#his backstory is that he got into an accident and got hearing damage

[hollowsart]

Thaal Sinestro of Korugar

-cracks knuckles-

Here's ALL of his lore that I cooked up:

(warning for: the sheer ungodly length of this, mentions of death, and a low-key humorous mention of alien physiology at the end cuz I couldn't help myself--)

(Some of this might still be a slight work in progress and/or may be subject to change later on. I'm not sure yet.)

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Backstory:

It wasn’t supposed to end that way. He wanted her to be safe and far away from the threat of action. Unfortunately.. he had made a mistake and it cost him greatly. Both heart and mind.

The loss of his wife.. the loss of his best friend, Abin Sur’s sister.. it caused quite the disruption in their friendship.

Some time well after that horrible event, Sinestro and Abin got into an altercation. An argument while out on duty. Abin had heard of Sinestro’s plans, but he didn’t agree with them. Both men were already still rocky and broken from the loss of Arin. So, when Sinestro was plotting some way of utilizing his GL powers to enforce order and protection.. no matter how unreasonable. Abin Sur lashed out. Calling him crazy, delusional, that nothing will ever bring her back.

Sinestro.. well.. he wasn’t thinking and without any ill intention.. he attacked Abin Sur. He only wanted to try and reason with him. He didn’t mean to do it.. but a stray blast from his ring managed to wreck the ship they were traveling in.. and the blast severely damaged Abin Sur.

..Sinestro fled the ship in horror, not seeing the fate of his friend as the ship hurtled down to a particular blue planet. The thought of having presumably killed his own partner and friend on top of having already dealt with the loss of his wife.. well.

That absolutely destroyed him. Shattered him so deeply.. he’s grown distant. Disconnected and apathetic. Bottling up, locking away, and throwing the key away with his emotions..

This was the beginning of the end of his GL career.. and the lead up to him being picked up by the Yellow Corps. The immense fear and angst building up inside him being strong enough he found a new life with the Yellow Lanterns. However, he couldn’t take the life and went rogue. Taking the ring with him and starting his own little sect.

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imagine. some late series episode that ends with a little close up of some guy who looks a bit like Vincent Price for some reason lowering his newspaper and staring in Guy & Feste's direction as they head back home for the day after having a chat at some outdoor cafe.

you don't know who this weird guy is until it's later revealed that it was Sinestro. He ALSO used his ring to go incognito and appear human so as not to attract any attention while he "stalks" Guy & Feste for some reason idk I didn't think this far.

---

it kinda adds weight to the act of killing him. but like.. it probably killed Sinestro, too.. to do it. maybe it was an accident..? unintentional… during a fight.. and Sinestro was hiding it. and although Guy reminds him of Abin Sur… he hates Guy because he reminds him of Abin Sur and what he did to him. like a weird sort of "reincarnation" thing?? if that makes sense??

Guy being so angry at Sinestro for what he did feels almost cathartic for Sinestro cuz he knows he deserves it.

---

Sinestro sees occasional visions of his wife and friend begging and pleading for his help that will never come. This fuels his fear to power his ring. he needs fear to wield it. and that is a big fear. the repetitive action of losing his wife and friend and not being able to do anything about it.

---

Miscellaneous:

Soranik Natu was given the Natu surname as she was raised by another family. whether on Ungara or Korugar is undecided, but she does keep it.

Sinestro was unable to continue raising her as he was in no condition to do so, and Arin was.. well. out of the picture.

Sinestro sees Soranik and hears her name and he knows that's his daughter and he feels sick. She looks like her mother, he can see it. There's the underlying fear of what she may think of him and how much she may take after him. He is very aware of the terrible things he has done but he is blinded, in a sense, thinking what he is doing is for the greater good. to protect people..

To protect Soranik.

From a fate that fell upon Arin Sur and many others.

---

Soranik is like a combination of the two. her horns are smaller and so are her ears. she has tiny "tusks" (fangs?) compared to her mom.

but she also has elements similar to her dad.

also I can't help but think about Sinestro saying he wishes for his daughter to not become like him, but to instead become more like her mother. honor her memory. it's a terrible loss for the universe for someone like Arin Sur to no longer be in it..

---

I 100% want there to be a moment in an episode where Sinestro's backstory is revealed. like… his life he had up to when Guy first met him. We get to see just how tragic his backstory is.

There's been some subtle little hints here and there before, like someone from on Oa hearing Guy make a remark about Sinestro's weird earring and they tell him what they know.. how it's actually something very meaningful, a combination of two races and their culture. how it is a show of respect and mourning..

the mourning rituals of both Ungarans and Korugarians came together when Sinestro lost Arin. The piercings worn by those who lost a partner from Korugar.. and the wearing of a specific flora from Ungara..

Sinestro's mournful earring has a unique flora depicted hanging from it. A custom metal made to resemble that flora from Ungara.. to honor the memory of Arin Sur. He wears it always except when bathing or resting, but he keeps it with him ever so close at all times.

Should he lose that earring at all… well…

we might just see Sinestro become a Red Lantern.

---

I do kinda like the idea that Ungara and Korugar are relatively close planets with their own races inhabiting them. and because of this, the two races are uniquely compatible, genetically speaking, which leads to how Soranik Natu was born at all when Thaal Sinestro got with Abin Sur's sister, Arin Sur. Sinestro & Arin were the first ones to discover this.

Also, Ungarans are taller than Korugarians. Soranik stands a little taller than Sinestro.

Sinestro is 5'5" (average)

Soranik is 5'9"

Arin & Abin Sur: 6'6" 6'8" (average)

---

(Warning for alien physiology talk & humor)

what if Sinestro has never seen a human before and the first time he sees Guy shirtless in the Oa locker room he notices Guy only has 2 n1ps and Sinestro is like:

"Only 2? However will you feed all your young? Surely they should starve with such a lack of bodily provisions."

And Guy stands there extremely confused. Asks him what in the ever-loving heck he's talking about. Sinestro responds by merely removing his own clothes and presents his 8 n1ps.

Guy is understandably disturbed by the implications now registering in his mind.

If Guy ever mentions pregnancy, Sinestro responds "The women carry the young and the men provide for the young. ..What does your kind do? Don't tell me the women do all the work and that you're utterly useless? You humans are quite the odd creature."

Guy is very much offended.

[apollolewis]

I tried to make a oln&f character that can’t talk due to a phsychical injury. He ended up being able to talk but preferring not to because it’s painful. I’m not gonna be upset I couldn’t do this. I’m playing a beta build and even if we can’t make a fully non verbal or mute character we can still head canon our way through things. My boy Miłoz will still not talk 90% of the time.

[euthymiya]

it always ends with i love you ft. wriothesley — in which you, a small floral shop owner, meet the duke of meropide by a chance encounter—and then you meet a bunch more too…but not so much by chance anymore

contains: 20.3k work count (please give it a chance i put my soul into it) ; female reader ; mature content—not suitable for minors ; strangers to friends to lovers ; flower shop au + florist reader ; reader has a small backstory regarding her dead father ; use of canon flowers and and lore, meaning i did my best so please be gentle on me with my botany facts ; heavy spoilers for wriothesley’s story quest and backstory, explores themes such as murder and hints at child exploitation and trafficking—all pertaining to his adopted home life ; slight oc’s because i gave a few of his adopted siblings names ; a fun neuvillette and clorinde appearance! ; a not so fun childe appearance + jealousy ; a short argument ; love confessions and getting together ; wriothesley is scared of love (anyone who had to kill their parents should be tbh) ; reader sits on his lap/lays on him ; there’s sex in every scene lol i got carried away—includes vaginal fingering ; cunnilingus ; nipple play ; hand + blow jobs ; unprotected vaginal sex ; creampie

the first time you meet wriothesley is by accident.

he doesn’t exactly come up to the surface regularly—he sees the sun frequently enough to remember what sunlight feels like if he tries to recall, but not enough that most people of fontaine would know he’s the duke of meropide just by looking at him.

he likes it that way. the duke is no small title, and he’d prefer the trip through the streets of the court without being stopped for idle chit-chat.

he doesn’t intend on stopping on his way to the palais, but you’re a bit of a unique circumstance.

he hears the smashing sound of something breaking before the scream, quickly glancing over his shoulder at the noise. nothing could have prepared him for a flower shop to be the source of such chaos—what could be chaotic about selling petals on a stem?

except you’re clumsily chasing after a man as he stumbles past your door, knocking over the potted plants on display in the process as you follow him.

the look of distress on your face as the pot falls and shatters compels him to investigate the scene. (of course, there’s a note of distress on your face before the pot falls, but the way it deepens when it does is almost criminal. your face is too lovely to have such creases in your forehead, even if he won’t admit as much out loud).

“stop! please,” you call, “you haven’t paid for those!”

thievery. wriothesley knows a thing or two about pocketing things that don’t belong to him.

first, it’s because he spends a portion of his life on the streets, surviving more than living. those moments reduce him down to a simple pocket thief at times. (he had standards for his crimes: never too much and only enough to survive for a bit. always from someone who dresses expensively and looks like they’re comfortable enough not to feel the damage to their wallets. and, of course, never from women).

second, it’s because people, on the streets or in the fortress, love to steal from those who are weak and vulnerable. people who are sleeping are of that classification of individuals, so wriothesley learns how to keep his things hidden and how to be a light sleeper. he’s never had too many things that are precious to him, of course, but he owns little enough that he’d notice his losses harshly should they come.

he hates thievery. partly because it reminds him of his past and the darkness that taints it, but mostly because it always involves someone innocent who doesn’t deserve to lose. not even a little.

his feet carry him over to the scene before he can stop himself—not that he would stop himself even if he did have control over his body, but it’s just that this particular circumstance seems to have him in some sort of trance. one that won’t allow him to look away from your face.

“please,” you follow the man past your shop’s door, “those are the last of my glaze lilies—i promised them in an order!”

the man running doesn’t seem to care about your pleas, snickering as he turns to give you an amused look, as if your distress is entertaining. he doesn’t make it far, though, before he bumps into a muscled chest.

“what the—”

wriothesley cuts him off, raising a brow. “i do believe the lovely lady here has asked for her flowers back. or did you miss that part?”

“and just who do you think you are, mister?” the man barks, glaring wriothesley up and down. (it’s a bit funny, considering he’s much shorter, so it takes a tad bit of effort on his part to give wriothesley the menacing once over it’s meant to be). “i don’t remember asking you what she asked.”

“oh me?” wriothesley cracks his knuckles casually, shrugging as he says, “duke of meropide at your service. i must say, i’m not very popular around here—not a lot of people know me, it seems.”

your jaw drops. the man’s face pales—which is a nice confirmation, at least, that he does have some sort of a brain.

“w-what? and just why would i believe that? you expect me to think the fortress’s duke is just prancing around the streets as if he hasn’t got duties? as if!”

wriothesley’s lips quirk up at the edges as he hums, fishing through the pocket of his shirt before he pulls out an envelope, sealed with the stamp of the iudex himself. there’s writing on it in clear letters, bold and italicized, as if just to mock the man.

to: duke wriothesley

from: iudex neuvillette

“that clear things up for you?” wriothesley asks, traces of a cheeky glint in his eyes as he raises a brow.

instantly, the man is clasping his hands, head bowing as a string of incoherent apologies flows past his shaky lips. “i-i’m sorry! i’ve never done anything like this before, you can check! my records are clean! i-it was a moment of weakness, but it won’t happen again, sir. p-please don’t take me to monsieur neuvillette. or court. or—”

“your first thieving gig, and you picked flowers?” wriothesley snorts, “i almost don’t want to bring you to court just save myself from the embarrassment.”

the man flushes, bashfully shrinking as he mumbles, “w-well i just…i just wanted to get flowers for my girlfriend for our anniversary and these…th-they’re her favorite you know? b-but they’re hard to come by since liyue is so far and…and the lady wouldn’t sell them to me so…you know…i uh…” the man trails off, wilting as wriothesley’s stares down, unimpressed. “i promised her i’d get them,” he adds, as if it’ll help.

“what a tragic sob story you got there,” wriothesley deadpans. “your girlfriend must love your honesty.”

“if i may interrupt,” you call from behind, making both men glance over to where you stand some distance away.

wriothesley forgot you were there, truthfully. but now that he’s taking in your appearance up closer, he can’t help but appreciate it. your features complement each other well—like an assortment of carefully arranged flowers, hand-picked one by one by celestia themselves.

“hello miss,” he nods, raising a hand to half-wave at you, “don’t worry, i’ll get this man out of your hair in a moment with your flowers too. just give me a sec—”

“no,” you say softly, “no it’s okay. he can keep some of them…i’m sure i can make do with a shorter hand than usual.”

he blinks. you couldn’t have possibly offered to let your thief keep his earnings at your expense, could you? he can’t decide if you're just that naive, just that foolish, or truly just that kind.

maybe all three, if he’s being honest.

“uh…are you sure?” he tilts his head in disbelief, “you want to let him keep the flowers?”

“partially,” you confirm, “it’s alright. everyone deserves flowers on their anniversary. especially their favorite.”

wriothesley decides you’re just that kind—and in some ways, it’s worse than being a bit on the naive side. at least you can sharpen yourself to become untrusting and skeptical if naivety gets you in trouble. kindness is as easy to take advantage of as it is to take for granted, and it’s not just something people like you can turn off like a switch.

“oh, thank you!” the man exclaims as soon as the words come out of your mouth, not wasting a second to grin at you as he says, “you’re really so kind! if you’d just tell the duke here that it was all a misunderstanding and that you’d like to drop all charges, then i’ll be on my way with partial the flowers—”

“make no mistake,” your hands find your hips as your face hardens with a certain strictness even he’s a bit startled by, “if you should come here and cause trouble again, i have the duke’s word to press double the charges next time. i would tread carefully if i were you—don’t ever let me catch you stealing from me again.”

wriothesley stares at you and gapes. he’s sorely mistaken about you—kindness is not the absence of your spitefulness, and the man shrinks back as you stare down at him expectantly.

“o-of course,” he says quickly, “it won’t happen again.”

“good,” you nod, “that’ll be five hundred mora, please.”

“b-but—”

“is there a problem?” you raise a menacing brow, making the man scramble to shake his head. 

“wow,” wriothesley snorts as the man scampers off after fishing enough mora from his pockets, “i suppose i underestimated your ability to handle the situation, miss.”

“i think i owe a good portion of my success to you, your grace,” you bow your head slightly, unable to meet his eyes as you nervously chuckle, “i don’t usually have robberies. the people in this area are familiar with me. they’re quite kind—i’ve never had someone as stubborn as him.”

“well, rest assured, if he bothers you again, you can come to find me for my word at court.”

“i’ll hold onto the offer,” you grin.

that chance meeting becomes history after a while. he comes and pays you a visit every time he’s at the surface, which isn’t all too often, but often enough that you start to look forward to at least one routine visit per month. sometimes, he teases you about whether or not you’ve had new thieves pay you a visit. other times, you make use of his strong hands and built muscles and cheekily order him around to move heavy bags of fertilizer around. 

he likes tea, you learn—he takes a very piqued interest in the jars of dried petals you keep on shelves, ones you tell him are good for making blends for tea, or to boil with water for natural remedies, or to make syrups for beverages like lemonade. it’s a slow, steady, blossoming friendship until, all at once, you feel incomplete without the routine visit from the fortress’s warden. you’re too reliant on the familiarity of explaining flowers, their origins, what stories they share, and what they mean—and likewise, you feel incomplete without his stories from the fortress, what the inmates are up to, and what changes he’s developing to make things better for the people under his wing. 

you like to think he feels the same way; otherwise, he wouldn’t come around as much as he does. 

sometimes he walks you home, and sometimes you invite him for tea. you drink coffee, but you don’t mind the trouble of brewing two beverages if it means some extra time with him in your cozy little home.

like today, where he sits comfortably at your dining table while you cut fresh bulle fruit as tea steeps in the hot water. he watches you with fond eyes, listening as you ramble intently about your recent endeavors at your flower shop.

“—and i think i’ve finally managed to grow a cactus from sumeru long enough to bloom my own henna berries,” you grin, looking at him brightly, pride settling into the crinkles of your eyes, “it did take some trial and error—fontaine rains far too often for cacti to survive, but this one i managed to grow indoors.”

“couldn’t you just get the berries delivered from sumeru? since you have plenty delivered from there already,” he asks in amusement. you huff, rolling your eyes as you walk over, setting the platter of fruit down before him. 

“of course, you’d want to take such a simple route—but plants are far more rewarding when you grow them yourself, you know. plus, every fruit i’ve managed to grow on my own here in fontaine has had a bit of a unique flavor as opposed to ones grown from their original nation. i’d like to see if that’s the case with these berries, too.”

“well, if that’s the case,” he hums, taking a slow sip from the tea you’ve brewed for him—it’s perfectly made to his liking, with two sugar cubes and piping hot just as you’ve learned he prefers. he closes his eyes and lets out a content sigh as the warmth trickles down his throat. “let me try one when they’re ready.”

“of course,” you brighten excitedly, as though the prospect of someone to share such a moment with is one you look forward to. there’s something that tickles in his chest, right beneath his ribcage, at the sight of your wide grin.

you chatter until the sun sets, warm, honeyed rays of orange and pink pouring through your windows and painting his skin vibrant hues. it’s about time for him to leave—you can tell even before he clears his throat and stands, grabbing the plate and mug and heading to the sink.

“i should go,” he says kindly, washing the dishes with so much familiarity that it almost feels domestic and natural to have him here. you shake the thought out of your head as quickly as it enters your head. “thank you for having me this evening.”

“oh, i think we’re past the formalities,” you huff a small laugh, “you’re doing my dishes.”

“technically they’re my dishes,” he chuckles, “since i did dirty them.”

you hum, walking over to where he stands as he turns the faucet off—until a small twist of your ankle has you gasping as you stumble forward. you brace yourself for the impact of the hardwood floor, but instead, you’re met with a firm yet soft chest as strong arms wrap around your waist and catch you before you can fall.

“oh,” you breathe as you open your eyes, staring into him with just as widened pupils as him. 

“are you okay?” he asks quietly, voice just barely audible as he whispers to you—he’s so close, so painfully close, you think the only reason you heard him was because of the proximity. 

“yeah,” you nod. it’s hardly a nod, really—if you were to move your head too much, you’d risk brushing your nose against his. or maybe even your lips. “i’m fine. thank you.”

“yeah, no problem,” his eyes are still trained on yours, and neither of you can find it in yourselves to pull away. you can’t, and he definitely doesn’t, and nothing seems to give as you stare at each other. you’re pressed against his chest, and his arms are wrapped around you, and there’s a strange beating in both of your chests that you think you can just barely make out.

they almost seem to beat in sync, rapid and untamed. so, so fast, you wonder if it’s even healthy.

you don’t know who does it first—or maybe it was the both of you. all you know is that one second, you’re staring at each other, and the next, your heads are tilted so that your lips meet tentatively. he hesitates at the first brush of your lips, but your hands cup his cheeks and pull him forward, making his eyes flutter shut as he shakily breathes into your mouth. it’s so slow, so dizzyingly slow, that you wonder if time has just stopped altogether to grant you a moment with no interruptions. 

he fits perfectly against you, the soft flesh of his cheeks spilling over your palms, your thumb rubbing affectionately into the skin as he nips at your lips, kissing you like he’s waited his whole life to feel you. the curves of his mouth connect with the curves of yours like pieces of a puzzle, like he was carved to match you from the same stone. 

you’re not sure how long you kiss like that, but slowly, it grows needier, more quick and hasty as your hands leave his cheeks to wander to his hair and gently tug at the strands as his hands wander to your waist and lower back, feeling every curve of you as he groans into your mouth. 

he tries to pull away, but you chase after him, unwilling to let go.

