#[ no one expects the fontaine inquisition ]

[dawn-moths]

Wriothesley x Female Reader

word count: 3000+

(Even after serving your time in the Fortress of Meropide and deciding to return to your life in Fontaine, you still have good reason to drop in and give the Duke a visit from time to time.)

disclaimer/content warning: 18+ content! minors dni! smut, reader is handcuffed with a belt, sub/dom dynamics, fingering, doggy-style (vaginal sex), aftercare.

*ao3 mirror*

***

As Wriothesley tugged his belt free from the loops in his trousers, slow and methodical, he cracked a smirk and huffed out a short breath of a laugh, his voice echoing faintly throughout the room when he said, “Hey, you like magic tricks, don’t you?”

He knows you do. You wouldn’t stop talking about Lyney and Lynette’s latest performance— the deadly precision, the dazzling display of showmanship, the subversion of expectation that left you wonderstruck each and every time. So, when you gave a cute little smile and an eager nod, perking up at the prospect of potential entertainment, well…

The Duke just couldn’t help himself.

He was standing at the bottom of the staircase, biding his time, having enjoyed the view of you immersed deep into some fantasy world between a bundle of dog-eared pages, not a care or concern in the world other than what would become of the fictional characters you’d quickly grown attached to. About an hour or so ago, he’d told you to entertain yourself while he went off to attend to some urgent business, “Shouldn’t take long,” he’d said, and had slipped back into his office without you even noticing. Now, as you stared at him with awaiting, curious eyes, he flexed the belt in his hands, gently testing its strength and give. 

With a playful, beckoning wave of a gloved hand, he said, “Come ‘ere. I wanna show you something…” and you obediently obliged, rising from your seat behind his big desk, leaving your latest literary adventure lying open-faced on the tabletop, to follow after him down the winding spiral staircase and into the bedroom that was hidden below. Wriothesley gripped the strap of burgundy leather tightly in his hands, his fists flexing over it as if trying to contain his eagerness once you were standing before him by the bed, hands lightly clasped behind your back, staring up at him with those big, innocent doe-eyes that made him go a little insane inside.

“Now, watch very closely…” the Duke instructed, though with an air of light mockery as he pretended to sound like the magicians you were so taken by as of late. You hummed out a little giggle at his imitation and watched as he slipped the end of the belt back through the buckle, tugging it through and threading it back around to repeat the first motion, creating a sort of figure 8 design before wrapping the remainder of the leather all the way around and securing it through the middle of the buckle one final time. “Now, hold out your hands.” 

You gave him an inquisitive yet distrusting look, but even before your brain could finish coming up with possible outcomes of where this trick might lead, you were obeying his command and presenting him with both of your wrists side by side out in front of you.

The moment he slipped the widened gaps of the contraption he’d created around your delicate wrists, quickly pulling the loose end he’d looped through the buckle last to cinch the leather flush against your skin, you realized you’d walked right into his trap.

You let out a startled gasp and made small sounds of struggle as you tried to tug your wrists free, but to no avail. Wriothesley let out another one of those silky, sonorous chuckles that sent the flock of butterflies in your tummy aflutter, despite the fact you felt a little betrayed by him weaponizing your naivety against you.

“Really walked into that one, didn’t ya?” he rhetorically asked, crossing his arms and allowing himself to watch your pitiful attempts at escape for a little longer.

“This isn’t magic, it’s just a trick!” you accused, brows pinched slightly in an irritated scowl, still helpless against the worn leather.

“Ah, but, if you’d been paying attention,” Wriothesley began, holding up a finger in accentuation as he strode a few smooth paces closer, “you’d recall I never said I was showing you a magic trick. I simply asked if you liked magic tricks, then said I wanted to show you something.” He looped his extended pointer finger into one of the gaps, lightly pulling your bound wrists and, along with them, yourself, closer toward him.

Lowing his voice to what sounded like nearly a growl, some kind of sinister satisfaction flashing behind his silver gaze, he said, “See what happens when you make baseless assumptions?”

Honestly, Wriothesley was impossible sometimes. Whether it was his mind games or technicalities, he always seemed to find new ways of getting you right where he wanted you while making you do most of the work.

“Ok, show’s over,” you droned, giving him a blatantly unamused look now. “Let me go.”

To this, the Duke merely scoffed.

“Let you go?” he repeated, as if the notion was the most preposterous thing he’d heard all week. He clicked his tongue, shook his head, giving the cuffs another teasing tug, lips splitting into a crookedly amused grin when you let out a quiet, helpless gasp. “Now where’s the fun in that? Besides, I think you know better than most…” He leaned in, lips right beside your ear, and whispered, low and husky, “My prisoners are treated rather well here…”

“I’m not your prisoner,” you reminded him. “At least… Not anymore.”

Because, yes, while you’d once lived under his rule and his reign for the crime you’d committed, those days were now behind you. You’d served your sentence and then chosen to return to the outside world. You’d rather missed your friends and family in Fontaine and, while you’d considered yourself lucky to have gotten into good company with the Duke, you also felt you couldn’t just leave your old life completely behind you.

Hence why you only made trips down into the depths of the Fortress of Meropide for these very special, though oftentimes short visits. You’d gotten a taste of something in this place that the outside world just didn’t have to offer. But, if anyone else had ever been in your position, you doubted they could blame you for indulging the addiction.

“Ok then,” Wriothesley bartered. “Why don’t we make a deal then? You have the next five minutes to get out of these, and if you do, I’ll give you a special prize…” He narrowed his gunmetal gaze at you, something playfully cruel shimmering amidst all that mischievous silver. “But if you can’t, well—” He gave a nonchalant shrug and finished with a rather confident, “then I guess you’ll have to give me something instead.”

“Alright,” you agreed, lifting one eyebrow and now wearing a smirk yourself. “Challenge accepted.” And when you’d entered willingly into his little game, you’d really thought you’d stood a chance. How hard could it be to get out of handcuffs made of leather anyway? It’s not like he’d clapped the metal ones you knew he always kept on his person around your wrists instead. Those, as you’d experienced first hand, were absolutely inescapable.

But as the minutes passed, you struggling more and more with each one that ticked by, Wriothesley keeping an eye on his watch as he leaned back against the wall opposite the bed, eyes flicking up to watch you writhe and grunt as you tried and failed to pull your wrists free, you were beginning to regret being so cocky.

Besides, Wriothesley had never been one to let someone beat him at his own game.

“And… Three… Two… One,” Wriothelsey announced, marking the end of the challenge and your loss of the bet. “Better luck next time, hon,” he said through a mocking pout, looking only half apologetic for a second before approaching you again. “Guess it’s time you give the winner his prize.”

His tall shadow swallowed your form, eyes staring up at him in that delectably pleading, helpless way he’d grown so addicted to back when you were one of his inmates. Your face said you were awaiting punishment but your body was anticipating pleasure, that warm, rolling feeling of arousal tightening in your lower belly.

“Oh…” you rolled your eyes as Wriothesley pinned you to his bed, cuffed wrists clasped in one of his big, rough hands above your head. “And to think,” you teased, “that you’d be so predictable now.”

Wriothesley flashed you a dangerous look, one of a sharp-toothed smirk and half-lidded eyes that almost seemed to glow in the dim light, clicking his tongue as if disappointed in you, increasing his grip on the cuffs while he began to undo the button on his trousers with the other.

“So mouthy today,” he remarked, that familiar growl laced into his tone. The one that warned you you were on thin fucking ice. The one that you often ignored, kept on pushing just to see how far he’d let you go. More often than not, this earned you double the original punishment he’d had in store for you, but secretly, you liked that. Once Wriothesley had caught onto that fact, it hadn’t stopped him. He’d just learned how to twist things so he got to have a little fun too. “Guess I’ll have to remind you what happens when you talk back…”

Cock already hard and aching as he gripped it in his hand, you gasped when he roughly hiked up your skirt and grinded his erection against your dampening panties, your breath hitching in your chest every time his velvety tip brushed against your swollen, sensitive little clit, wanting more, needing more.

And Wriothesley knew he’d soon have you exactly where he wanted you. That defiant attitude of yours reduced to nothing more than a chorus of pathetic whines and pleading for him to “get inside me, please— Please, Wrio, I need it!”

And he’d give you what he wanted. No matter how much he tried to act cold and callous you knew he had a soft spot just for you. But before he did, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t use the opportunity to make you squirm just for the hell of it.

“Awww, what’s the matter, sweetheart?” the Duke cooed, words dripping with saccharine condensation. He used both hands to secure your hips as he grinded down against you harsher than before, nearly knocking the breath from his own lungs as he sighed out a strained, “Suddenly— fuck— at a loss for words?”

You were desperately trying to cant your hips upwards to gain more friction, but his firm grip on you made that impossible. You’d completely forgotten he’d let go of your wrists, though they were still securely bound, merely chasing the fleeting pleasure he was reluctantly granting you.

“Ok… Ok, Wrio, please—” you finally broke, sentence clipped off into a delicate, musical little mewl, soft as a feather floating on a breeze. “Please, I’ll be good, just— Please—”

Wriothesley couldn’t take much more of this either, so, per your unclarified request, he swiftly pushed your soaked panties aside and slipped two of his thick digits into your weeping cunt, sucking in a small hiss of a breath through clenched teeth when he curled his fingers inside and felt how tight your pussy was trying to squeeze him, craving something bigger to fill it up.

