#EROSWRITES☆

[staneros]

'Scara...what-'

Synopsis: u notice your scara saying weird things whilst doing your commissions...oh well its probably one of his new voicelines! U think-

✧ scara x reader

✧ a/n: AAAAAAAA MY FIRST OFFICIAL WORK!!!! sorry if it's shitty it's my first time writing, and no, it's not proofread, and it's def just word vomit also it's rlly short so sorry :(

School sucked.

After all the homework and quizzes you have done, there was still more. Work almost seemed endless.

So the moment you realised you can now relax and play your favourite game and see your "boyfriend" again made you ecstatic.

Once the loading screen starts to end after 100 yrs, you can finally see teyvat in all its glory again.

=============================

"WOOOO FINALLY!!!"

Scara knew that voice in his head all too well. He will admit it was strange and agitating, not hearing your voice in his head again, so when he heard that beaming godly voice of yours in his head he was BEYOND ecstatic.

He forgot how great it was to be blessed with such power again. Defeating ruin guards in one swift blow made him go badonkers in his head!!! He missed you. He absolutely missed you. Scara wanted to fucking scream but yet he couldn't so when you were done doing your dailies he wanted to scream 'don't go!!!' Yet, he couldn't so if you were gonna go missing for months on end again then he better say his gratitude before it's too late.

"Come back."

What did he just say? Did genshin impact add in new voicelines to his character? You went ahead and checked his voicelines, and yep, nothing new was added. "weird..." You said, "Oh well, it's probably just me hearing stuff again." You said before logging out

Ouch. Scara was hurt, but what the hell was he gonna do? It's not like he can talk to you. It's not like he can shift to your world. It's not like he can do anything. All Scara can do is just be a puppet to you to merely look nice and pretty whilst you controlled him to do your dailies. Oh, how he will unknowingly miss you, but if you ask what's wrong, he'll just tell you "it's none of your fucking business." But only when you're offline. You wouldn't want to see your favourite pretty face cursing, right? That'll just ruin your relationship w him, so in the meantime, he'll just sit here and look pretty in hopes you come back to him in his arms.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

[erosiism]

GENSHIN MEN AND…

prompt: HOW THEY WOULD REACT IF YOU SACRIFICED YOUR LIFE FOR THEM

character(s): diluc, zhongli [part one] childe, ayato [part two, out]

warnings(s): angst ofc—mention of blood, my first post on tumblr so my writing style may be a little icky, inaccuracies since I haven’t looked up genshin lore for a hot minute 

note(s): male reader, second person, present tense, not beta read

DILUC

There’s a lot of things you haven’t told him yet. Things you wished you had told him—but everything’s fine, because in this single action you are willing to do for him—your feelings will come inevitably with it and it’s a torrent of emotions that you’re about to burden him with.

He’s been your childhood friend for seventeen years now. All those times you have seen him, smiling, his merry laughter carrying over the breeze, his lips purple from sampling grapes, to the time where that very laughter and smiles disappear to smoothen into a stone face. After the death of his father, Diluc has become reserved, cold, and rather distant. Bitter.

You two were close, once.

You two had a bond that many could not quite interpret— it was as clear as day that you both trusted each other fully, but each always had secrets to hide. Some say proximity is the reason why both of you got close — your manors were near to each other, but truthfully, it was as simple as it was: you two had the same social standing. Both you and Diluc were, for each of their families, supposed to be close for the sake of future alliances and unions, but the friendship soon turned genuine, only for it to crumble under the weight of guilt and grief.

Only for it to crumble on the day Crepus died.

You still remember it vividly; in all its sickening, gruesome, heart wrenching detail. You were fortunate enough not to witness it, but etched in your memory, all you can think of is Diluc’s ravaged expression when he trembled before his father’s corpse.

You were helpless then. You could have extended an arm, you could have done something.

You didn’t.

But now would be different. You know the archons have it in for him when the incident happens the same way it happened with his father: via a carriage incident. 

You laugh then at its bitter irony.

Bandits come, a whole load of them, and this time Diluc fights while you are there helpless once again, trembling when you hear the clash of swords and arrows. When you hear his claymore smash against flesh. You don’t have a vision. Diluc has. You don’t have any particular skill in handling a sword; Jean has tried to teach you once, but it has failed. Your brain may be quick and witty, but your steps aren’t. 

The bandits have delusions. The archons really are cruel.

You see it before he does. There’s a burst of electric power that he's battling, the elementals clashing with each other—you’re still lagging behind, barely missing the whizzing arrows that skim your flesh, your heart wrenching as you see Diluc’s pained expression. You know what he’s thinking of, and it isn’t you. His memories are reverting back to his father’s death. His birthday. And perhaps that’s why his usual sharpness is wearied down.

You see the sword about to plunge his back before he does.

You scream to tell him.

Your body moves before anything.

Your fingers fumble to clasp the fabric of your clothes, before you tug him out of the way. You feel the weight of a sword against your back; you feel the way it slices through your skin before it presses against your flesh. You taste blood on your tongue, before a myriad of colors burst out; crimson, carmine. All the shades of red. You wobble then, choking out blood, before you stumble. You hear a few slices; razor, swift sharp ones. Then the last of the assailants falls down, and you are made aware that your decision has been the right one.

Diluc has survived. 

You stumble. You feel your body hit the ground. Murkiness runs your vision.

“[Name],” you hear a soft, whispering voice carry to your ears. You try your best to cling onto the words. But pain is burning within you—it’s ironic, how they feel more scorching than Diluc’s flames have ever felt. You try your best to swallow down your pants and your pained noises, but it ends up slipping from your mouth in broken, mottled syllables.

Your blurry vision makes out a face.

He cannot be Diluc. He’s crying. And the last time you have seen Duluc cry is when—

Oh.

“Don’t cry,” you say weakly. “Don’t cry, Diluc. I’m sorry I wasn’t of much help.” You try to reach out to his cheek. You regret it a split second afterwards because blood stains his cheeks wet from tears. You end up smearing red all over his face.

