#wcndererr

[lalohefalter]

Pierro/ The Jester

As time passes, the relationship between you and Pierro grows stronger. You might consider yourself lucky, Pierro is absolutely not the type to be in a relationship. He either saw something special in you, some potential, or he feels the need to take care of you. I just have one question for you: daddy issues?

Oh?? Did I fucking stutter - @wcndererr

[alkhemian]

@wcndererr: Slick fingers submerge into the chasm of gold, descending into unknown territory. The act brings forth a whisper of - " fascinating " - tipped with unadulterated curiousity. The Wanderer is coaxed into leaning in, further examining the homunculus with an expression of pure indifference. Certainly one the researcher was well-acquainted with. A fog of breath delivers unto itself, ghosting calcite skin, curling in its wake. Each sense seems to have a mind of its own. At the very crux, they share a purpose : captivating his acquired target. As a backdrop, the snow settles distantly, away from two figures in the dim cave. Another utterance dusts over the synthetic humanoid. "Tell me, alchemist. How does this feel ?"

it's  hard  for  the  homunculus  to  understand  'want,'  and  even  harder  still  for  him  to  comprehend  how  'want'  translated  to  'desire.'  the  nuances  of  physicality  upon  his  mortal  masquerading  form  were,  at  best,  a  mere  nuisance  in  the  grand  scheme  of  things  -  and  one  he  paid  little  mind  to  over  the  years.  sure,  the  differences  between  the  kreideprinz  and  a  normal  human  were  numerous  indeed  -  but  none  more  so  than  the  various  gilded  sigils  that  adorned  his  body,  the  foremost  being  at  his  throat.  

albedo  knew  his  markings  to  be  sensitive  the  same  way  anyone  knew  other  parts  of  themselves  to  be  so.  but  he  was  no  hedonist,  and  any  and  all  lovers  he  took  were  usually  so  clinical  and  hurried,  he  steered  them  away  from  even  thinking  of  touching  that  mark  -  whether  it  be  with  fingers  or  lips.  for  over  four  hundred  years  he'd  done  that,  because  they  really  could  not  quite  understand  what  it  meant  to  be  synthetic  -  and  subsequently  what  it  felt  like  to  have  a  proverbial  heart  on  your  throat  begging  to  be  touched.  it  was  only  befitting  someone  like  him  (fake,  a  creation,  better  than  a  mortal)  would  take  this  privilege  for  themselves.

albedo  shivers  then  -  not  from  the  cold  that  he  is  immune  to  -  but  the  feeling  of  fingers  at  his    most  sensitive  part  -  the  portion  of  his  chalk-hearted  being  that  is  utterly  raw  and  unbridled.  a  flush  has  long  since  adorned  pale  cheeks,  and  he  sits  before  the  wanderer  on  his  knees  in  a  nest  of  those  snow  white  furs,  as  the  mountainside  howls  around  them.  picturesque,  to  watch  the  moon  bathe  itself  in  the  sun's  gold,  and  albedo  is  leaning  forward  -  chasing  the  sensation  of  those  digits.  he  finds  himself  wanting  more.  to  feel  them  move,  to  explore,  to  swirl  the  endless  fathom  of  gold  energy  that  sits  right  there,  against  his  skin,  perfectly  kissable  and  oh  so  sensitive.  

"  it's...  "  when  the  alchemist  speaks,  his  already  soft  voice  is  even  more  silken,  the  honeyed  edge  taking  on  something  a  little  more  sinful.  "  it  's  -  ah  -  "  a  hand  snaps  out  nails  digging  quite  suddenly  into  the  other's  slim  shoulders  as    he  leans  forward  as  well,  as  if  seeking  to  place  himself  before  cool,  perfectly  sculpted  lips.    "  it's  good.  it  feels  good.  "  the  normally  refined  alchemist,  reduced  to  a  head  thrown  back,  teal  eyes  dark  and  body  arching  forward  in  a  surprisingly  greedy  and  wild  search  for  more.  tongue  darts  over  lips,  and  he  breathes  -  attempting  to  master  himself  as  he  stares  the  elder  down.  "  keep  doing  it.  "

[suiyuun-archive]

@wcndererr : buzz buzz 🐦

he  makes  an  art  form  out  of  grabbing  wanderer  by  an  ankle,  unceremoniously  dragging  him  from  the  air,  and  proceeding  to  plant  a  disgusting  litany  of  butterfly  kisses  all  across  his  face.  