You shivered, already beginning to feel that tight coil in your core pulling taut, mouth hanging open in silent ecstasy, huffing out panting little breaths and eyes rolling beautifully as your back began to arch off the firm mattress. Wriothesley’s skilled fingers worked you over like it’s what they’d been designed to do, the calloused pad of his thumb rubbing rough circles over your pulsing little bud, gaze glued to your leaking little hole, mesmerized by how gorgeous you were like this, completely bent to his will.

“Archons, baby…” He said, soft and in awe like reciting a prayer, spreading your slick around like an artist creating his next masterpiece. “What am I gonna do with you?”

Fuck me, you wanted to answer. Fuck me until all I know is you, you, and nothing but you.

Wriothesley then seemed to come to some kind of conclusion, the contemplation shining in his eyes as fast and as bright as a shooting star. Then, he was gripping your hips again and flipping you over, instructing you to stay on your elbows and knees as he lined himself up with your fluttering entrance.

“Wrio…?” you asked, his name sounding fragile and broken and confused as it left your succulent little mouth.

He hushed you, gentle and reassuring, suddenly gone all sweet and soft for you like he usually tended to do, once he was done playing his games with you. “Don’t worry,” he whispered, leaning over you to press his warm, broad chest against your back. “Just trust me.”

Slowly, carefully, he began to nudge his way into your needy little hole, wrapping his arms around you and helping you to adjust until you found the position that felt the best for the both of you. Then, once he was fully inside and you were recovered from the sweet, stinging stretch of him, Wriothesley began to move, the motion of his hips smooth and intentional, nearly pulling all the way out before pushing back in, the rhythm gaining more speed every couple of thrusts.

By now, a thin sheen of sweat had broken out on both your brows, your legs beginning to tremble when he grazed over that sweet, spongy spot deep inside you, the one you could never quite reach on your own. Still holding you close, he used one hand to massage more skillful circles onto your already overstimulated little bundle of nerves, the pressure ebbing and flowing between soft and hard, trying to keep your orgasm at bay for just a little longer.

“Wrio—” you moaned, all pliable and angelic and all his, his, his.

“Almost there, baby—? God—!” The air was punched from Wriothesley’s lungs upon his next thrust, his normally sure and even voice cracked and fissured by a strangled whine, movements beginning to become erratic as he neared his own edge. He tightened his arms around your body, trying to hold you impossibly close, truly become one with you, as if your soul could melt right into his like two pieces of candy left out too long in the sun, gooey and combined and no longer distinguishable from one another, only known henceforth as their own unique, singular entity. 

“‘M gonna—!” You suddenly gasped, your silky walls clenching around his cock hard enough to lace his next breath with a beautiful whimper, both your bodies tensing under the shared release, soaking and filling each other to the brim with each other’s balmy pleasure.

You went slack in Wriothesley’s hold, which didn’t lessen an inch until he’d found his way back to reality, temporarily blinded by the all-encompassing sensation of bliss your body always gifted him. Once his vision could focus and his brain could think, he carefully pulled out of you, allowing you to lower all the way down to the mattress, completely spent and limbs like jelly.

The Duke unfastened the belt-cuffs from around your wrists, tossing the twisted mangle of leather aside and laying across from you, tenderly taking your sore, slightly chafed wrists in his grasp and placing tender kisses along the thin, delicate skin, murmuring little praises to you that you barely registered in your fucked-out state.

“So good for me… Always so good for me…” he hummed, his chaste, closed mouth kisses traveling further up your arms as if he intended to place his lips to every inch of you. “My perfect, perfect girl…”

You were pulled back to earth by the time his lips found yours, parting them for him as if on instinct, tethered by the way his tongue refamiliarized itself with the shape of your mouth.

It was languid, messy, threatening to stir up that honey-dipped lust for him that never seemed to abate inside of you again. But then Wriothesley pulled away, only far enough to gaze lovingly into your eyes, smiling— actually smiling— to himself at the sight of you, glowing with a post-sex haze.

“Wrio…?” you spoke, voice like a butterfly’s wing.

“Hmm…?” he hummed, gently brushing the back of his knuckles along your soft cheek.

“Do you…” You hesitated then, knowing the question was one you were afraid to ask. Had been afraid to ask for a while, only because you knew his answer could possibly change the path of your fate. You swallowed hard, closing your eyes and allowing yourself to bask in his gentle touches for a few strokes longer. Then you said, “Do you ever wish I would’ve stayed?”

Wriothesley’s ministrations paused, something unreadable now swimming in all that entrancing silver. He threaded his long fingers through your hair, bringing his forehead to rest against yours, taking in a long, deep breath just to share the same air as you.

“I only wish I could go with you,” he murmured, the confession barely a whisper, so quiet, as if he were afraid the very admittance would sink the Fortress to the very bottom of the sea. Then he opened his eyes, leaned back a few inches to meet yours again, and added on a solemn, “Sometimes…”

You wrapped your arms around him then, wanting to keep him close, wanting to lay here like this with him forever. But eventually, you drifted off to sleep. When you did, Wriothesley only allowed himself to stay beside you a few minutes longer before going to tend to cleaning both of you up, wiping away the mess between your legs you two had made as gently as possible so he wouldn’t wake you. He knew, when you rose, you’d have to say your goodbyes and return to the surface.

“Not goodbye,” you’d always remind him after your parting kiss, giving him one of those innocent little smiles that made him wonder how you’d ever survived this place at all, your eyes glittering with affection. “Only until next time.”

Until next time, Wriothesley thought. And then, how lucky I am to have earned a next time.

***

(Honestly, I just saw a video of someone making handcuffs with a belt and thought, “You know who would do that… Wriothesley,” lol

But anyway, I hope you enjoyed and are having as much fun with the new Fontaine characters as I am heehee :) 

Hope everyone has a wonderful day!)

[cindrelle]

sukha - stories.

character details:

though a priest, sukha isn’t your typical sort of holy man. the archons of teyvat may have his faith, but if asked to choose between them and a glass of mondstadt’s finest wine, he would find the answer to be the latter. at least, in the short term.

he can be found welcoming people of all walks of life into his humble church --- be the journey to the city too far, they need refuge, or they simply wish to have an honest conversation with a man that is not about fire and brimstone.

story 1:

“ what is justice to the faithful ? ”

this is this very question that the people of fontaine seek to answer. in a country where justice and faith are intertwined, where does one draw the line ? by the hydro archon’s decree, all shall be judged for their crimes and even gods cannot escape ( in theory ), therefore it should go without saying that the law is the same as the church’s commandments, as scripture and that which is preached.

and what else should the church evangelize beyond the law ?

sukha tired of a question that should’ve been so simple to answer --- justice is not always salvation.

story 2:

the job of a priest is to guide the faithful and connect them to their god, but that is not the only way in which he helps those that have lost their way. there is not always a simple answer. in fact, sometimes that answer is of the supernatural sort, and when one is blessed with the ability to see spirits, should it not be logical for them to help ?

sukha does not remember when he gained the ability to commune with the dead, he can only ascribe it to his tainted blood and maybe a bit of a joke played on him by his patron archon. after all, there is nothing that strikes fear into him more than a ghost.

his first true exorcism was completely accidental. a young girl had been afflicted with some disease during his time in fontaine, when he was still known as venadas, and no matter how hard her parents tried, they couldn’t find anyone capable of curing her. thus, they turned to the church, praying with all their hearts that their dear daughter would recover.

on a home visit to perform last rites as the parents had accepted their daughter’s death, venadas notices something odd about the girl. or, rather, the specter that seemed to stick her like a burr. curious, he called upon the power of his vision to offer his blessing. the girl began to spasm, much to the shock of her parents and venadas, but that was not all that occurred: the spirit began to separate itself from her as her screams pitched higher and higher.

then, it all stopped, the being’s essence now held in venadas’ palm. fontaine’s first exorcist only had this to say, contrary to the way this apparition shook him to his core:

“ please, be at peace. ”

story 3:

there are few rules which one must follow while staying at sukha’s church. don’t disturb the other patrons, steer clear of the pantry, do not even think about touching any of the ceremonial wine, and please don’t vandalize the scripture. but those were all secondary to one:

don’t enter the mortuary-chapel, especially not at night.

if asked, he’d say that it should be obvious that you shouldn’t poke around where dead bodies are stored. if pressed, there is no answer that he could give without divulging the fact that those corpses are actually harvested for organs before burial and sold / used by piti for his practice. the doctor himself resides in one of the adjoining rooms.

of course, this is all without acknowledging the ghosts that flock to sukha’s side ...

story 4:

he doesn’t speak much of his home or his curse. it’s a sore subject for him, having been treated as an experiment for his feral traits. his people so desperately wanted a cure that they dared to bribe them and then tear them from their families upon refusal.

for his people, he would’ve done anything if not for the reality of it: a child hardly ever survived the poking and prodding of khaenri’ah’s scientists.

when he arrived in fontaine, he turned to the hydro archon and the rest of the seven in the hope that putting his faith in them would lessen his curse. after all, his people had had no god. surely, the protection of one could provide him with salvation.

but for the people of fontaine, that which occurs in the courtroom is a ritualistic spectacle, their laws are their scripture. there is no deliverance for those who were born in a godless land or allow themselves to give in to temptation.

still, he persisted, working in a house of the hydro archon who demanded those who break the law, even when they confide in a place of forgiveness and absolution, be taken into custody. by her decree, members of the clergy were to guide the people down the righteous path and weed out those that did not. there is no such thing as a confession made in complete confidence.

the inquisition rests on no one.