“Why?” Diluc says, and it sounds guttural, like the words have been punched out from him. “Why, [Name]?” You hear a flurry of footsteps behind. You assume it’s some surviving witness who has gone to call for backup. But you doubt you’ll survive.

You don’t even know why. To begin with, you aren’t even sure if you are in love with him. The swirling butterflies that flutter about when you see him tells him you are, but society’s expectations push those down. You have been in love with him for as long as you can remember; you have loved him. You have annotated every inch of him down to your memory, every contour, every bit. In your dreams he visits you, smiling sweetly. And you try to remember him when you wake up, trying to pretend that he’s still there, that he’s no longer bitter. 

“I don’t know.” Your words come out broken, punctuated by the gurgling of blood from your windpipe. 

It’s a half truth. You love him. You don’t know if you do.

“I’m sorry.”

Diluc is sobbing now. It’s uncharacteristic of him. You are brought back to the night when you saw him break down in front of his father’s corpse. And you aren’t yet a corpse: your heart is still beating faintly, your lips are still moving, your body is still trembling. “There’s a lot of things I wanted to tell you, Diluc.”

“Don’t die,” he pleads fervently. His lips graze your forehead, then—and before you know it, he’s embracing you, his tears wetting your shoulder. His begging is childish. Does he not know that the Archons have long abandoned their people? Does he know the sky is empty, and that no amount of pleads can bring a person back to life? You doubt so. “Don’t die, [Name]. I love you.”

He loves you. You smile. He loves you. Words have never felt so sweet befor, and it curbs the bitterness of death upon your tongue. “I love you, [Name]. I love you, so don’t die.”

He loves his father too. But still his father had perished. Similar to you.

“I’m so happy to hear that,” you smile weakly. Your finger starts to fall. “I’m really happy to hear that.”

You don’t have enough time to say those three words back, but it’s fine.

Your actions already did. 

ZHONGLI

note(s); reader is an adepti, takes place during archon war

A God has seen their fair share of grieving. So have Adepti. Some come with age—it’s normal for mortal alliances to die before those who are immortal, after all. There is also the Archon War, which has already torn away Zhongli’s beloved companion, Guizhong. And everyday he chokes down the bile in his throat and continues to annihilate and fight. He’s always been built for this, after all, he’s an Archon. He’s a ruthless one at that, known for his brutality and his power. And everyday he looks at you and can only pray again and again to Celestia, that you remain alive.

Guizhong and you have both been his favorites since you two have met. It was Guizhong and you first, before Zhongli met you. Both you and Guizhong were best friends; almost; like sisters and brothers. Guizhong was gentle and sweet, reprimanding at times. You were sweet too, but could be more uncouth. Strong language littered your sentences at times, and Zhongli would see it then; the way Guizhong tugged at you to scold you, or the way you would smile at her. Brother and sister.

Naturally, when Zhongli grew close to Guizhong, he grew close to you. It was funny to see that you hardly knew much about history, though Guizhong clearly loved it. And so it was almost a cycle. Whatever Guizhong taught Zhongli, he taught you. Guizhong had remarked a few times, what an incredible person he was to make even you listen to facts you had earlier called boring.

(“You mellowed a lot, Morax,” Guizhong had told him once. “[Name] mellowed you. You really do care alot for him, don’t you?”

“I suppose.”)

Gods aren’t meant to be mellowed. They are meant to be powerful. Strong enough emotionally so as to not bat an eye when it comes to deaths.

But everything falls apart when Guizhong dies.

He sees you fall to the ground, sobbing and sobbing and crying at the loss of your beloved sister. He sees the way  you touch her statue, turned to stone, cradling her face and wishing you were touching soft skin, instead of cold stone. Not sister by blood, but sister in name. He sees the way you break apart after that; Zhongli feels a human sense of emptiness and pain that comes with her death.

It’s all right, he told himself repeatedly. In his grief he has started to flood himself with reassurances. I still have [Name]. I still have [Name]. I still have [Name]. 

He sees the way you lose yourself in battle after that. Your attacks become sloppy, you become more careless. You become more injured. Zhongli never bothered with your skill. You were talented and strong enough. But now he finds himself protecting you the times you stumble, the times you start to choke out sobs during battle, the times you go wild and bloodthirsty against those you assume have contributed to her death. 

Guizhong has said once that he loved you. Zhongli never bothered to think about that. He assumed he would know it himself, when time came. He didn’t need to worry about being in what mortals called a relationship—he would get this war finished with you, become a mortal, and love you freely. It didn’t matter if you didn’t love him. Zhongli could love you at a safe distance. It would all be all right. 

He never imagined your declaration of love towards him would come so easily and devastatingly.

Zhongli sees you struck by a burst of elemental power before anything. He sees the way you shoved him inside; he sees the irony. He was so preoccupied with watching you. He hadn’t seen the enemy crawl up to him or nearly kill him. Like how he was watching you, you were watching him. And now his care has killed you.

“[Name].”

There’s an avalanche of emotions. First, he’s furious. He will leach out the killer and will inflict a thousand times more pain on them. Second, he’s heartbroken. He’s terrified of losing you. He can feel your life ebbing away with each passing moment, and he has seen enough wounds to know no healer can save you. He feels your pulse thrumming beneath your skin and he knows you’re dying.

You smile. It looks more like a grimace. “Just survive this goddamn war.”

Zhongli isn’t sure if he will. He feels like he might kill himself, that he might lay his body down next to yours, so that after death your souls would be intermingled, of sorts. It sounds romantic, but there’s absolutely nothing romantic about your death. He does what the Gods are not supposed to do. He feeds into his humanity; he cries.

“Afterwards, just live as a human. I don’t know. Be a dusty collector of antiques. Be a funeral planner or something strange like that. Just live, okay? You look like you want to die.”

You continue to ramble on. Your sentences become connected with each other. Your eyes start to flutter. Your words become faint and faltering.