“w-wait,” he mumbles, “maybe we should stop—”

“you really want to?” you ask breathlessly, and all it takes is one glance down at your glossy, swollen lips for him to close his eyes and shiver.

“no,” he admits hoarsely, “i don’t. are…are you sure about this?”

“yes,” you whisper instantly.

he doesn’t waste a moment, quickly pulling you into your bedroom as you both collapse on the mattress. you climb onto his lap, crotch pressing against the semi-hardened erection in his pants, the press of your heat against his bulge earning a low, drawn-out groan from him that shoots straight to your clit with a dull ache. 

“sweetheart,” he says in between kisses, making you inhale sharply at the pet name, “you’re killing me here.”

“okay,” you smile against his mouth, pecking it sweetly before you add, “then let me do something about that.”

he doesn’t expect you to drop down between his legs, face to face with the obvious tent in his pants—wriothesley is a gentleman, a giver before he is a taker. his first instinct is to protest as he opens his mouth and starts to say, “hang on—you don’t have to—”

“i want to,” you pout, looking up at him, “please? i want to.”

when was the last time someone looked up at him like that, staring up at him like pleasing him is the only way they’ll survive? he doesn’t recall, doesn’t think it’s ever happened, in fact. he groans, head falling back against your bed frame as he nods slowly. 

“okay,” he concedes, lifting his hips up so you can pull his pants down his legs, leaving him in his boxers. there’s a wet patch where his tip meets the cloth, the evidence of pre cum drooling from his swollen head that makes you hum in satisfaction as you leave a tender kiss on the spot through the fabric. he gasps, hips jolting as his thighs clench at the teasing touch.

“can i?” you purr, hand rubbing soothingly over his tense thigh as he swallows and nods, looking anywhere but at you as he breathes harshly. 

“y-yes,” he grunts, “please.”

you’re freeing his cock as soon as he utters the plead, letting him spring free and meet the cool air. he hisses, gritting his teeth as his chest rises and falls erratically, labored breaths that he tries to use to calm himself as he stands painfully hard between his legs. 

“pretty,” you murmur, entranced at the sheer size of him—he’s flushed an almost painful red at his thick tip, leaking enough pre cum that you’d think he might have already had his release with the way it runs down the side of his hardened length. 

your hand wraps gently around the tip, thumb smearing the pre cum along the tip before coating the rest of his cock, using it as lubrication for the steady stroke of your hand along the girth. he throws his head back, groaning as his hips buck into your touch before he stops himself, frantically trying to keep himself still and let you take your time. 

“f-fuck,” he rasps, “that…that feels nice.”

“yeah?” you breathe, smiling as you press a kiss to his thigh as he chokes on a grunt while your hand slowly pumps him. “am i doing it right?”

“you’re doing just fine,” he assures, biting his lip as he finally can’t keep himself from bucking impatiently into your fist any longer, “feel free to do more, though.”

you giggle, pressing a soft kiss to his lip before gliding your tongue through his slit and watching as he melts against your bed frame at the gesture, body loosening up like he’s limbless as you slowly take him into your mouth, swallowing around his cock and bobbing your head, pumping the rest with your hand that you can’t fit down your throat. 

“shit,” he curses, hand cupping the back of your head as he guides you up and down his length, moaning your name when you swirl your tongue around the tip, “you…you’re so good at this, yeah? take me so well in that pretty mouth of yours.”

you hum around him, making him cry out at the vibrations around his cock, one hand running through his hair as he tries to keep himself grounded, the other still cradling the back of your head. he’s a gentleman, though, living up to one just as much as he always lets on to be when he doesn’t force you to take more of him by pushing your head down or burying himself deeper into your throat by fucking his hips into your mouth. he lets you do things at your own pace, and you think it’s enough when you feel the telling signs of his release as his panting grows harsher and his cock twitches in your mouth.

“w-wait, wait,” he says frantically, “i’ll cum—i’ll cum. not yet, not until i have you.”

you reluctantly pull away, a trail of spit connecting from your lips to his tip that makes him close his eyes and groan, clenching his jaw as his near-orgasm dies down to nothing again. his cock is achingly hard, hot and swollen and throbbing after denying himself for the sake of feeling you.

“c’mere,” he motions for you to climb onto his lap. you do, sitting on his thigh as he slowly trails a thumb under your shirt, rubbing the skin with a feather-light, heated touch that has you shivering against him. “you sure you want this?”

“i want it,” you whisper, leaning to press a kiss to his lips that he reciprocates with a low hum of approval, “with you.”

“such a sweet way with words,” he murmurs, slowly pulling your blouse over your head and unclasping your bra, tossing them to the side as he marvels at the view of your tits. “such a sweet view, too. beautiful.” 

you flush at the praise, looking away. but his hands grab at your breasts, large as they cup them and massage lightly, thumbs running over the pert nipples as you shudder and breathe out a light gasp. 

“wriothesley, need more—”

“give me a moment,” he shushes you, “and then i’ll give you what you want.”

he admires you like that for a bit, sat on his thigh as your eyes flutter shut and his thumbs tease your nipples, wetness pooling in your core that he can feel on his thigh—you’d be embarrassed, you really would, but it’s not as though his cock is any less leaky at the head. 

finally, he inhales sharply, sitting up slightly to unbutton his shirt, revealing the scars down his chest before he helps you out of your pants. you stare at the harsh, jagged lines that pain his skin, raised, discolored skin, the only evidence of some brutal, vicious past that he survived. 

your thumb traces down the lines, making him shiver at the fragileness behind the touch.

“where’d you get this?” you murmur, staring at him curiously. 

“hmm? oh the scar on my body? it's from a gash i got while battling a gigantic undersea monster that tried to take over the fortress of meropide…” he stares at you cheekily as you blink, looking at him unimpressed. “hah, just kidding.”

“do you ever take anything seriously?” you shake your head and huff, but there’s endearment on your face as you fight back a smile.

“on the contrary, milady,” he murmurs, grabbing your hips and pulling you back slightly, exposing your drenched cunt before he slowly sinks two fingers into your folds and curls them against the back of your walls, “i take this quite seriously.”

you gasp at the feeling, his digits rubbing against your walls and angling to hit a sensitive, achingly sweet spot at the back of your cunt. it’s precise, the way he pumps his fingers into you, slowly sinking in a third digit while you mewl and throw your head back. the heel of his palm catches against your clit, the sweet friction building your orgasm up slowly, slowly, until suddenly, you’re near the edge all at once. 

“c’mon, don’t hold back now,” he drawls, voice low and sweet and so attractive, you feel like the sound of him alone is enough to send you tumbling over the edge, “why don’t you be a sweet little thing and let go for me, hm?”

you do—instantly, you do, crying out his name is choked garbles as he works you through your orgasm with his fingers, still thrusting into you with a precise pace. finally, when you’re done clenching around him, he pulls his digits out, the slickness of your pussy coating them as he hums in satisfaction. 

“think you’re ready?” he asks softly, cradling the back of your head with his good hand as he pulls you closer, “or do you need one more from me?”

“i’m ready,” you huff impatiently, “i need you, need to feel you already.”

“okay, okay,” he laughs, amused but not anymore patient himself as his cock pulses between his legs, “i’m not trying to wait any longer, either. do you have a…uh…y-you know…”

you snort at the way he trails off awkwardly, flushing at the thought of asking for a condom as if he’s not completely nude under you. “no,” you giggle, pinching his cheek as he huffs, “but we don’t need one. it’s fine.”

“okay,” he nods slowly. his hands grab at your hips, firm yet so gentle with the way they lift you up and guide you to angle over his swollen cock, slowly helping you sink down on him as he chokes on a grunt when his head pushes past your folds. 

you gasp as soon as he intrudes into your tight hole, splitting you open on his thick girth as you take him inch by inch until you’re sat on his lap completely, buried completely with his length as his jaw clenches at the tight squeeze of you around him. 

“wri—wriothesley,” you sob brokenly, unable to say anything else besides cracked repeats of his name. he’s so big, buried so deep, and leaving you so full, you’re not sure if you have it in you to fuck onto him from this position. 

he takes things into his own hands, though—roughly grabbing your hips and pulling you back before helping you sink back down on him again, rolling his own hips upward to bury deeper into you. your head spins, and all you can think to do is weakly plant your hands onto his shoulders before you roll your hips, grinding down on his length and sloppily fucking yourself onto him.

he bullies past your folds, curves deliciously into the most intimate parts of you, fat tip slamming against the soft, sensitive spot that makes you see white. pleasure burns up your spine, building a coil in your belly that grows tighter, tighter, tighter—so close yet so far from snapping and letting you plummet into your second release. 

“that’s it,” he grunts, “fuck—you’re so tight, so good. i’ve…i’ve never felt anything so good. it’s like you were made for me, weren’t you? take me so well, fit around me so well.”

his hand moves to your clit, thumb pressing against the sensitive bundle of nerves and rubbing merciless circles against it as you mewl, head burying into his neck as your nails claw at his shoulder. everything is so good—so hot and filthy and leaves you impatiently desperate for some form of release. the friction of his cock dragging along every ridge leaves your mind hazed, and the harsh press of his tip against your sweet spot leaves your vision blurry. 

you’re not sure how you even have the strength to rock yourself onto his stiff length, but somehow you manage, and he seems keen on helping you, too, with rough, bruising hands that grip your waist with a punishingly tight grasp.

“c-can’t hold on much longer,” you cry, voice a strangled sob that’s muffled into his skin, “i’m s-so close. please.”

“me too,” he pants, voice just as strained as yours as he moans through a cracked voice when you clench down on his particularly tightly, “me too, sweetheart. i’m right there with you, alright? let go—c-c’mon.”

once more, you cum around him—this time on his cock instead of his fingers, and if the first time felt good, the second time is devastating. your vision practically goes white as your walls spasm around him, slick and dripping with your release and mixing with his own as he follows you not long after. his cock jolts, pumping hot, sticky ropes of his seed deep into you, and both of your bodies are slumped against one another as you barely roll your hips, sloppy pace with no rhythm as you focus on getting yourselves through the ecstasies of your orgasms. 

his thumb is still pressing against your clit, and your hands have left his shoulders to bury into his sweaty hair, tugging fiercely at the dark strands and making him groan at the mix of pain and pleasure. 

finally, you both ride out the final few waves, him slumping against your bed as you fall against his sturdy chest, face still buried into his neck. sweat clings to your skin, but you don’t mind the feeling of his damp skin against yours, not when the warmth of your body makes the afterglow feel so sweet. your fingers thread through his hair, soothing over his scalp with the rake of your nails where you’d just tugged so harshly, and his palms glide up and down your hips, rubbing gentleness back into the parts where he dug bruises along the skin. 

“wait, is that watering can supposed to be a dog?” he asks out of the blue, making you lift your head and look over your shoulder.

“yes,” you quirk a brow, watching as he lets out a small snort as he looks at the watering can by your plants in wonder.

“it’s pretty ugly.”

“rude!” you gasp, pulling away slightly as he shakes under you in laughter, “i think it’s adorable!”

“do you now?” he bites his lips, attempting to suppress the smile that threatens to take over, “you have…interesting taste.”

“oh, you’re dead to me,” you spit dramatically, collapsing back against his chest as you bury your head into his neck again. “dead to me, i say.”

“my apologies,” he snickers. his hand rubs slowly into your hip, quietly humming for a moment before he asks, “what made you so passionate about plants?”

“i can’t just really like them?” you challenge.

“sure,” he shrugs, eyeing the watering can again as he smiles, “but you don’t give the impression that you just happen to just really like leaves, and that’s it.”

“there’s more to plants than leaves,” you scoff, rolling your eyes. and then, much gentler this time, “my father was a scholar from sumeru. an herbologist.” your voice is a quiet murmur, a low hum as you speak into his neck while his hands are still rubbing into your hips, “i used to be fascinated by his journals and all the plants he’d seen. he died when i was young, so sometimes…sometimes i try to grow them here in fontaine myself. just to feel close to him.”

“do you?” he asks quietly, staring at the various plants that decorate your small home. it’s cozy, he thinks, so lively and warm that it almost doesn’t feel like you’re the only inhabitant. “do you feel close to him when you do?”

“if it works,” you admit, “it’s not always easy to recreate the same conditions they’re meant to grow in.”

“i think you do an impressive job,” he praises, earning a slow smile from you that he can feel curve into his skin, “i’ve yet to come across a flower shop in fontaine with as much variety as yours.”

“you flatter me, your grace,” you chuckle, pulling away as you stare at him, the tousled hair from where his hand ran through, the swollen bottom lip where his teeth sank in, the flushed skin where heat settled. you take all of it in slowly, admiring him as he looks up at you through lidded eyes.

“do i? i meant it seriously, not in flattery,” he raises a brow and smirks, “if i wanted to try flattery on you, i think i’d have some other choice words.”

“don’t be so insatiable,” you gently swat at his chest, earning a chuckle from him. “will you be able to stop by tomorrow?”

“i’m afraid not,” he sighs, “i have a meeting with some people from the palais tomorrow at the fortress. it’ll run a bit late.”

“oh,” you try to hide the disappointment in your voice, but he seems to sense it instantly. “that’s okay. i just had a blend i thought you might like to try—for tea, that is. it’s um…i dried the petals myself, and it’s new. i thought i’d let you be the first to try it to let me know what you think.”

you try not to giggle at the way he perks up at the mention of tea.

“ah, i’m afraid i won’t have time tomorrow. but…” he coughs, trailing off as he looks away, contemplating his words.

“but…?” you press.

“but…well, i have a few guards returning tomorrow from the surface from a few tasks i gave them. i could have them stop by the shop to escort you down to the fortress if that works for you…it’s okay if you can’t, though! i can always come by sometime this week when my duties aren’t as—”

“that sounds nice,” you cut him off, grinning widely, something close to excitement blooming across your features, brighter than any set of petals in your shop, he thinks. “you can give me an official tour of the fortress, perhaps. i’ve only ever heard about it through stories.”

“as you wish, my lady,” he winks.

he leaves not too long after—you try not to focus on his lingering scent in your sheets once you settle back in after bidding him goodbye. it’s oddly peaceful, being surrounded by him even when he’s not there, and sleep lulls over you quicker than usual. 

the scent is faded by the time you wake up, so you take one last deep breath to inhale it before you set off to get ready for the day, counting down the hours before you get to see him again.

——————————

as promised, a group of fortress guards stop by your shop, politely waiting for you to close up before you join them on their return. 

the fortress is darker than you expected—but not at all as small as your mind anticipated. in fact, it’s huge. you follow the guards, making idle chatter as they take you up an elevator, up, and up, and up—until finally, you finally arrive on the floor of his office. 

you’re so busy taking in all you can of the fortress that by the time they escort you to his office door, you remember why you’re here in the first place. to bring wriothesley dried petals of sweet flowers that you grew yourself—flowers often make for a wonderful tea blend, and learning his passionate liking for the drink makes you feel compelled to share with him every one of the various floral teas you’ve learned about in your time as a florist. 

you knock on the door of his office—except, oddly enough, there’s more than one voice you can make out from the room. you didn’t think his meeting would still be in session by the time you arrived, making you anxiously regret the knock as soon as your knuckles leave the surface of the door.  

but he answers before you can think too much of it. “come in,” his voice calls. 

“your grace,” you hum, stepping in, “if this is a bad time, then i can…”

you trail off. both fontaine’s chief justice and champion duelist stand in his office, gathered around his desk as he sits and sifts through files. of course, wriothesley is a duke, which is no small title by any means, but you’re caught more than a little off guard as you step in and share the room with two of fontaine’s more important figures in the justice system.

“no,” he says casually, “come in, you’re right on time. i was just telling miss clorinde about the delicious tea blend you would bring for her to try. she couldn’t wait a moment longer.”

“if you want to try it so badly, just say so,” she rolls her eyes.

“fine,” he huffs, lips curling into a slight pout, “i’d like to try the tea you promised me. clorinde will pass, though.”

“i think i’ll try it, as well,” she chimes in, suppressing a smile as wriothesley crosses his arms.

“but you just said—”

you giggle, walking over as you hand him the bag with dried petals, grinning at the amusing dynamic, and murmur, “i believe it would be the polite thing to do if you made an extra cup for the madam while making yours.”

“picking her side, are we? such an act of betrayal won’t be forgotten,” he huffs. still, almost as excited as a child opening a present, he opens the bag to add the petals to the tea maker he keeps at his desk. you watch with fondness at the action. “you still owe me a present, by the way. and tea won’t do—i’ve just received a batch.”

“then i suppose i can gift you a new tie,” clorinde hums, eyeing the loosened tie around his neck and making him furrow his brows as he subconsciously straightens it, “something that fits your neck better so you look a bit more put together.”

it’s almost like she sees through the both of you, eyeing between you and him with a hint of a knowing glint in her eyes. wriothesley scowls, giving her a petulant glare.

“there’s nothing wrong with my tie. i look just fine.”

“i do believe it’s a stylistic choice,” neuvillette pipes up from the side, “it doesn’t seem to be an issue with the tie itself.”

you snort at the way the joke flies over his head. “you’re right, monsieur,” you join in the banter, “i do believe his grace has a rather…unique choice of style.”

“i wonder if he ever plans to properly wear the coat he always seems to keep hanging over his shoulders,” clorinde adds, the earlier grin she attempted to fight back now fully curled into her lips. you laugh, much to wriothesley’s dismay.

“perhaps he just values being prepared,” you hum, “one can never tell when the fortress will suddenly be too cold. someone as busy as the duke surely can’t afford the wasted time to go and fetch a coat.”

“ah,” she nods, “i suppose you’re right. he is too busy learning legal codes as of late.”

“i take it that my gift has been useful, then?” neuvillette brightens, turning to a miserable wriothesley as he rubs his temples wearily.

“most helpful,” he sighs, not bothering to explain to the iudex that he’s once more missed the point of the joke. 

“oh, we’re only joking,” you laugh, taking the tea cup sitting at his desk and pouring him a glass of the now freshly brewed tea, “it’s all in good fun, your grace.”

“wriothesley is just fine,” he mumbles, “as you can see, this isn’t a very…formal meeting.” 

he watches as you carefully make his cup, one sugar cube as opposed to his usual two—before he can point it out, however, you beat him to it. “i know you’re particular about your tea. i can see it on your face you’re about to insist i give you two, but this is a very sweet blend as it is. one will suffice.”

“careful when it comes to his tea,” clorinde warns, “he’ll be in a foul mood all day if it doesn’t live up to his standards.”

“not true,” he grumbles. as if to prove a point, he takes a sip, slowly blinking before he looks at you with an awed grin, “it’s lovely. you’re right, it is just perfectly sweet with one cube.”

“perhaps you’re the only person he won’t make a fuss with then,” clorinde teases, “he’s got quite the list of grievances if i make him a cup of tea.”

“that’s because you don’t know how to make proper tea,” wriothesley rolls his eyes, “there’s a set of steps you’re meant to follow, you know.”

“water is a most simple beverage,” the iudex cuts in, “one that has many complexities in flavor, as well. perhaps you should consider it as a fitting option if tea gives you too much trouble.”

“i would hate to think of the wrath the poor inmates would have to face if he were to miss a single tea time,” you grin, fighting back a chuckle as wriothesley takes a tired sip from his cup, resigning himself to his fate as the target of your banter, “water simply won’t do.”

