#so not really reader I guess

[meltedmush]

i really love your svsss art!! do you like the other mxtx danmeis also?

WAAAHHHH THANK YOU 🥺🫶💖💖💖💖

My answer is such a disappointing one,,, I thought MDZS was okay, and I didn’t like TGCF 😭😭

I TRIED MY BEST TO LIKE THEM AS MUCH AS POSSIBLE 😭💥💥

For MDZS, I’ve read the novel, finished the manhua, donghua, and watched the live action.

For TGCF…. I couldn’t finish it… before anyone asks me to give it another go,, I TRIED MY BEST TO LIKE IT,,,,

I’ve read TGCF’s novel up to around chapter 100, I caught up to the manhua, and watched both seasons of the donghua. Even after all of that, I couldn’t find anything I liked about it. 😭

I think the one major thing that destroyed my enjoyment of TGCF was that before I even tried TGCF, is that I heard so much hype about it being one of the best Chinese series out there that when I actually started it, it didn’t meet any of my expectations or hook me on anything.😭

I’M SO SORRY

[wheels-of-despair]

C'mon Pairing: @oneforthemunny's Dom!Eddie x Brat!Reader Summary: Someone is taking too long to get ready for a night out, so Eddie hurries things along. Contains kink and smut, youths get lost. Words: 1.2k

Happy Birthday, Evie! I expanded on this Horny Hours post forever ago and forgot about it but I dusted it off again just for youuu! 😘

"You ready yet?"

"Almost," you answer, trying not to stab yourself with the eyeliner.

"You said that ten minutes ago," Eddie sighs, leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom.

"I lied."

"Oh yeah?"

Shit.

"It was an optimistic estimate."

Eddie snorts, rolls his eyes, and walks away.

Safe.

Dammit, your mascara is uneven.

"Jesus Christ, would you hurry up?" he demands two minutes later.

"I just wanna look pretty for you," you whine.

"You look fine."

"Fine?" you pout.

"Everybody's already there!"

"It's called being fashionably late, ever heard of it?" you challenge, pulling on your dress to display your cleavage a little better.

"It's called a spanked ass, ever felt it?"

"I didn't even do anything," you scoff.

"You're being difficult."

"You think this is difficult?" you laugh.

"You planning on being more difficult?"

"Of course not, sweetie," you smile sweetly.

Eddie narrows his eyes. You stare at each other for a moment. And then he strikes like a cobra, bending you over the bathroom counter and flipping your dress up before you can fight back.

"Eddie, what--!"

SMACK!

"OW!"

Eddie holds you down with a palm to the small of your back, smacking your cheeks with the other until you're surely pink. You kick in protest, and he smacks harder.

And then, he decides he's done, and pulls you into a standing position.

"Good, you're not crying yet. Makeup's fine. Let's go."

"The fuck was that for?" you demand.

"Oh, that was in case you get any ideas. You're already warmed up. Don't think I won't throw you across my knee tonight."

"There are gonna be like, a hundred people there," you complain.

"Do I look like I care?"

"Eddieee," you whine.

"C'mon."

And that was that.

You weren't happy about sitting on that cracked van seat in your short skirt on the way to The Hideaway, but the sting had faded by the time you got there. You milled around, drank a little, chatted with a few people. When you started getting bored, you started getting horny.

And when you get horny, you need Eddie.

You look around the bar for him, seeing the band take the stage. You look at the clock and fume. He said the band he was interested in would start at 8. Which is why you had to leave early. It's 9. This is the opening act. He is such a liar.

But you approach him anyway, under the guise of wanting to listen together.

The closeness of the crowd really works in your favor.

Eddie wraps his arms around you from behind, pulling you into him. You lean your head back against him and sway for a bit to the shitty opening act. And then you alter your movements a little bit. You grind your ass into his cock as subtly as you can, being in the middle of a crowd and all.

"Stop," he whispers in your ear.

"Stop what?" you ask, feeling him harden through a few layers of fabric.

"That."

"Not doing anything," you smile innocently, glancing back at him.

He's not amused. He leans close to whisper in your ear.

"Remember what I told you before we left?" his voice rumbles.

"That I looked fine?" you pout, flexing your cheeks against his cock. "That hurt."

"Know what else is gonna hurt?"

He squeezes your ass cheek, reigniting the warmth.

"What do you think these people would do if I bent you over that table and gave you what you needed right here?"

Eddie's grip tightens, pulling you closer to him.

"That what you want? For everyone to see what happens to brats who don't know how to behave? Show off those slutty little panties you've got on? Want me to pull 'em down and let the crowd watch your cheeks change colors?"

You bite your lip, and he bites your earlobe.

"Good thing I don't wanna upstage the band."

His grip loosens. The fuck does that mean? You look back at him, feeling your stomach flip at the darkness in his eyes.

"C'mon."

Eddie takes your hand and leads you away from the crowd. You stumble, feeling the heat pool between your legs at the thought of what's coming.

You're pulled into a storage room with a flickering fluorescent light. Kegs and boxes line the walls. It'll do.

"Hands on the keg," he orders, unbuckling his belt.

You bend at the waist, putting your hands on top of the cold metal. Eddie stands behind you, nudging your feet apart with his boot. You widen your stance, wiggling your ass at him. He flips your dress up, taking a moment to knead the flesh he's about to batter. You moan.

"Don't think you'll be needing these," he rumbles, close to your ear, before hooking his fingers into the sides of your panties and sliding them down your legs. He taps your ankle, and you lift each foot so he can get them off.

You hear a rustle of fabric. They're in his pocket. The thwip of his belt being pulled from its loops. The clink of the buckle as he doubles it. You tremble. He steps closer. A hand in the small of your back.

WHACK

You rock forward on your toes, always shocked by that first strike. You don't get much time to process before the second, and the third, and the fourth land. How does he make this feel so good?

Eddie's belt snaps against your backside until you start to reconsider how good it feels. He can always tell, just by the sound of your breathing. You start to pant, and squirm, and the lashes stop.

And then you hear the sound of a zipper being unzipped.

You arch toward him, begging him to enter you.

You let out a quiet moan when he sinks into you.

He gives you a minute to adjust before pulling back slowly. You fight the urge to chase him, to beg him not to leave you. And then he slams into your red-hot ass, rocking you forward on the keg. Your hands lose their place, moving from warm metal to cool. It feels nice. Maybe you should sit on this when he's done. Eddie slams into you again, and you try to stay in position, but he's just so strong.

On the next thrust, you lose your balance, and Eddie tries to catch you. Your stomach lands on top of the untapped keg. It's not as uncomfortable as you thought it would be. Or maybe you're too fucking desperate to worry about anything other than getting fucked into next Tuesday. Eddie's hands grip your waist, as if to pull you back up.

"Don't," you beg. "Don't stop."

Eddie pounds into you again, and again, and you slide a little more with each thrust. By the time your walls clench around him, you've got your elbows on the floor. Eddie's fingers dig into your hips on top of the keg, making sure he's buried as deep as he can be when he finally explodes.

"Fuuuck," he whispers when he pulls out.

You're not quite sure how to get up, but he helps. You fall into his chest, resting your head against him. His heart is pounding.

"You good?" he asks, brushing a loose strand of hair out of your face.

"Mhm," you hum.

"You get what you needed?"

"Mhm."

"Good. The band's on in five."

You look up at him with a pout. Does he really expect you go to out there and stand in that crowd with belt stripes across your thighs and cum dripping down your legs?

"C'mon."

[hirschkuh-traumvoll]

♡♡♡

alastor kisses slowly, almost chastely in the beginning, but gradually his kiss becomes bolder. his long tongue embraces yours and then delves forward, brushing against your palate, making you shiver in his arms as he explores you deeper and deeper until you begin to suffocate. his sharp claws are barely pressed to your jaw, keeping your face lifted up to him, while his thumbs gently caress your cheek in a circular motion. butterflies in your stomach flutter, and you feel hot. he keeps your jaw cupped in his palms and as his kiss becomes stronger they slide lower to your neck. his long sharp-clawed fingers are wrapped around your fragile neck, whilst his thumbs leisurely caress your adam's apple up and down. his fingers move with the same pace as his tongue in your mouth, it's intoxicating and dangerous, passionate and dark.

alastor parts his lips from you for merely a second for you to take a quick breath in before he covers your lips with his again. he doesn't hasten, he devours you slowly, he's savouring you, enjoying every flavour of you, which he finds in your taste, in your moans, in your trembling, in your touch to his chest.

you are a meal for him he could never get enough of. he gorges on you with the unsatisfied gluttony as a wendigo he is.

←♡ precursor

consequences ♡→

[nastybuckybarnes]

mmm just gonna shpit this one out while i cook some stuffed garlic cheese stick things. the furlani ones iykyk anyway ya here and listen to nasty dog by sir-mix to get the full experience

~*~

lowkey tw dubcon but be fr

simon riley who's a nasty dog

simon riley who bends you over on the bed and kneels on the ground behind you

simon riley who takes a long deep sniff of you between your legs, who licks up your thighs, to your clit, over your lips, to your tighter hole for just a moment, just a taste, lovey

and then he's spreading your ass, nose kissing your winking hole as he fucks his tongue deep into your weeping cunt.

Every now and then his tongue will wander, flicking over your tighter hole just to feel you twitch before he gets back to business.

Big hands splay on the backs of your thighs, pulling you apart even further, putting your most intimate bits on full display for him.

And he loves it.

He loves the taste of you, the smell.

He loves the way you submit to him, fully, like it's second nature.

Sometimes when you get like this he wonders just how far he could go, how much you can take before you break.

But he never pushes past that sweet tender breaking point of yours.

Now, that doesn't mean he's going to stop at the first tear you shed.