“I can’t live with you,” he whispers. “First Guizhong, then you…” it’s all his fault. He should have seen it. He should have been more aware. He should—he should…

It’s too late. You’re dead, and he mourns just like a human; sobbing, aching, and dying a little inside.

For a brief moment Zhongli isn’t a God. 

hope everyone liked it! it’s my first post so im apprehensive haha be sure to like/reblog & leave a comment if u can

[eroslessons]

memories of old give rise to sorrows untold but slowly grief fades though december days bring back the loss fresh every passing breath it is an ever present ache that lingers in songs in blue skies, rainbows, feathers, white roses and yet still i paint my life in brilliant gold

softly embraced in gentle arms i speak of you i feel your lips kiss my forehead - tears falling an ache in my heart but i still keep on going not alone; braver and to myself far more true painting my life in a sunrise's colourful hues humming along to one of our favourite tunes

[lalalian]

shifting diary | masterlist 🦢

date: march 14, 2024

last update: june 16, 2024

introduction

introduction

goals w/ this account

outside tumblr

pinterest

progress report

script request form

all my scripts

⚠️please credit me if you are inspired by my scripts! This especially includes my layout.⚠️

alruna/fantasy romance novel DR

alruna dr plot | part I : setting

moon bearers

empires' strength

alruna dr plot | part II : alodian culture

possibly accidentally channeling Eros (my s/o)

alruna dr plot | part III : tales

how I get inspo for this dr, among other things

about the script for this dr...

visual venture

eros’s poetry (#eroswrites)

creative shifting inventions/tools

drself builder/lifa mirror

fantasy DR ideas

dragon nursery dr

fairy bakery dr

tea alchemist dr

magic system: color magic

fantasy bakery DR

backstory

script template for this dr

futuristic DR ideas

futuristic dr jobs

futuristic dr trends

futuristic dr cafes

dreamscape DR

dreamscape dr summary

dreamscape necessities

dreamscape rules

aethergarde academy/dragon rider academy DR

script for this DR

nodin ask

alemi, echreau, astreth

jean and mikhael

5th years & education

currency in this dr

etiquette tidbits

name suggestions (masc)

secret sneakpeak

what should I name my dragon

great dragon war

gilded dragon ask

miaene

settling in ask

upstaging mikhael

gov ask 1

taken anons: 🕯️

⚠️want to use any of my ideas for your own DR? Please make sure you credit me for the idea if you do end up posting about it⚠️🫶

[staneros]

Hi, so after seeing my 1st blog blow up I MIGHT write smth but im lazy so...if you have anything that you want me to make I might make that but the thing is its my first time writing so it might be shit but uhhhh it's alr

( also note that I'm a very busy person so I'll probably do nothing but uhhhh I wanna try smth new so ig I'll try to make up some time here)

Fandoms I'll b doing:

Genshin impact

VNC

Stardew Valley

PJO

Aaand uh I'll probably make an intro but uhhh let's see how fast my life and motivation will make me disappear on here

(Only accepting fluff & headcannons anything that are not those will not be written)

[erosiism]

OBLIVION | YANDERE IMAGINES

prompt: very lazy (oblivious) reader x yandere crown prince who basically does everything for him. reader is clueless about his friends disappearing around him, historical setting where MC is a pampered son of a noble family 

character(s): yandere crown prince, lazy!reader

warnings(s): mild violence, yandere themes. still considered rather fluffy and sfw

note(s): male reader, second person, present tense, as far as this goes this guy is too green to be really called a yandere lol. his possessive and violence tendencies are not to be glorified regardless, loose use of magic, not beta read 

Your biggest enemy is hard work, and your favorite hobby is sleeping. You can’t help it—you are spoiled, no doubt about that, and because you got lucky enough to be born into a prestigious family who dotes on you. Your social life is almost non-existent, but ever since you were young, your friend has stuck next to you. 

Your friend, who happens to be a crown prince.

People say he’s scary. You doubt that highly—is His Highness Cassian not the one who has brought you sweet treats from young? Is he not the one who littered your skin with tiny kisses because he likes showing affection? Is he not the one who allows you to laze around or nap? Rumors tend to be untrue, and you feel almost sorry towards the prince for having to deal with that.

(“I heard that if you mess with him, His Highness has the ability to kill! Haven’t you heard the disappearances lately?”)

You asked the crown prince questions regarding the rumors. All you got was a surprised, flippant reply: kill? That’s ridiculous, [Name]. I haven’t even mastered my mana skills yet.

So you don’t trust the rumors. It makes sense for people to be jealous, after all: he’s the crown prince. He has objectively good looks, and he’s an amalgamation of everything someone would covet: wealth, prestige, brilliance, and skill.

“You slept in class again?” A voice tears you out of your thoughts. You’re lounging on the bench in the school garden, and your legs are propped up on the sides. Your bag is thrown loosely to the ground. Inwardly you wish you had the physical capability to be agile enough to scale up a tree—because god, the place up there looked amazing—but unfortunately, you didn’t.

You face him. Cassia raises an eyebrow, and his fingers reach out gingerly to touch your cheek gently. You don’t recoil. It’s become normal.

“I can see words imprinted on your face. How long did you sleep? Or rather, how long was your class?”

It takes a few moments for you to process the prince’s words, before you squint your eyes. There’s a red smear on his cheek that seems hastily wiped off. It’s not too obvious, not to others, anyways, but you’re so used to Cassian's face looking normal that you immediately notice it.

“What’s that red thing on your face?” You ignore the question. You know that he can guess the answer.

“…Red thing?” Cassian immediately narrows his eyes, pausing. His fingers leave your face and go to his own. It looks like blood; which is odd, and definitely not possible.

“Is that…” you mull it over for a second. It can’t be blood. Or lipstick.

Cassian, though having received multiple marriage proposals, didn’t seem to be settling down any time soon. 