story 5:

sukha has done much to survive. when the ideals of fontaine’s archon became too much to uphold when a friend came to him to seek guidance after stealing to feed his family, sukha --- then venadas byström --- decided to leave to pursue his supposed faith elsewhere. his travels took him to snezhnaya where he, as a holy man, was immediately discovered by the fatui. after all, preachers have no place in a military state where the god has chosen to reign as a mere monarch.

in exchange for his life, he offered the fatui the most hallowed of secrets: that which remains between people and their gods, between patron and priest. from that day on, he became permanently tied to snezhnaya’s clandestine operations.

his travels do not end there. in the land of the archon of wisdom, venadas, now sukha, sought answers. through happenstance and the faulty illusions of a weary traveler, he was discovered by a researcher with a special interest in the people of khaenri’ah. in exchange for not only keeping his secret but letting her conduct research on him / hear his stories of him, she would do all she could to help him understand and possibly lift his curse. in the end, they weren’t very successful.

at one point, she asked why he didn’t just cover his eye with an eyepatch to keep from exhausting his energy. all sukha could really say that he just didn’t like wearing one since people always asked about it and it obstructed his sight, that with that eye covered, he can’t even see spirits ( which wouldn’t be an issue if not for his profession ). as a parting gift, she designs an apparatus to help him conceal it.

once sukha arrives in mondstadt, a taste of diluc ragnvindr’s wine and knowledge of the church in springvale now lacking a presiding priest, gets him to decide to settle down for a quiet life that is only interrupted by the occasional meeting of the fatui within its walls.

that is, until a man arrived at the church on a stormy night and asked him for shelter. not one to turn anyone away, he provided a room for him in the basement. his only condition was that he be careful not to accidentally enter the mortuary-chapel. there’s no need to disturb the dead and it’s never fun to deal with the restless spirits that still linger.

in the middle of the night, the wailing of one such spirit draws sukha to the mortuary-chapel to find that the man, piti, was examining some of the more recently deceased. rather than kick him out on the spot, as any less - patient individual would, sukha inquires about what he’s doing.

he explains, via notepad due to being unable to speak because of an injury, that he’s a doctor and he was just curious. after finding that piti lacks a place to operate out of for his practice, sukha offers to allow him to live there and use the basement.

later down the line, while checking in on the doctor, sukha discovers that the silent man has been using the organs from corpses in the mortuary-chapel for his own means. though incensed at first, he hears piti out and they come to an arrangement: piti would be allowed to use the dead’s remains for the sake of his practice and for selling them on the black market if to help people is part of the goal. all sukha requires in return is a cut of the earnings in order to keep the pantry stocked for the poor and for maintenance.

then, one day, piti returns to the church in a hurry, an injured young man in his arms. there’s no room to hesitate --- sukha ushers them in and helps begin preparations for piti to operate. not only did he need to be stabilized, but the young man was missing an eye. turning to the corpses in the morgue, the doctor set to work replacing it.

not long after his recovery and upon discovering that his family in the city of mond was no more, the young man, now known as ekaggata, becomes a member of their group of informants --- indra’s net, known otherwise as indra’s web.

the haunting of springvale church:

of all the ghosts that flock to sukha, what he has come to refer to as the goat man is by far the most horrifying. this creature takes the form of a bipedal, monstrous goat with dark fur and curled horns. there are several protections set up around the church using techniques from sumeru and liyue, but for some reason, the goat man always finds a way to slip through and will not be appeased until he is presented an offering.

an offering would be no issue normally, however, he seems to have a taste for the sacramental wine which sukha keeps for mass and for the days when the said masses are going by particularly slowly.

the goat man isn’t even all that threatening. it has no means of becoming corporeal. that does not change the fact that it still disturbs sukha greatly.

piti, of course, thinks this is hilarious and, despite not being able to see him, taunts the goat man at all opportunities.

vision:

sukha has a complicated relationship with his vision. he’s from a godless land, yet he caught the attention of an archon that is set on punishing the guilty. for what reason, he doesn’t know, only that his vision appeared in his hand the moment that he was officially welcomed into priesthood at the age of 18 and accepted his faith as more than a means to alleviate his curse.

priesthood --- the moment that everything had been leading to, when he’d now had the ability to hear the worries of the faithful and ease them, to cleanse them of their sins as their archon’s proxy.

but priesthood turned out to not be exactly what he’d imagined when he realized how tight a leash the inquisition held him and his fellow ministers.

[husbandohunter]

Dottore with short drabble “You only ever brought me pain and I’m sick of it.”

Something angsty pls? Thank you!

Tainted Glass [Dottore x Reader/Genshin Impact]

Synopsis: Can you escape the prison you made?

(A twisted Cinderella story. The girl was covered in cinders because she was fatally addicted to drowning in flames.)

Warnings: angst, emotional abuse, violence, death

(A/n): To be honest anon, I didn’t know what the word ‘drabble’ means until I googled it. I uh...hope you don’t mind the length :> 

-----------------------

You fell back against the cold hard floor with your arms bent and head turned sideways. The stinging pain spreads across your cheek. It burns. But your mind was still trying to register what had just came into fruition. 

Why?

The thought was so foreign somehow as if you could hardly believe he was doing this. But then the scene plays in your head again. You froze, your gaze enlarged and clueless while staring at the pale ground as it slowly begins to darken in the seeping movement of his menacing, haunting shadow. 

"Insolent woman, you wretch!" He spat in a disgusted tone, "How dare you speak to me in such demanding manner? Have I already told you, only talk when you have something important to say?"

You didn't respond, rather you merely let the strands fall in front of your vision as you gingerly pressed your hand against the place where he hit you. 

I…don't quite understand…

Dottore glowers down at your hunched form. He was never a man known for the virtue of patience. This man, the one who calls him your husband, you learned a long time ago to not meet his eyes as they would signal a hint of dominance amidst his authority, especially during moments like these. You came to feel his eyes instead, they were usually intense and full of wrath, sometimes crazed and curious while looking at his finest creations. He always loved experimenting in his labratory. After all, it was the only thing that could truly make the madman smile.

What is it that I'm missing? Where did I go wrong?

And you would do anything to obtain at least a fraction of the love he had left in his heart. 

He marches onward with heavy footsteps, paying no mind to your well-being, "Tch get out of my sight. I don't have the time to entertain with anymore these theatrics."

At the sound of him leaving you darted your attention towards him, "Wait, come back. Come back, " you plea softly, "Hector…" But he ignores your call. The back of your fiance disappears behind the door and slams it with a resounding thud. He was gone. You couldn't save him.

"No," As a result, you burried your face into your palms and cried.

“I'm sorry.”

…

What is love?

Being raised in one of the most prestigious bloodlines of Fontaine, a life filled with riches since your parents were well known scholars throughout Teyvat, they provided you and your family with everything you needed. From exquisite dishes to priceless jewelry, yet even among those riches you never did find an answer to your question. They were tangibles and short-lasting, eventually leaving you with nothing until the glass of your heart was filled empty. They seemed to have cared more about their fortune along with the brightest child of their family line, your brother, a male heir, someone who fulfilled their expectations where you couldn't do so. And because he was able to give them what they wanted, he was loved.

I see, love is conditional.

Realizing that you possessed no talent to achieve what your brother had accomplished, you came to accept that you were undeserving of their love. Love was for the smart. Love was for the gifted.  Love was for everything you are not. There was no place for your kind and thus you locked yourself up in your bedroom chambers along with your fragile heart where no one would try to find you, picking up the books upon the shelves and getting lost in their fantasies. 

They told you many beautiful things about the world and many reasons why it was so tragic. Because they weren't real. The story begins with a princess who was a kind-hearted soul, deprived from the care of her evil stepmother and dreams of marrying a prince from a land far far away. They often end on a happily ever after with the princes finding her one true love. You've never seen anything like it. Where two people, despite the struggles they went through, loved each other unconditionally.

Unconditional love only exists in dreams.

Or so you thought to believe.

One day a man marched right at the doorsteps of your mansion. He was a student coming all the way from Sumeru Academia and had high hopes of building a business partnership with your father. The man was declined of course, you watched from the garden bushes as he was sent off back into his carriage. He stops abruptly and turns his head ajar to catch your figure, his inquisitive eyes were both striking and sharp. Like thorns of a rose that was ready to prick anyone who dares to come close. Even so, they made a very lasting impression.

Red eyes.

It was the first time that someone had looked your way.

Couple of months later, the government had arranged a grand ball where all nobles would gather and commit to building their social circle. Useless events. There was no reason for you to engage. While your parents were occupied with the latest gossips and your brother surrounded by fathers who were eager to marry their daughters to him, you snuck outside to the balcony and hid away from the crowd. Quiet at last. And as things should be. The moon was your only friend because she was just like you; half empty. Maybe that was why you still had a glimmer of hope for the other half to be filled. 

Part white, you inquired, pristine and untainted. From far away it looked similar to snow. 

"My, how pleasantly surprising."

While the other part was stained with black cinders.

You glanced over your shoulder to see a man leaning against the pillar. His mint coloured bangs were slicked back in a trendy fashion, complimenting the white suit he adorned himself with. The golden chains hanging around his ebony boots dangled and clanged with each step he took forward until the light finally reveals his face.

"You seem familiar," you say while squinting your eyes, "Are you the person my father rejected back in February?"

He quirks one brow and you were afraid if you had offended him. But before you could utter an apology, the man splits his lips into a toothy grin and bursts out into a maniac-like laughter. He was completely insane, you thought to yourself. Though he paid no mind to your discomfort and continued to dwell in his amusement, "Hahaha straightforward, I like it! So what if I am? Is it a requirement to be a noble for me to simply have a chat?"

