Gygaax Bhildr

2 weeks ago

@tautologicalTechnique[TT]

『ADVENTERROR'S FIELD GUIDE - PORTED FROM SWATTPAD @tautologicalTechnique 』 『 𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: UNREALITY, NECRO, HEMOISM, XXXOVER, CROSSOVER, UNLIFE 』 REQUEST FROM ANONYMONSTER // YCSHIPPING // FRONDFICTION // LORD RUTHVN // CESARE // LORD CALGAR // DOCTORTURER CALGAR // PERISHED PEACEFLUTTER ( Ꮚ⚀ꈊ⚀Ꮚ) < LORD RUTHVN...in all his enigmatic eminence...was the spittin' image of the late LORD BYRONE before him. Almost a crude 'n spitting mockery of stateliness 'n coveted esteem, warped for entirely perverse purposes. A refined NOBLEMASTICATER, he was known to chew out only the deservin', and even more selectively would he savor the unworthy. Their screams. Their panicked anguish. Their debtor's desperation. Their disorientin' confusion, all of it, a feast for the good LORD RUTHVN. First 'o his kind, and a trailblazer for bein' able t'weather the scandal 'o accusations of an UNSAVORY SORT OF APPETITE. That is t'say, if the legends were to believed, LORD RUTHVN was 'imself a living legend, a walking legacy, a breathin' lore. A ruinous sort. It seemed... ( Ꮚ❖ꈊ❖Ꮚ); <> Wherever the good LORD RUTHVN went, trouble followed. And the misery he wrought loved company. ( Ꮚ‾̀ꈊ ‾̀Ꮚ); < It's because 'o this...that t'refuse a summons from the RUTHVN ESTATE...would be like tryna refuse the conclusion of one's own breath...or rather...to hasten it...one last time...with grim finality. ╰། ( ᏊʘꈊʘᏊ) །╯ < "SIMPLY PREPOSTEROUS!!! I DON'T BELIEVE IT," thought DOCTORTURER CALGAR, silently. "MY SERVANT, MY OWN SOMNEBULOUS...INVITED OVER ME? ME??? OF SOME EDUCATION AND REPUTE? WHAT DOES HE HAVE THAT I LACK?" His manic annoyance wouldn't serve him no need no mind, as the carriage bearing his charge was to be leaving soon. A single, envious pale gloved fist pounded... ( Ꮚ❖ꈊ❖Ꮚ); <> Then...softened...as it curled into a loosely unwound palm, strokin' CESARE to full attention. His ganderglobes hung low, bagged onerously on either sides 'o his face...his lips curled in a permanently dour expression. Even as his cheeks were cupped with that sublime sympathetic stroke, he said nothin', his gaunt lips stained with the kiss 'o death. As a SOMNEBULOUS, a treader through the land of dreams while awakened, CESARE moved with bounds and purpose, though they were not his own. Ten long sweeps he was purported to have slept, and those ten sweeps were a mere speck of sand in the eye swiped away by the DOCTORTURER. A sleep so listless as to be death itself. If not accompany it. His loud, rude awakenings, curious moanings, and tantalizing tendencies. Though the bodies attributed t'his dealings were far fewer in number than LORD RUTHVN, the rumors clung like a foul stench, far harder to bat away without the veil of nobility and respectability t'hide behind. ( Ꮚ๑ꈊ๑Ꮚ); < "..." ( Ꮚ‾̀ꈊ ‾̀Ꮚ); < CESARE spoke none as the sprawling LORD RUTHVN ESTATE approached on the horizon. He was led in by a small cadre 'o catty OLIVES, each indiscriminately dressed in attire less than entirely immodest, but more than absolutely nothing, and only just barely so. They carried gifts of expensive inebriants, fine jewelry, canes, and tophats -- none too dissimilar to something DOCTORTURER CALGAR himself might wear, each insisting the SOMNEBULOUS would be fitfully undressed. But CESARE had one thought on his mind, and one thought only. The hypnotic allure and words of his DOCTORTURER just before leavin'... ╰། ( ᏊʘꈊʘᏊ) །╯ < "DO HIM IN. DO HIM IN THERE. DO YOU HEAR ME, CESARE? SHOW HIM THE COURTESY HE HAS DENIED ME FOR LONG ENOUGH. AND DO HIM IN, CESARE." ( Ꮚ⚀ꈊ⚀Ꮚ) < Nothing could share him out of that commanding cloak, nothing could shake that hold over him. Except for, maybe, the eminent LORD RUTHVN in the flesh. ( Ꮚ ͠° ꈊ ͡°Ꮚ) < "𝕷𝖔𝖘𝖙 𝖎𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖚𝖌𝖍𝖙, 𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖜𝖊? 𝕲𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖓𝖊𝖘𝖘, 𝖜𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝖍𝖆𝖛𝖊 𝖒𝖞 𝖒𝖆𝖓𝖓𝖊𝖗𝖘 𝖚𝖕 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖙𝖗𝖔𝖙𝖙𝖊𝖉 𝖔𝖋𝖋 𝖙𝖔...? 𝕷𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝕽𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖛𝖓, 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕰𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖙𝖊, 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖍𝖔𝖘𝖙 𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌. 𝕴 𝖙𝖗𝖚𝖘𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖑𝖆𝖉𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖜𝖊𝖗𝖊...