Strange, it doesn’t even seem like he likes women. So the only plausible thing is—

“—were you drinking tomato soup earlier?”

Cassian blinks his eyes, before a look of realization dawns on his face. And if you see correctly, there’s almost the tiniest hint of relief. Cassian’s lips tug up into a smile—he laughs, the prince laughs, the sound bright and mirthful and irrevocably fond. Your parents have teased you once about the prince nursing a crush on you. But this is how he has treated you for as long as you can remember.

“Tomato?”

“Looks like a tomato,” You furrow your eyebrows. “Hey, do they serve tomato soup in the academy? I really want tomato soup. It’s easy to drink, and…”

“I’ll get you some later,” Cassian says affectionately. He ruffles your hair, and you relax. “Don’t worry too much, alright?”

You shrug loosely. “Alright.”

.

.

[ before ]

He stares at the dead body on the ground. There aren’t a lot of rumors of you, but your laziness is well known. Some see it fondly, almost endearingly, but there are the rare few who view you with disdain because of your apparent lack of diligence.

Caspian doesn’t like that. He’s fine with rumors of his own—but of you? But of sweet, innocent, lovely you? He loathes it.

“Stop talking,” he smiles. “…You can do that, can’t you? After all, you’re already dead.”

A head lolls about and blood drips off a blade.

What, Cassian thinks with that sweet softness he has reserved for you, smiling gently, should I get for [Name] today?

shitpost since i had this lying around. lowkey cringe

[erosiism]

GENSHIN MEN AND…

prompt: HOW THEY WOULD REACT IF YOU SACRIFICED YOUR LIFE FOR THEM | part two

character(s): childe, ayato [part one is finished, it features diluc & zhongli]

warnings(s): angst ofc—mention of blood, my first post on tumblr so my writing style may be a little icky, inaccuracies since I haven’t looked up genshin lore for a hot minute 

note(s): male reader, second person, present tense, not beta read

AYATO

note(s); you are his fiance

Your marriage alliance is purely for business. Ayato knows that. He’s the head of the Yashiro Commission's Kamisato plan—he’s busy, for god’s sake. He doesn’t want to waste time or beat around the bush: if he is to marry you, the only son of the L/n clan, he will, but he doesn’t want you to expect any pleasantries. He will be cordial and polite enough, but he doesn’t have the time to butter you up. He will mind his own business, and so will you. He is not one for earthly desires. He cares far more for his clan’s prestige and for surviving to play the role of a husband.

“[Name], right?” He smiles at you. You smile back, your posture stiff and your smile fixed painfully on your face. “I’m sure we know what this marriage is intended for.”

Your skin feels tight. “I do.”

“You can go to Thoma should you have any inquiries. My sister will help you too should you need anything.”

You tilt your head. Your tone is straightforward and blunt. “And you?”

“I’ll be busy,” Ayato says politely.

“I understand.”

There: your first conversation had been completely unremarkable and bland. But Ayato had appreciated that you had been straight to the point. You had been completely no nonsense, and Ayato at least, did not feel annoyed. He has too many things on his plate to deal with trivial things like romance: too many rival clans are trying to assassinate him, too many people are trying to destroy his clan. He does his own things, you do too. Occasionally you two meet—it’s just one house, after all, and you two make polite conversation. You make for a rather amusing partner at times, you make him laugh, and with you he feels relaxed.

Sometimes he plays the tricks he plays on Thoma; but it’s almost impressive to see you stomach the strange food he feeds you. You tease him with a rather sweet straight face; in calm tones, you poke fun at him. Ayato forgets that the two of you are married, at times, but there are also the rare times that he’s almost pleased.

Months pass after your encounter. The two of you have lapsed into a routine. Ayato finds that there are times he almost looks forward to the occasions the two of you meet. He starts planning brief instances where he can see you: he starts to finish his work a little quicker so he’ll be able to see you. He lessens your workload so you won’t be tired. He buys trinkets that remind him of you. He starts to reach out to you a lot more. 

He notices you smiling more. You seem pleased, joyful, even at this. 

(“Gosh,” Ayaka tells him once, smiling sweetly. “You two do act like a married couple.”

Married. Ah. Right. Ayato has nearly forgotten.)

One day, as he’s out, he spots a gem the color of your eyes. He spends a decidedly long time looking at it, choosing it carefully, before he tucks it in your pocket. You deserve to have nice things, he thinks to himself. And so he will give it to you. His husband.

But when he returns home, he doesn’t expect to see the sight of you barely breathing, your breaths shuddering, your body limp. Thoma and Ayaka are not in sight. They must have gone out today. And you…

The gem clinks in his pocket as he runs towards you.

“[Name],” Ayato calls for your messily, the words falling over each other as they spill from his mouth, “[Name]!”

The last word is a yell. “[Name], please…who did this to you?”

“Those bastards,” you say weakly, “from…that…clan…they wanted information. They…”

“And you—”

“I didn’t give it to them, if that’s what you were worried about,” you manage to choke out. “I know how important it was to you.”

The information. Right. The scrolls. Right. Important? Perhaps months ago Ayato would have agreed. After all, that was months, almost a year of hard work. But looking at you now, Ayato begged to differ. Here you were, bleeding out, dying, because of him.

You sacrificed yourself. You sacrificed yourself for him.

“I know what this marriage was intended for,” you repeat the words he had told you when you two had first met. His husband. His beloved husband. His darling. “I’ve honored it.”

“No,” Ayato cradles you, feeling as if life escapes your body. Your body is turning cold. “No!”

It’s too late. The gem rolls out of his pocket, and Ayato despairs.

The gem is no longer the color of your beautiful eyes.

It’s bathed in red.

CHILDE

note(s); you are from fatui

There are countless deaths when it comes to Fatui. It has become disturbingly normal. And you are Tartaglia’s subordinate. The eleventh harbinger’s associate. You two hit it off, immediately: you are of similar age, and you have a little brother the same age as Teucer. Or: you had a little brother. He was torn away from you because of your poor living conditions in Snezhnaya. And that was what spurred you on to make a last ditch attempt to join the Fatui to find a purpose somehow; to riddle yourself with work so you cannot think of your brother’s death.