Oh, tch, tch, tch. C'mon, sweetheart. You know better.

But he will give your hips a bit of a break.

He flips you onto your back, takes a break from assaulting your pussy to slap a heavy kiss onto your open mouth.

He tastes like you, and your own arousal lingers on your lips long after he's pulled away.

and then he's between your thighs once more, this time, though, his hands are moving, two fingers diving deep into your cunt with enough force to have your toes curling and back arching

he finger-fucks you deep, hard, all while toying with your clit. He sucks it harshly, rolls it between his teeth, and spells his name across it with his tongue, marking his territory.

Simon Riley who can't help but jerk his aching cock with his free hand as he devours you, too turned on for his own good. you just smell so good, taste even better

he doesn't cum, though. not yet. he's saving that

and then, after you've cum onetwothreefourfivesix several times, he's crawling up your body and rocking his drooling cock into your puffy folds.

shushing you gently and licking kissing the tears off of your cheeks as he murmurs in your ear how good you are, how sweet you are to him. how much he loves you and your tight little cunt,

and you babble nonsense back at him, soft please and whines to stop, that it's too much, yet there you are rocking your hips into his and chasing the feeling of his fat cock stretching your walls

he makes you cum on his cock at least once before finally blowing his load. makes sure to fill you up good, plugs it up in there with his cock or fucks it back into you with his fingers.

anything to get you to whine and push weakly at his shoulders in protest. to which he responds with a harsh flick to your ankle. he yanks you onto your back and sits on his haunches between your legs, forces them open and dares you to protest as he pushes two thick fingers inside of your achy little hole 😣

[fbfh]

you should write about sweet pea again,, he's sooo dreamy 😩

Sweet Pea is the epitome of dreamy. He doesn't seem to get it like you do, why you worry when he goes out to serpant bars to discuss gang business. You try to explain to him how wonderful he is, how loving and gorgeous and tall and you could go on for days and you're just worried some other girls will steal him away from you. Between his blushes at your completely sincere flattery, he realizes that you actually are worried. You know he doesn't like you going out to the serpant hangouts with him because it's so dangerous, but seeing the sweet little pout on your face, the way you hug him and smush your face into his chest and mutter "I jus' don't want anyone else to be with you," he gets it. You feel his heart pound at your touch and he hugs you back, so sweetly. He cranes his neck down to kiss your head and he wraps his big buff arms around you and rubs your back.

"Hey," he says it so softly, gently bringing your face up to look at him. "I am all in with you. All the way."

he says it so surely. it's not like you didn't believe him before, but this is exactly the reassurance you needed. you just stay like that for a moment, looking at each other like you hung the stars by hand. He admires you so much, he wonders every day how such a sweet, pure thing like you could ever love someone like him, and he hopes with all his heart that you'll keep on loving him like this. After a little while he stands up and stretches, and you can see his tummy exposed for a moment under his shirt and flannel.

"Alright, c'mon," he says, handing you one of his jackets. You look at him in surprise and he just hangs his head and laughs a little, wowed by you.

"I... I can't stand being away from you either." he says softly, caressing your cheek. "You don't need to worry about other girls, and I don't need to worry about other guys. Let's go."

You beam, glowing with delight and pull him down by his shirt for a kiss.

"You never have to worry about me having eyes for anyone but you, Sweet Pea. I love you more than anything."

I smiles, flushing again.

"And I can fight off anyone who looks at you wrong."

[silkenwinger]

daimon

mdni. ancient greece AU. princess!reader x guard!ghost. heavily inspired by antigone (but it ends well :)). 7k. tw for suicide attempt, maybe slight dubcon (mention of wine drank before sex)

The room was cold as you finished fastening your black peplum. It had been a cold autumn, mountain winds bruising sore skin. It was the autumn your life ended.

Your brother. So brave. You remembered running with him among the olive trees and tripping on the roots as you trailed him. Your mother had yelled at you so much you remembered the sting of the tears on your cheek.

But you had grown. Your father, the king, dead by the plague by spring, followed by your frail mother. Your brother away east. When he’d returned along with his men, he found the city he was supposed to lead in the hands of the most powerful merchant, a man as crooked as rich. We thought he was dead, said the men of the city. Lost in the barren hell of the east, gone for too many years. And when he tried to enter the city, he was met with violence and bronze. As expected, your brother did not lie down, but fought to retake the throne. He now laid in the place he died still, eaten by vultures and dogs alike. His soul stuck between the living and the dead, forever restless.

Profane he was taking something that was not his, and profane he was not burying your brother. 

“I’ve decided, then. Take care.”

Your dearest maid, her loyalty unmatched, did not comprehend.

“Princess, you must stop this talk at once!” She cried, clutching at your vest. “You know The Shepherd is a cruel man, but you will marry his son. Going against the decree…”

You scoffed. Being kin with that monster would be worse than being dead.

“I no longer care about marrying. Honoring my brother is more important,” you brushed your hand against her thin shoulder, and moved away, but with pain. No time for lost love.

“I have been wearing the black for half a year. Did you know? The moment I heard my brother was alive, I cried real tears of joy. I would no longer be alone in the world.” You sat down on your wooden couch, looking down. “And two nights later he is dead. I never even got to see his face again.” If you strained your memories, you could make out a ghost of a smile, of a laugh, but you couldn’t be certain they were his.

“The King is unfair, that much is true,” mumbled your maid, “but you go against certain death. The law says it, anyone who buries your brother is to be stoned in the square!”

“I know,” you looked up to see her shocked face, “so I heard.”

She cried then, howling. Her grief for you moved the strings of your heart, but did not dissuade you. You died the other day: your last act would be making sure you could see your brother in Hell, along with your parents. Hooding yourself, you left your room, the only place in the palace you could still call yours, by the lesser known way, one that passed through a less surveilled zone of the palace.

He looked old. No, not old: older, his skin worn by the sun. Tall, and strong, and dead. You remembered well– he smiled like that, a lightning bolt in the fair weather. 

Hurried, you acted fast. You covered his body with a thin layer of dust. That is enough, for now, you thought, as you couldn’t bear to look at him any longer.

The path you took made sure you were hidden from the guards. You wondered how many of them saw your brother grow, train and live: and how could they bear to leave him there, alone and doomed. 

The darkness of the road calmed you. The sting of the broken law was nothing compared to the peace you felt inside. 

But the sting of the hand grabbing your arm was real. A tall shadow made it so you couldn't move.

“What are you doing here?” Asked the Ghost, one of the main palace guards. A real enigma, that one. He did not recognise you immediately, hidden as you were. But your voice would tell on you. Perhaps, at the start, you could have wanted to do what you did without being discovered, but you had changed your mind. You did not care for the Shepherd’s decision.

“I was just doing my daily offering at the temple,” you told him, and his eyes, the only visible part of his face, widened in recognition. He then started glaring at you, obvious suspicion brewing.

“At this time and alone? It is unsafe for you.” 

“Should I have left the house in the daylight so close to my brother’s death?”

He remained silent at your response. The Ghost never saw or knew your brother– you wouldn’t blame him if he had only distaste for his attack on the city. He was probably only an enemy to him, and not the boy who giggled at the comedies and puppet shows.

The Ghost had arrived in the city around four years before. Immediately, he’d attracted the attention of everyone, men and women, for the mask he wore on his face and his mysterious attitude. No one knew where he came from, or how he really was called, and would answer only to Ghost. His accent had been weird, and his behavior even more so. Whispers said he was a barbarian driven away from his country for having killed too many. His ruthlessness was legendary: he’d torn apart limbs and eyes of the few criminals that dared venturing into your palace. They even called him a demon that fed on his victims' souls. You had never spoken, but you’d seen him around, mostly guarding your father’s rooms, now occupied by the Shepherd. What was he doing outside, too, for that matter.

“Will you kindly let me go, now?” You tugged your arm away, but he did not relent.

“I ought to bring you back.” You just looked up at him then, at his unreadable eyes, and nodded, resigned.

The walk was silent, but not unpleasant. You kept thinking about what you’d done and oscillating between being proud and feeling an overwhelming distress inside of you. The Ghost kept at your back, his steps more silent than yours despite the difference in sizes.

“Good night then. Do not leave the house unaccompanied,” he made sure to reprimand as he left you at your door. You shrugged: leaving it accompanied meant worse for you.

Four nights after his death, your brother still laid in the dust. You could not be placated along with the pain in your chest. The guards, noticing the thin layer of earth on the corpse, had reported to the Shepherd that someone had attempted to bury your brother, thus breaking the law. 

It is clear, you thought. You will die either way, inside your room or stoned to death: you might as well bury your brother properly. That time, your maid didn’t even cry: she had resigned herself as well.

They grabbed you while your back was to them, crouching on the corpse. The Ghost stood tall behind the guards: you locked eyes with him and could not tell what he was thinking. Was he maybe regretting not arresting you the first time he found you outside?

Once you were brought to your feet, he made a soundless gesture, and the other guards offered you to him. He grabbed you then, alone, and started dragging you to the palace.

The Shepherd, your father’s successor, had no regard for you. Despite being betrothed to his son before your father even passed, he made no qualms about taking what was your brother’s by right, and would not hesitate sending you to your death. 

“Come, girl. It was you, I imagined.” He spoke, up in the throne where your father once sat. The sight filled you with a bright anger, which then turned into muted despair, to end in cold apathy. It was not coming back. It would never come back.

You stood silent in front of a dozen men.

“You know what the price is, do you? I made sure the heralds read the decree many times, right outside here, as well.”

You nodded. The Shepherd tilted his bald head to you, regarding your figure more like an insect than a noble woman. The men of the council, shiveling, cowardly men, murmured at your admission of guilt.

“You broke the law. What made you think you could do that?”