"And if I may ask why?"

"Hmmm, why?" The man reaches for the balcony and presses his back there. He threw his head backward before drilling his ruby gaze into yours, "I too am not fond of annoying crowds. Those snobbish fools thinking they're above everyone else just because they have a couple of mora when that is all they are worth. It's almost too hilarious for my own good."

You could tell there was disdain in his tone. Mainly towards your father who were one of the many unkind nobles of Fontaine and was only liked because of his success. Gripping your hands upon the stone railings, you looked down at the distant trees below while the wind rustled them apart, "I can't deny that," you say dissapointedly, "It's common for nobles not to associate with lower classes as it could potentially ruin their image. Though I may not have been there but I'm sure you had much to offer in terms of your brilliance, erm, Mister…?"

"Hector," Hector placed a palm on his chest with a polite bow following suit, "Hector Dufour-Lapointé. It is a pleasure to make you an acquaintance Lady (Y/n)."

"You know my name?"

"How could I not?" Hector smirks lazily as he danced around you, "I saw you before hiding behind the rose bushes back in your estate. Quite curious why you didn't attempt to say hello."

He even remembers that too. You fiddled with the fabric of your dress, "My apologies. I'm not use to socializing so much."

“Is that so? I think you're not giving yourself enough credit," he complimented while shrugging, "This is much more entertaining than hanging in that insufferably crowded room, it was an unexpected occurence to meet you here of all places. However, I must say time can fly if I'm able to enjoy myself."

You shifted away from his stare, "You flatter me. We've only been talking for a few minutes."

"I have yet to realize it then" Hector's cheerfulness remains at stance despite your gloomy response. He leans forward like a curious child and tosses you a question, "Then allow me to ask, what brings you out here Lady (Y/n)? I don't see any reason when your family are such highly respected people of Fontaine." 

"I'm not like them!" You retort instantly, causing the man to glance at you with skepticism, "I mean, I have nothing to do with them and they have nothing to do with me. That's just how it is. They already have Clement after all…"

Why am I telling him this?

"Ah your brother I assume. Yes so I've heard much about his genius mind. There were a few instances where he and I collaborated at Sumeru Academia," Hector speaks as if regarding to his unpleasant memories, "Although he never said anything about having a sister."

"We're not that close. And I'm not very fond of him," you confessed bluntly.

"Neither am I," Hector agreed with a scowl, "He claims his position using the knowledge derived from history books but never tries to think beyond the norm. That ignorant mindset of his will surely be his downfall one day."

"Ignorance can lead to anyone's downfall. If they turn a blind eye to the truth, so much can be taken from them," you paused shortly from rambling too much, "That's what I read in books at least."

"As expected of your lineage," he sighs whimsically, "Such avid readers."

"Well my family prefers documents and research. I've gone through them too but I will always love reading fiction."

"Ha! Seems you really are trying to be different from the rest of your family."

Seconds turn to minutes and minutes to hours, you had already forgotten about the cold breeze despite your dress being less than ideal for the outdoors. The man, although he can be a little to blathering at times, was more than what seemed to be on the surface. At first you thought of him as someone here to take advantage of your relations to your father but he seemed so sincere when listening to your stories, so eager while expressing his thoughts and even made you laugh a couple of times. You didn't realize that the clock had already struck twelve as the guests were preparing to leave but you just weren't ready to do the same.

"Until next time (Y/n)," he takes your fingers and pressed a kiss on top of them, though you were more struck by how he addressed you without honorifics, "I look forward to speaking with you again."

A warm smile graces your lips as you cursty, "Likewise Hector. Thank you for listening to me. I know I must have taken a long time."

Hector sneered but you already learned that it was simply his way of expressing amusement, "Hardly. I was thoroughly entertained."

When your parents found out about your meeting with him, they made it clear that you would never see him again. Hector Dufour-Lapointé is what he calls himself but the real name behind this man was Hector Valliere who came from a village hidden in the west of Fontaine. Rumours said that he was chased out of his hometown by an angry mob, claiming him to be a madman conducting unethical experiments on humans. Shortly after his arrival in Sumeru, he abandoned his past identity and replaced it with a new one in order to enter the academy under legal supervision. Associating with a man of a suspicious reputation would only cause harm to your family's name. Though you could barely care much about their reputation. There was nothing for you to benefit from it.

Few weeks have passed and you evetually gave up on the thought of hearing from Hector. They were only fleeting moments, nothing more. Your routine would stay the same as you kept on plucking more books off the shelves, killing whatever time you had. However the activities you used to enjoy somehow lost it's flair and there would be a slight pain in your chest whenever you turn to a page with the princess as she is surrounded by her friends. What exactly changed? Your family still treated you the same. Did you suddenly grow bored from doing the same thing everyday? Why is it that you feel much more lonelier despite being alone for so long? It was hard to tell in a singular perspective. If only there was someone here to give you some insights on things you couldn't see…

A silver bird lands by your front window and you nearly fell out of your chair as it flapped their wings violently. A machine?! They dropped what seems to be an envelope within the thick bushes before taking off and buzzing into the evening sky. You switched off the lock and lifted the glass within a single movement, snatching the piece of paper so that the wind wouldn't blow it away. Hastily you opened it. Both curious and cautious of why would anyone send you mail in such a discreet approach.

Chère Mademoiselle (Y/n),

I can only imagine the shock of your expression once reading this letter. I'm only writing to you since I assume that your father had already told you those nasty rumours about my past. No matter. I trust that you have a good head on your shoulders to not prejudge people using such miniscule details. I wish to speak with you again. Unless you have other plans staying in that stuffy room of yours, meet me behind the clock tower at 11:00 p.m. Don't be late.

Bien à vous,

H.

"It really is him!" The happiness spreads all across your features as you clutched the letter to your chest. For some reason, your heart wouldn't stop racing. It was a simple yet thoughful action on his part but despite how short his greeting was, every word held the weight of a thousand sparks, "I…I can't stop smiling."

And without hesitation, you prepared to leave. No one noticed your absence.

-------

It was only halfway where you realized that Hector didn't give many details redgarding why he planned this sudden event. You caught sight of him standing under the roofs with his hands hidden behind his back. He had on his signature lopsided grin, brows uneven as he glanced at you casually.

"How very punctual, were you so eager that you couldn't wait?" He teases.

"I was surprised when your bird knocked upon my window," you inform, "Is it something urgent?"

"Not at all. I merely wanted to catch up with old times," Hector tilts forward to emphasize his suggestion, "Care to indulge me for a bit?"

You crossed your arms, "Then what is it that you're hiding behind your back?"

"Hmm?" He hums, "You mean this?"

"Ah!"

Roses. A bouquet of bright red flowers were presented to you, nicely wrapped in fabric. In the language of Fontaine, recieving them could mean multiple of things and you couldn't help but feel hesitant despite his thoughtful gesture, "Why are you giving me this?"

"Is it so wrong for me to be a gentleman? I thought it would be best to prepare you a gift after you put all that effort to come out in such a late hour," Hector mused to himself, "Especially when you had to make sure no prying eyes would catch us."

You let out a small laugh before accepting the bouquet, "I wouldn't go as far to say that."

"Oh?" Although it was hard to see, Hector managed to catch a glimpse of your flushed cheeks hidden behind the flowers. A darken smirk climbs onto his face at the inviting thought of what it could mean, "Tell me more."

The whole night you both spent walking around the empty plaza with only the stars as your guide. They paved a silver path reflected in the horizon above, free flowing like one of the many watercolour paintings hung in your chambers, uncertain where they may lead but you followed them regardless. If it weren't for Hector's inivtation you might have never known about the parts of your city due to the restricted lifestyle you lived. He listened to every one of them. The stories you had to tell when there was no one for you to talk to and the complaints about your brother whenever he wanted to snitch on your actions just to get the praise out of your father. You expressed your frustrations when speaking about your incompetences, joy after reading a good fairytale book written by your favourite author, there was so much to say that you were worried if Hector soon grew tired from them.

"Go on. I'm listening."

And your heart flutters again. Suddenly everything felt so light with each step you took, it was as if you walked across the stars in the sky rather than the heavy pavement of the ground you called your home. But even if happiness was a bliss, it tormented you. Because companionship made you realize how poor your were all along. That you had everything yet you had nothing, slowly withering away like the roses you held in your hand. Convinced that your existence was worth nothing more than nothing itself. Doomed to be dismissed and forgotten. Rotting away...Hector stays by your side as you cried softly into the night.

From a distance the bell rings and echoes just like the time before during Fontaine's grand ball. Hector shows you a secret route so that no one could find you.

"Will you write to me again?"

The request was so innocent, purely from genuine intentions and devoided of anything he had in mind. Hector would always laugh in these situations when things have gone unexpectedly yet pleasingly his way but held back knowing that it would be foolish to waste such a priceless opportunity. And so he gave you his smile, one full of secrets where you had mistakened it as a promise, "Of course my dear."

Every night you could no longer fall asleep since he had occupied your thoughts completely. Sometimes you'd dream of him and their tales would unfold similarly to the ones you have read. It gone to the point where the maids would have to wake you up during late afternoons due to the dramatic change in your sleep schedule. Though, you didn't care what they did to you. As long as no one found out about your secret rendezvous.

You never thought that there'd be a day where you would voluntarily give up reading your beloved fairytales. They were now replaced by a stash of his letters that have been accumulated over the past few months. You read them each day, pacing back and forth within the walls of your room, whispering his sentences as if he were the one saying them to you. He made you feel special. You were addicted to this feeling. Eventually you managed to memorize his words by heart. 