"  cry  louder.  "

[mcuntainbcrn]

@wcndererr

If it wasn’t one thing, it was another - more of that strange miasma poisoning the soil, disrupting the local flora and the emergence of a horde of those strange mechanical beasts...it was almost funny’ one would think the architects of this world would at least pretend to have some roots connecting it to reality to make it more believable...though to their credit, the textures were at least somewhat convincing.

Fingers gripped a portion of the metal that served as a tail, leaving deep indentions as she pivoted hard, swinging the giant robotic leviathan as though preparing to loose a hammer in the Olympic games, the visual no doubt comical to any who might happen by...though hopefully no one did.

She released her grip, sending the iron giant flying into one of it’s brethren and well beyond, evading gunfire from another - it was tempting to reach into the environment, but every nerve in her was on high alert, despite not feeling a single human soul approaching; her gut had yet to fail her though, so it was best to err on the side of caution and rely solely on her own muscles to tear this lot into scrap metal.

[monocerros]

@wcndererr

depthless   desire   brings   forth   a   tangle   of   emotions   within   him   -   a   fully   balled   up   knot   of   all   things   complex   and   irritating.   even   on   his   best   days,   childe   had   never   been   particularly   good   at   dealing   with   them,   and   on   his   worst...   it   boiled   down   to   two   reactions   and   two   reactions   only,   one   of   them   far   more   prominent   than   the   other.   his   patience   wasn't   limitless,   his   understanding   of   the   master   manipulations   his   fellow   harbingers   played   even   less   so,   and   it   was   really   no   surprise   that   scaramouche   could   make   him   snap   so   damn   easily   that   the   last   threads   of   decorum   childe   possessed   were   shed   somewhere   in   the   sneznhayan   snow   alongside   both   of   their   coats.   

it's   shared,   mingled   breaths   inside   the   cabin   -   one   of   the   many   kept   in   the   remote,   snow   wrought   wilderness   for   fatui   usage.   he's   not   quite   sure   how   they   got   here   -   beyond   the   incessant   needling,   the   pushing,   the   protesting   from   both   ends   -   until   he   had   grabbed   the   sixth   and   thrown   him   against   the   wood   wrought   walls   with   such   abandon   that   he   thought   the   cabin   might   fall   down   about   them.   fortunately,   the   only   response   was   the   howl   of   wind   outside   and   the   hush   of   his   own   wild   breathing.   fathomless   blues   burn   near   black   in   the   lantern   light,   and   the   11th's   face   is   split   into   something   near   feral   with   a   mixture   of   anger   and   want.

"   you   need   to   stop   doing   this   to   me.   "   he   growls   out,   disjointed   and   hungry.   "   and   stop   allowing   him   to   do   it   to   you,   scaramouche.   "   the   ferocity   in   his   dead   gaze   is   disturbing,   eyes   alive   for   once   in   the   firelight,   before   the   abyss   seems   to   swallow   that   whole   too.   still,   desires   flickers   across   his   features   -   tinged   with   mounting   frustration   and   anger,   and   he   has   to   exhale.   the   motion   pushes   their   chests   further   together,   the   leg   he'd   positioned   between   the   shorter's   own   rubbing   tight   and   high,   while   hands   squeeze   the   wrists   pinned   by   his   companion's   hands.   there'd   be   bruises   on   a   human...   bruises   on   anyone   else...   but   on   the   balladeer?

ocean   gaze   flicks   downwards   to   petal   soft   lips,   seconds   away   from   spewing   their   next   bout   of   vitriol   no   doubt.   childe   pauses   for   a   second...   only   a   second,   wondering   if   he   has   the   patience   to   handle   whatever   excuse,   whatever   bullshit   scaramouche   is   going   to   hatefully   feed   him   this   time   before-

"   fuck   it.   "

their   lips   smash   together   and   childe   gives   and   devours   and   leaves   nothing      but   want   in   his   wake.   it's   a   supplicant   press   of   his   slightly   chapped   tiers   to   scaramouche's   own   perfect   ones,   but   the   11th   allows   him   hardly   a   chance   to   breathe,   to      even   brandish   a   proverbial   weapon.   it's   all   tongue   and   teeth   for   him   -   the   same   sort   of   preceise   savagery   he   wields   his   weapons   with   channeled   into   the   nip   of   his   teeth,   the   flick   of   his   tongue   along   a   sweet   seam   of   lips,      until   the   younger   is   given   entrance   and   he   can   finally   devour   the   6th   in   the   way   he's   been   wanting   to   all   damn   night.