You inhaled then, and made yourself taller. 

“The laws of the gods came before yours. It is wicked not to bury the dead.” The murmuring ceased at your words, an oppressive miasm falling over the room.

“But he declared war on the city. I protected the inhabitants, and you as well.” The Shepherd replied, unbothered. He was well aware he was going against a non written law, but did not care.

“That does not matter to me. I would bury a murderer.”

“And murderer he was, bringing fire and weapons to this peaceful city.” He laughed at you. You felt ire overflowing your judgement.

“How dare you? My brother was the heir to the throne!” You yelled, and the Ghost shaked you hard. You glowered at him and all you got as a reply was a brown eyed glare.

“Your brother was a fool, who ignored your poor father’s requests to return several times! And this,” he clutched the scroll, “declares me as the heir to the King!” 

You shook your head. Your father had been less lucid the last years of his life, and even cussed out your brother for not returning from his childish dreams of conquering. But he'd never make the Shepherd his heir: he even confessed to you he couldn't stand the man. 

“I do not accept you as King of the city. That is the truth of it.” You tried to keep a steady voice, but you were trembling. The hold on your shoulders got tighter. Why was the Ghost clutching you so severely? He couldn’t possibly be afraid for you: maybe his loyalty to the Shepherd was such that he’d kill you yourself.

The men of the council, men who had seen you grow, looked pale in the dim light of the morning. How long had you been outside? You felt like you’d seen your brother for only a second.

“I see, then,” spoke the Shepherd, as he rose from the throne. 

“You’ve decided to declare yourself an enemy of this state, as your brother before you. The sentence for going against the edict is stoning.” First rose muttering, and then louder voices, and then shouts. The vile men protested, outraged, but the Shepherd shot them down with a steady hand.

“As the past princess of this city, and betrothed to my son, I ought to not expose you with such an execution. See how they cry for you still? Would they hold the same respect for you had you been a thief, a conman? Yet you are guilty to the same degree.”

“That is not true!” Cried a voice, close or far. “She committed a sacred act!”

“Who dares go against me!” Shouted the Shepherd, but no one showed their face. He made an hissing noise then, red in the face.

“All that break the laws must be punished. How else are we supposed to live civilly?” He then moved his gaze back to you.

“I condemn you to be walled alive, and your brother will stay unburied until his bones turn to dust. His body will feed the soil of this splendid city.” 

This is it, then. The rest of your days. The shame of disrobing did not fall on you, yet. This would be your salvation from starving. The damp cave amplified the sound of all of your actions. Biting the gentle cloth, you tore a strip of the fabric from your skirt, testing its resistance. As you calculated the distance between the ground and the wooden rod on the cave ceiling, you heard steps approaching. The door, that could only be opened from outside, revealed two tall figures, dressed in typical military garb. The Ghost, clad in his dark attire, got closer to you, sword in hand. Ah. That was it, then. 

“Have you come to kill me yourself, then?” You told him. He said nothing, just got even closer, long strides and deadly silent. He grabbed you, again, and you let yourself be taken. The other guard, with piercing blue eyes, just looked at the Ghost with a doubting expression. The Ghost started dragging you out of the corridor, and that was when you pointed your feet down, tears filling your eyes.

“What is going on? I won’t be shamed now. I’ve already been condemned.” You cried, afraid. More afraid now than when you were going to hang yourself, for your hand would be merciful, but the Ghost’s wouldn’t. He stopped then, and looked in your eye. He seemed weirdly reluctant.

“Keep quiet, now. You won’t die today.” Unintelligently, you muttered your surprise. The Ghost started dragging you along again, the other guard becoming smaller and smaller in your view.

You walked, and walked, and walked through the night and the city and the fields. Exhausted, you had to stop often, even for just a moment. The Ghost looked at you with distaste then, like he regretted ever taking you away from your attempt at your life.

“You can’t even walk a mile without bending on yourself,” he spit out. For his indecency and rudeness, you struck him across the face, hand making contact with the black muslin of his mask. The slap barely moved him and he growled, and you expected him to finally retaliate and penetrate you with his sword. But he just turned on himself and started walking again.

“If you had told me where you’re taking me, I would not have struck you,” you tried to bargain. He sighed then, clearly thinking you insufferable.

“You have allies in the city. As the true King’s daughter,” you gasped at his words, tongue curling around the r’s in an odd, mesmerizing way.

“But they all voted in favor of the Shepherd taking power.”

“You know it’s because of the secrets and extortions he has on them. He’s no dearer to them than a tyrant.” You closed your mouth then, pondering. Could the city go back to having a proper king, one that respected the Gods’ laws?

“So you are my friend,” you said simply. He swallowed at that.

“I am… your protector. For the time being.”

You nodded. He, too, was now an enemy of the state, by association.

“I thank you then. Even though I would not have minded joining my family.”

He remained silent at that. A while after, he spoke again.

“We need to stop for a few hours at least. And you’ll need male clothing,” he simply said. You hid in a cave, wider and longer than the one that was supposed to hold you in your death. The Ghost lit up a small fire near the opening, and you watched him as he stroked it, pensive. Perhaps he, too, was thinking about what he left.

“Ghost,” you called, tone uncertain, “can I call you that?”

He nodded without taking his eyes off the fire.

“How… What is going on back home? Who hired you?”

“I can’t tell you that,” he replied to your second question. “As for back home, we placed a corpse in your place to give us a head start.”

“Someone else died for me,” you whispered, upset in your soul. You had been ready to kill yourself.

“He was already dead,” spoke the Ghost, weirdly demure. “One dead instead of two.”

“But…”

“Enough of that. You do not deserve to die for burying your brother. It is as simple as that.” You were stunned into silence by the determination of his words. So far, you’d thought he was only hired to do what his employer asked him. But now, you saw he agreed with your stance. For some reason, you felt pride in yourself bloom.

“Where are you taking me, then?”

“I know a place,” he said, “where you won’t be found.”

Something moved in your heart, again. He was being remarkably gentle for a butcher.

You fell asleep some time after, warmed by the fire. 

When you woke up, Ghost was nowhere to be seen. You looked deeper in the cave, but made your way back when you couldn’t see the light anymore. When you reached the entrance again, you heard someone call your name. 

“Come, then,” Ghost told you as you made your way down the cave’s entrance, back to more stable terrain and the spare tree. A small river ran to the side of the plain. Ghost was clutching a leather bag, ruffling around it crudely. His eyes could have almost betrayed embarrassment. 

“I know nothing of princesses’ dresses. Will this suffice?” He held up a man’s tunic, to which you raised an eyebrow. The Ghost was an odd fellow, and you’d be indebted to him for the rest of your life. That didn’t mean you would understand all of his actions.

“You told me yourself I had to dress like a man.”

“True. I was rude about it.” Your eyebrow raised even higher. An apology… or a statement as close to it as possible. You didn’t think the city’s terror was even capable of that.

“No, you were right. I will change.” You grabbed his offering with shaking hands. Once you’d switched your black clothes for the off white tunic behind the tree, you tried to look at your figure in the stream’s reflection. There was little difference between men and women’s clothes, besides the face that your lower legs were now exposed. You’d wear your hood to conceal your female face, but also your upper body. You tugged at the Ghost’s wrist. He looked at you then, dragging his eyes from your face to your feet. You felt an odd sensation making its way up your back.

“Shall we go then?”

“Yes.”

You walked in the market, among the people and the animals. It was weird to not open a road every time you showed in a public place: and even weirder to walk side to side with a man. You looked up at Ghost, again, and you found him inspecting the surroundings with thin eyes.

“Are you hungry?” He asked you, like a wet nurse might ask her toddler. The image of the Ghost tending to a small child was so comical, a giggle left your mouth. You were quick to shut your mouth, but he caught you anyway. His expression was baffled.

“Yes, I am. Sorry,” you apologised. You had only eaten some bread all day, and maybe the hunger was making you silly. He accosted a stand and bought pears and bread from the farmer, who took a long look at you. Probably wondering why a man would bring his slave boy to the market, you realized with shame, and looked down.

You ate the sweet pears and the bread with the cheese under a tree’s shadow while Ghost kept watch. 

“Would you like to sit?” You asked him politely.

“No.” He simply said, and kept watching the horizon. You sighed into your food. Still alone, but at least not famished. Your march began anew, the male tunic proving itself to be more comfortable. Still, you felt somewhat exposed, especially in Ghost's eyes. Every time you locked eyes, you found yourself looking away first. There was something about this man that left you exposed besides your legs. Like a plow moves the earth.

Did he even sleep? He was awake when you were, and he kept watch when you slept. Later, hidden in another, smaller cave, you voiced your concerns to him. He raised one eyebrow.

“Afraid, princess? That I will fall while I watch you? I’ve been a guard almost longer than you’ve been alive.” You rolled your eyes at his pride and the humorous tone of his voice. Many men’s fall was their excessive confidence.

“Should I not worry for my only companion in life?”

That shut him up quickly. He just regarded you then, shifting on his feet. Clearly uncomfortable with the truth. When he decided to speak again, what he said shocked you most.

“I saw your brother die.”

Hearing a strange noise, only after a second you realised you were the one making it.

“Did you kill him?” You asked, voice tight. Ghost shook his head.

“The Shepherd’s men shot arrows at his back while he was fighting. He was a great warrior.” You sniffed hearing his words. You knew, you knew your brother would fight to his death, you’d seen his ruined body bloated but dressed for war. 

“It’s not honorable. Shooting a man in the back.” He said simply, holding your gaze. His body began to warp and look odd as water filled your eyes.

“Thank you for telling me this,” you whispered, and he nodded, finally sitting next to you. If you dried your tears on his wide shoulder, no one else saw you.