The pages of your diary were filled with notes. Like your very own  fairytale carved into reality. From the rose petal, now dried, to the hairpin he snatched from a distracted merchant and a single strand of his hair you found within your cloak after a warm embrace, all of these items, a remnant of the man you loved were taped up in these pages. Sometimes you could even feel his prescence because it was all you needed. It didn't matter if Clement threw insults about how worthless your existence was, your parents could lock you in this prison if they wanted to but they shall never take away Hector from you. Never. You swear it. He was your whole world and the prince who saved you from a life made of aching emptiness. You would do anything to keep him by your side. Anything to gain his affection.

Anything.

"I had a feeling that you were the culprit dear sister."

Your arms stutters as they clutched tightly on the scrolls you took off from the shelves. The light crept into the room like arms reaching out to clutch around your ankles, warning you for trespassing. You turned around dreadfully to see Clement pressing his shoulder against the doorframe with his arms folded and a wicked expression aimed at your pitiful state.

"Why…Why are you still awake?" You say in disbelief, "I thought everyone was asleep."

"Please. Not only are you shameless but hypocritical as well. You truly are a dissapointment to our family."

"Wait," taking a step forward, you stopped him before he makes his exit, "I'll put them back. Just don't tell father about this."

But like your parents, your brother was unkind. Clement doubles over and hugs his torso, cackling through his teeth, "Is that how it is?" He swipes his arm up and you see a parchment paper held between his fingers. 

"No!"

"Ma chérie (Y/n). I must say all this tenacious effort of sneaking in my letters to your window is becoming more and more tiresome. But of course, you are an exception. I want the scrolls you've mentioned the other day at my lair tomorrow evening. Make sure no one discovers this. I'm counting on you. Cordialement! Hector."

"No…" you whispered, feeling the weight of the world fall upon your shoulders as it shattered apart. Hector. If possible, you hoped that the pieces could just crush you right then and there. Your knees felt weak and a fright takes over but despite your turmoil, Clement didn't show a shred of sympathy.

"So this is why you've been acting odd lately. Pathetic," he flaps the paper tauntingly in his grasp, "I can't decide if I should be impressed or baffled by your actions. A secret romance with a criminal and the bloodline of Fontaine's most respected government associates? Even though you've hit rock bottom, you still decided to dig deeper."

"Clement you don't understand!"  Stumbling upon your footsteps, you desperately tried to convey your predicament even if it meant feeding his ego, "Hector is not the man you think. He was shunned by the people of his hometown, treating him as if he were nothing. They…They ignored him! All this time he needed someone to recognize his brilliance, someone to understand." Shakily, you brought your tensed arms to your chest and screamed a silent whisper, "Someone to listen but no one did. He must have felt so alone…"

Clement flinches when you suddenly clutched onto his biceps. When he looked into your eyes, a shiver ran down his spine.

"Hector is counting on me. I'm the only one who can save him. No one else. He needs me Clement, he needs me!" 

"Tch."

An ear-splitting scream of his hand against your face echoes across the room. It knocked you out of your stance and you bumped into the table, grunting while the scrolls to tumbled to the floor.

"Crazy woman, I'm embarassed to be related to you!"

While you were still trying to regain your balance, your brother had already ran off. It wouldn't be long before he alerted your parents, the clock ticking away like sand until the final hour leaves you with nothing but an empty glass. 

"No," despair swallows the strength away from your legs and you crawled towards where he used to stand, "Don't take him away from me…I need him…"

I can't live without him.

I can't live without him.

I can't live without him.

Tears begin to form by the corners of your eyes as you clenched your teeth. This was no time to cry. Balling your fists, you sprinted out of the room, pushing whatever stood in your way as if you were running for your life. 

And if you considered everything else, it wasn't that far from the truth.

-------

"Hector! Hector are you there?" After arriving upon his house, you began knocking on his door aggressively. The lock clicks and you were greeted by an evidently annoyed man gnawing his teeth together.

"Tsk. There better be a good reason-"

"They're coming for us! We have to go. Now. Before it's too late. My father is probably already waking and making arrangements for you to-"

"Enough, I can't even catch what you're saying," He pinches the bridge of his nose while you were still stuck in a frenzy state. He takes a step back and opens the door wider, gesturing for you to come inside, "Get in already. I have a feeling that this will be a long night."

Hector observes intently at the words you tell him.

Not out of concern but akin to the way he watches the insects react when he exposes them to a different environment.

He was a scientist after all. A madman in which you deliberately fell in love with, so much to the point that he was able to feel pity for once. How you trusted him wholeheartedly with all of your vulnerabilities, emotions and secrets like handing him your parts just so he could put you back together again. Tinkering was always one of his favourite hobbies and he couldn't help but feel a twisted sense of pride at the thought of you being completely wrapped around his finger. 

Perhaps that was the reason why he loved you. Because he didn't love you. He loved you in parts.

"It was only a matter of time," Hector sighs. He sneaks his grasp into yours, knowing how much it affects you and puts on an invisible mask of deciet, "I already knew this day would happen long before anyone could have predicted it."

"You did?" With worried eyes you gazed at him, "What shall we do then?"

Knowing he hit the target, his lips begin to curl up towards his ears, showing his sharp white teeth that shone against the dim-litted room. Hector asks, "Do you love me?"

A silly question. You didn't hesitate to answer, "Of course I do. I've said it many times."

"Prove it to me," Forcing his forehead against yours, Hector commands in a dangerously low tone, "Kill your brother and only then you can truly be mine."

Your brain sutters, trying to absorb what he had just said. Kill? As in to take a life? It sounded wrong. But...was it wrong if the life belonged to someone who ruined yours?

Dumbfoundedly, you glanced into the bloody orbs of your lover, his black pupils thinning into knives while burning in the hellfire of his true colours. Hector runs a hand from the scalp of your hair, down to your cheek before gingerly sliding his fingers at your jawline. He pulled you close and whispered into your ear.

"Are you scared?"

Ah, this wasn't about your feelings. This was about him and your future and there could be no future you without him by your side.

You let your eyelids drop and leaned into his touch, "I could never be scared of you Hector. Whether it is within my power or not, I will make sure no one gets in our way. I swear it."

"Good," he continues to have you feed on his affection, "I knew I could count on you."

-----------

The news of your brother's death filled every headline Fontain had to offer. He was driven off a cliff while making a trip towards Sumeru. No one survived. The remains were so crushed to the point that authorities had trouble identifying their bodies. The only explanation they could come up with by observing the leftover tracks was that the horse must have gone out of control and ended up dragging the carriage along with it.

Ha. Serves him right.

Food poisoning. The vial Hector made was very effective. You made sure to bury it away from your mansion.

With no other choice, you became your family's next heir. Hector notifies you that he would be away for several months to solidify a unique connection with a man hailing from Snezhnaya. You didn't think he would arrive at your doorsteps with so much authority. Fatui soldiers followed from behind as the staff paved a way for them to enter. Your father was clearly displeased by his outrageous approach but he knew he was in no place to deny.

"Upon the agreement between Fontaine and Snezhnaya, Lady (Y/n) will become Harbinger Il Dottore's wife," the Duke announces, "This news will be publicly announced at the end of October."

Dottore? Is that what he calls himself?

As if claiming his victory, Dottore shoots your father a devilish smile. You could feel the dining table shake when he kept pressing his fist against the smooth surface, begrudingly congratulating you both for the new engagement. Your mother bursted into tears.

Was it worth it?

You watched both of your parents mourn silently in their own manner. Perfectly knowing that you were the main cause. But you weren't able to feel any sadness because in the end, you now had everything you've ever wanted. 

The inheritance.

Their attention.

But most of all, him.

And when you were convinced that this was your happily ever after, that fairytales were not just beautiful lies for the sake of comfort, you didn't realize  you were already living a life made of beautiful lies conjured by your own mind for the sake of your own comfort. 

"You're nothing without me."

Dried and calloused hands squeezed around your throat as you flailed your legs against the soft fabric of the carpet floor. He encases you in a straddling position, enjoying the sight of your tortured and clenched face. Hector…no, Dottore hated it when you disobeyed him. He despised it when his creations don't work the way he wanted them to and he had no use for things that are broken.

"G-hka--k..-"

"How many times do I have to remind you to not use my birthname. Do those ears of you even function properly? Or must I fix them myself?"

You gasped for air when he relaxed his grip. Vision a blur, you coughed a few times before he pulls your arm so that you lay flushed against his chest.

"Don't forget who saved you dear (Y/n). Because of me you were able to escape that miserable life you've despised for years. I expect the utmost gratitude on your part at all times, it is only fair that I punish you for not meeting my requirements, don't you agree?" Dottore lifts his hand up to pinch your cheeks, pulling your head to stare at your eyes, "After all, there is no one else in this world who can put up with you…but me."

His words were poison in which you drank like a woman starved. It made you feel numb to the pain the more you drowned in their alluring scent, the taste was sweet, a remedy for the bitterness of reality where the man of your dreams was nothing but a cruel monster. You came to believe that the reason why he treated you so harshly was because he was scared of losing you. You were caught in the trap of what seemed to be love and devotion when truly, you were just a toy to be used at a means end. He breaks you and he puts you back together, over and over again, filling in between the cracks formed in your glass heart with the phrases you loved to hear. Just like how he filled the other holes of your life where no one else did. You called it kindness. He saw it as entertainment.