Childe has been nothing but sweet to you so far. You have been seeing two sides of him: the tender, gentle side to him when he talks about Teucer, when he speaks of the little letters he gets from his siblings, or on the occasions he speaks to you. And the other is more wild; more bloodthirsty—and in those instances, you can see the marks that the Abyss has left on him. That uncontrollable urge to ravage everything in sight; to leave it broken and damaged.

Today is no different. The two of you tread the snow as you walk up the mountains. Childe is laughing as he is telling you stories. You listen to him like you always do. Neither of you spot the Ruin Guards. Not even three—by some wretched curse, there are five of them, lumbering behind. And by the time their shadows loom before the two of you, it’s too late.

Childe flinches; you reach out to him in desperation before you see him shift into his Foul Legacy form. 

What rotten luck, you curse to yourself, adrenaline starting to fill in. What kind of stupid thing have we walked into?

You have seen him use it a few times—once against three Ruin Guards. He defeated them without much difficulty—but you had seen the after effects. You had seen the way he had panted for his breath; the way his face had turned pale, the way he had quivered and had grasped onto you and the Traveler for help.

He does the same. There’s still two remaining, and Childe’s still standing. But you see him clutching his head. You think of Teucer. Childe has a family to return to. You have no one. In a way, this action would be the most logical. The most understanding. It will be a sacrifice for Childe and his brother. You know the pain of losing a brother—you don’t want Teucer to go through that again.

“I think I can handle them,” you tell Childe quietly. You don’t have a vision, but you have a delusion you have yet to use. “Go. Rest.”

“[Name],” Childe warns.

“Teucer.” Is the only word you say.

Childe’s eyes widen. He bites his lip. He sees your point—you knew he would. 

“I’ll come back alive,” you promise.

“[Name],” he tries again.

“See you later.” It’s a clear dismissal. 

You push him a little to the side; Childe stumbles away. Then you quickly unleash the delusion you have kept and unsheathe your sword. Childe was the one that taught you how to use a sword—and now you recall his advice as you step to the side. The delusion has potentially lethal consequences. You know that. It’s your first time using it. You know that too. The energy thrums in your fingertips as you start to battle—the crimson lashes out between your teeth and blows start to rain on you.

You think of your brother. It was your lack of strength that caused his death—you can still remember his shouts, his screams—and even now they haunt you. You don’t waver, but your stance and your attacks become sloppy. Useless, you think harshly, useless! I can’t even—

The delusion unleashes more power in your desperation. The ruin guards start to sway and fall. You continue, but now blood is bursting from every crevice, every corner: wounds open, flesh tears away, and your mouth overflows with blood. The ventricles of your heart seem to be pulsing dangerously—the delusion is ripping away your mortality in return for its power. You continue. Your eyes start to tear—

Thuds tell you of the defeat of the guards. You slump in relief. Your feet carried you to Childe, who has collapsed on the ground.

“Childe,” you call weakly. “I…”

The words don’t leave your throat. Your broken stance is not the one that jolts him from his consciousness, but it is the splutter of blood and the horrid gargle your throat make when you start to retch out blood that horrifies him.

“[Name]!” He yells, “[Name]!”

“Let me close my eyes,” you plead. “I’m so tired.”

“No. Let’s—let’s get you to—”

“Please,” you start to beg him. “I think…”

Childe knows better. You will die if you close your eyes. He has to get you help—he can’t let you die. 

Oh. 

Oh. 

He has loved you. He loves you. He adores you.

“You promised me,” Childe starts to whisper brokenly, “you promised me, [Name]. You said you'd come back alive. You said you will…”

The promise is shattered when your head slips from his grasp.

Your first and last promise to him, broken.

comments, reblogs, and likes are always appreciated

[staneros]

water.

you need water.

You've been running around teyvat for what seemed like days, weeks, or even months/years, but whatever you do, you had to keep running...

୨୧----⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆----୨୧

୨୧----⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆----୨୧

You had to keep running you had to YOU HAD TO no matter how much your legs hurt, your body aching, the lack of proper hygiene, just lack of ANYTHING you had to keep on running.

If you hadn't opened your device and actually TRY and farm this wouldn't happened but noooo, nooohoHO YOU JUST HAD TO TRY AND ACTUALLY WORK TO ONLY LOSE YOUR 50/50 TO QIQI

If ONLY you hadn't gone out of your way to farm for lyney. If only, IF ONLY!! BUT yet you just HAD to farm from him and now you're in liyue running through the grass of Guili Plans by the mililith, the qixing, the fatui, AND EVEN THE FUCKING ADEPTI + THE ARCHON HIMSELF

'But why?'

'Why would they chase you FOR NO FUCKING REASON being an ordinary person-ish'

Oh I'll tell you why,

ITS BECAUSE YOU LOOKED LIKE FUCKING CREATOR

While you were running trying to process all this bullshit happening, you accidentally ran into a cliff. How convenient...

"Come back here, imposter!" Ganyu yelled as she kept trying to chase you with other adepti following in pursuit of you while there were meteorites being shot towards you.

So far, the only ones who knew your actual identity was only dainsleif, the traveller(s), and Alice or so, you thought.

You reached a dead end, and out of pure instinct (and stupidness), you jumped off the cliff (wow, so smart)

You thought you were gonna die, but suddenly, you felt arms around you and got a weird ass feeling because the atmosphere felt different now...

so imagine your fucking surprise when you ended up at Mt. fucking HULAO carried by THE adeptus xiao

"Are you ok..?" asked xiao, which is now completely out of pocket, so of course, like any person would do in the hand of the fine ass adeptus, you tried to break free from his grasp despite being 10000000 feet in the air

"WHO ARE YOU??" You yelled since you could barely focus on anything, which is not the best idea when being chased by anything.