𝖆𝖈𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖒𝖔𝖉𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌?" ( Ꮚ⚀ꈊ⚀Ꮚ) < His hands were gloved too, in that same detached and professional way those of DOCTORTURER CALGAR were, but they had a kind of magnetism to them. The way CESARE almost fell back into them as they crept around his shoulders. A gasp would be the ordinary reaction, and in absentia, the fingers gripped harder. Almost enough to pierce the many layers of leather and fabric. Almost as if to puncture the very flesh. ( Ꮚ๑ꈊ๑Ꮚ); < "...Plenty." Succinct. Brief. But necessary. CESARE felt the prescient tug to speak, to say whatever it took to do him. To do him in. To show him the respect he had denied the GOOD DOCTORTURER. ( Ꮚ ͠° ꈊ ͡°Ꮚ) < A cold smile crept across his collected countenance. Chillingly persistent, were those unblinking eyes. Unblemished by age. Unbothered by the light creeping some distance away. "𝕬𝖓𝖉 𝖍𝖔𝖜 𝖑𝖔𝖓𝖌 𝖜𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖜𝖊 𝖍𝖆𝖛𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖈𝖙 𝖕𝖑𝖊𝖆𝖘𝖚𝖗𝖊 𝖔𝖋 𝖍𝖎𝖛𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖆 𝕾𝖔𝖒𝖓𝖊𝖇𝖚𝖑𝖔𝖚𝖘? 𝕴 𝖘𝖍𝖔𝖚𝖑𝖉 𝖍𝖆𝖙𝖊 𝖙𝖔 𝖐𝖊𝖊𝖕 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖔𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖔𝖓𝖌 𝖋𝖗𝖔𝖒 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗...𝖊𝖝𝖍𝖚𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘." ( Ꮚ๑ꈊ๑Ꮚ); < "...Til dusk. Tomorrow." ( Ꮚ ͠° ꈊ ͡°Ꮚ) < "𝕿𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖘𝖔𝖔𝖓? 𝕸𝖚𝖘𝖙 𝖎𝖙 𝖇𝖊 𝖘𝖔?" Lord Ruthven advanced. He swiveled on the heel of one foot, tilting his head on one side to peer into the mind of CESARE, only to find...nothing awaiting him. The usual hold he had over another...gone. Blank. Instead, a set of hands cupped their way around his neck, squeezing tightly, constrictively cloying, competing for dominance over his neck. It seemed they were halfway to choking him to death...only to trail down, and adjust his vestments. ( Ꮚ๑ꈊ๑Ꮚ); < "Afraid so. But what is a dawn you do not see? If you would...permit me..." The SOMNEBULOUS gestured with his head. Even the OLIVES blushed and recoiled in surprise at his boldness. For all his charisma and worldliness, it seemed all throughout the world, LORD RUTHVN alone was the clueless one. ( Ꮚ ͠° ꈊ ͡°Ꮚ) < "𝕻𝖗𝖆𝖞 𝖙𝖊𝖑𝖑. 𝕵𝖚𝖘𝖙. 𝖂𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖕𝖗𝖔𝖕𝖔𝖘𝖎𝖓𝖌?" Lord Ruthven would find his hands suddenly grasped about the wrists. He offered little protest, amused something so small could think itself capable of a threat to him. Only to watch as CESARE gestured with his head towards the nearby MASTER BROODROOM, a luxurious RESPITEBLOCK woefully underpopulated. For now. The words that followed became instantly supplementary, almost a redundancy. But just for an opportunity to see those ghastly, gothic lips move, LORD RUTHVN, ruiner of women and soon to be men, would watch as they plead their case. ( Ꮚ๑ꈊ๑Ꮚ); < "I wish to...do you. To do you in...there. Show me the courtesy...you have denied me...long enough. Let me. Do you. In there." It was almost endearing how sincere the words all arrived, in their jumbled 'n meandering array. But they seemed...well-received. ( Ꮚ⚀ꈊ⚀Ꮚ) < Welcome, even. ( Ꮚ ͠° ꈊ ͡°Ꮚ) < "𝖂𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖘𝖔𝖗𝖙 𝖔𝖋 𝖍𝖔𝖘𝖙 𝖜𝖔𝖚𝖑𝖉 𝕴 𝖇𝖊...𝖙𝖔 𝖉𝖊𝖓𝖞 𝖆 𝖌𝖚𝖊𝖘𝖙?" ///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// ( Ꮚ⚀ꈊ⚀Ꮚ) < Countless hours beyond the very next dawn, the halls were still filled with grunts, moans, howls, and the echoes of mewling whimpers. The OLIVES were still tripping over themselves to fetch refreshments and cycle through amenities. The RUTHVEN ESTATE was a shared disaster zone, recuperacoons shredded beyond recognition, particularly vigorous encounters rupturing just about any furniture with a flat surface. The banging of walls at long hours suggested torture, the scent suggested bonding, and the many moons that hung over yonder suggested this was NOT ending any time soon...the only one t'get fucked more than the two 'o them was the GOOD DOCTORTURER CALGAR. ╰། ( ᏊʘꈊʘᏊ) །╯ < "NOT WHAT I FUCKING MEANT, CESARE." ////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// #SWATTPAD #ImpliedPailing #PailSmut #CurseOfStrahdlike #LORDRUTHVN #CALGAR #CESARE #NSFW #FailedInsightCheck #SucceededPerformanceRoll #THEYFUCKING #XReader #FrondFiction #Requests #CabinetOfDoctorturerCalgar #Vacillation #AdventerrorsFieldGuide #CrossPosting #ScrawlThoughts #Drabbles