Most people pay attention to the flower's beauty but they never acknowledge the thorns hidden beneath it's blossom.  That is why they bleed. They get hurt. Though, you didn't mind shedding blood if it was for his sake.

Because you would do anything for him.

You would do anything to bring back the memories of Hector Dufour-Lapointé and save him from the Harbinger that ruined his life. Your life. It wasn't his fault. You knew you could change him to what he was before because you were in love with him, that he might still in there. Somewhere.

Right?

…

Please come back.

Time continues to flow like the tears of your dying heart despite yearning for it to turn at the past. Dottore already left the room a long time ago but you didn't. Raising your head away from your hands, you peered at the door in front of you, begging desperately through a chanting record of despondence. 

Come back. Come back. Come back. Come back. Come back. Come back. Come back. Come back. Come back.

Images, they slipped through your fingers, slowly becoming more distant until your mind began to see them as illusions. Dreams. Things that were not real. Telling you that your life was a lie. 

"Come back to me…Hector."

Because the man you loved was withering in your memories and you couldn't do anything to save him.

A dry croak robbed you of your breath as you turned to look in the mirror.

Worthless. You were always worthless, it was what your parents told you since birth. It was what you became when he wasn't at your side because without him, your existence was worthless. You lied for him, you stole for him you, took a life for him. You destroyed yourself for him to point that it was hard to believe you were even looking at yourself.

Worthless. It's who I am.

And despite it all, you couldn't obtain his love.

(Crack).

Worthless things don’t deserved to be loved.

(Crack. Crack).

But what if it’s because I’m worthless, that he won’t love me back?

(Crack).

Your eyes jolted open, causing you to gasp sharply. When the sweet lies dispersed in your head and cleansed you of deceit, everything started to make sene. You came to realize why your wish was impossible all along.

Dottore...no, Hector, the reason wasn't because he didn't return your feelings. Neither was it due to the fact that he hurt you through his actions. Nor when he made you cry or scream for help before feeding you with more lies, thinking he would never hurt you again. It was none of those things.

It was because the man you loved this whole time was someone who could love no one but himself.

"Ha...haha," sucking in your breath, a sinister laugh escapes your mouth, "Hahahahahahaha.....!"

Everything was worthless.

You grabbed a nearby hairbrush and threw it at the mirror, watching yourself shatter into a million pieces.

There was only one thing left to do. 

------

"Ugh, where is it?!"

It was late into the night where every staff had gone to sleep. The Harbinger fumbles with his keys while standing at the door of his basement as he was too busy proceeding with his research rather than considering the thought of rest. Usually he acted upon them on his own will, performing various experiments for enjoyment. However, ever since the Snezhnayan court had requested him to look into the ancient arts of alchemy, Dottore was forced to carry it out before the deadline approached. Otherwise his position as Harbinger would be revoked.

"What a bunch of self-centered blockheads. Can't they understand that it take quality time to get quality results?"

Most of his important documents were stored on the otherside. Half of it came from his father-in-law's library. He had you to thank for that.

"Ah finally," he mutters, though still dissatisfied, "I should have a word with my butler for misplacing them."

Dottore shoves the key into the lock but instead of twisting the knob he noticed something strange. It was old and had yet to be fixed but somehow he didn't have any trouble adjusting his wrist. Then he saw there were a set of freshly made fingerprints upon the smooth metallic surface. However, the only person awake at this time would be him-

An intruder!

Dottore drops everything to the ground and yanks the door open. He skittered down the stone stairs while cursing under his breath. Using the delusion gifted by the Tsaritsa, the Harbinger activated his lazer-like pillars as he took advantage of their glow to light up the unlit room.

"What in the abyss...?!"

Except it wasn't dark.

"All of these scrolls, I recognize them," without sparing a single glance, you spoke nostalgically towards the bookshelves, "It brings me so much memories..."

Dottore clenches his teeth together as his eyes shone an angry red, you were holding a torch dangerously close to his hard-earned collection, "What do you think you're doing?!" He fumed, "Put that out, AT ONCE! Don't make me repeat myself!

"They're precious to you aren't they?" You finally shifted to face him, "More than me."

"What has gotten into you?" He was about to hurl at you until he saw your torch lowering, causing him to retreat. You were strangely noncholant and he couldn't help the feeling of disturbance. Accepting that he didn't have the upperhand, Dottore decided to use a different approach, "(Y/n)."

The sound of your name falls from his lips. You faltered.

"I'm sorry for what I have done. I know I was dishonourable to you, as your husband and lover, and that you didn't deserve to see me so aggressive. You have every right to express your anger, my dear. I was in the wrong."

It was only a mask. You knew it well. But seeing him with softened eyes and a tone so comforting, made you desperately wanting to run into his arms so he could wipe away your sorrows just like once upon a time. To live happily ever after.

Hector.

Dottore runs his fingers through his hairstrands in frustration and sighs, "However the Tsarista needed me to do something very important and I can't seem to fulfill her request no matter how hard I try. It angers me. If I don't finish this, there would be no place for us to stay."

"Hector..." you sniffled quietly. He looks so much like him right now.

"Can't you see I'm doing this for you?" He consoles, yet his weapons still remain, "I only intended to make you happy and there's nothing I won't do to achieve that. How about I show-"

"Enough."

Dottore froze upon your sudden command. He didn't sense a hint of subjugation and it seemed that you had perfect control of your emotions. How very inquisitive. Did you grow immune to the style of his voice? In such a short period of time? The facade he had on was now replaced with a growling animal-like expression. You looked at him dissapointedly. His Harbinger self returned. Hector was no more.

"Ha, you're the same as always. Even before the time you became a Harbinger. The same man that I fell in love with but it is me who will never be the same again," For a moment you averted your gaze as if trying hard to swallow your own words, "Remember when we first met at the balcony? That I told you my favourite books to read are fiction? I knew they weren't real but deep down, I wanted to believe in them anyways. And you know what? They did come true, to some degree..."

As the memories come flashing back, he defenselessly watches your expression contort from sadness to a calm contemplation and finally, enraged disgust, "But you only ever brought me pain and I'm sick of it!"

Swaying the torch to the side, Dottore flinches forward but he didn't dare to come close when your current state was unpredictable to him, "I JUST WANTED YOU TO LOVE ME," you wail, I just wanted to be loved, bringing a clawed hand against your forehead and trembling upon contact, "It's all that I ask for..."

Dottore narrowed his brows. Perhaps he may have gotten too far.

"But I know it's impossible. The world is a cruel place and there's no point in trying anymore. That is why I'm going to set us free."

"...What do you mean?"

You shut your eyes closed and tossed the flaming torch to the ground. A horrified expression takes over his features. It didn't take long for the fire to begin spreading amongst the room.

"NO!" Dottore yelled powerfully, he frantically darts his gaze at all directions as they continued to flicker and blend into his precious documents. You stood still and watched him grab the ones that were intact, savouring the most he could but they slip out of his arms every time he moved. Dottore glances behind him to see a rising cage of hellfire. Then he turns to you.

" 'Til death do us part!" you laughed maniacally.

The madman looked back with angry dismay, "You're out of your mind!"

Abandoning whatever he held in his hand, Dottore spins around towards the staircase. He covers his face with his sleeve and did whatever he could to prevent the fire from touching him. However, he accidentally stumbled on his footsteps and something fell off the heights, knocking him in the face. He grunts painfully.

"That will leave a scar," you smile while he clutches at his injury, "I can break you too.”

Just like how you broke me.

Knowing that you've managed to leave a mark of your existence on him in someway, you peacefully watched your lover wobble between the hell you created. But the hell you knew was not made of scorching heat and thundering flames. Hell was empty. Hell was a void. This feeling was far too gentle to be considered hell. If he can't return your love, then at least let these caging arms bask you in the warmth you’ve always desired.

Lifting your head, you looked towards the ceiling and closed your eyes.

Ah, this cannot be death.

[teyvattherapist]

A/n: Sandrone x reader for @noirkkat! Ilyy

-

It wasn’t rare that Sulien would be gone for weeks at a time, often in this nation or that nation securing state secrets. You had come to expect this, but it didn't make it any less lonely when he was gone for so long. Every leave of absence felt longer and longer, but the ever diligent puppet never seemed to complain. Even when it kept him from you. 

The soft call of your name broke you from your thoughts, lifting your head to meet familiar lilac eyes. "Tartaglia will be waiting for me. I have to go soon." He stepped closer to you and you sighed nodding your head. Another mission with Tartaglia. It would seem the Eleventh Harbinger saw your partner more than you did, the thought almost making you bitter. Or maybe it did when you watched Sulien grab his gloves from the vanity.

"Do you have to go? Can't Childe take care of it by himself?"

Sulien scoffed, pulling the black and green gloves on. "Please, Fruit Tart's understanding of the Fontaine legal system is pathetic. He wouldn't last a day out of jail without me." Sulien adjusted the glove with his delusion before dropping his arms to his sides. The harbinger studied you and you looked away from his inquisitive gaze. "You're upset." Sulien noted after a few seconds. You shrugged your shoulders, turning to grab his bag off of the bed. 

Arms wrapped around your waist and you tensed momentarily before relaxing. Even with that coat of his he managed to remain cold. You stared at the bed in front of you for a moment, inhaling shakily. You then brought your free hand up, resting it on his forearm. "You spend more time with Childe than you do at home. Are they ever going to give you a break?" You did your best not to let the bitterness seep into your tone, but judging by the small chuckle, he'd caught onto it anyways.

"You know how my work is, my sun. I can't help my hours."