Your journey lasted more days than you imagined. Everytime you asked the question to Ghost, he would only answer soon. He saw you pray at the gods’ altars: Hermes, Artemis, Athena, Zeus. He never prayed himself, or placed offerings that you didn’t tell him to place, which at the start unnerved you and then made you curious.

“Where do you come from?” Your conversations usually started with a question from you and ended with a reply from him. But you didn’t think he was a too dire debate partner, anyway.

“From far away.”

“Stop treating me as if I’m stupid.” You did hate his dismissal ways, sometimes.

“I’m not lying,” he hissed from between his teeth, “I come from so far away, I wouldn’t even know how to go back home.” That intrigued you. The twists and turns of his journey would surely make for a great story. But you hoped you could arrive at your destination.

“Then we are the same,” you decided to reply, “both without a home.”

He sighed, oddly softly. You thought that was an interesting reaction, and nestled closer to him.

When you were too far away from a market, or from farmers who would sell their fares to Ghost, he would go hunting. You’d beg and beg to let him teach you how to shoot an arrow (you’d always dreamed to be a brilliant hero of the stories), and he always categorically refused to do it. But, extraordinarily, he did teach you something. He taught you briefly how to fish, so long as you had a needle; he taught you what weeds were good to eat. Dirtying your hands felt weird at first, but you were quickly motivated by the pings of hunger in your belly.

Finally, you reached another settlement. Your surprise was evident seeing so many people prepare for a feast. You asked a busy woman what was going on: she looked at you as if you had grown another head, and simply said “the Dionysia”. What joy, then. Drinking, dancing, singing. You hadn’t heard a joyful bard or a musician since before your parents died. Smiling, you turned to your brooding companion.

“Can we stop for the festival, Ghost?” You pled him.

He looked irritated at your request. 

“What will happen if you get recognized, hmm?”

“I am a mere daughter. I’m no danger to whoever sits the city throne now.”

“You can’t rule, that much is true,” he took his big hand and grazed at your belly with the back of his fingers, making your skin goosebump, “but what of the sons of your womb? And what do you think happens in these festivals? You must have seen it too, the men with the courtesans.” You blushed at his implications.

“You… you heathen! Are you not here to protect me?” He scoffed at your protests and at the light punches you threw at his chest, but he paid the inn for the day and you beamed at him. He’d even called you his wife to the innkeeper– the action had made your blood surge, but then you pathetically remembered you could never marry anymore.

You both drank a little, but not too much, you to not get too drunk, him to both integrate and not lose his mind. It was exhilarating, taking part in a feast as a common person and not a noble. Nobody but Ghost was looking at you, and you were free to do as you pleased. Nobody in the village had cared that you were a woman, the people just happy to have two more that would pray for the wellness of the settlement. 

“Should I go dancing?” You asked him, raising to your feet while he kept sitting down.

Incredibly, he laughed. Your mouth hung in awe. It was a husky sound, much like all of him. Immediately, you wanted to hear more.

“Silly girl, you’re dressed as a boy! You’ll look odd, moving to the girls’ dance.” Blushing, you sat back down again. There was so much you didn’t know or you had taken for granted due to your higher position, and Ghost never sweetened the hard truth with honey. As much as the noble girl had died with the rest of your family, this common one wasn’t quite born yet. A warm hand came to hold the back of your neck, gently petting it.

“You looked beautiful dancing at the palace,” you heard his voice low in your ear, his breath warm on your cheek. His mouth, red and soft, was exposed in order for him to drink and eat. “I remember your dress, that summer. Once we arrive, I’ll buy you a similar one.” 

He must have been speaking about the day of your bethronal to the Shepherd’s son, the biggest event you had ever been the protagonist of. You danced for a whole day. What had happened to your betrothed, that older boy? You had no way of knowing, but he didn’t defend you from his father. You knew even back then that he did not like you much, and he was probably ecstatic that you died to the city. 

“Are we close to arriving?” He started petting your cheek then, even brushing his thumb against your lips.

“Yes, very close, sweet thing.” He then blinked and drew away, as if he realised what he was doing. You wished he would keep touching you.

Oh Dionysus, you crazy god. You’ve freed the coldest of men at last, the one barbarian who couldn’t be dissuaded from his duty. 

You saw many peculiar things at the feast. The dances were different from what you were used to, and the plays were even more debouched. The road from your home had been long, and wherever you were, there was no longer any overlap for the princess and the girl. Even Ghost, the one link to your previous life, was no longer a guard, an impersonal male figure that worked for your father: he was a man under your will.

When it was time to leave the party, you did so broken-hearted. The warmth of the people had been a balm to your still hurt heart. And this new side of an intoxicated Ghost intrigued you.

“Oh my,” you said, seeing the inn room had only one, big bed. The headboard was an intricate wickerwork, far more beautiful that a bed from a village inn could hope to be. 

You’d never slept with a man in your bed.

You sent a nervous look to Ghost, who was busy rattling around in his bag. Always bustling, this man.

You could ask him to sleep on the ground, but as you’d been sleeping on grass and rocks for two weeks now, it would be a profoundly impolite gesture.  

You quickly removed your outside layer of clothing, and remained in your small clothes. You approached the bed and slid on it, turning on your elbows. As you settled, you saw Ghost looking up and sending brief glances your way, like he was respectfully gauging the situation.

“Ghost, come sleep next to me.” You felt yourself say. It was very much an alien part of you saying it. Maybe the innermost one.

He swallowed as he stood in front of the bed. Now in the closed, and warm thanks to the fireplace, he removed his mask.

You found yourself looking at his full face for the first time. He did not look like most men did back home, but you perceived his appearance as pleasing nevertheless. His hair was light, spun of gold. What happened next shocked you more, as he began removing the pieces that composed his armor. Ironically, had he been wearing a more simple garb, you would not have had time to elaborate, and you would have panicked. But the necessary time for him to undress allowed to study the man that was about to sleep next to you.

His height often intimidated most: he did not even need to glower at them. Despite his size, you found out he could remove his armor quickly and efficiently, and he did not stumble about even after drinking wine. Of course, you had seen many men in different states of underdressing, as that was the condition in which sports and competitions were taken on. His body was different from the ones of most athletes, but you recognised the build of a hero in it either way. For one, he was covered in hair– fair hair, matching the ones on his head, but so different from the hairless bodies of the oiled runners.This was a body meant to fight and protect, and not to be shown at the circus. Only his jaw was shaved: in a way, he was the complete opposite of the rest of the men of your city.

You smiled at him as he remained in his loincloth, and he sat down at the very opposite edge of the bed.

You had slept by his side many times now. What embarrassed him?

“You can lay down more comfortably.”

“This is improper.”

“Does it matter?” You replied, a bit miffed. “This last month of my life has been improper. You might as well get a good night’s rest.” He turned to glare at you, and that was the first time you locked eyes with him when he was unmasked. Whatever he saw in your expression must have been convincing enough, because he laid down next to you.  

“I so missed a real bed. Haven’t you?” You said to make conversation.

“I lied to you,” he replied. Anxiety rose in you.

“What?”

“There was no employer,” he said, almost hiccupping, hand on his face, “nobody told me to take you away.”

The revelation hit your heart strong, and you turned away from him. 

“Why did you do it, then?” You hummed and he sat up on the bed.

“I couldn’t bear to see you die,” he whispered, now looking at you while you kept your gaze away. “I am no citizen. I live off employment from lords and merchants. I was hired by your father, and I was bound by contract to protect his family.”

“When he died and the Shepherd rose, I could and should have changed city. There was no reason for me to stay there when chaos would rule. But I wanted to keep an eye on you, because you are reckless and too determined.” You spluttered, offended. “Don’t lie, you know it to be true. And I did well, otherwise you would have killed yourself. And what a waste that would have been.” You turned to face him.

“Ghost…”

“There is no grand plan. I wanted to take you to a house I know to be empty, for I killed the owner in the past. And we would live there, and you would be safe.”

“Why “would”? I am coming with you,” you said, very simply. “What else am I supposed to do? Take back my place at the palace? There is nothing dear for me there, besides one or two maids, that I hope are well.” You tentatively got close and raised your arm to brush his cheek, this time. You felt his stubble sting at your fingers. 

“Ghost, from when you took me away, you’ve become my whole family. You are my dead father and mother, my dear brother, and even my future husband. No one else will take me in, orphan and poor as I am. Would you leave me now?”

“No, never,” he hurried to say, and you smiled again. For whatever reason, your loyalty to your family had been rewarded with a loyal stranger.

“Then there is no problem. Would you… would you be my husband then?” He sighed then, long suffering, and he turned to hover over you as his hands came to hold your hips. You yelped, surprised by his speed.

“What are you even saying?”

“You… you said I was your wife to the innkeeper.”

“That was a lie,” he said, pressing an index to your nose, making you laugh, “so that we would be taken in. Should I have said “this is the runaway princess of an important town, and I’m escorting her away from her death”? Hmm? Should I have? You insufferable girl,” he held you close as you laughed and your legs squirmed under him.

“I told you I’m not a princess anymore!”

He scoffed then, but kept you close still even as you wiggled. “What else could you be? Delicate and opinionated as you are. Only a princess with her burly jailer,” he remarked. 

“Jailer? I’ve been freer with you these days than the rest of my life.” You whispered in his ear as you embraced him in your arms. With less commodities, for certain, but free in nature, in the landscapes you observed, in the food you ate and in the company you kept. No man’s law that differed from the gods’ existed here. To think you would have never spoken to Ghost if those great tragedies hadn’t befallen on you.