“well, i believe we should be off,” clorinde looks at neuvillette, “perhaps we should leave them to themselves.”

“ah, yes,” the chief justice nods politely, “there are many more files for me to read through at the office.”

“do you ever take the day off?” wriothesley raises a brow, “wouldn’t hurt.”

“even his dreams are of legal cases, i’m sure. he wouldn’t last a day on vacation,” clorinde hums.

“i don’t typically dream when i sleep,” neuvillette frowns, still so serious that you choke on a snort as you try to hold back you giggles. wriothesley looks at you with an amused grin, biting his lip to hide a chuckle himself.

“i’ll be seeing you,” he waves as the two leave, “and hopefully with my present ready next time,” he calls to clorinde with a pointed look. she rolls her eyes, fondly waving as she heads out the door.

“i didn’t know you were friends with such important people,” you murmur as they leave, making him raise a brow as he takes another sip.

“friends isn’t the best title for it—consider us work acquaintances.”

“with banter like that, i hardly believe it,” you chuckle, earning you a half-hearted glare from him over the rim of his tea cup.

“did you have your fun at my expense?” he asks dryly—but there’s no real bite to the words, “it seems you got along quite well with clorinde.”

“monsieur neuvillette is lovely too,” you giggle, “even if he’s not exactly…the earliest to catch onto jokes.”

he laughs at that, setting down his empty cup as he stands, eyeing the door to his office quickly before stepping closer to you, eyes staring down at your lips as you chew on the bottom and wait for him to make his move. 

“thank you for the tea,” he murmurs lowly, lips just barely a millimeter away from yours, “it was quite sweet. i enjoyed it.”

“there are plenty of other floral blends i have for you to try,” you hum. 

he grins, hands finding your waist before he whispers, “surely i couldn’t take all that from you without offering something in return, could i? i wouldn’t want it to seem like i'm taking bribes.”

“oh?” you breathe, grabbing a hold of his tie and tugging him closer until your lips meet his in a slow, heated kiss. it awakens a sick, insatiable heat in your core almost instantly. “what did you have in mind, your grace?”

he groans at the way your voice teasingly lilts at the title, hungrily chasing after your lips again. it’s more tongue than it is anything, messy and almost too scandalous to take place in his office where anyone could knock and come in at a moment’s notice. he seems to know it, too, because slowly, he guides you backward, slow steps that don’t interrupt the lock of your lips until your back meets a door.

“why don’t i show you,” he breathes—and then the doorknob is twisted open, and you’re gently pushed in with an arm curled around your waist to guide you. there’s a bedroom connected to his office, you realize. 

not entirely a shock—you’re sure the duke of the fortress has his own quarters to sleep in away from the other inmates, but it doesn’t surprise you less enough that you don’t pull away to take a glance around. 

it’s empty, mainly. not too many things besides a few scattered files and another tea maker with a few cups surrounding it at a desk in the corner. the sheets are dark grey, plain, and neatly made, with two pillows and nothing else. it has no more than what he needs, no more than what’s necessary. no hints of anything that’s his, anything that makes the room belong to him outside of being a mere sleeping quarters. 

“not one for decor?” you hum, wrapping your arms around his neck as your fingers fiddle with the collar of his shirt.

“i only come here at night to sleep,” he shrugs, “never felt the need.”

“everyone needs a space that’s theirs, don’t you think? even a few flowers would brighten the place up.”

“offering me more business?” he chuckles, making you roll your eyes, “and they’d die. there isn’t much sun down here.”

“i can think of a few options that would thrive,” you murmur.

“so it is business,” he quips. sigh exasperatedly, and he grins cheekily at you before you’re gently pushed to fall onto his bed, his body moving to hover over you as your legs wrap around his waist. his cock is semi-hard through his pants, and you wiggle your hips to press against it, the friction making him groan as you feel him stiffen even more from your actions. 

“i think i’d like my payment now,” you hum, making him raise a brow.

“eager?” he asks, making your hand travel to squeeze at his bulge.

“and you aren’t?” you challenge.

“fuck,” he grunts, shuddering at the feeling, “looks like you got me.”

it happens faster than you can process—the shedding of clothes, the way his fingers slowly sink into you, pumping in and out expertly as your head spins from the way he brushes against your sensitive spots. he’s quick, the way he stretches you apart with his digits, adding a second and third finger with little to no time to waste. you hardly have time to accommodate the third when you feel a familiar ache building up steadily. 

“c-close,” you say shakily, voice brokenly whispering against his mouth as he drinks up your moans, “i’m going to—”

“i know,” he hums, “shh. just let go—you’re doing so well.” 

the praise shatters you—you break at the way he sounds so in awe of you, of the way you suck his fingers into your slick cunt, so tight and wet with every clench. your back arches, and your hips roll into his hand, whimpering as his palm rolls over your sensitive clit. “god,” you gasp, “wriothesley, please.”

“please what?” he drawls, “you already got what you needed.”

“please let me feel you.”

“such a demanding price for some tea,” he sighs, “alright. i guess i can afford it.”

the nudge of his cock against your folds is enough to make you mewl, a sweet, whiny little cry that he groans at—every sound you make leaves an ache shooting up his stiff cock in the form of a twitch, like your every cry calls out to him. he responds with a rough thrust of his hips, burying himself into the depths of you, so deep and so close you can practically feel his pulse alongside yours. 

“so full,” you gasp, panting as you try to adjust to the sheer girth of him. he waits a moment, jaw clenched and teeth grit as he waits for you to nod your head and signal him to move.

“and you’re so tight,” he grunts, moaning softly against your ear as he nibbles on your earlobe, “i wouldn’t mind it if you charged interest either, just so you know. i’ll pay it over as many times as you want.”

“oh be quiet, would you?” you roll your eyes at his words at first, but then they roll back at the feeling of his thick, swollen tip pressing against the deep, sweet spot in the back of your walls. he lets out a breathy laugh, kissing the corner of your mouth so he doesn’t muffle the precious little moan you let out. 

“sure thing,” he hums, “i like listening to you more, anyway.”

“oh,” you gasp, “oh—wriothesley!” his finger teases over your clit, making your walls quiver around him as you feel your second orgasm creep up on you. “w-wait—i’m close.”

“why would i wait?” he asks in amusement, “that’s the idea.”

“t-together,” you whimper, pouting up at him through swollen lips and watery eyes, “please. please.”

he curses, closing his eyes and inhaling shakily at the way you look so fucked out, so drunkenly hazed on pleasure from the drag of his cock along your every ridge. you ask so sweetly—and who is he to deny such an innocent request?

“fuck—okay, sweetheart. fine by me,” he pants, rolling his hips harshly as he works himself to his own orgasm. his thumb teases your clit cruelly, fast and merciless one second, and a slow, bare feather’s touch the next. it keeps you right on the edge, a drooling mess of broken pleas as he finally approaches his own high. “close?”

“so close,” you gasp, twitching as he buries himself deep into you again.

“me too,” his voice cracks, “c-cum with me—please.”

hearing him plead sends you over the edge again—your first orgasm pales in comparison to your second. you didn’t even think that was possible, but the thick of his cock bullying into you is infinitely better than his nimble digits. the blunt head hits all the right spots, curves in all the right angles, and fucks you through your high expertly without even trying. 

you both cry out each other's names like prayers, muffled strings of curses, and breathy gasps that you swallow up between slow, sloppy, open-mouthed kisses. finally, when the last few twitches of his cock finish painting his release into you, he slumps on the bed beside your body, body shaking in slight tremors as he catches his breath. 

“you okay?” he asks through a labored voice, “didn’t hurt you?”

“i’m okay,” you breathe, smiling softly. he closes his eyes, relaxing into the mattress, pulling the covers to tuck the both of you in before he stares up at the ceiling, arms folded behind his head while he seems to be deep in thought. “what’re you thinking about?” you murmur.

“just how good you got along with clorinde,” he hums quietly, almost in wonder. “she’s not exactly the easiest to banter with so quickly.”

“well, i guess it’s not too hard if it’s at your expense,” you tease.

“ah, yes,” he sighs, pretending to woefully shake his head, “i’ve been reduced to the butt of the joke one too many times today, it seems.”

he grins to himself at the sound of your quiet laughter, so soft and sweet, so perfectly filling up the quietness in the room, bouncing off the walls and ringing in his ears like a symphony. you stare up at the ceiling yourself, eyeing the pipes, the dark amber metal that makes up his home. it’s quiet like that for a bit—not awkward or uneasy, almost like you’ve known him for ages. almost like this is natural.

“can i ask you something?” you murmur after some time, shifting under the covers to face him. 

he raises a brow, looking at you curiously. “you’re scaring me with that look. going to confess some wicked crime you want me to help you hide?”

“it’s not like that,” you huff, rolling your eyes. carefully, as if treading unknown territories (you are, in all fairness), your fingers find his bicep, running along the skin soothingly. it’s an affectionate touch—you and wriothesley only touch each other for physical pleasure, nothing more. this is new, something you’re freshly navigating with a weak compass that points back and forth between your heart and your head, unsure whether to follow logic or emotion. 

“well, go ahead and ask,” he insists, “you’ve got me curious, anyway.”

“what…what did you serve for? when you were an inmate,” you say quietly. he tenses under your touch, muscles becoming rigid as you instantly regret the question. your fingers pull away at the same time as you start speaking, “it’s okay if you don’t want to answer! i just got curious and—”

his hand catches your retreating wrist, gently pulling it closer, closer, until your hand rests on his chest. this is definitely uncharted territory—but his hand firmly lays over yours as he presses your palm over his bare chest. 

“it’s fine,” he mumbles, “it’s not exactly something people in my inner circle don’t know.”

“oh,” you whisper, “i’ve been promoted to inner circle, huh?”

“you’ve seen me naked,” he snorts, eyeing you with a hint of amused disbelief, “you’ve sucked me off, in fact. i think there’s a special other circle inside the circle just for you.”

“okay, no need to get all…”

“all what?” he teases, waiting for you to finish.

“all uncouth about our activities!” you huff, face feeling hot as he grins.

he laughs, wrapping an arm around you, pulling you against his side so your cheek presses against a muscled pec as his warm hand traces circles into your hip. you gasp slightly at the sudden gesture but relax all too quickly, your own hand moving to rub into his chest slowly, feeling the rough scars and tracing them with your fingertips.

“i was adopted when i was young from an orphanage. when i was a bit older,” he swallows, voice quiet, serious—so oddly vulnerable, you think you’re talking to a new version of him altogether, “i found a diary in my mother’s drawer. i didn’t…i didn’t mean to snoop. i was just looking for some paper for my sister to color with.”

“you had a sister?” you ask softly, looking up to see his jaw tighten slightly. 

“i had quite a few siblings,” he admits, voice strained. “older and younger. my parents would adopt a few children at a time and raise them until they were old enough to be adopted into families of greater means. and then they’d adopt more younger children. i thought they were perfect parents,” his eyes stare off distantly, unfocused as they look up at the ceiling, hand mindlessly wandering along your hip as you listen.

“until…?”

“until i read that diary,” his voice hardens, still strained as he clenches his jaw and swallows thickly again, “they were records. of my older siblings, the ones i thought were adopted off. all of their names were followed by prices, and the ones who didn’t have prices had been crossed off. i didn’t understand until i saw my own name and my brother antoine’s. we had blank spaces next to ours.”

“how come?” you furrow your brows, looking at him in jarred curiosity. 

“because we weren’t sold yet,” he smiles ruefully, “i realized we were being sold off like livestock. and i started to piece together why i had never heard from any of my siblings even when they’d promised to write. i…i never knew what became of them.”

“oh, wriothesley,” you say gently, so delicate, he closes his eyes and lets out a shaky breath. you press a soft kiss to his chest under you, hand moving up to cup his cheek, “what awful people.”

“i…i should have kept it to myself,” he whispers shakily, “i didn’t…i couldn’t figure out what to do, so i told antoine—i thought…i figured maybe…” he trails off, eyes closed once more as he breathes heavily, trying to collect the composure he fights so fiercely to keep.

“it’s okay,” you kiss his jaw, “we can forget about it. i’m sorry for—”

“no,” he shakes his head. “i want you to know.”

it should make you feel special—maybe even a little happy that he trusts you enough to want to share. but nothing about this makes you feel anything but pain—you can feel his pain, every inch of it. from the way his hand clasps around your waist in a shaky grip to ground himself to the way his jaw is tight under your lips as they press a soothing kiss to the angle of it. every part of him is in pain, and you can feel it. deep in your own bones, like a lingering ache. one that runs years deep, living in the deepest, most intimate parts of your body.

you don’t mind it, though. you don’t mind sharing his pain, not if it’s him.

“okay,” you nod slowly, “okay.”

he inhales sharply, taking a deep breath before he continues. “i told him because i knew we were next. i thought maybe we could have figured out a plan together. but he asked my mother about the diary, what the prices meant, and why we’d never heard from the others once they’d left. he was gone the next morning—my mother told us he was adopted, but i knew. i knew he was merely disposed of. and it was my fault.”

“it was not your fault,” you turn your head swiftly, looking up at him in disbelief as he scoffs and shakes his head.

“if i hadn’t told him, if i handled it on my own—”

“then what? he would have been fine? you don’t know that, what if he was sold off for something awful? or found out on his own without you? you were a child, and you didn’t know that he’d choose to do that.”

“but i still could have kept quiet,” he chuckles dryly, voice cracking as he adds, “i could have gotten us both out of there. on my own.”

“you shouldn’t have to have done it on your own,” you cup his cheek, bringing him to face you as your forehead presses against his, “you didn’t want to be on your own, did you?”

“no,” he admits, lips trembling, “i didn’t.”

“and that’s okay,” you murmur, rubbing a thumb over his cheekbone, “you didn’t deserve to be alone.”

“maybe it was for the better, though,” he sniffles.

“a lot of things are. we can’t hope to predict everything for what would turn out better.”

“he died,” wriothesley chokes, “my brother. he died that night—i…i knew he did. so i ran the next day, when my parents were busy, i snuck off and ran. i didn’t come back until a few years later and i…” his breath catches in his throat, glancing at you for a moment. there’s something fleeting in his eyes. doubt, maybe—perhaps even fear.

you’re not entirely sure, but you press a kiss to his lips, soft and tender, so unlike your usual heated ones. something that’s shared not for the sake of pleasure but for the sake of knowing you’re there—that he has you. you’re both here, together, just the two of you. he can feel your warmth, and you can feel his. 

it eases the tension somewhat, making his rigid muscles relax as he pulls you closer. 

you pull away first, murmuring a soft, “i don’t care what you did. whatever it is.”

“you say that now,” he chuckles weakly, “but you don’t even know what i did.”

“i don’t care,” you say seriously, “i don’t. whatever you did, it was because you didn’t have a choice.”

“i killed them,” he says against your mouth, such harsh, dark words that don’t belong against your soft, pure lips—he thinks he might have just tainted them. almost like you know his thoughts, you prove you don’t care when you peck his mouth lightly. “i killed them and set the other children free.”

“you were just a kid,” you breathe, “a baby.”

“a teenager,” he huffs a laugh hoarsely, “maybe not that young.”

“a baby to me,” you say firmly, “no one that young should be pushed to such extreme methods.”

“you’re oddly calm about sharing a bed with a murderer. was the sex that good?”

you roll over, laying on top of him, pulling a soft oof from his lips—you know it’s exaggerated. he’s strong and broad under you, capable of taking your weight and then some as his hands find your waist to keep you in place, eyes boring into yours. so bare and so easy for you to look into, to read, to see so plainly for all he is. 

he doesn’t even blink—as if he’s offering himself to you, trusting you to see as much as you want, see as much of him as he can show you. 

“is that all you see yourself as? a murderer?” you ask seriously.

“of course not,” he denies, breathing softly into your hands as they cradle his face, “but it’s the part of me that matters most. that defines me the most. whether i want it to or not.”

“not to me,” you shake your head, “and not to you either, i can tell.”

“i know why i did it,” he tells you, staring at you so intensely, you feel like maybe he’s seeing you more than you’re seeing him, “i did it for my siblings. because i knew it was the only way to get them out. no one else would do a thing. but when you strip my title as duke from me, whether you put me in the underworld or put me in the overworld, i am a murderer. that won’t change.”

“and?” you raise a brow, “do you regret it? what you did?”

“never,” he says instantly. he means it. “but i’m aware of what i am to others. what they see me as. i’m not naive enough to believe my past will go away.”

“and it shouldn’t,” you shake your head, “i don’t think it should. i don’t think murder is what matters most about you—i think a child raised like livestock, betrayed, and taken advantage of, matters most. a boy who willingly gave up his freedom so his siblings would have theirs is what matters most. a man who served his time and chose to stay so he could make things better for everyone who followed is what matters. death was a kind fate for your parents, wriothesley—i for one, believe there were more fitting fates for them. far crueler ones than a peaceful demise.”

he chuckles at that last part, staring at you in wonder, in slight amusement, in so much awe that you almost feel shy.

“now i’m really questioning if the sex was that good—you’re really rationalizing my crimes, aren’t you?”

“oh, you’re such an asshole, do you know that?” you huff, “i think that’s what defines you best. a complete, utter, shameless assho—oh.”

he kisses you—abruptly so. his lips are pressed hard and firm against you, kissing with so much conviction, so much need, you’d think that you were disintegrating in his arms, that this was his last opportunity to kiss you and commit how you feel to memory. 

“you sure it’s not my stamina?” he wiggles his brows, “how about my—”

“i’ll see to it that this is the last time we ever engage in such activities if that’s all you can focus on—”

“okay, okay,” he laughs, pouting as he pulls you down to lay on him, your head tucking under his chin as he kisses the crown of your head, “enough sex jokes. i promise.”

“so crass,” you scold, “have some decorum, will you?”

“my apologies, milady,” he sighs regretfully, voice exaggerated and theatrical as he adds, “i won’t allow myself to forget my manners again. from here on out, i’ll make sure to discuss more…gentlemanly topics for your liking.”

“you’re a real handful,” you sigh, “poor sigewinne. such a sweet little angel to put up with the likes of you.”

“you met her?” he smiles fondly at the mention of her.

“briefly, yes,” you nod, “the poor thing must be tired of your antics.”

“i’m on my best behavior around her!” he insists, “you can ask her.”

“i don’t think she’ll vouch for you, you know.”

“yeah, you’re probably right,” he withers in defeat.

you giggle, kissing his collarbone softly before nuzzling against him as he relaxes. it’s comfortably silent, just your body against his, warmth seeping between the space that hardly separates your bodies, spreading across your skin. you share your heat, and he shares his. it lulls you, slowly but surely, and you can feel it lull him, too as his breath slowly evens out under you. 

sleep is just a breath away from clutching you when you mumble, “wriothesley?”

“hmm?” comes his sleepy hum.

“thank you,” you whisper, yawning, “for trusting me. enough to tell me.”

“go to sleep,” he grunts tiredly, “you can be sappy and sentimental in the morning.”

“okay,” you grin tiredly, pressing closer into him, “i’ll hold you to it.”

sleep comes quickly after that—so easy, so natural in his arms, you wonder how you’ve rested all these years without him. 