"not the right time." Xiao strictly said before teleporting the both of you to the Wangshuu Inn

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

"Verr, please allow me to make them reside here." Xiao side whilst hiding your face as Verr ,being the kind woman that she is, let him

As you got out of a fresh shower, Xiao had immediately set you down to tend to your wounds

"You aren't gonna hurt me, are you..?" You asked nervously, uneasy that he was gonna surrender you to the authorities to get you killed

"You saved me.. I would never do that. My Everloving Grace..."

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Creator's Note: hi yall saurrrrr i haven't posted in a long time now ikkk BUT in my defense my life has been busy since last year (no i did not get hospitalized like the classic author curse) but yk i was graduating my grade, going into a new one, meeting new friends, relapsing last last year and so on and so forth. Anyways I first started working on this since last year and just procrastinated till now.

most likely yall have forgotten me already (I don't blame yall) but since I'm still very small please expect more coming!!

[erosiism]

A CASE OF REGRETS | YANDERE IMAGINES.

prompt: you die during a rebellion, and he turns back time for you in desperation | reader is childhood friends with claude (OC), both are planning a rebellion to usurp the throne.

character(s): duke, you

warnings(s): nil

note(s): male reader, second person, past tense, not beta read, excerpt from my fic on wattpad, to make amends

FIND MORE MOMENTS OF CLAUDE AND THE READER HERE.

"Y/n!"

Blood spurted out.

"Y/n!"

Your vision blurred.

"Oh gods, are you okay? Are you—"

Your ribs hurt: were they broken? Bloodied? You could certainly taste the horrible taste of iron present in your tongue. It was clear to you that somehow you were dying. That something had turned against you. That you were...

"Please, please, please—"

Through your muddled vision you could make out a figure. A familiar silhouette running towards you, legs stumbling in desperation, breaths ragged.

It was nice to know that when you died, someone would grieve for you. That someone would cry for you.

There was only one person in the world who cared so much for you.

"Claude," you murmured. There was a smile on your face. "There's no need to cry..."

"Y/n, please—no—"

"Save it." You sighed, "there's no way I'm going to be surviving this."

It was true. Blood jetted out of your wound in spurts, staining your tailored uniform with a bright, crimson hue. You had loved that color mainly because Claude had ruby eyes, but now it just seemed gruesome, horrid. Pain had simmered down into a steady brew, and you wondered if your pain tolerance had simply grown stronger, or it was a telling sign of your fading consciousness.

"You were such a brat last time." You murmured. "You used to throw tantrums and everything...for a while, I thought you despised me. Even when we became adults, you were still heartless, cold...so why do you weep for me? Why do you grieve my death?"

I was a fool last time, Claude thought silently. I was a fool. I was a fool not to have shown my affections last time.

Because the truth was plain and simple, written in ink, written in the stars: Claude adored you. Was it not you who had held his hand in the gardens for strolls? Was it not you who accompanied him throughout, was it not you who could make him crack a smile, make him laugh? It had been all you. Every single joyous moment he had was caused by you. When he had finally received the title of the Duke. When he had finally defeated his family and his foes.

But Claude had been so wrapped up in his own troubles he had failed to notice your problems. Your dastardly family. Your...

He had neglected your wellbeing—he hadn't seen your deteriorating state, your weakening smile—he hadn't see any of that. He had been self obsessed, too engrossed in his own matters that he hadn't even—

Claude had taken too long to warm up to you. He could have been sweeter earlier. Made your life easier, no matter what it was. Claude had taken a while to truly open his heart to you: he had been rude, ungracious, curt. And you had been patient. Endlessly patient with him.

"We can save you," Claude said desperately, "we can."

You laughed. A tinkling, magical sound—but at that moment, it was so damned. So fucking painful to hear the cracks inside, the strain hiding inside the tone.

He knew it would be the last time he would ever heard it.

"You are the Emperor. You finally reclaimed your right to the throne. You finally..."

"Y/n," he whispered.

You shook your head.

"You achieved everything you sought for."

Perhaps he did. But the thing he truly wanted had been in front of him this whole time and he had been blind. Utterly blind.

And he would never forgive himself for that.

The tears slipped. His voice felt suffocated; choking.

"Don't cry," you touched his cheek gently and that pulled Claude temporarily out of his panic—"don't cry, alright? It was inevitable, Your Grace. Don't cry. The future Emperor doesn't cry."

Your Grace. Even then, you hadn't referred to him by his name. If he had another chance—just one singular chance—

He would allow you to call him by his name.

You were his everything.

You're my heart, Y/n.

If you die, then that would make me heartless.

There was so much blood, Claude realized. Coating his palms, running down your back. So much of its thick texture, its color, all drenched. Every single bit drenched—

Why was there so much blood? It wasn't his. He  wasn't unhurt, really. He wasn't that well off, but not to your extent. You sounded so tired when you spoke, so faint. So weak. You could have disappeared any second. Claude held you in your arms softly, gently—you could disappear any moment, your breaths wavering and quivering.

No, no, no.

I love you, Claude thought deliriously. I love you. I love you. I love you so much—

The voice grew and became stronger; louder even as you grew cold. Claude rocked you even when your hands fell, holding one to his own cheek. Your hands still had the faintest bit of warmth. He clung onto it desperately; motionless with the tears dried up with his throat feeling like sandpaper.

You can't leave me, he'd thought deliriously, hugging you close and rocking you again and again and again, you can't leave me.

Y/n L/n, I love you too much to let you go.

.

.

Claude had failed to save you. In front of him, your beauty was still visible in his eyes; your (h/c) hair, your (e/c) eyes—because of his arrogance, his incompetence, you had unfairly died. He had not noticed the blooming feelings in his stomach until you had been cold in his arms, and his tears had splattered on your cheek.

The universe has been cruel to you.

He had stood by your side and had watched you suffer and suffer and suffer; and for what? Only for the gods to turn their back on you? What was the point, really? Claude had been with you this whole time. Had seen the sacrifices you poured in, had seen—

He should have been the one that died, Claude despaired. Not you. Never you.