Because Ghost would never make a move to really connect the two like you ought to be, you decided to take a stand, and brought your lips to his cheek, leaving a chaste kiss there. Spurred by his involuntary purr, you kept kissing him, making your way to his mouth. There, you left a longer kiss, one that confirmed that his lips were, indeed, soft. When you looked at his eyes, you found out they were glazed over, lands away. But you couldn’t be jealous of his memories, because he then started to kiss you in return. At first, with his mouth closed, much like yours: but then his lips started to part, and he began kissing you with his tongue. Taken by surprise, you timidly tried to mimic what he was doing, although this one act was lost in the records chambermaids giggled about. Before long, you kept feeling that weird sensation in your lower body, at the juncture of your legs, the one joked about in the comedies, and you held one shy hand against Ghost’s chest. He immediately withdrew from you, as if burned by your touch.

“What is it? Are you hurt?”

“No… No at all. I feel weird,” you said, and immediately regretted it. Could you be any more fumbling. Ghost breathed hard, his chest grazing yours, and then moved so he would not lay on you anymore.

“Do you want to stop?” He asked you, and you shook your head, your hair brushing against his face. He laughed, softly, and you again felt a sense of pride in making him do so. He began kissing you again, and what joy that was.

The sensation in the middle of your legs was answered when you felt Ghost’s hand slipping under your clothes. Even without seeing, he knew what to do to you: he began tracing your sex, concentrating on the upper side of it, which made you gasp in pleasure. His index then entered you, and you felt your mouth falling open as he muttered encouragement in your temple. Good girl, good girl, he just said, and then he picked up speed and the slick sound of his fingers entering and leaving you made you hide your face in your neck. He kept cooing at you, and everything felt so real, too real, as you felt a burst of energy released inside you, a sensation unlike any other. You panted into his shoulder, shocked. Was this what being married entailed? Suddenly, you were very glad to have asked Ghost to be your husband.

Speaking of which, he moved from your side, and you cried at the loss of warmth and him. He shifted to be on top of you again, and you looked him in the eye from under. He looked very vivid, like the most alive thing you had ever seen in your life. The shadows of the crackling fire played on his hair, and you made yourself even smaller.

“Was it true? What you said.” He asked you. You didn’t even know what he meant in particular, but you had never lied to him, past that one night he encountered you as you fled the scene. You said yes.

“There will be no walking back from this. We will be as good as a real husband and wife after this, do you understand? I won’t let you go–” he choked out the last part, reining in his desperation. You shook your head again.

“I’m not going anywhere. I’ll stay with you.” He made another frustrated sound then, and you saw, in the muted light of the room, his hand holding his cock, the sword man penetrates woman with. Now you know your duty begins: the pain and the blood accompanying. But weirdly, unexpectedly, as he entered you you felt only a slight burn, a stretching sensation, but not the horrible pain of hushed stories. And then he started moving, and it was a pleasant feeling, a rocking motion in the arms of the man that had saved you from death. He kept kissing you, and saying the sweetest things– who could have imagined such a brutal warrior, turned into the gentlest, Eros-touched lover? 

His movements never rushed, or hurried to the point where it would hurt, but you could tell he was getting desperate. Just when you thought he would release in you, he moved away, leaving you gaping and cold. He took himself in hand then, and moaned softly as the white seed touched his hand.

“Why didn’t you…” You blushed again, not finishing your phrase. It felt wrong to you that he did not come inside you, but you didn’t quite have the courage to tell him so.

Ghost simply panted and looked at you, at you raising chest, and at your core. He then closed his eyes and released a decisive, deep breath. He fixed himself and held you again in his arms, moving you around as if you were a doll.

“I will do it when we get home.”

The remaining days on the road were a haze of happy memories. You remembered Ghost’s lingering touches, and the warmth of the sun in the middle of the day, happy villages and herds grazing the green grass. Ghost hissing at anyone who asked too many questions, Ghost hunting the hares, Ghost taking you on the woods’ ground, from behind and against the trees, free to mate as much as you wanted, always ready for you. And when you finally reached his home, that grey, desolate thing, the first thing he did was take you in the bed.

“This ought to be repaired,” you told him as you moved around the house and discovered yet another broken tool, or part, and he sighed, long suffering. But then the next day he would get to work, and fix the table, the window, and he bought you a dress that resembled the one you wore on the day of your betrothal, and it was even more special because it came from him.

“Listen here,” he told you one day as he returned from his work, and after you had hugged him to your heart’s content. His tone was guarded and serious as ever.

“I have news. From the city, I mean,” he said, and you nodded at his words. You felt a detachment towards what concerned your old life, besides the memories of your loved ones, but you were still curious.

“The Shepherd is dead.”

“Praise the gods!” You exclaimed. He nodded.

“The council killed him, they say. And the new king is a young hero who fought off invaders from the south. He is missing a wife. You see where I’m going with this?” He asks, tone even but tinged with that insecurity, that slightest fear... You did see it and hate it fiercely. You told him as much.

“I made a promise to you that night. Do you think me that fickle, that I would return to a city that wanted me dead so I could bear legitimate children to a new tyrant?”

He sighed again, lovesick, like he was the maiden taken away and not you. He kissed you and ran his hands into your hair, now long and free. You laid your head on his chest. How could he think you would leave him still? He was the only owner of your heart, your god-sent protector.

You didn’t know what your family would think about you running away with a man who, in the city, would never have had the chance to speak to you first, much less to marry you. But you knew that in your soul, you were living a life true to yourself and the gods. And that much would suffice for the rest of your days.

[theanonymousninja247]

Pretty Random Turtle Thunks

Noise

Rating: Cookies and Cream (16+ plz)

Summary: Flash Fiction of 835 words.

Bay!Raph struggles to deal with overwhelm of living in a world constantly at full volume.

His latest struggle with sound is you.

pspsps @avery73 @anobodyinabog @redsrooftopprincess

I have a little something for ju big red girlies

header belonging to @firefly-graphics

Raphael always thought that he had a solid grasp on understanding what it meant to live in a world full of noise.

His entire life, his entire world for as long as he could remember, had always been a collection of cacophonies. 

From the constant racket of living beneath THE city that never slept or the never ending tumult that came from the reckless and wild life he lived, Raph had forever been surrounded by sound. 

If it wasn’t the city, or vigilant violence, any chance of possible silence was shattered by Raph’s brothers.

Leo’s tirelessly tirades, Donnie’s incessant info-dumping and Mikey’s constant chatter. 

Call him a grinch or whatever but it was always noise, noise, noise.

And if not his own brother’s, then Raph’s Achilles heel, his very own traitorous heart would betray him. The beat of heated drums that thrummed in his veins. Thoughts of inadequacy, self loathing and all over anger. At the world. At himself.

Such resonance that haunted his every step, his every thought, the entirety of his existence.

Raph, the little Atlas that he was, thought he could bear the weight of it all. His shoulders were certainly wide enough. He was strong enough. 

Ohhhh he made very sure that he was strong enough to could carry it all. Even convinced himself that he’d miss the weight of the hubbub if it was gone.

So yeah, he thought he can handle the noise of it all. 

Until you. 

Oh, until you. 

He didn’t know what it was. Just the comfortability of a safe companionship that grew over time? A stubborn seedling of fond affection that he never could seem to unroot in the protected garden of his heart? Or maybe the inevitable weakness of a spring season hinting just around the corner? 

Whatever it was, lately whenever you were near, the world went silent and you…

Well, you just…you were loud. 

Not necessarily in exact volume, though you did tend to get a bit more passionate in those moments of innocent and genuine excitement.

Those small moments that Raph treasured deep in the recesses of his heart that he would pull out like a picture to glance at on a rainy day. 

No, you were loud in the way that everything about you just started to scream for his attention. 

It wasn’t unbearable per sé, but it was heavy with a sudden weight that for the first time, Raph didn’t know how to hold. How to handle.

Your smile was a flash bang that had him reeling every time you shot it in his direction. Completely blinded by the fact something as soft and delicate could ever be graced upon such a creature as himself. 

It made his face hurt in his attempts to strangle back the ferocity of desire to smile, really smile the way he wanted to, right back at you.  With you, his heart cried out.

Your sweet scent was a siren song in a key that beckoned to him that caused his soul to ache for the mere whisper of hope, the smallest chance to have the privilege to harmonize with you. 

Your presence, just a mere brush or touch of your hand caused the constant state of drumming that was his heart to increase tempo like intense war drums. To the point he could feel it in his pounding in his finger tips as he had to physically restrain himself from unconsciously reaching out to you. 

If he ever go the chance to touch you, to hold you the way he wanted to, Raph wondered if he’d finally find the peace and quiet that he so desperately craved. 

Would all the noise go away? Or with your body in his hands, your heartbeat dancing in tandem with his, would all the volume of the world, in his head, in his heart, finally make sense?

Would all the sound come together and get lost in the symphony of you?

So that’s why he finds himself he’s sitting alone in his brooding corner. His elbows on his knees and his face in his hands, his breath heavy and labored with the weight of trying to hold the weight of…well…everything back.

Your visage branded to the back of his eyelids and your voice echoing in his memory like an unfair vision of the night. 

It made Raph feel like slamming his hands over his head and fully retreating into his shell, hoping to finding one dark corner not haunted by you, where he could get the stupid staccato of his heart back into place.

Because he couldn’t look away; he couldn’t look away. He couldn’t stop listening. 

And the worst part of it all, was Raphael was scared of the fact that he didn’t know if he could, or even wanted to. 

Yeah, Raph thought he could handle the noise.

But he very may well just perish at the thought of being able to one day have the privilege of pulling a sound from you.