——————————

your routine to meet with wriothesley ebbs and flows between the surface and the fortress. sometimes, he stops by just like before, and sometimes, he sends for guards to fetch you when he’s too busy to make an appearance himself. your meetings more or less end the same—catching your breath together, bare bodies huddled together in a tired mess as you share quiet, whispered words into each other’s skin. it’s a routine that both of you are too used to by now, that even a short gap of not seeing each other makes the both of you impatient for the next time you’ll get to see each other. 

on days you can’t afford to see each other, your days at the shop drag by slower when all you can do is think about him. sometimes, the guards will be relieved to come to escort you, woefully expressing the awful mood the duke has been in, shuddering as they recall how unpleasant he is to be around when he’s unhappy. they seem to insist your visits are what help end his supposed awful temperament—your instinct is always to flush and insist they must be mistaken.

but it’s an intimate sort of development—the way the two of you slowly learn to depend on each other for comfort. you on long days at the shop, him after tiresome affairs with the fortress. every delicate touch and every saccharine word you exchange slowly peels away the harsh layers of the week, leaving you raw and bare to each other. 

it’s nice. something you’ve grown a bit dependent on, in fact. a part of you would like to be scared, but wriothesley doesn’t let you fear anything—it’s just the kind of guy he is. everything about him feels too safe for you to consider being scared. 

you miss him terribly, too. you haven’t gotten a chance to see him in over a week—it’s the first week of spring, the blooming season for a number of flowers. you have shipments from across the continent—cecilias from mondstadt, silk jades from liyue, sakura blossoms from inazuma, and padisarahs from sumeru. there are plenty more—too many for you to list off the top of your head, but those are the ones you’re sure will sell out the quickest. 

there’s a certain man who stops by every day, a mop of ginger on his head and an interesting aura about him as he asks you if you’ve received kalpalata lotuses yet—they’re for my sister, he tells you, i bring them home for her every time i visit sumeru. but i won’t have a chance for quite a while.

you learn he’s a harbinger, the eleventh in rank, and hardly one to step foot in his homeland for too long at a time. but he’s due back, he tells you, for a project that won’t allow him to leave for quite some time. mingling with a fatui operative is hardly on your list of possibilities for the week, but you realize even a harbinger can appreciate the beauty of flowers. so you promise him your batch's biggest blooms as soon as they are delivered. 

and he’s patient, coming every day in hopes that they’ve been delivered, helping you organize the deliveries you do get, going as far as to join you to loch urania amidst a terrible storm to assist in picking lakelight lilies when you’re low. you appreciate the small companionship you’ve formed with him—childe, as he’s called, he tells you. a code name for his place as a harbinger that you relish in being given the knowledge of.  

the day finally comes when the lotuses are delivered, and for all his help and kindness, you try to repay him with a free bouquet. 

he declines persistently. “no, no miss,” he chuckles, waving his hands in dismissal as you offer the beautifully bundled flowers, “i couldn’t possibly accept them free of charge.”

“oh, don’t be silly,” you huff, “you’ve done plenty for me. an extra set of hands in the shop is as rare as glaze lilies blooming in midwinter!”

“i was happy to help,” he chirps, “i had a good time occupying myself as i waited to depart fontaine.”

“and archons know when the next time you’ll return is,” you sigh, “which is why you should accept these as a parting gift.”

“a parting gift, huh?” your eyes widen at the familiar voice—wriothesley. it’s been almost two weeks since you’ve heard it, and you beam as you look over at his approaching figure.

“wriothesley!” you hum, “what are you doing here?”

“thought i’d come to pay a visit,” he says gruffly, eyeing childe, who grins tightly at the warden. “i wasn’t banking on seeing an ex-inmate, though. what a shocking surprise.”

“the fortress’s duke in broad daylight,” childe coos, “what a fascinating sight.”

it’s tense—you can feel the atmosphere shift all too quickly as the two men stare each other down. 

“i didn’t know childe was a prisoner at the fortress,” you murmur, making the warden scoff as he glares at the harbinger.

“well,” childe shrugs, eyes sharp as they gaze at wriothesley, “i like to consider myself wrongly sentenced. justice isn’t always fair in the courts of fontaine, it seems.”

“ah, is that why you escaped from your sentence early?”

“i believe my escape proved to be quite helpful in saving the people of this nation in the end, didn’t it?” he asks, voice low, almost predatory, as wriothesley grits his jaw, glancing back at you before crossing his arms. 

“is the fatui boy giving you trouble?” he asks, making you shake your head frantically as the harbinger lets out a dry chuckle from the side. 

“oh, no!” you insist, “no, childe has been quite helpful, i promise. he’s given quite a hand, in fact!”

“is that so?” wriothesley perches a brow, tongue poking his cheek as he glares to the side at the smug ginger. 

“oh, absolutely,” childe nods, “you see, i’ve been offering the lovely lady my assistance as i waited on my delivery. we even visited loch urania together to pick lakelight lilies for a bouquet she needed to deliver.”

“he treated me to lunch,” you beam innocently. you might have missed the way wriothesley’s jaw tightens, but childe certainly doesn’t, making his grin spread even wider. “he’s nice, wriothesley, i promise. i hope you both can sort out whatever differences you had during his previous sentence.”

“perhaps next time, you could join us for lunch,” childe drawls, “it’ll be on me.”

“a kind offer,” the duke chuckles dryly, a rueful grin on his tight lips as he adds, “but i’ll have to decline.”

“please, i really insist you take these lotuses,” you hold the bouquet out to the harbinger, and much to wriothesley’s dismay, there’s an evident amount of extra care put into the floral packaging. your careful handwriting in soft, looped letters spelling out his name across the paper, with a heart beside it as though you took time to thoughtfully scribble each letter just for him. “give your sister my best regards.”

“you know his sister?” wriothesley grits.

“oh no,” you chuckle, “but he tells me of her. the flowers are for her!”

“like i said,” childe hums, taking out a heavy pouch of mora and placing it on your counter—both yours and wriothesley’s eyes widen at the sheer amount of mora you’re sure is inside. it’s undoubtedly far more than a small, simple bouquet would cost, but he waves it off like it’s nothing as he says, “i insist on giving you the payment you deserve. you’ve certainly made my last few days here at fontaine interesting. it’s made up for the less than…welcoming treatment from the beginning of my trip.”

wriothesley’s eye all but twitches. 

“that’s far too much to accept for a small bunch of kalpalata lotuses, you can’t—”

“consider it a payment in advance for the next time i return to fontaine,” he winks, “i’ll be sure to visit for more of your lovely flowers. i’m sure my mother will appreciate a bouquet too.”

with that, he waves at you, walking off with a grin as you sigh and shake your head fondly, waving him off as you call, “you’re quite the handful, you know. do visit again next time you’re here!”

“oh, i wouldn’t miss the opportunity for anything.”

wriothesley scoffs at the final exchange of words, watching the retreating figure of the harbinger with hardened, distant eyes while you exhale softly and grab the pouch of mora. 

“are all harbingers this loaded with mora, do you think?”

“who knows,” he mutters, looking away as he swallows before adding, “i came to visit on my way back to the fortress. i had business with neuvillette.”

“oh,” you hum, smiling as you ask, “is he doing well?”

“fine,” is all wriothesley says.

“that’s good,” you nod, “we haven’t been able to see each other in quite a bit, huh? i’d have visited, but the deliveries all week have kept me busy.”

“good thing you had the harbinger to lend a hand, huh?” he remarks, raising a brow.

“well, yeah, i suppose so,” you frown slightly, watching as he takes a slow, deep breath before fixing his tie. “is everything okay?”

“yeah,” he says instantly. “may i walk you home?”

“of course,” you smile—it doesn’t reach your eyes, and he wishes he could find it in himself to do something to reassure the lingering worry in your irises, but he doesn’t. instead, he quietly waits for you to close the shop, so uncharacteristically silent that you can practically feel the tension in the air tangibly.

the walk to your home is just as silent. wriothesley doesn’t say anything, and you don’t have the confidence to break the silence yourself. you’ve never seen him like this, so bothered and visibly so. you’re not entirely sure what brought it on, either—but you are sure it has something to do with childe. 

you finally reach your home after a long walk, quietly standing in front of the door as you turn to him and inspect his face. hard-lined lips, distant eyes, and crossed arms. he doesn’t look like the usual wriothesley you know—the one who grins and gives you a slight bow as he says, we’ve arrived at your lovely home, milady. 

“thank you for walking me,” you murmur, looking at him carefully as he nods.

“sure,” he responds flatly, “my pleasure.”

“you didn’t have to trouble yourself if you were tired from your meeting,” you add.

“not tired,” he shakes his head. “it was no trouble to me.”

“are you sure?” you raise a brow, sighing as you cross your own arms, “you don’t seem too happy to be here.”

“what do you mean?” he shrugs lamely, avoiding your question, your gaze. you know that one look into your eyes is all it takes to make him spill, and normally, you don’t take advantage of that, but you think tonight you will. 

because you’re tired of dancing around half-truths and coded words you have to decipher. you want one straight, laid-bare conversation with him. so you reach over and tilt his jaw, making him inhale sharply at your touch as you force him to face you and look at you. 

“what is up with you? and don’t even think about saying nothing.”

“nothing is up with me,” he mumbles stubbornly.

“wriothesley,” you warn, looking at him unimpressed, “i was not born yesterday.”

“my apologies,” he says sarcastically, a rueful smile curling on those chapped lips of his, “i suppose i’m just a bit shocked i’m not the only customer you offer your affections to. i suppose that was silly of me—it must be good for business.”

“excuse me?” you recoil, staring at him in disbelief. a little hurt, too—he regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth, flinching slightly at the implications. “how dare you insinuate i’m a common whore?” 

“that’s not what i was trying to say at all,” he groans, pinching the bridge of his nose, “it came out wrong.”

“then what were you trying to say?” you demand, looking at him expectantly, hands on your hips and a raise of your brows that almost mockingly tells him, i’d love to see you work your way out of this one. 

“you never told me you and the fatui boy were so close.” 

if there’s one thing wriothesley is good at, it’s shifting things to focus on other people. so he can observe. watch closely. take note of all the little things so he can figure out what he wants to know without asking at all. all without having anything told to him right out. it’s how he works—and you won’t entertain it. 

“the fatui boy has a name,” you point out.

“his name is not actually childe,” he snorts—there’s no real amusement in the action, just as sarcastic and sardonic as everything prior. “is that what you believe?”

“if you’re not going to say the problem with your words like an adult, i’m going to go inside,” you spit, “we’re both wasting time here if we’re just going to talk in circles.”

“yes, because i’m the one who’s not admitting things,” he chuckles dryly. 

you glare at him—because enough is enough, and you’re sick of taking one step forward just to stumble ten steps back. with one swift move, your hand grips his wrist firmly and yanks, pulling him to stumble into your home as the door slams behind him. you’re tired of having bystanders walk past you and listen to your pointless discussion, and you’re tired of getting nowhere the longer you stand outside. it feels like the more you talk, the less you know. every word he says confuses you more and more.

and that’s the thing about him—he never tells you things, not since that night he first opened up. you thought you broke some newfound trust, a new ground to walk on with him that leads somewhere further than just two people who seek each other out for pleasure. you feel something for him—and you thought he did too, but it’s always something vague or another with him and you’re tired of it. tired of wondering where you stand, what he wants, how he feels. you want to know, and tonight, even if it kills you, you’ll find out.

“what is it you want me to admit wriothesley? huh?” you scowl, “tell me so i can tell you what you need to know so you’ll finally answer my question. i’m tired of the back-and-forth game with you.”

“you don’t need to admit anything to me,” he shrugs, “it’s not my business.”

“you don’t even believe that yourself,” you scoff, “even i can tell that much. is this about childe? you don’t like me mingling with the fatui? he’s just friendly, that’s all. and good business.”

“right,” he nods slowly, disbelievingly. you almost see red—how dare he hint that you’re a liar. 

“what do you think i’m doing then?” you challenge, “let’s hear it. fraternizing with the fatui? is that the accusation you’ll pull out?”

“well, if he’s helping you pick flowers and buying you lunch, then you certainly can’t be strangers,” he smiles tightly, “perhaps next time he can join us in our canoodling too if you’d like.”

“so that’s what it is?” you shake your head exasperatedly, “you’re moody because you’re jealous?”

“i’m not jealous,” he narrows his eyes, “i have no reason to be.”

“i’d believe you sooner if you’d said the underwater beast really was the cause of your scars,” you scoff, pursing your lips. “why is it so hard for you to just speak your mind?”

“then let’s start with you,” he retorts, hands throwing up in the air as he takes a step closer and glares daggers at you, “why are you dancing around what your relationship with the harbinger is?”

“there is nothing between me and the harbinger! nothing at all, and i don’t appreciate you assuming things about me. i’ve only been intimate with you!”

“you don’t need to hide it,” he smiles bitterly. finally, as if the conversation has chipped away at his resolve enough that bits and pieces of his inner turmoil can show, you can see the lingering hurt in his gaze. the betrayal. the doubt and fear—all of it pools in his eyes, swimming in the many, many flecks of his eyes as you stare into them. “it’s not as though we’ve committed to anything here.”

“i’m not hiding anything,” you say firmly, “you don’t have to be jealous.”

“i’m not jealous,” he shakes his head. it feels like he’s convincing himself more than you. because more than you, admitting to himself he cares is hard. all of this is hard—you know that. the last time he dared to trust someone, to love someone, he’d lost more than he could fathom. more than he was ever ready to lose.

so you sigh, dropping your shoulders as you let the anger dissipate.

“i wouldn’t blame you if you were jealous,” you say softly, extending the olive branch with a slow, hesitant hand to his cheek. he stiffens, but he doesn’t pull away, “it would kill me, too, to think you were close to another woman. but the harbinger is a customer i’ve become friendly with and nothing more. don’t you believe me?”

he closes his eyes, letting out a shaky breath as he hesitantly leans into your palm, letting your thumb brush soothing strokes along the scar under his eye.

“i was jealous,” he admits, quiet. hoarse. strained. it takes every ounce of him to admit as much to you—the progress makes you smile softly. “i…i was so jealous i couldn’t think straight. and i took it out on you. i’m sorry.”

“maybe it’s time we had a discussion,” you say softly, “about…well, us. what it is we’re doing. it’s long overdue.”

“i’ve been avoiding it,” he confesses. 

“i know,” you murmur, smiling tightly, “i know you have. that’s why i didn’t bring it up. but we can’t dance around it forever.”

“i’m no good at this,” he opens his eyes, defeated and so lost, you can’t help but lean in and press a soft kiss to his jaw.

“you’re not so bad,” you hum, “give yourself a little more credit.”

“no,” he shakes his head, “you don’t understand. i’ve never been good at this…at trusting people and getting close to them. i don’t even have real friends—i see clorinde and neuvillette every few months, and briefly at that. one of them was the judge at my trial, and the other knows as much about me as the files say. i don’t like talking about my feelings, and i hate sharing things about myself. i’m not jealous of childe because he threatens me—even i know you’d never give a fatui member a chance. but i’m no good for a stroll in the park, or picking flowers, or lunch at a cafe. i live underwater in a large prison that i run, and i rarely come up—at least, not often enough to be a healthy, functioning member of society, that is.”

“so what?” you frown, “i don’t care. nothing is easy at first—isn’t that why we try? who says you have to share all your feelings immediately? we can work up to that slowly. this was sharing, wasn’t it? what you just did? that’s a step in the right direction.”

“and look how much we had to battle for that little bit,” he lets out a sharp, self-deprecating laugh that makes your heart ache, “you’ll grow tired of me.”

“you don’t get to decide that,” you shake your head stubbornly, “i would never grow tired of you. never you.”

“i might be a duke now, but i was a murderer in the past,” he adds, a low and cheap attempt to convince you he’s not worth it. you roll your eyes at the statement.

“i’m aware,” you say blandly, “i don’t care, wriothesley. i don’t. those are all excuses—if you want this, if you really want this like i do, because you care about me just like i care about you and you feel the same way, then you’d realize these are all petty excuses your head is coming up with. i’ll wait for you to be better at communicating if you promise you’ll try. and your past is just a small stain on the cloth that we can ignore.”

“it’s murder,” he says in disbelief.

“i said what i said,” you huff. he blinks once, then twice before letting out a breathy chuckle.

“you’re insane.”

“thank you,” you nod, grinning, “and you being at the fortress is just a small obstacle. we’ll make it work, you and me.”

“how?” he asks, voice small and unsure.

“you act like it’s impossible, you silly thing. i’ll come see you, and you’ll come see me, and we can spend nights together wherever is most convenient for the time. why are you overthinking it?” you ask like it’s obvious. maybe it is—maybe his brain just doesn’t let him see how simple of a solution it really is.

“the fortress is no place for someone who’s used to the surface—”

“enough excuses,” you scold firmly, “i won’t have any of it.”

“you don’t know what you’re getting into,” he shakes his head—you cup his cheeks, pulling his face close as you press soft, delicate kisses along his skin. like he’s fragile. like he needs to be handled with care. 

no one has ever handled wriothesley with care. even as a child when he was defenseless. when his parents saw a commodity to raise and sell like livestock instead of a child to love and cherish. when the streets saw a rat with dirty clothes and nimble fingers only good for theft. when he woke up in a hospital bed with cuffs to his hands, wrists shackled, and a caseworker sat a comfortable distance away, even without his gauntlets. when they saw him as nothing more than a murderer on trial as opposed to a child with no other way out. when the world showed him no mercy and left him to fend for himself in a dark, ruthless corner of the nation under the sea with no sun, no grass, no fresh air, and no hope.

no one has thought to treat wriothesley with gentleness, with kindness, with grace—as if he mattered. not until he made himself matter, taking what he wanted through a pen, paper, and meaningless title. 

no one until you. 

“i know exactly what i’m getting into,” you whisper, “you know what i see? when i look at you?”

“what? big muscles?” he teases, voice weak. a last, feeble attempt at keeping himself guarded. it’s useless, and he knows it as well as you do. he’s already far more vulnerable than he’s comfortable with. 

“a good man,” you say firmly, “a good man who is worth the effort. one who has a good heart and no one to share it with. someone who knows when change needs to happen and makes it happen. someone who knows a thing or two about second chances. who shows people mercy if they’re willing to be better—because that’s all he wants. for things to be better.”

“you’re giving me a lot more credit than i deserve, sweetheart,” he says shakily, trying to give you his usual smirk. his lips wobble, much to his dismay—you kiss them to help him hide the tremor like the angel you are. 

he’s not sure why the archons, celestia, or whoever is in charge of fate would send him such a perfect, pure angel in his arms. but they did. he’s certainly not one to miscount his blessings—they’ve been few and far between as is. 

“no,” you murmur, whispering between kisses, “i’m not. i’m giving you as much credit as you deserve. because no one has ever told you these things about you, and it’s time someone did.”

“doing the dirty work, huh?”

“i wish you’d stop with that,” you smile at him sadly, “i wish you would treat yourself with the same kindness you treat everyone else with. that you treat me with.”

“you’re an angel,” he murmurs, pecking your cheek, “that’s the difference.”

“you can’t be that bad if that’s the case,” you grin cheekily, “what kind of angel picks such an awful guy?”

“one who thinks the fatui harbingers make good friends,” he snorts, “one who’s a little on the naive side.”

“i like to think of it as seeing good in people,” you wink. 

he laughs, arms wrapping around you, pulling you flush against his chest as he kisses you. and kisses you. and kisses you—and kisses you some more until you’re forced to pull away and breathe. even then, he’s not satisfied, lips finding the sensitive skin along your collarbones, traveling up along your neck and finding your jaw, peppering soft presses of his lips until they hover over your mouth again.

“you good?” he asks smugly, “need a minute to catch your breath?”

“you’re such a pain,” you huff, pressing against his mouth and closing the gap as he hums against you. 

“what were you just saying about me just a few moments ago? something about a good man?”

