the bilious film that now perpetually dwelled on his tongue. He was reviled, but they indulged in their craving for petrification with a particular sapidity that broke him down—over and over and over until he could no longer smell anything that didn’t carry the stench of copper.

That was perhaps the month in which the seventh prince grew the most ill.

Elaphebolion trailed its ghostly fingers around his neck like a noose. He grew careless in his haste to put his family before trial: left too many loose ends, made too many connections, and drew the attention of far too many eyes.

It didn’t take long for his tower to truly become the cage of his metaphor.

No, it took less than three days from his last meeting with an informant to find the door to his tower securely locked. Overnight, while the seventh prince restlessly slumbered, wrought bars enclosed his windows in one final trap.

Thus, the prince was prince no longer, but a bird with its wings clipped forevermore.

But that was not the end of it—for if it was, his life-thread would not have been seeped with the bloodiest of carmines.

Mounichion was when Aha finally came to visit THEIR wayward son.

Join me, THEY offered—though Veritas knew THEIR proffered hand was no salvation, but puppet strings that would attach to his own. For the ceaseless entertainment of the Elation, this was perhaps the greatest mercy Aha could extend: to become a dull marionette in this gilded cage until only his bones were strung up for all to ridicule.

And when THEIR son’s incensed gaze did not waver, THEY sighed.

Maddened with grief, boy? THEY mocked the look in his irises—once as bright and sweet as cherries, now dulled to the hue of dried blood.

Kill me, those numbed eyes seemed to respond—but futilely, the youth wanted to live.

“I’ve something much better, son.”

Mounichion was thus the month of confinement, where Aha planted a short-lived weed of hope that sprung up in the cracks of the prince’s heart—and withered just as quickly.

Thar-gelion was when Veritas avoided death, but lost many things in return.

It had started off small. His vision began to blur somewhat, but he chalked it to confinement in his tower. Even when he crafted himself ocular lenses and fitfully forced himself to sleep in the topmost room, there were moments in which the edges of his sight faded and greyed with a frequency that slowly increased.

He browsed anatomical manuscripts. When the light from the twin Suns was particularly dim, he struck the oil-lamps with crude enchantments and perused their words as though they held the key to his answers—yet the lack of solutions was not enough to alarm him.

It should’ve been.

His sense of smell was next to mute, though this was a far more subtle difference than his sight. Being confined to a particular area would obviously force one to grow accustomed to its ins and outs—including the odours and various scents of it. It wasn’t a problem, until one day Veritas Ratio noticed he could no longer quite smell the papery fragrance of his scrolls, nor the rich tang of his ink.

Yet still, he ignored the warning signs. After all, he was preparing for his eventual execution.

Naturally, his taste palate, too, had dulled due to his weakening olfactory sense. Although, this loss was far less profound than one might have anticipated—but it made all too much sense if one took into consideration his status as a prince awaiting judgement. Feed him enough so he survives. A few pieces of flatbread, some cheese, and one or two bruised handfuls of dried fruits were dropped through the bars daily—along with a skin of sour wine—much like feeding a wild bird when it had not yet been tamed enough for the door to open. These various foodstuffs were bland enough that it wouldn’t have made a difference if he could taste either way.

Thus, the prince simply did not notice this sense fading.

The next sense to take leave was his hearing, and this time he did feel the difference. His balance was affected, though he surmised that was due to the lack of nutrients his body received. But when the fragile rustle of paper against his fingers stopped registering; when the tell-tale thump of his heart in the silence of his room grew silent; when he could no longer hear his own neurotic waves of breathing—this was when the seventh prince realised something was dreadfully wrong.

He’d screamed himself hoarse, tearing at his skin with his nails to wake from this forsaken dream—only to no longer feel his crescent nails digging into flesh.

No. No.

Air came shallow to the prince as his fading eyes desperately fixated on the blood welled on his arms. He could not feel the wounds. He could not smell the metallic crimson dripping in rivulets. He could not hear the hasty, panicked breaths and his racing pulse. And finally, when he put his mouth to staunch the flow, he could not taste the acrid tang on his palate either.

And so, the prince spent the month of Thar-gelion slowly losing his mind.

Skirophorion was when it came to a bitter end.

In those days, His Highness barely left his bed. Sleep was now the only respite; he could no longer read his books, he could no longer pore over his beloved tools, and he could no longer support his weakening body. Any meals were now delivered far more sporadically; alas, the prince rarely ever ate.

Death was imminent.

His mind had long since given up, and his body was sure to follow.

Any day now. Veritas could only count the seconds, the minutes and the hours—no longer could the youth cross the days off, not when his joints and limbs had petrified.

Death was a mercy the prince would not receive.

It was when Aha next visited THEIR son at the tower that Veritas truly learnt of the state he was in.

No, he was no longer at his tower. That was a lie—a last comfort afforded to the prince.

Poor child, all of this suffering could have been avoided, Aha’s message burst bright in his dulled mind. He thought he felt his index finger twitch.

Would you like to see what you look like? The golden impression faded, as though Aha was waiting for the prince to answer. Well, I suppose you can’t answer either way.

A sort of horrified fascination lingered in the scholar’s mind. Had his flesh, too, been transmuted to an aureate statue?

Did you think you’d join your people as one of MY sculptures? The question shook sympathetically, or maybe it was a dry laugh as the king looked on at THEIR pitiful son.

No, child, you deserve a tragic end befitting MY line.

And thus, the youth blindly awaited his judgement.

Death shall never end thee, for madness will be thy salvation.

No longer did he sense Aha’s presence.

Rather, one last image was transmitted through the king’s enchantment—a cliffside, in which Veritas could faintly see his own features carved into the rock. Then, nothing.

The stone smoothed out, and his image was struck from history forevermore.

. 　⁺ ✦

When the next Day of Silence came and went, the prince was truly mute. He had no mouth, after all—so not a scream left him.

The only thing he had left were his thoughts: one last, final burden.

Is this the cost YOU foresaw, Nous?

Veritas Ratio’s arrogance was no more. And so, the prince’s story came to a swift, acrimonious end. No, not end, for that implied that he was not shackled to limbo. Bound to neither gold nor a statue, he would spend the rest of time waiting to be purified of his sins—for gold was finality. Gold was the most sacrosanct form of death he had not been afforded.

And as the prince continued to count away the seconds, the minutes, the hours and eventually the years which trickled past in the hourglass, only insanity awaited him.

This was the tale of the seventh prince; an elegy hidden from the footnotes of history.

Within the game Lament of Ouroboros, his sorrows were summarised thusly:

A strangely warm vein of ore.

Hero, come here when dusk kisses the edge of the Borderlands. As your palm brushes against the rock, you may be able to feel the pulse of a slumbering prince.

Three sentences were all that was afforded to the disgraced prince, forgotten to all but the Moirai.

Three sentences were how his tragedy was retold.

Three sentences, a final insult to the most pitiful of princes.

. 　⁺ ✦

36 notes · View notes