[blooming-cecilia]

i don't know dahlia all that well yet since i've yet to play the interlude (i'm waiting for miss erika's lines to be patched in 🙂‍↕️🤞)

buuut based on the vibes i've been getting...

in the context of lunasmr's wedding audio, i feel like if dahlia ever found out his bestie venti here got married WITHOUT any officiant or witness? he would set off and FORCE him to get a proper ceremony at the church lmfao 😭

i can see it happening post honeymoon audio, once windblume and venti get back to their normal lives

venti's at the tavern as usual but still kinda riding the wedding bliss. while on break from his Very Exhausting job of entertaining the masses, he's chosen to sit with a bunch of his tavern buddies and dahlia. everyone at that point has noted how extra happy the bard is that night, and venti accidentally says the truth without realizing it's consequences, happily yapping about his marriage and honeymoon bc hehe hes very in love so why wouldnt he yap about getting married to his beloved <33

and everyone's just ?!?! but dahlia. ohhh dahlia. he's appalled and after a few moments of silence just sets off on venti. what do you MEAN you got married. with no officiant? no other witnesses?? just both of you??? your marriage isn't OFFICIAL YOU FOOL

venti realizes his mistake and tries to get him off his back but nope! dahlia's not having any of that! he WILL have a proper ceremony This wednesday (aka, the Latest gap in his schedule) and NO he cannot get out of this.

doesn't matter if he knows venti's barbatos or not, dahlia feels like someone who would tell off someone even if they're above him in whatever rank. as long as there's something wrong, he WILL correct it. so there really is no other option but to comply 🤡

sooooo venti has no choice but to tell his beloved windblume that uhhh Well. that second wedding he promised them they'd have if they wanted?? Guess It's Happening Now

and even then it's like, the barest minimum wedding with the deacon and two other witnesses (one from each side)

(unless his windblume wanted to invite more folks of course!)

all because he's annoyed about having to been told to do another wedding just because he was told it wasn't leGaLLy biNdinG 🙄😒

grumbles about it to his windblume as they both get ready that fateful wednesday morning,

"i'm literally god. i should be allowed to legalize my own marriage. why does the church have to approve of MY MARRIAGE. shouldn't have said it with dahlia around, i knew he was gonna nag ..."

"to be fair, he's got a point. i did try to tell you."

"NOT YOU TOO >:("

windblume kisses his cheek and tries to soothe their (soon to be?) husband, barely holding back a laugh.

"well, aren't you glad to be able to marry me again? you were the one excited about having a bunch of weddings!"

the pout from venti's face falls into a small smile.

"that's about the only good thing from this whole nonsense, anyway."

he leans over to kiss his beloved,

"you know i'd marry you every day if i could, my love."

bonus: the best man

let me preface this by saying that because it's mondstadt and because i say so, i believe any person can be elected as a primary attendant/witness regardless of gender. so, i think venti could (and would) have chosen literally anyone available (lol) for his side

but i think it would be funny if he chose diluc as his best man

i was mostly thinking of this in the context of my yumeship, but also? he would probably be chosen because he:

1) knows who venti is so he likely understands the full context of this out of the blue wedding

2) he can roll with the punches and adapt fairly easily

3) venti has a sense of humor

i'm imagining him just dropping by the winery and asking like, "heyyy master diluc, r u free this wednesday? yeah?? ok can u come for a little thing i got going on at the church, promise it won't take up too much of your time <3 k thx see u!!!"

just making it sound super casual like he's asking to hang out. which was super sus already especially with that location. but he got no other clue on why, so he just gets there and BOOM. it was. a weddign . and he's. venti's best man?????????

was So confused getting there early and seeing an unimpressed dahlia waiting. he thinks he got it wrong and was gonna apologize but THEN dahlia goes,

"are you one of his witnesses"

".. what?"

"the bard and [windblume]'s wedding. are you their witness"

(realization)

"...............yes"

and he just sits there waiting along with windblume's chosen witness while inwardly groaning and cursing out venti in his head

not because he had to play best man. he wouldn't have minded. but he would have preferred to have been told he was attending a wedding!! he should have been in a nice proper suit rn!!

he doesn't even have a gift for the couple! though he supposed that can always come later, it still feels wrong to be THIS unprepared and it's on what he thought was gonna be a Perfectly Normal Wednesday Afternoon

somebody save him

[amazingdeadfish]

Do u think u could make an opera version of mayor? I've seen a few artists make diff opera wukong/Mac designs but I think a opera mayor design would look very cool :D

Not gonna lie, I was nervous to do this, but, I don't regret trying out this challenge.

RAMBLES + (literally only two) REFERANCES BELOW THE CUT:

The costume is based on the classic armor outfit in Chinese Peking Opera. Since, we all know that the Mayor doesn't actually have that many identifiable characteristics or, much of a role in the LMK show other than being LBD's foot soldier or, thrall. So, I had to reflect that in what's probably an incredibly basic interpretation for what their design could be (because if you actually see the insane level amount of detail in peking opera outfits, you'll understand that this drawing is heavily simplified and lacks detail).

The mask, is, also simple. I tried to look at numerous references and get my head around the insane amount of possibilities of patterns and designs and what they mean, as well as what the colours symbolize, but all that's important is that blue symbolizes stoicism, black for integrity, and white symbolizes evil (but of course these meanings for colours have leeway in between depending on what source you look at. There is no definitive answer).

The mask is also important because it creates the most visual distinction from Mayor being a Jing instead of a Sheng (male protagonist). And, even though it's a basic mask, I did create it to imply an almost 'skull' shape to it. But it's discrete and, you have to be looking for it to be there (which I suppose fits because, Mayor being LBD's thrall wasn't revealed straight away)

Now okay look, I'm- I'm not an expert on peking opera at all, I had to do a bit or research to do this in order to actually understand what I am doing when it comes to designing an outfit for Mayor. You might see a hint of his Chief costume in the chest plate I decided to keep, and all those skull motifs to show that he is a thrall of Lady Bone Demon. But in short, he is a warrior, a soldier, a chief of war, and he fights and works for Lady Bone Demon. He is to be a character with heavy, dramatic armor, and a mask to not only symbolize his role in whatever theatre show he lands himself in, but also for the shrouded identity he has and, well, not exactly being the most in-depth or open character in the show :))).

Anyways, here's a beta design back when I legitimately had no idea what I was doing and had done like zero research apart from looking at references I lied and, thinking Mayor would have a 'lighter (less heavy) and less decorative outfit (clearly I changed my mind later on):

I am, glad I did not follow through with this design. This is, not a peking opera outfit. Not a conventional one at least, that would reflect who the Mayor is (because this mf is conventional as hell, fitting in with modern times with his suit and all).

And here are the, uh, two references I used (obviously there's more but, these two were the ones I really picked apart and analyzed and, have clearly referenced):

And yes, I copied the pose on the right.

Design is welcome for critique (again, I am not an expert on peking opera (it's such a vast, complex, and wonderful artform that the more I found out the more I was intimidated by) and possibly subjected to be redesigned later on should I look back on this months-years later and cringe horrifically.

[celestial-dreamscapes]

Posts that remind me of obey me characters

This is a really dumb post lmaooo I love these sm

Solomon (featuring MC):

MC about any of them tbh:

Levi:

Mammon:

Levi and Luke:

Beel (I can see it with either Lucifer or MC):

Levi, Mammon and Beel combined:

[niccolites]

promise i have not disappeared off the face of the earth, just am writing an android!price au and it is KICKING my ass rn

general plot is fem!reader is married and price is their new android that her military husband gets her so someone is in the house to keep her safe while he's away. and it's dubcon bc ofc it it. excerpt below while i try to wrangle it into something salvageable lol

-

The night before Arthur comes home, you try to sort yourself out. Routine is only another day away and you crave it so bad that your mouth waters with it. You decide you’re going to speak with Arthur when he gets back, tell him that you understand why he has left John with you, but it’s just not working out.

Standing at the kitchen sink, washing clean cups again, let John stand to the side of you. You’re feeling petty, the thought of being rid of him soon filling you with a specific type of bravery. It’s like he knows, you tell yourself. That’s why he’s being so quiet. Waiting for you to speak first rather than the usual, where he lets you know what he’s going to do, as if to forewarn you to not even try.

You hear him stand, turn around just to see him adjust himself in his trousers. You frown, confused. Perhaps stare a bit too intently at his crotch. He looks back at you, amused in the way that you imagine hunters are when they hear an animal yowl in pain from a shot. “Can I help you, ma’am?” he asks.

You flush but refuse to look away from him. “Is that just something to make you seem human? I can’t imagine you actually have -” Cut yourself off. Filthy words that have never been spoken in this house. Only the sweet back and forth of you and Arthur’s routine. Would feel like a betrayal of some kind, as if Arthur will come home and hear the echoing of your foul mouth hours after, bouncing off of the walls and settling into the grain of the wood.

“You asking if I have a cock, sweetheart?” John asks, steps closer. Slippery hands clench around glass. He looks like he’s scented blood, like he wants to dart forward and finally catch you in this elaborate game that you’ve been playing that only he knows the rules to.

“Why would you? What purpose would that have?” you return, frowning at him. Disapproving, a familiar role for you, even if it is relatively passive compared to how you feel now. You feel the absurd urge to hiss at him, poison in your mouth. Feel how it burns your gums.

“Most likely a function for bored housewives,” he drawls, dark eyes intent on you.

You freeze, stare at him. You know that he isn’t supposed to speak to you like that. Know that backchat must not be some certain part of his hardwiring. He seems to be challenging you as well, watching you with that half-smirk, half-scowl of his. You tilt your hand under the hot water, let the snapping burn of your skin pull your focus away.

He clicks his tongue, as if disappointed. Feel the point of his stare on the sink. You twist your hand, the squeak of flesh against glass, grating.

Your skin turns red under the water, the flow shattering against the nerves on the back of your palm before it is suddenly stopped. You startle, heat at your side suddenly as he pulls your hands out of the sink, dries them with a gentleness that quiets you.