“come here,” you sigh exasperatedly—and then you’re tugging him into your bedroom, stumbling and giggling as you both impatiently find the bed. you fall back, the mattress catching you along with him as he hovers over you and doesn’t waste a moment to nip at your neck.

“next time you need help with flowers in a dangerous, stormy place, you ask me,” he says lowly, breath fanning over your skin and making you shiver, “you don’t need the fatui boy.”

“okay,” you laugh, breathless as your eyes flutter shut when he nibbles on the sensitive spot over your pulse point, “you might have to temporarily drop your duties as a duke for that, though.”

“consider it done.” his hands tug your blouse over your head, doing quick work to toss it somewhere on the floor as he grins at the lacey red bra you have on underneath. “this is new,” he comments, “i like this.”

“of course you do,” you grin in amusement, “so predictable.”

“hey,” he pouts, “i’m an easy guy to please. just need you, maybe a few accessories…i don’t ask for much.”

“well,” you look at him in anticipation, “are you going to stare all day? or are you going to take it off?”

his eyes darken—hazed with lust and desperation as he quickly works the bra off of you and tosses it off to the side, too, but not before he stares at the label quickly. “chioriya boutique,” he reads, nodding, “remind me to give her my thanks. and business, too, in the future.”

“shameless,” you scoff, shaking your head.

“grateful,” he corrects, grinning cheekily at you. you don’t even get a chance to retort before his lips are around your nipple, teeth lightly grazing the pebbled nub as he sucks, making you gasp as your hands find his head, cupping the back of it as your own head throws back against the pillows. 

“wri—”

“you know what i see when i see you?” he hums, pulling away from one nipple and latching onto the other, tongue rolling over it slowly as his thumb finds the other, not to leave it neglected, “i see the woman i would defy the gods themselves to possess. who i would commit far worse crimes for, and serve time all over again for. one who commands my every thought. do you know how many times i’ve neglected my duties just thinking about you alone? when i see you, i see the one thing that’s finally mine—mine alone.”

you whimper as his lips reattach themselves to your breast, sucking and grazing his tongue around one nipple and pinching and toying with the other with his hand. your hands tug at his hair, pulling a soft groan from his throat as he pulls away and stares at you. you’re a panting, heaving mess already—he grins in satisfaction.

“pretty,”  he hums, nuzzling his nose against your throat, right where your pulse is erratic, “so, so pretty.”

“all this flattery, and you’ve yet to do something,” you rasp, just to rile him up as he lets out a deep, gruff sound of disapproval, eyeing you with a raised brow.

“oh, you want me to do something, is that it? i thought we’d take our time,” he grazes his finger along your waist, tracing the edge of your skirt before looping his finger under it, tugging slowly, “but if you insist, i guess we can pick up the pace.”

he pulls the skirt down your legs, eyes widening as he takes in the matching red laced panties from the bra earlier—you grin cheekily as he does. “like this one too?”

“oh,” he chuckles, breathless, “sweetheart, you have no idea.” wriothesley is a giver—you’re reminded of this fact as soon as his head buries between your thighs enthusiastically, kissing your clit through the lace as your breath hitches. “did you pick this little set up just for me?”

“don’t be silly,” you tease, “i obviously got this for myself. consider yourself a lucky witness.”

“and a lucky witness i am indeed,” he nods, humming as he slowly, carefully inches the lace down your legs, admiring the way it contrasts against your sweet, supple skin. “i owe chioriya boutique my life. i’ll even give my thanks to madame chiori myself.”

“please do not,” you say in horror, making him chuckle, “that would be utterly undignified.”

he’s not even listening, you realize. his lips attach to your clit as soon as the fabric is discarded somewhere to the side like the rest, a soft groan rumbling from his chest as soon as he tastes you, spreading your legs for better access as he glides his tongue to your folds, pressing between your folds and looking up to watch as your head throws back with a soft gasp. 

“wriothesley,” you gasp, pulling his hair in a tight grip to ground yourself.

you’re the most gentle with him when you handle him—but you’re also the roughest. the way you grasp him so harshly, mercilessly in your grip, makes his eyes flutter shut in a sick, twisted sort of masochism. he loves the pain, the dull throb in his skull from your pleasure. 

“yeah, i’m right here, sweetheart,” he chuckles lowly, “feels good?”

“yes,” you whine, “s’good—so good.”

“i know,” he hums, pressing soft kisses to your clit, along your inner thigh, until he’s back to your folds, hovering over them as he whispers, “i can tell just from the way you’re dripping. isn’t that cute?”

you whine in embarrassment, closing your legs around him as he grins against your cunt, grinding down on his mouth until he’s back to devouring you, tongue slipping deep into you as far as he can, exploring your tight, wet hole with fervor. 

“close,” you whisper, voice bordering on broken, “i’m s-so close—oh, wriothesley!”

you come undone on his tongue with one more roll of his tongue over your clit, shaking as he sloppily eats you out through your high until your whole body is a shaking, quivering mess along with your walls. 

“got anything else from that boutique you want to show me?” he murmurs, moving back up to hover over you, burying his face into your neck as your arms snake around his shoulders, rubbing into his back.

“maybe,” you say vaguely, grinning, “it’s a secret. maybe if you behave, you’ll find out.”

“yeah?” he chuckles, “consider me on my best behavior, milady.”

“then take this off,” you tug at his shirt, pouting as you add, “not fair that i’m the only one undressed.”

“as you wish,” he agrees. you watch as he strips—it’s not embarrassing like the first time or two when you looked away with a hot face and ears. now it’s intimate, watching him bear his soul to you, with every scar and imperfection, every flaw and tainted part.

his cock is hard, standing between his legs as it throbs, a bead of pre cum coating the tip. your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him close again as you feel his hardened length poke at your thigh, making you press against it and pull a groan out of him.

“i want you,” you whisper, “i’ve never wanted anyone else. not like this. not like you. i don’t think i ever will.”

“you can’t have met too many people then,” he teases.

“oh, i meet plenty of people. romantic ones at that—flowers are a love language, you know.”

“and you still want me? they must all be taken.”

“they’re not you,” you correct, pulling him into a sweet, slow kiss, taking your time to mold your lips against him and feel him against you, “nothing close to you. no one comes close.”

the bees should come to your lips for nectar, he thinks. flowers bloom from your mouth, delicate and sweet petals that light up his world and color him every shade of love. 

“in that case,” he whispers, pulling away from your mouth to press a soft kiss to your nose, “i’m the luckiest man in fontaine. maybe teyvat.”

“i would agree,” you wink cheekily, “aren’t i such a lucky catch?”

“oh absolutely,” he laughs, amused, fond, so deeply enamored. then his lips are back on yours, and his hips are angled so that his cock teases your folds, grazing the entrance of your cunt as he coats his tip with your dripping slick. 

you both shudder at the feeling, gasping against each other’s mouths as you exchange hot, labored breaths. 

“i want you,” you repeat, “please.”

“you have me,” he whispers, letting out a soft moan as he pushes the tip past your entrance, “as long as you want.”

“that’ll be forever,” you say breathlessly, “think you can handle that long?”

“i’m sure i’ll manage.”

finally, he pushes all the way through, buried to the hilt and stretching you apart until he splits you open on his cock. he presses so deep into you, you can feel him nudge against that sweet, spongy spot without even trying. it’s like he was made for you—like the laws of this land declared him yours from birth and made him fit you in every way possible. the slot of his fingers with yours, the mold of his lips against you, the press of his cock into your cunt. all of it fits you so well, you wonder if you’ve lived your life just to find wriothesley. 

you both moan into each other’s mouths, strangled sounds that you swallow from each other’s mouths as your lips sloppily press into each other. 

“wr-wrio—fuck,” you stammer, nails raking along his back as he rolls his hips, slamming into your deepest, most rawest parts.

“yeah, baby,” he pants, kissing the corner of your mouth, “m’right here, sweetheart.”

you sob when a rough, callused thumb finds your clit, rubbing circles into the bundle of nerves perfectly in tune with the harsh thrusts that fill you so deep. deep—he’s so far into you, you wonder if you can feel him in your throat, in your lungs, and in your heart, knocking the air out of you as you breathlessly try to call his name. 

“faster,” you plead, clinging to him, “more—please, need more.”

“think you can take it?” he chuckles, cutting himself off with a strangled grunt when you squeeze around him particularly tightly, “i think you’re falling apart as is.”

“more,” you whine, back arching as your hips desperately buck up to meet his in tandem, trying to feel him closer, deeper, harder. 

“if that’s what you want,” he hums—you want to scoff at him, but you’re too delirious. you’d tease him for acting like he doesn’t want the same, like the ache of his cock doesn’t crave more friction, doesn’t want to slam into you with little to no self-control outside of chasing his pleasure. you feel so good around him—so good, his head falls to your shoulder as he pants harshly into your ear, murmuring stammered praises. “s-so good, sweetheart. you always take me so good, like the pretty thing you are. how in teyvat did i score the affections of fontaine’s most radiant lady? o-only the gods could know.”

“why don’t you ask them,” you breathe, head pressing against the pillow as your back arches and your toes curl when he slams his swollen tip against your sweet spot once more, hips rolling in perfect precision, “ask them how you got so blessed.”

“maybe i’ll ask the divinity right before me,” he hums smoothly, chuckling when you mewl as his thumb rubs faster into your clit, “how did i get so lucky?”

“because i need you,” you whine, “n-need you—only you.”

“what a sweet answer,” he groans, pumping his cock into you faster, feeling the familiar twitch indicating he’s close—and you are too. he can tell from the erratic squeeze of your walls. “always spoiling me, right sweetheart?”

“wriothesley,” you cry, “i-i’m close. m’so close, please. please.”

“no need to say please, baby,” he grunts, “you can have whatever you want. when you want it, yeah?”

and just like that, you break—his thumb is still rubbing those harsh circles into you swollen clit as you cum, clenching down on him through your high as your mouth parts and your head presses deeper into the pillow. he’s fucking into you, still slamming his hips into you as mercilessly as before, riding you through your orgasm as you chant his name. 

“wri—wriothesley,” you sob.

“yeah, sweetheart? what is it?” he teases—it doesn’t last long, though. his bravado falls apart as soon as the first twitch of his cock indicates his own orgasm. you feel the hot, sticky, endless ropes of cum fill you up, coating your walls as he stiffens over you and shudders, groaning lowly as he empties himself into your sweet cunt. “f-fuck, you feel so good—you’re the only one. the. only. one.”

his hips thrust into you to punctuate the words, cock pushing his release deeper into you, messy and leaking down your thighs and forming a ring at the base of his length. it’s so filthy you almost think it’s a sin. but how could it be when it feels so right, so good?

finally, he slumps over your body, spent and panting as he finishes. you catch your breath under him, labored breath one after the other as your sweaty skin clings against his own.

“you’re beautiful,” he murmurs after some time, kissing the damp skin of your neck.

“i know,” you whisper cheekily, making him chuckle as he rolls over, pulling you into his chest.

“so humble,” he snorts.

“of course,” you beam, “but feel free to leave more compliments.”

“oh don’t worry, i won’t run out any time soon.”

it’s quiet for a bit, apart from your giggles and his low chuckles. soft, peaceful, and so painfully comforting, you wonder if heaven itself wishes for a place beside wriothesley. 

“when you first came up to the surface after your sentence,” you mumble after a few moments of quietness, tracing small loops into his chest as he silently hums for you to continue, “what was the first thing you did?”

“i got a croissant,” he answers thoughtfully, thumb rubbing circles into your hip where his hand is comfortably rested.

you blink, tilting your head to look up at him. his lips curve into a knowing grin.

“pardon?”

he laughs—it’s a beautiful thing. like a boy, eyes crinkled and lips freely curved so wide, you’d think his cheeks were endless with the way they expand to accommodate for such a large stretch. it’s the one time he doesn’t seem like the rugged man you usually know. something younger, more innocent, more raw comes out when wriothesley laughs.

“they go well with tea,” he shrugs, looking down at you, quickly stealing a peck of your nose, “and…” his voice is softer as he trails off, smile faltering.

“and?” you press delicately. so delicately, you’d think you were speaking to a house of cards, one word that’s breathed too harshly away from toppling over.

“and i wanted to visit a bakery i went to as a kid,” he murmurs quietly, voice dropping to a whisper as if he’s admitting something he’s never told anyone. something tells you he just might be. “there was an old lady who used to feed me sometimes when i was a kid on the streets. after i ran away. she’d give me a chocolate croissant and warm tea. i thought…i thought maybe there was a chance she’d still …”

he swallows, cutting his words off just before his voice has the chance to break. it’s a measured gesture. you know it is because you know him. just like you know the feelings of petals and thorns with your eyes closed, you know wriothesley. just like you can tell flowers apart from scent alone, you have him memorized. just like you know what every petal and its origin means, you understand him like it’s your job, too.

except you get paid to do this with something better than mora. with open-mouthed kisses and lingering touches. with coffee in a mug to complement the tea next to it. with strong arms to shield you when rain pours hard over your unsuspecting heads. with a gentle voice that learns to whisper back the language you speak better than anything else.

it says you’re the one i need the most, like rainbow roses. i miss you so much, i ache for you, like mourning flowers. i’d shed blood for you to live, like dendrobiums. you’re what i desire more than anything else, like romaritimes. each word is carefully formed, fragile as it hangs from a singular point. like petals on a stem, his words blossom from the tip of his tongue, falling one by one to your awaiting hands as your thumb traces his lips.

they all tell you one thing—whether he says the words out loud or not, he tells you he loves you through the things he does say. every little promise, every compliment, every form of praise. they say one thing—i love you.

you have always felt loved around wriothesley. you know he loves you, even if you question it sometimes, even if you ache to hear it, you’re always reminded he does when those eyes soften as they look at you, training on you like they never want to look away.

he loves you. he loves you not. he loves you. he loves you not. he loves you.

he loves you.

he loves you.

he loves you.

it always ends with he loves you.

“was she?” you whisper, finger tracing up his chest, along his neck and jaw until it cups his cheek tenderly. he shivers at the touch. “was she still there?”

gentleness isn’t something wriothesley is very familiar with. it raids his skin, takes over the territory that’s only known harshness, and conquers the scarred patches that are barren and empty from all the pain and desolation.

“no,” his voice is barely audible. “her son owns it now. the croissants still taste the same, though.”

“some things never change, i suppose,” you smile softly, leaning closer as your nose presses against his, “even when everything else does. it’s not so bad if you hold onto what you can.”

“and what if you have nothing?” he challenges, closing his eyes when you kiss his jaw sweetly and slowly inhaling a soft breath.

“i’m sure that’s never true,” you murmur, “there’s always something.”

“yeah? how optimistic of you,” he chuckles.

“i’m serious,” you pout, “there’s always a way to make do. look at cacti. they go ages without water, don’t they? and did you know naku weeds can survive being struck by lightning?”

“do you just compare everything to plants?” he asks in amusement, eyeing you with a charmed glint.

“of course,” you huff, “don’t you compare things to what you love most?”

he looks at you for a moment. really looks at you. grazes his eyes over your supple skin he’s traced so many times, over the small crinkles by your eyes permanently etched from smiling so often, over the curve of your nose and lips he’s pressed his own against, over the two eyes that stare back at him and see him more than they do look.

and then he nods.

“yeah,” he admits, “i do.”

your lips are as sweet as the warm chocolate that coated his lips and chin as a child. your touch is as soft as the hands of his mother when he thought he could trust her. your eyes are as bright as the sun when he first saw it after years of dark, rusted walls. everything about you reminds him of his past, the better parts and the worst. all of it.

some of it is healing, and some of it hurts so raw he thinks he’ll bleed out. but your hands are dipped in gold, he thinks. they’d make the most infertile soil rich and filled with life, letting him blossom new again right where his blood spilled.

he’s reminded of you in everything he sees. tea reminds him of your coffee with too much milk. paperwork reminds him of how distressed you are by wasted pages and killed trees. his gauntlets remind him of your hands so small in comparison. he’s doomed, he thinks. cursed, even.

cursed to always remember you in everything.

so, of course, he compares everything to what he loves most. because why else would you reside in his mind so endlessly, taking up the space from one end all the way to the other? why else would you remind him of you in even the mundane of things if he didn’t love you so deeply, so purely, so easily, that you’re everywhere all at once, even when you’re nowhere in sight?

he presses his forehead to yours, closing his eyes and inhaling sharply before letting out a slow, shaky breath.

“i lied,” he admits, making you frown.

“about?”

“about the first thing i did when i got to the surface,” he says quietly. “i went to my parents' graves.”

“to visit them?” you raise a confused eyebrow.

“no. to make sure they were really dead.”

“oh,” is all you say, staring into his eyes as he waits for you to say something more. “well, were they dead?”

“yes,” he snorts, closing his eyes and huffing out a small laugh. “very much so.”

“well, that’s a relief,” you giggle, “otherwise, you’d have served a sentence for murder for nothing.”

“good thing i didn’t, huh?”

“good thing you didn’t,” you nod, grinning as he stares at you softly.

“i’ll take you one of these days,” he hums quietly after a moment. you look surprised, eyes widening as you process the words.

“to your parents' grave?”

“to the bakery,” he rolls his eyes, letting out a breathy laugh. “i don’t think my dead mother would appreciate me bringing back a woman after i killed her.”

“oh, very funny,” you scowl, glaring at him.

“you think so?” he winks, laughing when you gently shove his face away, making his hand grab at your wrist and bite gently into the skin.

you squeal, giggling as he nibbles into your skin. “stop that, you brute!” you demand in between laughs.

it’s quiet for a moment as the laughter settles down, just you and him. him and you. silence echoing off the walls and warmth radiating between your bodies, the sheets clinging to your bare skin. you can feel his bare hip brush against yours. it’s intimate—far more intimate than either of you are used to, but not unwelcome.

he turns, pulling you into his arms and pressing your foreheads together. you think that’s his favorite position to be in—when your faces are so close, they touch. when his eyes can bore into yours. when he can feel the warmth of you tickling his skin as you breathe, as you talk, as you exist before him.

“you’ll like the croissants,” he adds quietly, thoughtfully, “the blackberry ones are particularly nice with the lemon and mint tea—”

you cut him off. before you can think. the words fly past your lips, swept with the breeze like dandelion seeds, and carried through the room as they find shelter in every little crevice. they’ll be here, in every corner, in every little place, a memento of your first real confession.

“i love you.”

he pauses as you cut him off, blinking as he stares at you. something flashes in his eyes—fear, excitement, a small bit of shock and doubt that makes your heartache. you can read him like a book.

it’s not doubt because he thinks you lie. it’s doubt because he thinks it shouldn’t be him. you know that, and you’re prepared to patiently prove him he’s wrong. little by little. day by day. one kiss at a time.

“that’s really enthusiastic,” he shoots you a teasing grin, too easy and too practiced for your liking, “if i knew you liked croissants that much—”

“no, wriothesley,” you say gently, like your words could rock the boat and topple you both into a dangerous, unforgiving current any moment. “i love you. i love when you tell me things you don’t like sharing, and i love when you show me things that are hard to revisit. i love you. because you try, and you’re good at trying. and that’s enough.”

“getting sentimental on me?” he asks hoarsely, smiling tightly.

your hand cups his cheek again, pulling him in so you can kiss the corner of his mouth as you whisper, “yes.” your lips find the other side of his mouth, still at the corner as you whisper again. “because you deserve to hear nice things. even the cheesy ones.”

his eyes close. one moment turns to two, and you let him take his time. let him swallow as he takes a shallow breath before he opens them again and looks at you.

he’s laid bare before you. in more ways than one. being nude is easier than being seen—he trusts you enough to let himself be both.