childe's   kiss   is   like   a   consumption   of   scaramouche's   soul   -   a   tilt   of   his   head,   his   body   pressing   flush   and   close   so   the   puppet   can   feel   it   all...   can   feel   everything.   it's   lewd   and   debauched   and   borderline   violent,   so   fixated   on   licking   his   way   through   scaramouche's   mouth   that   childe   doesn't   remember   has   to   breathe   until   his   lungs   squeeze   tight,   and   he   forcibly   separates   them   with   a   wet   pop.   saliva   hangs   between   them,   a   silvery   connection   of   his   transgressions,   and   once   more   there   seems   to   be   a   dim   fire   in   dead   eyes,   as   his   tongue   darts   forth   to   lap   briefly   at   the   corner   of   the   other's   mouth   -   severing   the   connection   with   the   promise   of   renewal.   

"   the   only   effective   way   to   get   you   to   shut   up,   i   see.   duly   noted.   "

[dreamsfeasted]

@wcndererr: outspread fingers caress the signature mask the yaksha often, if not, always adorned. a faint tug breathes life into the adepti, revealing chiselled features. a grin marks his achievement. “oh? you look rather harmless. i bet you wouldn’t even swat a fly.”

anger,  quivers  through  a  slight  frame  -  lithe  muscles  bunched  tight  with  intent.  rage,  unadulterated,  rolls  off  him  in  waves,  the  beast  and  pain  within  him  roaring  all  at  once  -  a  collective  cacophony  of  violence  and  agony  that  sends  shockwaves  of  aggravation  throughout  the  yaksha's  body.  he  is  on  his  knees  -  spear  discarded  somewhere  in  the  nearby  grass.  a  previously  howling  wind  has  dulled,  the  angry  noises  of  gusts  replaced  by  a  primal  growl  from  the  back  of  his  throat.  caged,  he  feels  caged,  and  rattles  against  it  like  a  bird  ready  to  break  free  -  but  the  touch  to  his  mask  stills  xiao's  squirming,  his  aggression,  if  only  because  of  the  sheer  audacity  of  the  gesture.  

                                   "  what-  agh!  "

it  hurts,  the  divinity  stripped  away  from  his  countenance  against  his  will,  and  it  shows  on  delicate  but  wild  features.  the  startling  gesture,  however,  is  enough  to  pull  his  thoughts  from  those  inner  karmic  binds.  he  hisses  on  reflex,  the  growls  of  displeasure  increasing,  as  fingers  curl  supplicant  in  the  cool  grass,  and  pain  morphs  into  keen  interest  within  one  breath.  a  normal  human  wouldn't  be  able  to  stand  touching  him,  let  alone  stripping  away  the  proof  of  his  deeds.  but  this  man,  this  demon  of  his  own  accord,  was  certainly  no  human.

xiao's  look  morphs  from  one  of  surprised  (if  not  ashamed)  pain,  into  dangerous  intrigue.  he  smirks,  enough  so  that  the  sharpened  edges  of  his  canines  are  revealed  to  the  being  before  him.  "  are  you  foolish  enough  to  take  the  risk  to  find  out?  you  seem  the  type,  false  god.  "

[erabundus]

@wcndererr &&. said... you smell - love, aki

>> That's your own smell; it's called projecting. Plug your nose and look it up. >> -- loathe, Ren.

[wendeiwisp]

@wcndererr | cont.

Now was that a compliment he heard from the wanderer? He cracked  a small smile before looking back to his wings, plucking loose feathers and patting them down gently. Aki had one thing right. This was his place or rather his domain. Surrounding them was fields of flowers with the sun high above them. When was the last time someone came here other then himself? The anemo archon could hardly remember. 

" Are you just flattering me to touch my  wings Aki or are you giving me a  genuine compliment here~. "

There was a teasing tone to his voice, but he didn't dare look back up  to see the expression on Aki's face. Venti never wanted to be seen as Barbatos...not when this face he wore wasn't even his. 

" I have to tend to my wings otherwise they  get matted. They don't just disappear when you can't see them with your eyes. "