The hair across his knuckles tickles against the smooth of your own. He holds them, as if he just wants to. Function done, the gap between one order and the next. You stay quiet, watch him. Study him for once.

He’s openly frowning now, thumb against the blotches of red. “Be careful,” he says, suddenly, as if the temperature reading he has just read on you is not to his liking. Body twisting with displeasure. Feel him run it through his synthetic surface and into your skin, running through wiring and into your blood vessels, becomes your own.

Open your mouth to snark back, silenced when he gives you a firm look. “It’s only water,” you mutter, sullen.

“Doesn’t matter,” he barks back. Culls you. “I don’t want you near the sink.” You bristle. “Or will you wear gloves next time?” He looms over you, a threat in the size of him. The urge to behave for someone bigger than you. The way he doesn’t have to throw you around, the shift of his bicep is implicit enough.

“I’ll wear gloves,” you give in, mullish. Desperate not to be banned from the sink in your own home.

He settles with that, one last smooth over the back of your hand, leaves you feeling like static. “Good girl,” he murmurs. You hear it like a gunshot, and spend the rest of the day with music blaring in the kitchen, hoping to drown that sound out before your husband comes home and finds it in the metal of the sink.

Or worse, hears the intake of breath you emitted. Guilty.

[valtoriq]

Lee Jihye: Where do babies come from?

Kim Dokja: … go ask your father

They’ve barely met but they’re already an old married couple… (I mean technically kdj knows everything about yjh but still)

(Just finished chapter 46)

[themeraldee]

you know how antony starr has that sorta dip in the middle of his forehead? homie's s/o kissing him there and telling him it was "made for me to kiss". since he was literally manufactured in a lab to fit a certain "perfect" ideal, i'm a bit obsessed with an s/o making a positive fuss of his physical "imperfections" (not that i really like that phrase but you know what i mean).

this is such an incredible idea!!!!!!!!! I'm obsessed with it. You know what, I'm stealing it and including it in my WIP about body worship. sorry not sorry 😂 (as a payment it'll be dedicated to you)

I am also obsessed with the idea of his manufactured self having "imperfections" (through the corporate media lens at least) that he's struggling to accept. Why does he wear the suit all the time kinda thing you know? Sure it's his identity and it's all he sees himself as but if his body matched exactly what everyone expects him to be he wouldn't be hiding it behind the costume all the time. You know he'd be doing shirtless photoshoot for Men's Health or whatever. (Instead in the show he's fully clothed for their version, Men's Recreation)

I'd also have self-esteem issues if I was paraded around in a padded suit, printed on a cover next to the words "rock hard abs".

So to finally have someone be happy with the way he looks, cherishing it and worshipping it? Well that must just seem like a cruel fantasy right? Because at most he could imagine someone going "oh it's okay that you're not as muscular, nobody is!" but to have an SO who goes "I love you because of the way you are, not in spite of it." would blow his mind.

So yeah all his "imperfections" are getting extra kisses and love.

[baldursgate3tempobsessed]

Please let Astarion meet Tav's family and have a younger sibling like 6 be like im gonna marry the prince points at Astarion.

Tav : Sorry, im married to the prince

NO IM GONNA MARRY THE PRINCE

That's so fucking cute kill me. But I just realized AFTER I finished it I read this wrong 😭😭 I read it as "marry" instead of "married" so whoops now it's an asking for your hand in marriage fic.

Also, I'm going to make this a weird little, unofficial, alternate reality, off shoot of this fic to explain away why Astarion can be in the sun without ascending because I am ~lazy~

Quick summary if you didn't read it, Tav serves Selune, gets a blessing for all the good work, and uses it to cure the anti-light issue of the vampirism (but not all of it). It's not a literal extension of that fic but I'm stealing my own plot explanations. That's it! Now here we go:

~

Astarion wasn't nervous per se. He was just... on edge. And the two-week journey it took to get here wasn't helping things, not when it gave him so much time to ruminate in his thoughts. He never expected to be in the position of "meeting the family," let alone in anticipation for asking for someone's hand in marriage.

Astarion wasn't even quite sure how his life got here. He had always fantasized that a life without Cazador would be one of selfish hedonism, not one where he would be legitimately concerned about a damn six year old sibling's first impression of him.

But then you came along, effortlessly shattering all of his grandiose plans with a batt of your eyelashes. Perhaps the entire journey of falling in love was more complicated, but it felt like it was that simple. In hindsight, he never stood a chance against you, but it was hilarious that there was a time he ever thought he did.

All of his prior dreams and fantasies felt like nothing in comparison to just being with you. It had been a year since you both saved the Sword Coast, a beautiful, fantastic year. That had ended with him somehow more in love with you now than when he first confessed. Selune's blessing had certainly helped with that he was sure. He still couldn't quite believe that you would use a god's blessing on him of all people, but gods, was he appreciative. Because being able to walk in the sun again meant that he could live the life he wanted, with no restrictions. He could be the partner you deserved, the kind that a father would happily say yes to when asking for your hand.

Which brought him back to his current dilemma. Perhaps he hadn't seen any of your family members in the time you'd been together, but he had heard plenty. You loved them all to death, especially your little sister. You wrote to them constantly, the mere sight of a letter from your parents enough to put you in a great mood for the rest of the day. He was aware that your mother was supposedly a saint, a fact that your own father had instilled in you often. He knew that they had a wonderful, loving marriage and were both higher ups in the Church of Selune. A fact that Astarion didn't particularly enjoy.

As grateful to the moon goddess as he was, he was aware that you were an expectation to the very normal belief that vampires were bad. And that marrying one was one of the stupidest things you could ever do from an average person's perspective, let alone a Selunite.

Why you hadn't done the smart thing and lied about what he was, Astarion would never know. But he did know that the thought of their rejection over his admittedly sordid history was putting him in a tailspin.

"They're going to love you," You said for the hundredth time, giving his hand a squeeze as you led him up the steps to your childhood home, "You have nothing to worry about sweetheart. I promise."

Astarion highly doubted that, but you were already knocking on the front door before he had a chance to argue. The door instantly slammed open, a beaming child already launching themselves at you before Astarion could process what was happening.

But you were more prepared them he was. You effortlessly caught them in your arms, laughing at their excited shouting, "Titi! You're late!"

So this was the famous Arabeth.

"No, I'm not!" You laughed as you settled her on your hip, "And what happened to my little girl's manners huh? You haven't even introduced yourself yet."

The child glanced over at him, like she was just realizing for the first time that someone else was standing over there. She looked a little shocked at the sight of him, staring at him with wide eyes. Wide enough for Astarion to start to wonder if something was on his face.

He gave her a little wave only for her to bury her face into your shoulder, peeking out at him with her lips pursed. Which was not the best start to the whole making his darling's family actually like him plan.

"Well, as you've probably guessed this is Arabeth. She's just a little shy," You reassured as you stepped inside, muttering a quick invitation inside under your breath. He appreciated that, he didn't need the whole house to be reminded of his... limitations.

"But she'll get over it soon enough," You continued as you called into the house, "Mom? Dad? We're here!"

And just like that they were rushing into the room, acting just as excited as your sister had been. Your mother wasted no time in smothering your face with kisses while your father swept you up into a hug. It was a rather impressive display of coordination, considering how they hadn't managed to knock you and your sister to the floor in the process. Astarion was pretty sure they were both saying something along the lines of We missed you! But it was hard to tell with all of you so tangled up in each other.

It was heartwarming to see, in all honestly. Of course such a loving person would come from an equally loving family, what else would he expect?

Though he certainly hadn't been expecting for your mother to throw her arms around him next. She brought him into a tight hug before looking him up and down, "So you're Astarion huh?"

She turned back to you, grinning ear to ear with her hands set on Astarion's shoulders, "He's so handsome! Selune help us, do you remember the last boy you brought home? He had a nose the length of my arm-"

"And that's enough of that," You said with a strained laugh, pulling your eccentric mother back a few inches, "And we've talked about the impromptu hugs. What happened to asking for permission?"

"Sorry, sorry!" She said with a wave of her hand, "Let me try again. I'm Seliras, and this is my husband-"

"Marcoul," Your father interrupted, putting his hand out for Astarion to shake, "It's been awhile since we've met a boyfriend."

"He's a little more than that," You said with a sigh as everyone exchanged pleasantries.

"We'll be the judge of that," Marcoul said with a sharp but friendly grin, the grip he had on Astarion's hand briefly tightening before he let go, "From what we've heard, you're quite the character aren't you?"

Ah, so the interrogating was starting early then. It was nothing that Astarion hadn't expected. Besides, turning up the charm was his strong suit, even when he was uncharacteristically nervous.

Astarion smiled back at him, "You've heard right. And I'm more than happy to answer any questions you might have."

"Oh gods please don't say that," You groaned, but it was too late. Your parents were already leading him to sit, rapid-fire questions coming out of their mouth.

Where are you from? How did you meet? Are you serious about our Tav? What's your religion? Where's your family? What are your plans?

But Astarion answered them all, with only mild censorship for the child's sake. The child who suddenly couldn't stop staring at him. It wasn't exactly easy to sell himself as a future husband when he was a vampiric ex-slave, but he made do.

It was an overwhelming experience to say the least, but not necessarily an unpleasant one. That was one good thing about trying to marry into a family of zealots, it was a lot easier to convince them of your virtue when you received a personal blessing from their goddess.

By the end of the night, they were all throughly appeased, enough so to get off the topic of him for a moment.

"You look a little young to have a thirty-year old child," Astarion said to your mother. He was actively trying to compliment her for obvious reasons, but he was also genuinely curious. She barely looked a day over 40.

"Oh we breed young," She said with a laugh, "We had Tav in our teenage years. Arabeth came much, much later. Our favorite little surprise. Gods, I can't think of a single person in our family who didn't have kids young. Our little Tav is the only exception to the rule."