You leaned your head back, doing your best to look at him with a pout on your features. "Your work sucks." Your exclamation drew a small smile from your rather stoic boyfriend. His grip tightened around you as he rested his forehead against your shoulder. "You should just stay home. With me. Much better than Fontaine and Tartaglia." You huffed, unable to help your own smile as you dropped his bag to bring your hand to his messy hair.

"Tartaglia?" Sulien scoffed, muffled against your shoulder. "He doesn't compare to you, nobody does." Undoubtedly a cheesy line he read in one of the many novels he owned. Your heart swelled in pride though, even as void as he often happened to be, his reassurance was always welcome. Sulien lifted his head, adjusting himself so he could kiss your cheek, his lips cold against your warm skin. "I do really have to go though, so either pack a bag in five minutes or I'll see you in a few weeks." 

"Wait what-"

Sulien released you and grabbed his bag, dragging it off of the bed. "You heard me, sunshine." His lips curled up in a small smirk as he adjusted his grip on his bag. You turned around to stare at him for a moment, inspecting his expression. "Four minutes twenty two seconds.." He trailed off and you darted to the closet. Sulien chuckled, sitting on the edge of the bed while he waited for you to pack your own bag for the trip. 

[sshbpodcast]

The Highest of Highs and Lowest of Lows in DS9 S6

by Ames

In a carnival ride full of whiplash-inducing episodes, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine’s sixth season features some of the best episodes and some of the worst episodes in the entire Trek franchise, full stop. So it was a very emotional bunch of weeks for your hosts here at A Star to Steer Her By, and we may just break down and sing about it! And a one, and a two...

In our usual fashion, we’ve determined which of those episodes mark the best of the best and the worst of the goddamn freaking everything in our season wrap-up episode, which you can also listen to here (pertinent discussion starts at 1:25:55). Some decisions were easy (oh so easy) while some were wildcards, and we also had special guest star Liz helping us bolster our favorites and roast our least favorites. Crack open your favorite Benny Russell story and read away!

[images © CBS/Paramount]

Bottom Three Episodes

Wow, there were a lot more clunkers than usual in this season than we were expecting from DS9, but some of them were just so bad that we took it personally.

“Time’s Orphan”: Jake For a concept that required a lot of research into child development and psychology, this one sure didn’t show it. But don’t worry: surely if we send this episode to live in the wilderness with no supplies or protection except a hairbrush, everything will turn out just fine for everyone!

“Statistical Probabilities”: Ames How did Jack and the other genetically engineered mutants not predict this one: that their portrayal of people with mental health disorders was frankly appalling and they deserve to be at the bottom of the barrel where they can be jettisoned into space with the rest of the trash? Hmm?

“Tears of the Prophets”: Caitlin, Chris Somehow way too much and way too little happen simultaneously in the season finale, leaving us bored and exhausted at the same time. Also, this is how they kill off a beloved main character? It felt like a cheap afterthought. Frankly, Tasha Yar had it better, and that’s saying something.

“His Way”: Ames, Caitlin, Chris, Jake When we vehemently beg for a B plot, you know something’s wrong. From the extremely toxic start of a relationship we honestly didn’t need, to the WAY TOO MANY SONGS, this musical episode just hurt us. Sorry, Vic Fontaine, you’re not turning this no into a yes.

“Profit and Lace”: Ames, Caitlin, Chris, Jake How do you possibly get worse than the misogyny in “His Way”? By trying to make rape jokes out of it. Ferengi episodes tend to poorly handle sensitive topics to begin with, but this one was so inexcusable that it might actually be the worst of all Trek. But don’t listen to me: I’m clearly just an emotional fee-male.

—

Top Three Episodes

On the flip side, there were also way more true gems this season than we were expecting as well, with some of the most well regarded episodes packed into a short span of time. What a ride!

“Inquisition”: Jake We see the dark side of the spy world in this riveting episode that pulls a new rug out from under us with every twist. Say what you will about Section 31 going forward, but its introduction was riveting, the mindfuck did not disappoint, and Luther Sloan looked damn good in that jacket!

“The Sound of her Voice”: Caitlin Where DS9 failed so utterly with Vic Fontaine, they capitalized with Captain Cusak: a character we don’t even see on screen and yet is so well developed, voiced, and portrayed that we too were immediately captivated by her. A resounding win for Debra Wilson (see what I did there?).

“Rocks and Shoals”: Ames While the big 6-episode war arc mostly blended together, the standout was “Rocks and Shoals” and meeting our new friends: the deliciously sleazy Vorta Keevan and the startlingly sympathetic Jem’Hadar Remata’Klan. How often do you actually root for Dominion soldiers to come out okay? Well done.

“Honor Among Thieves”: Caitlin More fun spy shenanigans and some genuinely touching scenes with O’Brien and his Orion handler Bilby: how can you go wrong? Miles is best when he’s outside his comfort zone and suffering, after all. And this episode gets many extra points for introducing our new favorite character, Chester!

“Waltz”: Ames, Chris Marc Alaimo and Avery Brooks carry this episode all the way through space, into the caves, and out of all sanity. It takes some special skills to make such a talky, static plot feel so riveting, and they really made it an episode the likes of which the galaxy had never seen!

“In the Pale Moonlight”: Chris, Jake DS9 is at it best when it’s at its greyest, and Ben Sisko lives firmly in the grey. The impossible decisions made during the Dominion War stick with you well after the episode is over, churning around in your head until you have to make your own 2am log entry with a stiff drink in hand.

“Far Beyond the Stars”: Ames, Caitlin, Chris, Jake “Far Beyond the Stars” really breaks the mold for what Star Trek can be, and we were here for it! We can’t dole enough praise upon the acting, the directing, the design, the unconventional writing, the everything, but what brings it all home is a profoundly true core statement about racism that is still relevant today.

—

Only one season left of DS9, so keep your eyes focused on the wormhole for more from A Star to Steer Her By, listen to new episodes on Soundcloud, follow us on Facebook and Twitter, and remove about five songs from every episode going forward!

[kuro-gossips]

Affections

For @silverynight - Merry Christmas, sweetie! <3 I hope I did them justice, it’s my first time writing anything for Fantastic Beasts.

Five times when Gellert, Theseus, Albus, and Percival show just how besotted they are with the British magizoologist, no matter who the audience is, and once where Newt demonstrates his love for them.

1. Theseus

Newt comes to visit him at his office in the Ministry of Magic on the rare occasion he is in the area. It's been weeks too long since Newt has even set foot in England and Theseus has missed him dearly. Some of the Aurors under his jurisdiction are milling around, filing papers, finishing reports, and discussing active cases.

The opening door disrupts the calm din of the working area and in stumbles none other than his younger brother. Instantly, Theseus is up on his feet, strides over with a sense of urgency, and is hurriedly peppering kisses all over Newt’s charming youthful face, at which he giggles at the ticklish feeling. The other employees of the Ministry attempt to not stare at their boss showering affection on the shorter male. One of the new female Aurors squeaks when the elder Scamander lands a solid one right on Newt’s lips, but is immediately hushed by the others, who remind her that this kind of relationship is common amongst purebloods.

Theseus has no shame and drapes himself all over his curly-haired boyfriend, a content smile sweeping lazily across his features. “I’ve missed you so, so much, Artemis.”

Newt flushes underneath the other’s intense ogling and ducks his gaze out of pure habit. Regardless, his face shows nothing but happiness, his freckles seemingly dancing across his cheeks as his lips curl upwards.

2. Albus

Albus is mid-sentence, teaching a class when a knock on the wooden door reverberates throughout the room. He pauses his lecture, scratching his bearded chin, silently questioning who would interrupt him during class time as he walks over to greet whomever is standing outside. All the students, dressed in the Hogwarts’ robes with their respective house badges emblazoned on their left side, turn to peer at what their professor is doing, necks craning in an effort to see.

“Hullo, Professor Dumbledore.” The male’s tenor voice is soft, but it carries through the space. “I know I’m probably, um, interrupting your lecture, aren’t I? Terribly sorry for that…”

Beyond Dumbledore’s tall and muscular form, the teenagers aren’t able to see much of the mysterious man, but some of them catch glimpses of a mop of curly, reddish hair, a peacock blue peacoat, and a raggedy tan suitcase.

“Ah, Newt!” The sharper students swear their teacher’s eyes shine brighter (had they actually had line of sight of his face) at the other man’s presence. They can taste the sweetness and fondness imbued in the utterance of the younger’s name. He waves off the redhead's concerns and continues, “No trouble whatsoever, Newt. I always have time for you, love.”

That's when the whispering starts when they hear the term of endearment:

Professor Dumbledore has a significant other?

What kind of name is ‘Newt?’

… I would've thought he preferred the fairer sex…

“Oh, well, I could always come back in a bit, you know, once you're done.” Newt stammers out, flushing as if he knows the entire fourth year of Gryffindors and Ravenclaws are staring at him, and maybe he can tell.

“No, no, no, come in, take a seat, the class is almost finished anyway.”

“Well, if you- if you don’t mind then.”

A tall, lanky male with a boyishly charming face is ushered through the entrance and onto a Conjured plush armchair in the back. The adolescents rush to return to normal behaviour and positions, trying to not be obvious that they were eavesdropping on their professor’s conversation, but when Dumbledore’s eyes twinkle furiously, they know they’ve been caught red-handed. Some of their ears are glowing like Muggle Christmas lights at the tips.