“you deserve to hear nice things, too,” he admits. it’s not the same as admitting he loves you too, but it’s as close as he can get—still difficult enough that his voice breaks. like it’s hard for him to confess something like this.

it is.

it’s hard for him to tell someone he loves them. the last time he did, he felt the sucker punch of betrayal in his guts, so young that he hardly understood what it meant to be betrayed at all. he watched the same eyes he used to think were his saviors die out as blood spilled in the living room, where his tiny feet padded across as he ran around and played. he misses them sometimes, even now.

his mother’s beautiful green eyes that greeted him in the mornings as she kissed him awake, warm and gentle on his forehead. his father’s deep blue ones that would look at him proudly as he grew and grew, clasping his shoulder with that firmly affectionate grip.

sometimes, he misses them, misses what he thought he had. other times, he’s glad he did it. sometimes, in the dead of night, when it’s just him, he mourns the old him. the one that didn’t have blood on his hands, the him that didn’t have to take two lives to set so many free. the version of him that was allowed to be a boy who existed freely, no taxes to pay for the love he so desperately wanted.

love is wicked like that—it creeps up on you, takes pieces of you, and changes you until you can hardly recognize yourself. until you can hardly recognize everyone around you. how long has it been since he’s seen his siblings? can he even still call them that? do they remember him? would he even recognize them?

he still loves them in his own way. his precious little sisters camille and lucie, and his sweet baby his brothers alexandre and nicolas—he came back and set them free just before it was their time. he didn’t want to leave them, but he had no choice. there were ones who left before him, a time that he can hardly remember anymore. a time before him and antoine. but he recalls them being so delicate with him just as older siblings should be. did they make it out of whatever fate they were sealed to? were they disposed of with no witnesses to bring their demises to justice? he doesn’t know. it’s easier not to know.

it’s easier not to love at all than to open up the risk of hurting. every person he’s ever loved has caused him pain. even the innocent siblings who did nothing wrong—all he’s ever known is pain. the pain of not having them around anymore. the pain of their quiet demise. the pain of setting them free and letting them go. the pain of never having them to himself like a proper family.

loving is so hard for him, so hard on him. so unforgiving to him. so cruel and harsh to him that he hides away behind guarded fists and loaded punches. and you know it, too—he knows you do because you reward his confession with the softest kiss you’ve ever given him as soon as he spills the words.

“i love you,” you murmur the sweet words into his mouth between warm kisses, “i love you. i love you.”

“say it again,” he pleads. it’s easier to let you love him than it is to love you—you don’t mind letting him be a little selfish. he deserves it, in fact.

“i love you. more than anything i’ve ever loved.”

“promise me,” he begs.

“i promise,” you say firmly. “and you don’t have to say it back, not yet. but i want you to know it because you should know you’re loved.”

all at once, the vines wrapped around his chest release, one petal blooming across his heart and arteries at a time until the nectar is running through his veins.

it’s warm. it’s sunny. it’s soft. it’s so, so safe. it doesn’t hurt. it never does with you. you never let it.

“i love you too,” he croaks. he shivers as he says it before he’s grinning slowly, chuckling in wonder as he lets the words sink in before he repeats again, “i love you.”

“yeah?” you beam, eyes crinkling as joy tucks itself into the crevices.

he nods. “yes. and your weird nature lectures.”

you pout, making him laugh. “hey—”

“and your annoyingly aromatic house with petals everywhere—”

“they’re not everywhere—”

“and that ugly dog watering can of yours—”

“it kind of reminds me of you, so—”

“i love them all, and i want them for the rest of my life. i hope you take it easy on the snapdragons, though. i think i’m allergic.”

“such a romantic at heart,” you grumble, rolling your eyes. but they’re glassy, swelling with unshed, precious little tears.

he kisses your eyelids as you close your eyes, murmuring, “i’m doing my best here. cut me some slack, i’ve never dated someone before.”

“oh, wriothesley,” you sniffle, tears coating your sun-soaked skin. and despite the evidence of tears, he’s never seen joy on your face like this before—so clear and radiant. “who taught you about romance? you’re hopeless.”

“hopelessly in love with you,” he shoots back smugly, wiggling his brows.

“i’m doomed,” you snort, letting out a watery chuckle.

“yeah,” he says cheekily, “you are. i hope you’re prepared.”

you kiss him in reply. he kisses you, too. you kiss each other. flowers bloom everywhere your lips touch—wriothesley swallows every petal gratefully.

you love him. you love him not. you love him. you love him not. you love him. you love him not.

you love him.

you love him.

you love him.

it always ends with you love him.

and he loves you, too. you both love each other. the words bounce from both of your tongues like you take turns tasting them, feeling them, familiarizing yourselves with them.

it doesn’t matter who whispers the words first or who murmurs them last. no matter who breaks the silence, it always ends with i love you.

ITS FINISHED. WOW. i never thought a flower shop drabble was going to turn into this—i actually had a completely different flower shop au idea that was going to be a long fic but i just wanted to write a tiny practice round drabble to get the itch out my system before i had time to sit down for the full fic. well as you can see…the practice run kind of took a mind of its own so now we have this. LOL. i think perhaps i will also write the other idea but we will see!!! this one kind of replaced the other one in my heart as flower shop wrio lore lol 🥸

ANYWAY!!! i hope you all enjoyed this as much as i enjoyed writing it. idk if wrio was ooc or not or if i did his past and trauma justice but i certainly tried!! all the things about his past with the siblings and his mother's diary and the croissant at the bakery are all headcanons i carefully crafted and hold so so so dear. they are my truth!!! and they make me fall in love with him so much more deeply :( anyway! if you liked it then as always, reblogs and comments are appreciated. now if you’ll excuse me, i will be doodling his name in pink glitter pen with hearts in my diary and giggling.

[s0lar-ch3ri]

when cheri has ocs

its time to go silly mode.

LETS TALK ABOUT MY OCS FOR ONCE IN FOREVER :D

OKAY SO LIKE. paige (he/xey). 16 year old paige. he got multiple arms and shit, can grow up to 20 extra, and uses sign mainly to communicate as hes slowly losing his hearing (hes like at 40 as of rn, would be more but Events happened and it went down a LOT quicker)! he is a pd oc and has a nephew named collins (who ill talk about more either later or in a diff post, depends how i feel) and like. lets get into his silly lil thigns (putting a read more cause long rambles tee hee)

(OH AND NELF IK YOU FOLLOW ME. NO NO READING FOR YOU. or actually any of my friends in the rp sighs)

POWER INFO:

the arms can pop out basically anywhere on the back and sides of the torso (this does include the shoulders)! they can all be given different tasks to do, but paige prefers to have them all do the same things. the arms function like regular arms, and can be hidden on command. the arms arent really stored, they just appear. xeir skin though does has a faster scar-making process as to handle the arms that pierce out.

DRAWBACKS/DOWNSIDES/WEAKNESSES:

the arms do pierce the skin each time, and while xeir skin is able to form back at much quicker speeds, it still aches a bit when their first pulled out. the pain can last for longer and hurt more dependent on how many arms are pulled out. from this, everything becomes strange sensory wise and attempting tasks (like restraining someone or even picking something up) becomes a lot harder.

to command the arms to do different things requires a lot of focus on the arms. the more complicated, or the more arms doing all different things, the commands to the arms are, the less outside information is to taken in as to keep a focus over all the arms.

if an odd amount of arms is in use, it can cause an unbalance. its similar to phantom limb in a way, being incomplete in its set.

the arms can randomly pop out unexpectedly. whether its because of a fear response or he just had the misfortune of having them, it always hurts like hell (more then normal, and because of their wild nature, it doesnt really go away) and takes a bit to put away. he also becames basically unaware of his surroundings as all his focus goes into controlling these arms.

with the wild arms and shit, they also can damage paige. they are not under paiges control (unless, ofc, the focus thing) and as such squirm around. however, things can escalate and the arms seem to have a mind of their own, able to aimlessly grab and rip at things. this includes paige.

BACKSTORY:

paige had started noticably going deaf at the age of 8. for a couple years, they (xeir parents) tried to have paige speak, but eventually (when he was like 9 or 10) they just had him learn sign. also around the age of 8, paige had noticed the arm thing, but managed to hide them easy. hes a lil transgender guy and uses binding tape (he/xey btw should have said that sooner)! he ended up telling his nephew his secret (moreso because he caught him once and paige just decided to explain it all). as of current, paige is in highschool (where he gets picked on i mean hes a disabled kid hello??), able to balance both being a hero and a student pretty well (he may be failing a couple classes but like. surely he can fix it).

THE SECRET:

paige doesnt actually have "xeir" own powers. its a parasite, implanted into his brain. whether by accident or not (still havent decided), it was implanted around the birth of paige and is slowly eating away. its why the arms can be very wild and shit, theyre not really belonging to his control or him at all. it wasnt really identifiable and it isnt noticed by paige. so uh yeah

[klanceogies]

hi i have klance f1 au brainrot

i can't stop thinking about little story details and backstories like. keith's dad was in f1 before. i feel like he didn't die in an f1 crash. maybe a regular car crash. the irony of this guy who races in incredibly fast speeds to be killed by something so ordinary, in a car, but not an f1 one. and it wasn't even his fault. some drunk driver or something. he didn't die on an f1 car because speed isn't what kills you, it's suddenly stopping that does.

also still talking about keith's background, keith coming from an f1 family background makes so much sense in my mind. him being an orphan would make it basically impossible to sustain himself in such an expensive sport as a kid like that. but since he was already in the scene, and people respected his dad, he had connections and sponsors (not to mention he had always shown that he was a prodigy in the sport so people were willing to bet on him and support him and his career). he met shiro through that environment too.

he also skipped f2 like a lot of really skilled rookies, but he popped into f1 seemingly "out of nowhere" years after a controversy in his f3 days. it goes like this: james, little asshole james coming close second in that season, is a shit person. he is just fucking mean. and keith has been having a shit year. and idk if you're gonna agree with this but hear me out. shiro crashes. like badly. like career-ending crash. he loses his arm and he is in the hospital, and of course he eventually makes a great recovery, but right now no one knows it yet. they just know that at the very least shiro is never going to race again. they don't know how his recovery is gonna go, IF he is going to recover.

keith is alone. since the death of his dad, he is completely alone. so yeah keith starts to lose it a little bit. and this season has been proving harder than expected, james closing the point gap for first place. the media can't stop making up stories about him, shiro was in the hospital, he had a lot issues with his team manageament, which made his season unnecessarily harder. with all of that, keith becomes more reckless. he has nothing to lose--only the championship.

so, a race happens. bad choices are made. of course james provoked him, coming too close, crashing into him races before but not being too penalized for it. saying some very unkind things about keith and his brother, who was still on the hospital. being a little shit overall. so keith closes in on james, a similar situation as hamilton and verstappen in silverstone back in 2021 (as a max girlie this makes me pissed off but oh well). james runs into the wall. thankfully james's injuries weren't very serious, but he got a broken hand which was enough to make him unable to drive until the end of the championship.

now keith was the champion, right? without james on the next races there is no competition anymore. but keith isn't very happy. his impusiveness damaged his car, and at the very least he will get a grid penalty for provoking that accident. well, it is worse. he is black flagged (idk a lot about black flags but like. provoking a crash like that SHOULD prompt a black flag tbh). his engineer tells him he might be suspended for a few races and he LOSES IT. he really needs more mental health help cause he disobeys the black flag and is even more severely penalized. he really is suspended for the next few races, and basically, it screws everything. he finally lost everything he ever had. and maybe, in some twisted way, he felt like he deserved every single part of it. self sabotage and all of that. well, the media goes crazy because everyone thought he would be the next schumacher when he got older. he dips out of the face of the planet. no one thinks this kid will ever race again. "too unstable" some say. "he is just crazy" others mutter. with no one to help him and sponsors dropping him he is now helpless.

that year, lance won the f3 championship. which pretty much sucked. with keith and james out of picture he was the obvious third place. it helps him get promoted to f2. he was doing great already, but he still felt so undeserving. he didn't beat james nor keith. he was just put on that first place podium. he didn't work for it.

after that year lance and keith didn't talk for a while. keith is benched. put out of the spotlights for a while. he does other races, but out of the classic formula path. just because his team hasn't given up on his world champion potential just yet. so they keep him at arm's length, but further from the media than if he was an actual competitor. to the average fan he just disappeared (well, the average fan doesn't even watch f2, much less f3). in the end, his return is even more impactful, memorable.

about 3 years later keith comes back. he first starts as an f1 reserve driver. substituting another driver that year make people actually see him again. how much he has changed. and how much he is still is hungry for speed. hungry for victory.

[locution-youngster-enjoyer]

Weird AU I just thought up of:

Wordgirl x Roblox Doors.

Ok, so it’s not exactly a doors AU, it’s just heavily inspired by doors.

You play as Two Brains, a doctor who was given his strange name due to a bad lab accident, fusing his brain with a mouses. A close friend of yours, a young but unusual girl named Becky, suddenly went missing, and was last reported being seen at an abandoned location. Two Brains, while concerned, wasn’t particularly interested in personally going to try and find Becky, until he got a letter inviting him to the location Becky was last seen in.

Curious, and desperate, Two Brains goes to the location, which turns out to be a mansion. When walking in, he’s greeted on a secret intercom by a mysterious man who calls himself ‘Mr Big.’

“I know what you’re really hear for, Doctor. However, I’d like to welcome you to my little freak show! While I think you’d fit right in, I must advise my friends aren’t *nearly* as friendly when it comes to new faces. I’d get used to this place, you’ll be here for a while.”

So boom, he’s stuck in what seems to be a looping mansion, struggling to find Becky. The last bit of his conscience that is still Steven acts sort of like guiding light, and will make comments as hints. The other villains are all entities. Here’s some ideas I have so far:

Amazing Rope Guy (aka “Snake?”)

He’s one of those entities that can’t actually kill and hardly cause any harm (think Timothy from doors). If you open a closet, there’s a chance you get hit in the face with a piece of rope

Little backstory quote: “Oh him? He’s just trying to fit in. He’s scared”

Chuck + Brent (aka “The ‘Catch-up’ Brothers”)

Basically this AU’s equivalent of Rush. Riding around the halls of the mansion in a sandwich themed car, they’ll run you down if you aren’t quick enough to get out of the way. If you are able to catch a glimpse of them before you’re run over, you’ll notice they look like two people being fused together.

Backstory quote: “Have you ever had a favorite food? Once there were two brothers who both shared a love of sandwiches, but couldn’t decide on how to create the best sandwich. One brother had the talent of engineering, and tried to fuse his and his brothers favorite sandwich. Guess what happens when you stand too damn close to a untested machine? Now they ride around the halls to try and get rid of their permanent adrenaline rush, plus it’s hard to walk around when your existence is a constant three legged race… you know, I think I’ll just stick with fries as my favorite food.”

Eileen (aka “The Tantrum”)

The equivalent of dupe. Whenever you see a door that has a door number that looks like it was drawn on with a black crayon and you try to open it, you’ll get pushed back by either a green hand, foot, or a giant eyeball. If you have an item on you, not only will you take damage, your item will also get stolen.

Quote: “Ever met a spoiled kid? How do you deal with one who’s oh so green with envy? Don’t throw a hissy fit if she steals your things, she thinks its a birthday present. The little ass isn’t allowed to draw on the doors, and refuses to except time out. Her getting herself stuck is the best alternative I guess.”

Invisibill (Aka “Hide’n’Seek”)

The equivalent of screech. Sometimes, you’ll hear the sound of someone trying to muffle themselves laugh. The way to find Invisibill is by looking at any floating object near you, because it’s Invisibill holding it. If you aren’t quick enough, Invisibill will throw whatever object he’s holding at you, and you’ll take damage.

“Have you ever played hide and seek before? Imagine becoming so good at it you barely need to hide. Just keep him entertained, he *really* doesn’t appreciate being ignored.”

Leslie (aka “The Hound”)

Leslie’s role is interesting. She’s still Mr Big’s assistant, but similar to how she is in the show, she’s actually pretty neutral. When it comes to appearance, she looks like what happens if you try to combine a human’s anatomy with either a dog, cat, or reptile. Functionally, she’s a combo of the Figure and either Guiding or Curious light.

Whenever you die, you have a small cutscene where you wake up in an elevator going back to the first floor. The first time you die to specific entity, Mr Big will give you their name and a mocking comment. He’ll also speak over the intercom about any non deadly entities you may encounter (like ARG). However, the second time you die to the energy, Leslie will talk over the intercom and tell you the little backstory quotes, which vaguely hints at what the entity does.

Quote: “I apologize. I’m still trying to do my job. I just have multiple.”

Ms Question (aka “Vertigo”)

Ms Question is the equivalent of Halt. The lights will shut off, and you’ll start to be followed by a blinding light that vaguely looks like a woman. If you don’t turn around and run away when she approaches, she’ll hit you with an amnesia beam, disorienting you so it’s easier for her to hit you again.

Quote: “What are the two things philosophers do? Question and discuss. Now imagine only getting half of that down, and making that your entire personality. To many questions can get overwhelming, so it’s better to just avoid them all together. Don’t blame her though, she’s just very curious about everything, including you.”

Seymour (aka “The Ad-vert”)

Seymour is the equivalent of eyes. In some rooms, there will be a tv, and there’s a chance that an ad will start playing on the tv. If you stare at the ad to long, it starts becoming distorted with Seymour looking less human, and your vision will fill up with the ad and you’ll take damage.

Quote: “Once upon a time there was an rather attractive man. He knew he was destined for tv stardom, but needed a way to consistently be seen by all. Poor guy bit off more than he could chew. Now no one can stand to look at him at all, and he rather be forgotten then hated. To bad he’s stuck with the job he’s got. It’d do you good to ignore him”

Nocan (I could not think of a nickname for this lol)

This guy isn’t really based on any doors entities, and can’t do any damage. There’s a chance that when you enter a room, everything in the room will suddenly reverse (ex: you’re walking on the ceiling now). Hypothetically, if this was a real game, the controls would reverse as well.

Quote: “I always tell him to not do that, it makes a mess!”

The Butcher (uhhhh, I couldn’t think of a nickname for him either. Might just keep calling him the Butcher lol)

Ok, I know I said Leslie was like the figure, but to be honest, both she and the Butcher are like a combo of Seek and the Figure. Design wise, the Butcher looks the same, except more unhinged looking, and with butcher knives for arms (if you want an example of what this looks like, it’s basically the Razor from Slay The Princess but with butcher knives instead)

Quote: “Have you ever had a job you loved? What if you had no choice but to love the job because it’s what you are? It’s physically what you are, and you can’t change it. He’s just doing his job, really, he’s a sweetheart”

The Coach (aka ‘the Dealer’)

The Coach and most of the villain schoolers act as the equivalent of Jerry, El Goblino, and Bob as a safe space to buy items. The Coach is mostly the same, except for a noticeable extra amount of eyes and arms, and is the one selling the items. Chilling with him is Big Left Hand Guy (who’s the same), Captain Tangent (who’s comically accidentally attracting anything metal to him with his hook that’s permanently stuck to his hand), Maria the energy monster (who’s in a jar), and Royal Dandy (stuck in painting form). There are three extra chairs, one of which Invisibill will be sitting in depending on when you encountered him last. The second one is bent and cracked, and has “Property of the Whammer” written on it. The third one has a printer on it.

The Whammer (aka ‘The Earthquake’)

There’s a chance that a sonic boom will travel down the halls, acting as a less deadly version of Rush. The sonic boom itself deals unavoidable damage, but it also knocks down any tables and cabinets around it, which can crush and kill you.