"But maybe not for much longer, huh?" Marcoul added with a grin, yelping when you lightly smacked him over the head for the comment.

"Do not start the kid talk again!" You hissed out, cheeks red, "We've talked about this!"

Astarion couldn't help but grin at your reaction, charmed by your embarrassment. Though... the idea of the two of you having children together sure was an interesting thought.

Astarion felt a tug on his sleeve while you were distracted arguing with your parents. He turned, smiling when he saw your little sister standing there, still staring at him with wide-eyes.

She took a deep breath before blurting out, "You look like a prince. Are you?"

"Not exactly," Astarion said with a small laugh. That couldn't be further from the truth, "There's no blue blood in my veins."

She frowned, cocking her head at him like he wasn't making any sense. But then an idea obviously struck her as she excitedly asked, "But if you married a princess, then you'd become a prince too. Right?"

"I suppose?" Astarion answered with a shrug.

"So if I become a princess, and I marry you, then you'll be a prince?"

This conversation was quickly becoming out of his depth. But luckily enough for him you were swooping in to save him.

You laughed at her question, turning your attention back to the two of them, "No offense Bethy, but I'm going to be the one marrying this particular prince."

But Arabeth wasn't having it. She crossed her arms, looking at you like she was the one talking to a child, "You can't. Because if I don't marry him, he won't be a prince. So there. I have to do it."

She looked so serious, her facial expressions incredibly similar to your own. Astarion was holding back a loud laugh as you tried and failed to reason with her, "I can marry him without the royal status-"

"No! I'm marrying the prince!"

Your parents were doing a much worse job at hiding their reactions, both of them opening giggling behind their hands as you came up with a compromise.

"Okay, okay," You said with a sigh, kneeling down to look the small girl in the eye, "How about this? I marry him first. But only until you become a princess. Then he's all yours. Sound fair?"

She thought about it for a moment before nodding to herself, "Sounds fair."

Well Astarion wasn't going to get a better set-up then that. He turned to your father, his nerves coming back for a brief appearance, "I'm assuming now might be a good time to ask what I came here to ask. Though I do promise I only intending on asking for one of your children's hand in marriage."

Marcoul nodded slowly, his face unreadable as he spoke, "I mean no offense when I say this Astarion, but you aren't exactly who I imagined for my daughter."

"Dad don't-"

"Darling, let him finish," Astarion gently interrupted, his eyes still locked with your father's.

He took a deep breathe before continuing, "That said, I've never seen her so... herself with someone else before. So yes. The two of you can marry. On one condition."

"Anything," Astarion said instantly, nearly giddy at the fact that he was so close to the official yes, "Just name it."

"You have to have the wedding here," Seliras answered for him, a massive smile on her face, "No ifs, ands, or buts."

"And I get to be flower girl!" Arabeth chimed in, her past indignation completely forgotten as she climbed all over you, "And there has to be chocolate cake!"

"Oh gods, help us," You groaned, but Astarion was already nodding along. He couldn't give less than two shits where it happened or who was involved. He could scarcely believe that it was happening at all. But that was the last thing he had needed.

He already had the ring, the most amazing person he could ever fathom being with. Who actually wanted him back.

Now all he had to do was ask.

[stellarfoxian]

quality time !!

characters: tingyun, stelle, robin

a/n: feeling bored and lonely... so i will imagine what it's like to spend time with some of my favorite ladies... <3

warnings: none, just lots of fluff. might have some minor lore inaccuracies (it is 1am rn), not proofread.

tingyun:

: ̗̀➛ tingyun absolutely loves spending time with you.

: ̗̀➛ if she's honest, it's her favorite part of the day, coming home and spending time with you.

: ̗̀➛ so when you called her while she was tending to her shop to tell her you wanted to spend more time with her when she got home, she was ecstatic !

: ̗̀➛ she comes home and tells you to get ready, she's about to give you the experience of a life time.

: ̗̀➛ well, i guess that's an exaggeration. she takes you to the sleepless earl, and you both get drinks. "they're on me," she says, "get what you want!"

: ̗̀➛ with that, you both spend who knows how long people watching, talking about life, and having a good time.

: ̗̀➛ the quality time doesn't end when you both get home though. your time at the sleepless earl went well into the night, so you both get into bed together and cuddle. (after her bedtime tail care, of course!)

: ̗̀➛ her arms wrap around your body protectively, as if someone would take you away from her. she knew no one would, but she adored the feeling of protecting you, so she held you in her arms tightly.

: ̗̀➛ when you fall asleep, you sleep comfortably in her loving embrace.

: ̗̀➛ foxians <3

stelle:

: ̗̀➛ oh stelle, the big puppy you are <3

: ̗̀➛ there is rarely a day when you two aren't together. stelle is practically attached to your hip with how clingy she is. you go on all kinds of adventures with her, they're fun!

: ̗̀➛ today was honestly no different.

: ̗̀➛ stelle's gone many places, so thinking of somewhere to take you was really no big deal for her.

: ̗̀➛ in fact, she takes you to a lot of places in just one day.

: ̗̀➛ though, you may have to keep her out of trashcans.. her curiosity WILL get the better of her if you don't keep an eye on her.

: ̗̀➛ stelle shows you all kinds of beautiful places you've never been before. she has quite the eye for them, you realize. it's something you wouldn't really expect from her.

: ̗̀➛ near the end of your adventures, you find yourself resting your head on her shoulder, watching shooting stars. her arm wraps around her waist and she looks down at you. she's so happy, and you can tell. if she had a tail, it'd be wagging faster than you could ever imagine.

: ̗̀➛ you look up at her, she looks back, and for a few moments, you two are just staring into eachother's eyes. then... she leans in and kisses you, and of course you reciprocate.

: ̗̀➛ overall, it was a very fun day with your very fun girlfriend (who... likes trashcans a concerning amount.)

robin:

: ̗̀➛ with robin being an idol, it is quite hard to find time for yourselves, just you and her.

: ̗̀➛ she's busy often, and she feels really bad about not spending as much time with you as she wishes she could.

: ̗̀➛ you understand, of course, but she still feels bad. so, she gets an idea.

: ̗̀➛ one day, robin isn't busy, you aren't busy, so she takes you out to walk the streets of penacony !

: ̗̀➛ she puts on an admittedly ridiculous disguise and grabs your hand, taking you to all the wonderful places there are in the dreamscape.

: ̗̀➛ you actually get to see a lot of it before you have to return, and you're surprised with how varied it is.

: ̗̀➛ while you're out, you get to see how excited robin is to be with you. her wings are fluttering so quickly and she just seems so happy to be with you. obviously, you're happy to be with her too, but she just looks so adorable

: ̗̀➛ when you guys stop to get a bite to eat, she gets a few crumbs on her face, which you point out and wipe off for her.

: ̗̀➛ you even get to feed her some of your food ! (and vice versa) how romantic.

: ̗̀➛ as reluctant she is to return home, when you both get there, you allow her to collapse on top of you in bed, letting her use you as a pillow. she's comfortable, you don't have the heart to tell her to move!

: ̗̀➛ the night is quiet after that, you both end up getting to sleep well. though days like this don't happen often, you enjoy them when you get to have them.

[psilliguykai]

WWWW #1: "-iSH"/"William I Wonder"

[context under the song/cut and art commentary in the tags ^^]

“-iSH”

Well when tension comes to tear my life

Can we survive torn in Soul, Heart, and Mind?

Or will we be captured in the strife,

Damned to repeat until we die?

Well, at 23 oh, will I see

If I'm to "be" as one or split in three?

And when I’m just a piece, is there still a “me”?

Or just a pawn for Heart or Mind?

I am a point in time and space,

And we are the truths that we create,

And so when our matter takes its state

No, it doesn't matter who I am.

No, it doesn't matter who I am.

And I'm gonna be myself again.

“Ryan William I Wonder” [Timestamp 1:47]

William I wonder,

Do you feel the sky?

Weighing down on your back

And crushing your spine?

I see how we’ll suffer,

The horizon line,

And we know we’re bound

To come back sooner or later.

Oh, there's nothing you can do

To hide from blinding rays

Or the moon’s hateful gaze,

And the stars are losing faith.

So William I wonder,

Do you feel the sky?

Weighing down on your back

'Cause it's weighing down on mine.

3/31/25 EDIT: The information below is outdated! Just keeping it for archival purposes. Basically, the idea of having to write 20+ covers has been kind of weighing on me and killing my motivation for this project. So ! instead, I'll be releasing a tracklist with notes on what happens in each song soon[ish] and will be only writing/illustrating the covers that I'm confident and interested in. Whatever covers I get to writing probably won't be in chronological order as I'd like to keep this project a little more open ended and free for me :]

The information below on what the covers/drawings will look like is still accurate, but the rest is outdated.

I'm gonna try to keep talking to a minimum on these in the future, but I figured I should provide some context as this is the first piece. Sooo yeah ! Here's the first song in William's Wanton Weary Wiles! See masterpost for context ^^ these will all be released in chronological order, in the form of written Jash-style (changing some lyrics to fit the story) Will Wood covers. I'll be hyperlinking each original song in the cover titles so people can get a sense of what it would sound like, +for credit ofc :] Most of them will also be accompanied with some sort of art piece !! The majority will probably just be little somewhat shitty sketches such as the one featured here (for the sake of my sanity lol. and also cuz. frankly. I like them :3), but I might have some full pieces too at some point. Formats and realistically a few other aspects are probably gonna be somewhat inconsistent as I'm not the best planner, sorry in advance but also. This is my project and I wanna keep it fun and doable ^^

Props to you if you've read this far!! Seeya in the next one I suppose :]