The class continues as if nothing has happened, but the wizard lecturing seems to be standing straighter and speaking in a more grandiose manner, like he wants to impress someone. To his credit, there are no further interruptions from the younger blue-eyed man sitting behind the rows of students, a pleasant, albeit lazy, smile gracing his features, but the children themselves cannot stop gossiping. Dumbledore doesn't have it in his heart to dissuade their curiosity, especially in front of his beloved, who holds such a trait above most people. There is the faint buzzing of secrets being traded between individuals and most can't help but glance back to the curly-haired man.

The bell chimes, echoing throughout the school, indicating that it is time to change classes. Newt rises from his seat and approaches the front of the room, stopping in front of the teacher's desk. A couple of students linger as long as possible, but they can feel weak compelling magic being cast, forcing them to leave. Before the doors shut completely, a small group see Albus pulling on the lapels of the vibrant blue coat and sliding his lips over the full ones of the other man, who reciprocates wholeheartedly.

“It really has been too long, since you've visited, Newt.” Even beyond the wooden slabs as barriers, light laughter can be heard down the hallways.

3. Gellert

Gellert has just finished occupying their new hideout in Paris, after excusing the Muggle family from their property (alive and well, thankfully, if Newt were around to say anything). He writes a concise and anonymous note with directions to here, sending it out with a nondescript owl to the magizoologist. His closest associates stare inquisitively at his actions, but don't dare ask. He is not known for using such mundane channels of communication.

Only a couple of hours have passed and to Grindelwald's surprise, there is a familiar pattern of knocking at the house's doors. It's a code that is exclusively shared between Newt and himself. The sound is hushed, just barely enough for the Dark Lord to hear, but the house is utterly silent, so it travels to the ears of his subordinates as well. Vinda appears near the front entrance; however, before she is able to check who is there, her Lord has already invited the person in. To her surprise, it's none other than Newt Scamander because she recognizes the man's face as the one that had been plastered all over the newspapers across North America and Europe.

“My Lord?” Her eyes are wide in disbelief. Grindelwald casually dismisses her with a glance, but she is rooted in her spot. He may have just rolled his eyes.

“Vinda, meet Newt, my beau if you must know.” His mismatched eyes narrow at her, challenging her to voice any undue thoughts she was harbouring. The magizoologist can't help but redden at his words; he can't get used to whenever any of his boyfriends publicly claim him as theirs. Without further ado, he leans down, tenderly cupping the other's heavily freckled cheek, and passionately kisses him. Newt doesn't fight, doesn't try to bite off the platinum blonde's wicked tongue, but instead kisses back.

The French woman cannot excuse herself fast enough.

4. Percival

Percival is in the middle of working a particularly tough case, dealing with some vile witch who enjoys torturing rich, obnoxious No-Maj men and then stringing their bodies up in public places. He can feel a migraine coming on as he analyzes the details presented in the papers strewed across his desk. A memo paper scurries across the oak surface in the form of an origami mouse and he plucks it up to read. The handwriting belongs to MACUSA’s President, Seraphina Picquery, who has requested a meeting for updates on the current investigation with whomever is assigned to it. The team consists of Percival himself, the older Goldstein sister, and another Senior Auror, Fontaine. So as he makes his way to Madam Picquery’s office, Graves takes a short detour to the area where the rest of his department is located to grab the other two.

The Director barges through doors, shocking the workers bustling and chatting around the department space. To his own surprise, he sees a very familiar visage attached to a lean body situated on the couch next to Tina’s desk. Percival needs a moment to compose himself and school his face back to neutral; he doesn’t remember Newt mentioning in any of their correspondences that he would be visiting New York any time soon.

“Mr. Scamander, I didn’t know you were in town.” Graves drawls, a dark eyebrow hinging upwards. The magizoologist shoots up from his seat, clearly not expecting the appearance of his dark-haired lover.

“Oh, um, Mr. G-Graves!” Newt exclaims in a higher pitched voice than his regular tone. It’s obvious the other man is nervous for a reason he cannot fathom. He dismisses the thought because he is required at Picquery’s immediately.

“Goldstein, Fontaine, come. We’ve been summoned.”

“Oh, Mr. Graves, sir, Newt was just here to-” Tina begins, but Percival cuts her off with a glare. The brunette flounders a bit before hurrying to gather her notes about the case and follow after him. “Sorry, Newt, do you mind just waiting here for a bit? I’m sure the meeting won’t take too long.”

They only have Picquery’s attention for a few scant minutes because she is an extremely busy woman, but it’s a series of high profile incidents and she needs to make a strong public presence known. Just as the President is excusing them, she begins speaking again, “Oh, and Percival. I forgot to mention that MACUSA has just extended an offer to Newt Scamander for a consulting position here.”

Percival almost whips around to stare at her declaration, instead he turns around slowly because he is known for nothing if not his complete self-control, “I’m sorry, what?”

“Mr. Scamander will be joining you and your team on all cases involving magical beasts in any form. I expect you to make him feel welcomed, am I understood? We require not only his expertise on this subject matter, but it will also alleviate some of the political tension between England and America, following last year’s fiasco with Grindelwald.” Picquery’s tone is stern and leaves no room for arguments, not that Percival really has any complaints about seeing the British man more.

“Understood, Madam Picquery.” He gives her a brief nod and leaves with his subordinates.

When he arrives at Tina and Fontaine’s office space, he marched straight for the curly-haired male, who is awkwardly waiting around, fidgeting with his case. Percival quickly gathers the other in a powerful hug, as everyone in the immediate area resembles a fish out of water with gaping mouths and eyes.

He asks as he pulls back from the embrace, “You little bugger, you. Why didn’t you tell me you were going to be working here?”

Tina watches as those dark brown eyes soften and how the weight seemingly lifts off of his shoulders. She has never seen her boss behave this way, but at the same time, if it were anyone to influence it, it would be Newt.

“Er, well, surprise?” Green eyes glint with amusement and his mouth tilts upward in a half smirk.

To further the occupants of the room’s bewilderment, their previously thought unflappable superior swoops in to press his lips against their charming magizoologist’s.

Suddenly, everything makes sense to the elder Goldstein sister and a small smile creeps up onto her face.

5. In Private

It’s one of the rare times that the five of them can actually convene and they intend to make the most of their time together. A quiet weekend away in the isolated region of Grindelwald’s Nurmengard headquarters is exactly what they all needed after such stressful months of work. Gellert, Percival, Theseus, and Albus all arrive earlier than Newt and the latter can barely get his entire body through the front door, before he is being shoved up against the nearest wall and pampered with affection. His suitcase clatters against the ground as Newt's grip slackens.

Grindelwald, who hasn’t seen the youngest in the longest time of the four, immediately occupies his lips, tongue sweeping against Newt’s bottom lip, seeking permission. He is granted access without an ounce of hesitation, a happy moan emitting from their redheaded lover. Theseus is hovering nearby, raking his hand through those wild curls and presses gentle kisses to wherever he can get to. Albus and Percival stand off to the side, but still in close proximity, patiently waiting their turn. As soon as Grindelwald’s stockier build moves out of the way, the Hogwarts professor is carting him off to their bedroom in strong arms. Newt squeaks and lightly protests, but he knows he can’t win in this situation -- he doesn’t want to either, really.

They take turns stripping him of a piece of clothing at a time, slowly, graciously. It’s far from his first time spent with them, but Newt still shys away from their prying eyes and wandering hands. He is self-conscious of the numerous scars and deformities littering his freckled skin. His boyfriends take it in stride, used to this habit, and stretch his limbs out for more of his creamy skin. There are lips and delicate touches from many, many fingers along the ridges of raised skin, the sensation is ticklish and giggles escape his full lips, uncontrollably.

“Newt, you are so beautiful.” Albus mutters, pushing back from his position where he is kissing the other’s shoulder, and gazes lovingly into those expressive green eyes.

Percival follows up with, “We know you are insecure about your body, but rest assured, it makes you even more appealing to us.”

Newt couldn’t be happier as he pulls each of his lover’s down for a peck.

“I love you all.”

“And us, you, liebling.” Grindelwald fondly coos.

+1 Newt

Newt is not good with publicly showing affection, or even in private, if he is being wholly honest with himself. Even if he loves these four goofballs with all his heart, he has trouble expressing himself freely, but they adore him for his quirkiness and accept it with open arms. They’ve done so much for him and he doesn’t know how to begin to repay their kindness.

The five of them have never explicitly discussed family plans, but he remembers them mentioning adopting children in passing. Newt is curious and seeks something more special than a simple adoption -- he wants their first child to be a meaningful step in their relationship. So he conducts plenty of research and finally, he stumbles upon something in the recesses of Grindelwald’s expansive library.

He waits until Christmas, mere weeks away, when they are exchanging presents and gifts them each with an envelope containing a small piece of parchment. They look on in confusion at it, not able to make sense of anything written on it, but he breaks out in an affectionate grin, wide and unyielding.

“It’s a list of ingredients.” All of their gazes turn towards him and he holds their attention completely, eager to hear what he has to say, “It’s ingredients to a potion that will allow me to bear a child.”

The sight before him is comical, to say the least, and Newt lets his laughter rip out of him at these men who are usually perfectly composed.

“What I’m saying is, I want us to have a child or children of our own. The best part of this potion is that it allows us to combine all of our magical signatures to conceive a child. This way, he or she will truly be all of ours-” Before he can finish explaining, he finds himself at the bottom of a dog pile of heavy men. Gellert and Percival are staring at his belly longingly, imagining it swollen with a baby. Theseus can’t stop praising his genius and showering love over his face. Albus has a devious look on his face that says he wants to start trying conceiving as soon as possible and Newt is all too willing.