Quote: “Some people really just can’t control their volume. When their mad, when their excited, when they’re scared. I doubt he means real harm”

Lady Redundant Woman (aka “The Redundancy”)

Beatrice is the equivalent of Ambush. She and her clones absolutely zoom down the halls, and will jump you if your in their way.

Quote: “Imagine being your own best friend. You never act the same way twice, so they’ll always be slightly different. She’s just trying to have fun with her best friends, so it’s in your best interest that you get out the way. It ruins their game”

Tobey (aka “The Inventor”)

Tobey rarely appears, but his presence is everywhere. On every piece of machinery in the building (Seymour’s tvs, Beatrice’s printer, etc) there’s the label ‘McCallister’. When you do see him, which you’re not meant to, you see how he seems to have fused himself with a machine. If you stay with him for to long in the same room, he’ll act like Haste (from the Backdoors) and immediately run you down and kill you with the machinery attached to him. If you try hiding under a bed or in a closet, he acts like Hide and kicks you from the hiding place, because there are secret machines in the hiding spots.

Quote: “Smart kid. He’s very helpful. Give him his space, he’s trying to work…. You.. you know him, don’t you?”

Yeah, that’s all I’ve got so far. There is some lore, and I’ll take ideas for any other villain entities, so feel free to ask me about it >:]

[justices-au]

Starting off the characters with Jeff (probably changes the most in both look and story)! The backstory I am about to share mostly comes from my friend, they came up with most of this so full credit is their's!

Story: Jeff, Liu, and Ben were all friends when they were kids and were actually quite close. However, after an accident when Jeff and Ben were around 12-13 and Liu was about 6-7 Ben died in a drowning accident leaving both boys very upset, Jeff even more so. After Jeff turned 15 he was still clearly affected by what happened being a lot more closed off and moody, his family moved in hopes of lifting his spirits and 'getting their happy boy back'. This did little to help him and if anything made things worse for his mental health and worsening of anger issues.

It was at his new school he met Randy, Keith, and Troy a group that was known for causing trouble. However, instead of bullying Jeff, they invited him to join their little group as even as a teenager Jeff was pretty well built and clearly strong. Jeff began hanging out with the 3 and spent less time with his brother, as well as doing nothing when his new 'friends' would make backhanded comments about him. All throughout high school Jeff got roped into the trouble Randy, Keith, and Troy would cause, including assisting in a few minor thefts and picking on other kids at their school. He hid all of this from his parents.

At 18 he was outed to his parents and almost kicked out, leading to him cutting contact with his family as soon as he graduated. He continued to hang out with his three friends but after they began making comments about Ben's death, Jeff snapped. His anger issues and other problems had been slowly worsening over the years and hearing someone mock someone he was so close to made him snap. He murdered all three of them and ran to his brother, who he'd have very low contact with for help as he "was the only person he could think of to help". Due to paranoia, however, he believed Liu was going to report him to the cops and killed him as well, but not before being badly burned in retaliation. A few months after he also ended up murdering his parents. He struggled for years after, even after he slowly came back to his senses. Eventually, he was approached by Slenderman and was offered a position working for him in return for providing him shelter, food, water, and an outlet for his anger.

Jeff is still very much so a violent person and is known around the mansion for being a huge jerk. Very few people are safe from his insults and taunting. This leads to him getting into a lot of arguments and fights and gets him in trouble with Slender quite often. If he wasn't so good at his job, he'd probably have been disposed of a long time ago.

He also has zero sense of self-preservation and can't keep track of anything for the life of him. It's part of the reason he keeps so many knives (aside from being genuinely interested in them).

His right eye is actually fake as the original was too damaged to be kept. He usually wears a more realistic one but has a few cooler fake eyes to put in when he feels like it (sometimes to just freak out new recruits).

He does in fact feel bad for what he did to Liu but is too scared he hates him to actually talk to him about it. E.J is trying to push the two to reconcile.

If there are any questions about him or other headcanons feel free to ask!

[savior-of-humanity]

(I'm curious to hear about your TTRPG characters 👀)

YESSSSS... HAHAHAH.... YESSSSSSSS

I'm gonna be putting this under a read-more because this might get long (and there's also pictures) but anyways!! (also pinging @hymns-across-the-stars and @cursedfortune since they also expressed interest for me yapping about my emotional punching bags)

SILAS W. RODRIGUES & CAILEAN EVANGELION UNIT-07

I've been fucking DYING to play an Adeptus Evangelion campaign ever since I found out it existed, and I'm still really happy that I found a game at all because the subreddit for AdEVA is dead (though you can find a link to an active-ish AdEVA discord server in there if you dig deep enough). ANYWAYS!!!

Silas isn't really a sopping wet poor little meow meow like some of my other muses (i.e Shinji) but he is definitely just as fucked up. Basic TL;DR of his backstory is that he lived w/ his extended family in Brazil as a baby, with his older brother Cailean largely being the one to raise him, while his parents were off doing shit related to the Katsuragi Expedition that would eventually lead to Second Impact. Given that Second Impact is a global apocalypse, obviously his country gets fucked over and a lot of his immediate family either dies or gets lost among the chaos of that and the immediately ensuing Impact Wars.

Fast forward about a decade, and his older brother goes off to work for NERV after managing to get some good higher education. All's well since Cailean's largely giving what he makes back to his family to help support them, until he suddenly and unexpectedly dies in some kind of accident. The reality is that Cailean actually signed up for a Contact Experiment w/ an EVA in exchange for a large bump in pay, which resulted in his soul becoming assimilated into the EVA. Silas, obviously, doesn't know this, and is incredibly distraught as he and Cailean had a very close sibling relationship.

Eventually Silas gets approached by NERV with the offer to become an EVA Pilot in exchange for training, housing, and payment - and seeing how lucrative the money is, Silas accepts.

For the actual campaign in particular, the basic plot premise is pretty simple; What if Shinji never got in the EVA when Zeruel attacked the Geofront?

A simple question like this, apparently, has some pretty significant answers. To put it simply; with no Unit-01 to stop it, Zeruel managed to reach Terminal Dogma, (presumably) fuse with Lilith, and basically become a god-like being through which it would initiate Third Impact. I'm not sure what the full effects of Third Impact upon the world are yet, but I'm assuming it resulted in a lot of global damage, on top of Zeruel now starting to spawn its own Angels (Zerulim) to target and destroy humanity.

A bunch of canon characters are dead as well; Asuka is presumed KIA (there's some stuff in the plot that implies she could be alive but We Don't Know Yet™), Rei II is dead (though another (adult) clone of her now acts as the Commander of what remains of NERV, now known as WILLE), as well as Mari, Toji, and a lot of other characters such as Gendo and Misato. Shinji's fate is unknown but he was offered as a playable character so I'm guessing he's alive, just not (currently) relevant to the plot.

Anyways. Silas.

He has some pretty complicated feelings about his fellow pilots, because he's personally watched two of them die in incredibly horrific and traumatizing ways. He's afraid of forming friendships and similar meaningful relationships with other people, because he's afraid of going through that feeling of loss; something that's heavily impacted him ever since Cailean "died". And yet paradoxically he won't hesitate to put himself in harm's way so that they don't have to suffer as much. I'm really hoping to flesh him out as a character as the campaign progresses since I've been thinking of implementing him and Cailean/his EVA as muses (though there's like. only one other person I know of on Tumblr that actually has Evangelion muses he could interact with 😭)

KHARIAS (also cw for mentions of child death)

So, Kharias is basically just my fursona that I adapted for a homebrew Lancer campaign hosted by a friend of mine. I don't remember the full details of the story because it's been a while since the campaign's on a hiatus atm but basically, she's a Wildkin (furry race) who had a very rough childhood.

She was raised by her father Perristona, who I believe was a former general of the Wildkin army. Perristona is Not A Good Person. Like. Not even in the emotionally complicated way that makes you even sorta sympathetic but in the way that makes you go "what the fuck, is this guy insane?" And for good reason!!

Because when Kharias and her brother were about 6 years old, he made them fight each other to the death. With axes. It was as horrific, violent, and traumatizing as you can imagine.

And then years later he made a clone army of her dead brother for the sake of basically helping some very misguided people cause a global apocalypse that may or may not involve firing the in-universe equivalent of a Halo ring.

Fun stuff! Basically she's a big shark lady who kicks ass and pilots a fucking badass magical mech. I might bring her around again for another campaign my friend is planning on doing, though I have some other more appealing character ideas since, to be honest, a lot of her backstory in the Lancer campaign was actually cooked up by the GM, so I'm not really sure how to apply her without just going through the same backstory stuff.

[ladylooch]

can you please tell us the reaction sav had when lio told her about the pregnancy scare 🥺

Savannah and Lio met in a small cafe, drinking cappuccinos and talking about the weather in Europe being so similar to the U.S. The surface level conversation eats away at Lio's chest until he sighs heavily, then looks at Savannah across the table.

"I really need to tell you something." Lio licks his lips. He isn't sure he wanted to do this, but something was yearning for him to tell her. He wants her to know everything, even the things that make him look bad. He wants a fresh start with her; he knows that is his only hope.

"Okay." Savannah scratches an itch on her nose.

"This summer, I..." He inhales awkwardly. "Have kinda lost everyone but Liv." Savannah tilts her head to the side in confusion. "Like, I am not talking to my parents. Or Lucie and Con."

"Really?" She murmurs in shock.

"I fucked up this summer. I'm sure that isn't surprising to you, but I had a one night stand with this girl and she.. thought she was pregnant." Savannah flinches. Lio frowns deeply. Fuck, this hurts. "She wasn't. But I hadn't wanted to deal with it, or have a kid with someone I didn't love, and I gave her money to take care of it." Savannah purses her lips. "I was really upset and got into it with my parents. I said things to them I shouldn't have about their choice to have me. I really took it to them and then went and kinda compared Lucie and Connor's situation to my parents. It didn't go over well."

"I can imagine not." Savannah crosses her arms over her chest.

"I really fucked up." Lio closes his eyes, then takes his hat off to run a hand through his hair. "I've tried apologizing and neither of them will listen to me. I didn't mean it. I love Stell." Lio clears his throat. "I was just suffocating under this weight of becoming a father to a kid I didn't want. And it brought up all these feelings about my story."

"What is your story?" She shrugs, not knowing much about his backstory because he never opens up.

"My parents lied to me my whole life... about being loved and wanted. My mom got pregnant with me on accident and my dad stepped up to be a family man out of obligation." Savannah looks away, confused.

"Lio, your parents love you. I can't get your dad to stop talking about you in interviews. And your mom? Come on. I don't think there is anything your mom wouldn't do for you. I have a hard time believing that is truthfully your story." Lio looks away. This is all he hears, but no one knows what it feels like inside of him. It aches. It rips him apart at the seems until he can't breathe. "But, sometimes we find out are parents aren't perfect. And it changes our perception of childhood." Sav reaches across the table to squeeze his fingers. Lio looks down at her skin on his. He can feel every centimeter of her against him.

"Do you want kids?" He suddenly hears himself blurts out. Savannah's lips part, eyes wide at the rapid change in subject. She starts to speak then stops. Before she does, she pulls her fingers away from his.

"It's not so simple for me. Want? Yes. Can have...? No."

Fuck.

"I'm so sorry. I'm sure I look like such an asshole, talking about wanting someone to get an abortion." He puts his head in his hands.

"No, I think you just want control over that part of your life. That I can understand." He takes his hands away, looking over at the beautiful woman across the table that he will never actually deserve.

"You're too good. For me. For anyone." She looks down at her cup, nibbling the inside of her cheek.

"And here I thought my damaged parts made me bad." She gives him a sad smile. This time, Lio laces their fingers together. They say nothing, just rub their thumbs across each other's warm skin until the moment passes and they move on to the next mundane topic for two old lovers catching up.

[nosignalformiles]

Name: Francis Mordaunt

Nickname: Frank or Frankie

Age and Birthday: Late-ish twenties

Height: 6ft

Pronouns and gender:  He/him, man

What they are: Some kind of dragon, he has no idea. I do, though. He’s a european dragon-blooded human. It’s in the ancestry, but he’s got no full dragon form.

Style and Appearance: Scruffy, shaggy hair, always a few days - minimum - of beard growth. Neat-ish glasses and clothing, but neat in a run down assistant professor at a community college way, not preppy.

Piercings and tattoos: None

Scars and distinguishing marks: Missing ring finger, missing left leg from just above the knee, and left eye. Surgery scars on the left side of his abdomen, and behind his left ear. Wears a prosthesis for his leg, and eye, but not the finger. Found it annoying. The eye is custom, catches light pretty realistically, and moves like a natural eye, but obviously the pupil can’t change, and its not impossible to notice if someone is trying. His leg is a bog standard basic insurance covered thing. It’s not great, it can hurt pretty bad, but it works.

FC: X

Personality: Can be arrogant and impatient, bossy even, but that’s more when hhe’s tired or busy, mostly very straight forward and friendly guy, who can be irritatingly level headed about things.

Abilities: Fireproof. Partial transformation into a semi-scaled and clawed form that doesn’t just breathe fire, but a sort of intense light as well. Thicker skin makes him harder to damage.

Weaknesses: Nothing special, can be harmed by everything not mentioned above.

Links:  Headcanons - Media  -  Fun Stuff  -  Playlist  -  Music  -  Threads

Other bits and pieces:

Likes: bird watching, bouldering, hiking, picking up neat rocks, dancing/clubbing. A lot of these things he hasn’t done since the accident because he is still not entirely past it yet, or found a reason to go. 

Was in an accident two years ago which left him with the injuries mentioned above.

Had inhuman, impossible, good fortune until his inuhman side woke up. It’s part of the magic to keep young dragons safe, successful, and thriving. There’s even speculation about old hero myths and tails potentially being unawoken dragons. Of course, the people speculating are dragons who think it would be cool. 

Does not have the biggest grasp on his inhumanity yet, is mostly ignoring it. It only comes out when he’s very excited or stressed out, another reason why he doesn’t leave Wellspring anymore, and even then barely goes out. 

Has been published in a handful of journals on vertebrate paleontology and some less focused geology and earth sciences publications. He will bring it up without being asked. 

Ego sometimes needs deflating. He knows he’s attractive, he knows he’s smart. 

Has an indoor cat named Minnie. 100% calls himself her dad.

Used to spend a lot of time in clubs, and raves, part of his whole wild good fortune and ridiculous ability to do everything and stay afloat. Doesn’t so much anymore, misses it. Can be found listening to house, breakbeats or euro-hardstyle while doing the most detailed still and focused work. Loud. So loud. If you’re next to him on a subway, you can hear his music. Does the awkward half dance shuffle when he thinks no one is paying attention and he’s listening to music.

Wears glasses. Has contacts, doesn’t use them.

He’s pansexual, but because of where and how he grew up, he’s not had a huge amount of experience with other men.

Long form backstory and bio (Least necessary read, you can skip these bits):

Raised entirely human, middle class family, in a larger town in Nassau County. Three younger sisters, parents around and still together. Sent to a catholic school because his parents thought it was a better option than local public schools, and the couldn’t afford private. (Just going to add this here, to dissuade any fear, his religious background, his opinions and experiences, are not intended to be in any way anti-religion in general, or anti-catholic. It’s not even likely to ever come up, but I can see it being mentioned here making people nervous, if you still are, and want to check in ooc please do! There would never be ill will about concerns being voiced.)

Everything in life seemed to go his way, he glided through every task and pressure with ease. Balancing a full social life while excelling at academics, with consistently high ranking state, and even multi-state level cross country and otherwise long distance running for track. He coasted into a university with a 9% admission rate, and got out the otherside six years later with not only an undergrad, but a combined MSc and PhD as well. He then got a job he was not the best qualified for, that gave him travel, adventure, and a level of danger he thought was acceptable and safe.

And then luck ran out. Then the crack formed and the cover meant to protect him, to keep him not just safe but so well cared for and preternaturally lucky, shattered. Fire and a light he couldn’t control, a panic to stop something going devastatingly wrong, open flames and oil rigs don’t get along. Were it not for the scales and claws, he wouldn’t have walked away from it at all, so what if it cost a leg, an eye, and a finger?

Except, that’s a hell of a paradigm shift to take on board after two and a half decades of impossibly good fortune. It all went away. He closed off, fell into a depression pit for months. Eventually he was convinced to go look at dogs at the shelter, something to get him out and about again, to make sure he always had company. Instead, he saw the fattest cat in the world and his heart melted. Minnie, the perfectly named fat fuck of a cat, gave him a bigger excuse to stay isolated, but also a reason to start looking for another job.

That’s how he found Wellspring. Someone intercepted his application to the NHM, recognizing his name from some other world gossip, and invited him out to see Wellspring’s musuem. It’s small, the only area open to visitors without appointment is still over crowded stacks and shelves of interesting bits and pieces. A lot of questionable taxidermy and wet specimens.

Behind the scenes was an entire building of archival roller racks. Cataloging as much of the fae realm's natural history, geology and ecology as possible. Something that so often goes un-explored in a world of magic.

Frank gave up gramercy park and a too small walk up for a still too small walk up, but at least it was in a small town with no take out options after 10pm. He definitely doesn’t regret it every time he’s suddenly hungry at 3am and nothing is open.

He knows Valentine, and frequently helps doing archival organization bs at the town hall records. He actually does know wtf went down with Cyren, but, because he has no real cultural knowledge or experience with fae or magic, he doesn’t GET it, at all. This lack of understanding has also gotten him in a lot of hot water when he tries to talk to people around Wellspring.

V basic non wellspring verse for him: Works in an archives and research center at either a decent university with a good earth studies and geology department, or a local natural history museum, lives in a tiny hole of a walk up apartment. Can be moved anywhere, including internationally, as needed.

[ohwell-itsme-but-danganronpa]

#also the mastermind is a planted FF agent I have my suspicions on who it is but that's a rant for another day#also also when the kids inevitably die they kinda just get shoved into the room the parents are in (a small-ish room with a tv displaying#the killing game)#ive been spoiled on what happens to Kokichi so I will say that when Hajime literally hears him fucking scream he break his ass in no#holding back anymore#(they hit him with a horse tranquilizer but he got Kokichi so like who's really winning (the horse tranq barely worked btw))

I can picture it, red eye glowing, kicking down the door with a dart in his shoulder, yelling "I'm here, I'm here, Kokichi, it'll be okay" but Kokichi doesn't recognize him and gets spooked by the red eye reminding him of monokuma and the generally intense aura he's got around him at the moment, so he just trashes even more in his confused panic than he already has from waking up. And they try to make it difficult for him to see Kokichi after this, but RoDs have Sonia using her talent for negotiating. After even Naegi lost his temper it seemed like nobody has their shit anymore, but here she is, composed, perfect practiced smile of a royal, polite but demanding. Remnants don't have the privilege of being allowed to be angry and impulsive now, with their status it can easily be used against them, so she's careful, tells Gundham that she'll do the talking, asks Nagito to please don't get involved, they'll kick us out of the waiting room.