That night he couldn't sleep. The place was too empty without you. He had been crowned Emperor. But there was no you to accompany him by his side.

There was...absolutely no point.

Why was he even alive at this rate? Claude wondered. Everything would go back to life before you. Tedious. Long. Meaningless.

"Your Majesty, the Empire—"

"—do whatever you want." Claude rasped out. "Just...just..."

Please. If the Gods are listening. Please, please—

Turn back time. For me, for Y/n.

For...

[ The Gods have heard your prayers ]

.

.

Turning back time was unheard of. Something in the legends. Something Claude didn't believe in. Yet when he woke up—there had been disappointment in him, he had assumed that this was heaven yet you were nowhere in sight—there was the familiar surroundings of a room.

Not the Emperor's bedroom.

The bedroom from the manor he once lived when he was the illegitimate son of the Duke.

I must be dreaming, Claude thought. There was a flicker of hope he didn't dare to believe in. I must be dreaming of the happier times and the million what ifs.

Pain was tugging at his heart. It was painful. Everything was painful...

"—don't bother him. He just recovered from a sickness."

What?

What?

Delusional. Hallucinating. Delirious. To hear your sweet, sweet voice in such a dream—perhaps this was heaven after all. Claude didn't ever want to wake up. He didn't.

Because you were there. In front of him.

He sucked in a breath.

As sweet, as polite as he remembered. Every inch of his face had been committed to his memory. Every contour, every line. He had mapped you out in his head and had aligned you with the thousands of dazzling stars in the universe because you were the reason he bothered to continue living. Because you had become his reason for living.

You stood, in regal attire, with your posture as graceful as he had remembered. The sunlight streamed in through the paneled windows, caressing your features and alighting upon your lashes. He swallowed, trying to remember how to breathe.

"Ah, you are awake, Your Grace." You smiled at him.

"Y/n L/n," he said finally. "Y/n L/n." It's been so long since he could say this name to someone who would hear and respond to it. So many times he called your name out of your desperation in vain: hoping for some sort of hallucination to pop up, for some sort of inkling that your voice would carry over to his ears.

And you smiled.

Smiled.

Smiled.

Smiled—

Claude reached out to you and buried his face into your clothes.

You gave a startled smile.

.

.

The Duke had done a 180 complete turn.

"Y/n," he spoke with uncharacteristic fondness that you just didn't understand, "you are..."

Tears. There were tears on his cheek. Had you done anything to offend him? You thought not.

"Your Grace..." you reached out to brush his forehead with your fingers, "are you alright? You don't seem to have a fever."

Claude stared at you with wide eyes.

"Oh," You heard him say, and then, "you are as beautiful as I remembered."

What?

"Your Grace, are you really sure you are fine—"

Claude dashed forward, not even registering your words. He crushed you in his arms, a hand in your hair, head buried in his neck. He missed this. This warmth and this scent. Home, home. It's the smell of home. It's the smell of you. It's you. It's you. It's you. 

It worked, he thought. It worked. It fucking worked. I traveled back in time. 

"... Well then," you gave a small chuckle, confused upon what was happening, "it's a relief to see you have awoken—why are you crying?"

"You're here," Claude breathed, his first tangible words since his return. "You're here."

"Of course I'm here, Your Grace." You looked at him with confusion etched all over your features, frowning. "What's wrong? You..."

The Duke was looking at you like you were the only one that mattered in the world. And that—

Wow. What kind of coma did he have, to be behaving so peculiarly?

You wiped his tears, sighing and fussing.

"You know what—never mind. Tell me later—why are you still crying, Your Grace?"

Claude held onto you tighter.

Maybe he had bad dreams in his coma, you thought. He was holding on to you like you were a lifeline. Like you would disappear any second, any minute.

As though he would never let go of you again.

You patted the Duke's head gently, slowly, fingers running through his hair. "Don't cry. The future Emperor doesn't cry."

Those words. It was so hauntingly painful to him.

Claude didn't want to remember anymore. He didn't  need to remember. He had succeeded. The Gods had listened to him. You were alive and breathing, in front of him. You were—

Alive.

reblog/like the post! comments are appreciated even if you read this before :)

[erosiism]

RAVENOUS HUNGER | YANDERE! MUZAN

prompt: muzan kibutsuji who keeps his darling locked up

character(s): yandere muzan kibutsuji, demon!reader

warnings(s): mention of violence, yandere themes.

note(s): male reader, second person, past tense, AU where muzan defeated the demon slayers and he is immune to sunlight, basically he’s the most powerful person, not beta read

Muzan Kibutsuji was no saint.

The man—no, the demon that stood in front of you was responsible for hundreds of thousands of deaths. He was the creator of human-eating monsters. He was a monster. 

And he was also the one who turned you into a demon eons ago. It had happened so long ago that the details of it had long been cast away from your memories, but the imprint of his fangs stayed etched onto your skin—it was a reminder, Muzan told you. A reminder, darling [Name], of who you belong to.

It was strange knowing that you had lived for centuries. Thousands of years, even. You fed on blood: slippery, wet crimson blood that would pulse down your throat like it was still alive. You never killed: the blood was brought to you by none other than the progenitor of Demons. You were not a corpse, yet still you rotted, confined within the room you had stayed in your whole life. Nakime made sure that you would never escape.

Technically, you were strong. You knew as much because the blood you ingested belonged to Muzan. But you were cursed with a weak body. Muzan was too—had he not been on his deathbed years back due to a fatal illness? Wasn’t he supposed to die? You had shared the same plight as him, which resulted in a close bond. But he had taken the doctor’s medicine before it was fully developed—and you hadn’t. In front of your very eyes he had morphed into some horrifically strong being; some being that craved blood, some being that had a hunger that could not be whetted. His eyes had flashed scarlet then, and he had reached out to you almost in maddening desire and hunger—

The sound of his fingernails—now grotesque sharp—against your skin had been obscene, almost. Blood had jetted out of your wound in rhythmic spurts. Each minute seemed like a ticking of death’s clock.

(“[Name],” Muzan hissed, “your blood. It is divine. Heavenly.”

“Muzan—!” You could barely escape, your fingers scrambling about desperately to avoid him. The doctor lay dead.

His fingers traveled down your throat. You choked, feeling as blood was forced down your windpipe. You struggled to breathe. And soon your heartbeat became erratic. Your body started to convulse, and inside you something was replaced. It was bloodthirst. There was a sudden urge for all things gruesome, sinful: blood, flesh, humans.

“Don’t worry, my dear [Name],” Muzan cooed, his voice slow and sweet, “you know i would never hurt you.”)

He broke his promise. Your bones had been broken countless times when you tried to escape. Your flesh had redness and bruises blossoming over it. At times, it would be horribly swollen.

And up to now, you would sit on the mat in whatever yukata, awaiting for his arrival. His blood lacerated you, but it also made you impervious to many things—your wounds healed swiftly, you could feel the power that thrummed beneath your skin. You were strong. Horribly strong. And yet in the face of Muzan, you were weak: a helpless fool.

His touch was delicate as his fingers grazed your skin. His affections at times, obfuscated you. They stunned you. Paralyzed you. He could be so dangerously tender at times, affectionate—that you would feel yourself soften under his touch, become less stilted, almost—and then you would remind yourself again, for the millionth time in a thousand years, that Muzan Kibutsuji was a monster.

His desire for you was sacrilegious. Ungodly. 

“You must understand,” Muzan said softly, before his fingers trailed down the expanse of his neck. His touch was cold. “That you are so weak, so beautiful. You must understand,” he repeated. “What I’m doing protects you.”

“It’s been years.” You said at last, “haven’t you already found the blue spider lily?” You asked desperately.

“The doctor didn’t lie about your health. You are sick. Patience is all we need.”

We, he said. He made it seem like this was what you wanted. But oh god, desperation sat heavy on your tongue. You wanted so badly to go outside; to feel cold air caress your cheeks, to feel the billow of wind once again dancing against your skin. You ached to feel alive; almost human. Sure, you would not be able to go far, but you didn’t care. Just outside. You just wanted to be outside. 

“I have searched far and wide,” Muzan continued. “And yes, I did find the blue spider lily. Nezuko was ingested. I fed you myself; in front of my very eyes, you had swallowed down her flesh. And now you will stay by my side.”

The demon slayers had almost killed him. Almost. Some of the uppermoon had been slayed. Only Akaza, Kokushibo, Douma, and Nakime remained. You had wished selfishly then, for the demon slayers to kill you. 

Muzan Kibutsuji claimed he loved you, that he adored you. But demons felt no such thing. Perhaps he liked the idea of you: of pliant, innocent, devoted you, who had been with him since the beginning. You assumed he would kill you. You assumed that Muzan would have hated the idea of someone seeing him at his weakest, at his most vulnerable.

Clearly, you were wrong. He treated you with tenderness, an evil kind of affection in which he called you by sweet endearments, in which he touched you sweetly and lovingly, on which at times, you would fall under his spell. 

Then there were the punishments. 

The thing with Muzan’s punishments, he made sure they stuck to you. If the man wasn't obsessed with keeping your skin unblemished, he might have tattooed a mark onto your skin, proving his ownership of you to everyone else. Then when you cried or begged, Muzan would soften, a small smile surfacing on his lips. He would relax—he would smile with amusement, kiss your neck.

Muzan Kibutsuji had already achieved whatever he wanted in life: so why couldn’t he let you go?

You were a bird trapped in a pretty cage, and you feared he would never let you go.

experimental work, like/reblog! comments always appreciated

[staneros]

'Affection? Never heard of that..'

Scara x reader

Synopsis; you shower scara with your love ♡

Btw thnk u mamamouche 4 giving the the idea ever since I wrote the last fiction and saw your repost I fcking love u

Another day, another mass massacre was what you thought, looking forward to playing genshin again after having yet another shitty day.

Once you logged in genshin, you were immediately greeted with the pretty face of your beloved as you stood there in silence, taking your time with looking at every detail of scara's design

God was he handsome!! Ei really took her time making him

Scara, the most beautiful puppet known to man, oh how you wish you get to hold him!!

You'd PAY for you to touch,hold,hug, kiss, do anything for scara hell your c.ai lists, wattpad, ao3,and tumblr are full oh him!! (me too)

You continued rambling as scara stood there absolutely flushed and speechless looking at you through the screen as if you've done something so embarrassing.

But did you care?

No.

Of course not.

You just kept on gushing on and on about him for what seemed like eternity as your team practically watches awkwardly feeling like a 3rd wheel.

Oh man are they gonna have fun teasing scara about it l8ter

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

[eroslessons]

aftermath

entwined our fates now and evermore i have promised to be eternally yours but i never asked for you to do this you used me to make it happen regardless beloved you hold the key to my heart is it so wrong i wished us to never part ... get out don’t you see that you lied and betrayed me that’s not love - your intentions were good maybe but your actions were all harm, and i love you still so we’ll work our back around one day to lovers again

[eroslessons]

tsahn botaigahn shehm, b’fahsee

i wrap my hand around you neck gently pull you in to kiss you and you're smiling i'm smiling and the world fades away but they can see how happy we are

[eroslessons]

the rhythm (triolet)

our motion as we move in time swish and sway to the beat for tonight i'm yours, you're mine our motion as we move in time makes magic touching the sublime passion stirring turning up the heat our motion as we move in time swish and sway to the beat

[eroslessons]

would love to wrap myself

up in your voice and make

myself at home in your

words- talk to me and

i would melt in your arms

[eroslessons]

the rain that falls is cold

and i wish i was at home

cuddled up on the couch

under a throw blanket or two

preferably with you