And then there's the topic of memory alteration, they must have realized those kids aren't nearly as fucked up as the original batch and went "we need to make them worse", because you've already provided a few backstories that are happier than what they get in canon. Shuichi's relationship with his parents (and with his talent too), Miu's childhood lost to a comma post-accident, Rantaro's lost sisters he never actually had, Kokichi's "nobody will miss me if I die". Turns out kids in a world still recovering from the Tragedy need to be very loved to even have a chance of developing a talent, not to mention being able to go to school (there's a reason classes are quite mixed in age now), quite contrary to pre-tragedy kids that had to have some kinda damage to become exceptional.

komaeda anon: im cryigng,

also btw ougjgjg did you ever go into depth how the horrors exactly happened? like why exactly the ppl put the kids of the remnants but also the ult hopp's kid in a killing game?? 😭

*rubs my hands together evilly* Horrors Time I've let the concept of The Horrors stew long enough yeah? I'm just gonna explain the idea cause I cant explain how and why without explaining what's fully going on ok so NHPA is mostly staffed by either old HPA staff that survived the tragedy or FF members who were moved over, the school (and it's siblings HPES and HPMS) are heavily if not primarily funded by the FF and has become kinda a hub for the FF's little pet projects. The school is still split but in a less obvious way, and while Super High School Levels are still scouted (That's how Kokichi ended up going to NHPA) they still accept students through a regular entrance exam process but they clearly prioritize the Super High School Levels above the talentless kids and dont mix classes between them. So with the school's quieter prioritization of the super high school levels and their penchant for housing "Pet projects" for the FF, the V3 kiddos ended up being one of those projects (And it game them an excuse to get all of the remnant kids and shuichi in one class without raising too much suspicion "Well we wouldnt want the Super High School Levels to outpace the talentless kids" and all that) So here's what they did. They slipped a few vaguely worded consent forms into the stacks and stacks of paperwork that had to be signed to attend the school at all and from there took full liberty to play around with the kiddo's brains a bit. Building off of the NWP they put all the kiddos in a sort of vr experience and while in there, had most of their previous memories locked away (Any time they tried to think of those memories either leading the program to invent temporary new ones that would fade out shortly after exiting the program, or just leave mental static) The longer the kids spend inside the program the longer it takes for the real memories to come back. Worse comes to worse, the kids will automatically be ejected from the program the split second before they die (they can still feel the pain of that death tho and the placebo effect is a fucking bitch) As for why it's a killing game at all? Think about it for a second. The first killing game ended with a lot of dead kids but it also gave rise to the Ultimate Hope and killed Junko Enoshima herself once and for all, and the second killing game had no real deaths (as far as they're concerned) and rehabilitated a group of kids who were considered FAR beyond repair, in the eyes of the FF, what's a few broken eggs for the sake of hope? As for why these kids specifically? For Shuichi specifically, it's a bit of a question of if they would be able to artificially craft themselves a third "Ultimate Hope" and for the kids of the remnants it's the question of if or if not they're naturally inclined toward the more violent path out (the non remnant kiddos being a control group for this experiment) Kokichi himself is just generally someone they're keeping their eyes on alongside Shuichi due to his lineage but they've been watching Kokichi in secret for a long time. (They want to experiment on him and Shuichi SO BAD)

[holylulusworld]

Praise you like I should - Kinktober 30

Summary: Sam was there. Just in time.

Pairing: Sam Wilson x fem!Reader

Kink: Praise kink & dirty talk

Warnings: angst, mentions of explosions/characters death, dirty talk, Sam has a praise kink, implied smut, fluff

A/N: This ended up having more plot than expected. Maybe I’ll write more about their backstory one day…

A/N2: idea by anon

Words: 1,3 k

Kinktober 2022

Two years earlier, … 

“OH MY GOD! Thank you so much,” you sniff as Sam Wilson, Captain America himself carries you out of the burning building. “I thought no one can hear me. The fire, the heat, and the smoke were everywhere.”

“I’ve got you, miss,” Sam says in a calming and almost soft voice. “I heard you. You’re safe now.” You hide your face in his shoulder, nodding. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“I-I was working at my office. It was almost time for a lunch break, so I left my desk for like five minutes to ask my colleague if they want to order food too,” you cough, and take a deep breath before you continue. “She already ordered food, of course, she did. Shit, I shouldn’t talk bad about people in such a situation.”

“It’s alright, miss. People tend to talk a lot, or not talk at all after a traumatic experience. You can talk as much as you want to.”

“You’re very kind, and strong…and attractive. Fuck, I babbled again,” you bite your tongue, silently telling yourself to finally shut up. “Sorry. You wanted to know what happened. I went back to my office to order food. The delivery service said it will take half an hour to deliver my order. I worked a little, and answered a few emails.”

“Go on,” Sam encourages you. He still carries you, while walking toward his partner. The guy you only know from what you heard on the news. Bucky Barnes, the former winter soldier. Now the partner of the new captain. “I need to know everything you remember.”

“Okay. I wanted to write another report when I heard a loud noise. It sounded like an explosion. You know, like in the movies when a car explodes or something. Does this make sense?”

“It does,” Sam’s partner nods. “Looks like the most damage got done to the higher levels. I guess they wanted to kill the boss.”

“Wait! This was not an accident,” you gasp. “I-why would anyone want to kill my boss? This doesn’t make sense at all. He’s a nice guy, and never harmed anyone.”

“Sam, we were right,” Bucky continues, “with everything. Let’s get out of here. The rest is up to the FBI and firefighters. There is nothing else we can do, Sam. If we tell them about our suspicions, more people will die.”

“People will die,” you whimper. “Oh no. How many people died? I didn’t even ask. I was so selfish and only happy that you saved me. I’m sorry.”

“Miss, I saved you as you needed my help. There is nothing to be sorry for,” Bucky huffs as Sam jerks his head toward their car. “I know this is a lot to take in, but I think it’s for the best when you come with us for now.”

“Uh-if you say so.”

You can’t say no to your savior. If Captain America believes you should follow him, it must be important. “Sam, do you think it’s smart to take her with us?”

“James, you know why I must take her with us,” you don’t see the look Sam gives his partner. “I need to be sure we get a few more information.”

“Thank you,” you take the tea Sam offers to you. “And thank you for saving me again, captain.”

“Just Sam,” he softly says. “We need to talk some more about what happened. I know you experienced something dramatic today. I guess you have questions too.”

“You can call me Y/N,” whispering your name you look at the tea in your hands. “Your friend didn’t answer my question earlier. How many people died today, Sam.”

“Y/N, maybe we should talk about what happened after you heard the explosion. Can you tell me anything else? Did you see someone?”

“Sam, you are avoiding answering my question. I’m not some superhero, but I know you are trying to hide things from me. I went through hell today. There was an explosion, and then something sounded like gunfire. I could feel the heat of the fire get closer and believed I’m going to die. So please, do not lie to me.”

“You already heard that there was an explosion at the top level of the building. What you don’t know is that the building was under attack. No one but you and the janitor made it out alive. They went from room to room and shot everyone they found.”

“You see, we are asking ourselves how you survived long enough to call for help,” Bucky crosses his arms over his chest. “Are you with Hydra, Y/N?”

“Hydra?” you splutter. “Like Hydra, Hydra. Do you mean the organization infiltrating shield and such? I thought they are long gone.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” huffing you look at Sam as his partner seems to interrogate you.

“Is that why you brought me here? First, you save me, and then you bring me here to interrogate me.”

“Y/N, we only want to understand what happened today.”

“I don’t know,” you jump up, dropping the cup of tea. “I went to work like every day,” you sniffle. “After I heard the explosion and loud noises I grabbed my phone and raced toward the copy room. I locked the room, hid behind the copier, and tried to call the cops. After a while, the noises stopped, and then, the heat and smoke got worse. I screamed and…”

“I found you,” crouching down you pick the cup up. “Y/N, I believe you, but you have to admit, it’s…odd that only you survived.”

“You said the janitor made it out too.”

“He’s in the intensive care unit and they don’t think he’ll make it, Y/N. Sam doesn’t want to scare you, but you should know, you are wanted now. Everyone at your company was meant to die today. We brought you here to keep you safe.”

“I-I’m a goddamn bookkeeper,” you huff. “Why would anyone want to kill me, Sam? This doesn’t make sense. You are not making sense.”

“Hey, hey,” Sam brings you into his arms to shush you. “I promise we will find out what this is all about. For tonight, you should stay here. With me.”

Now, …

“Hey there handsome,” you chuckle as your boyfriend makes his way inside your shared bedroom. “How was the mission, babe?”

“Top secret, but we all came back unharmed and alive,” Sam flashes you a smile. He dries his upper body with a towel as you sit on your bed, cross-legged.

“I can see that sexy captain,” he laughs as you watch him run the towel over his arms. “You know that you are the most handsome man I ever invited to my bedroom right?”

“I hope so,” Sam hides it well, but a shudder runs through his body at your praise. “You are the most beautiful woman I ever invited to my bedroom, miss.”

“I mean it, Sam,” you roll onto your belly to get a better look at your boyfriend’s cock when he drops the towel covering his hips and crotch to the ground. “Look at my man. Hot, smart, and a perfect lover.”

Sam licks his lips. He can already feel his cock twitch as you keep on showering him with praises. “You know, if you keep on talking like that, I might have to rip that nightgown off of your sexy body.”

“What else will you do, captain,” you seductively look at your boyfriend. “I bet you want to do dirty things to me.”

“I will rip your nightgown down your body. Then I’ll have my way with you in any position. Your tight little cunt will be sore by morning,” he flashes you a smile. “I will fuck you deep and good. Maybe I’ll even cum all over your body to mark you.”

“I bet you will fuck me so good. You always do. You’re such a good boyfriend, always putting me first. In any way. How about you come over here and I’ll salute for you, captain…”

Tags in reblog.

[rnelodyy]

Something I’ve been thinking about is the reason why Berdly’s death at the end of the Snowgrave route feels so impactful. Why it hits so hard for me, especially.

The thing about Hometown in Deltarune is that it’s meant to do what the name implies: it’s meant to feel like coming home. It’s a place completely disconnected from the Dark World, where there’s nothing that can hurt you. Everyone there knows Kris and is on good terms with them, talking to NPCs nets you insight into Kris's backstory and showcases that they have a lot of history in this town, and even when your adventures in the Dark World change those worlds for good, Hometown remains a constant.

And I feel like the COUNTLESS references to Undertale within Hometown serve to make it feel like home on a meta-level. The people you spent hours befriending in Undertale are here, slightly different, but here all the same. The UI is the same as in Undertale, Hometown’s theme has bits of Snowdin’s leitmotif in it, Asgore greets you the same way he does in Undertale, Toriel’s house has the same reading chair and the exact same musical theme as it does in Undertale, Sans is virtually unchanged and even makes a tongue-and-cheek reference to you, the player, already knowing who he is, the list goes on. Hometown is new to anyone who hasn’t played Undertale, but anyone who HAS will INSTANTLY feel at home in Hometown.

Hometown, in essence, represents the status quo. The monster-of-the-week format of Deltarune means you’re going to get a completely new world to explore with completely different people in it in every chapter, so a feature like Hometown is something that’s sorely needed to allow the player to decompress in an environment they recognize as safe.

And yeah, there are some wider mysteries in Hometown itself (the bunker in the woods, the street blocked off by police tape, Onion-san hearing a song from deep in the ocean, Papyrus’s glaring absence, Kris’s antics whenever they rip the soul out of their body, etc), and I guarantee the status quo of Hometown will be broken at some point, but for now, it remains intact, and functions as an anchor point for Kris and the player.

Berdly’s death shatters that status quo.

You get this a little in certain normal routes too. If you attack Queen during the final fight instead of trying to loosen Berdly’s wires, Berdly will get himself free, but gets horribly electrocuted in the process. When he wakes up in the Light World again, he finds that his right arm, the one that got the shock, is completely paralyzed.

And yeah, a character, a teenager no less, suddenly receiving permanent nerve damage is a pretty big shock, but the thing is, it doesn’t need to destroy the status quo. Berdly will need to learn to live with a disability, but he can still function with one arm, and considering he got it through electrocution, he can reasonably explain it away to any adults asking how it happened. Like, there was a broken wire and he grabbed it by accident and got a shock or something.

But when Berdly dies, the status quo is completely shattered, because the status quo of Hometown as a sleepy little village cannot continue on if a teenage boy is mysteriously found dead in the library. And even if Kris managed to hide his body, or it turned to dust after they left, Berdly would still be missed. He has parents to go home to, he has a job, he volunteers at the library and he still goes to school, people will notice if he disappears.

For the moment, the status quo in Hometown is preserved. People still wander around town like they usually do (there’s a corpse in the library), Noelle still visits her dad in the hospital (she killed one of her best friends), Toriel still teaches Susie how to make pie (someone’s son isn’t coming home tonight), and in the end, everyone goes to bed while Berdly is still Fucking Dead, face-down on a table in the library, or stuffed in a supply closet with the rest of the garbage.

The normal route of Chapter 2 ends with a cliffhanger, sure, but the status quo of Hometown is still preserved. In the Snowgrave route however, it almost feels like the town is holding its breath. At some point, somebody is going to walk into the computer lab and find a child’s corpse in there. At some point, Berdly’s boss is going to wonder why her employee hasn’t shown up. At some point, Berdly’s parents are going to call the police wondering why their son hasn’t come home.

Shattering the status quo of the peaceful hometown is a standard trope in this kind of fiction, and there’s a lot of setup for this to happen near the end of Deltarune, when Asriel comes home. It’s not supposed to happen in Chapter Two. It’s not supposed to happen by your hand. Deltarune has been hammering in over and over that your choices don’t matter, and you’ve just gotten a teenage boy killed.

Chapter 3 with a Snowgrave save can go one of two ways. Either Hometown is thrown into absolute chaos, Kris, Susie and Noelle are subjected to questioning, school will be shut down, and the status quo will be obliterated, or… Nothing could happen. Characters could treat Berdly as if he’s still alive, just busy, or they could forget about his existence entirely. Deltarune’s Snowgrave route overall feels like the game itself doesn’t know how to handle what you’re doing, and just tries to shove plot elements together to still make a cohesive story out of the fucking mess you’ve made, twisting the plot so that Berdly’s death goes unnoticed wouldn’t be a stretch.

Either way, I’m very nervous for what Toby has up his sleeve for Chapter 3.

[kuroken-lovechild]

How haikyuu characters would play genshin impact:

//featuring me nerding out about mbti types 😔

Karasuno

Hinata

As an ESFP he would probably choose his main based on who feels good to use

Quick movements, lots of jumping, strong = XIAO MAIN (probably finds the flashiness and edginess cool and enjoys the button mashing too)

would aggressively compete with kageyama on who can beat spiral abyss the fastest and with the shortest time

unfortunately they’re both not very good (initially because kenma helps him out after)

Would try to follows the plot but dialogue goes over his head

Does not understand stats other than attack at first

Wish impulse is real and never has any primos

would attempt to talk to every npc

Kageyama

META SLAVE

Has no idea what wishing/gacha is at first and builds his starters really well

Then he found out and currently mains Ganyu, Zhongli, Hutao for the big numbers

gloats about his first 5 star to hinata

Does not talk to NPCs at all and barely digs into the story

only there for spiral abyss and to make his characters stronger

Tsukishima

Didn’t wanna play until yamaguchi dragged him in to have someone to co op with

Appreciates the story and lore more than the gameplay aspect

Eula, razor (cv uchiyama kouki) main—easy to build, easy to use

Doesn’t care about wishing either

Got Eula by accident and now holds it over kageyama’s head

Has really good artifact RNG that it infuriates kagehina (gloats about it to fan the flame 😚)

Yamaguchi

he’s infp he chooses based on characters he likes 🥺

Diluc, albedo, ayaka main

(i can’t explain why I think he’d like those three, it just Makes Sense)

Co ops with tsukki and yachi, plays both dps and support

Spiral abyss makes him anxious but he pushes through anyway!!

Daichi

Starter team king 😩

Feels bad about switching his regular team out FJDFJDJJDDJ DAICHI

Probably a casual player though

Plays to coop with suga and tanaka but they carry him through domains

he’s trying his best

Suga

Mains based on whoever’s fun to play too!!

but enjoys more of a challenge

Childe main

Waiting for Scaramouche to drop hAha 🥲 and harbingers in general

Appreciates the plot and is very interested in lore!!

Diligently does spiral abyss

Doesn’t quite wish on impulse, but if theres a character he likes he’ll spend everything on their banner

Asahi

Does not play, got too scared (see: haikyuu ova)

Nishinoya

Rolls VERY much on impulse

Similar to hinata in that he also likes playing playstyles that feel good

Xiao and/or yoimiya main

(xiao because he’s short jk)

Probably raised Rosaria and planned to use her

Plot who???? we only care about world exploration and fighting in this house

Tanaka

wished for all the women, raised all the women, uses all the women

valid

Primarily mains Rosaria, ningguang and Lisa though

sorry beidou you remind him of his sister too much

waiting for signora like many of us are

Coops with noya and has INSANELY bad rng luck

Yachi

Also chooses based on characters’ personalities

gay, mains sucrose and jean

isfj child and probably feels bad about the underrated characters :(

uses amber, xinyan and qiqi too!

Raises all characters but hasn’t raised anyone to 90

Coops with yamaguchi and uses jean (as healer, support, damage dealer)

Talks to NPCs and sympathizes with their sad backstories

Gets too anxious to do spiral floors 9-12 too (mood)

Seijoh

Oikawa

Oh boy

this ENFJ 3w2 guy? you KNOW he’s gonna be the best

As long as it doesn’t clash with volleyball of course

Very VERY competitive in abyss

Has one character hed get attached to but doesn’t limit himself to using them only

Incredibly focused on team synergy, carefully crafts teams to bring out the best in each character

Tests best damage output too

But also he’d probably use meta characters and secretly raise the ones he actually likes?

Current fave: Yoimiya

Uses strong characters for coop but uses his faves for single player domains (or coop with iwaizumi)

Likes characters but surprisingly wouldnt be too invested in the plot

does not whale out of pride

Iwaizumi

Geo user

Uses characters he finds respectable in the storyline + hard hitters

Razor, klee, jean main but unaware of the family relationship

Sometimes uses beidou although her burst takes too long sometimes

Pretty casual player, only started because of Oikawa

Hanamaki

obviously he and matsukawa would make zhongli pillar dick jokes

Kaeya and beidou main (he thinks they’re cool)

Not that impatient to wait for bursts to charge or has a lot of energy recharge

whale

Matsukawa

……. Hutao main

funeral home

Would use qiqi and hutao together for the meme then grows to genuinely like qiqi

Saves up for a really long time then spends it all at once

Kindaichi

Doesn’t play much tbh

Offline for a week, comes back to do commissions for one day, leaves

Kunimi

Hed be pretty good

but lazy and forget to do dailies

then buy welkin moon instead

Focuses more on the story too rather than gameplay and points out loopholes

Mains whoever he has in his team with good synergy (like chongyun xingqiu xiangling)

Kyoutani

Rage quits 5 minutes in after hearing paimon’s voice 😔

Throws his phone at the wall

Yahaba

Simps for jean

Mains jean

Dedicated to dailies and spiral abyss

But doesn’t wish that much

Was the one who tried getting kyoutani into it and suffered the consequences

Nekoma

Kuroo

ENTP king raises a whole arsenal of characters for spiral abyss

I cant see him really getting attached to one in particular ?

makes zhongli pillar dick jokes every chance he can get

but also uses him for utility

Wants to try using a whole bunch of characters and wishes on every banner

But uses the meta ones with good team comps

sparks twitter debates with ….. interesting takes

“_____ is completely shit”

Kenma

OH BOY HES A GAMER GAMER

Whale whale whale whale

He’s tony to

Best synergy teams, understands the value of elemental mastery, REALLY values good supports, calculates possible damage numbers

Kazuha, zhongli, bennett, venti are a staple in his teams

Helps hinata and kuroo until kuroo teases too much by deliberately playing horribly

mildom and youtube streamer like murase ayumu

Appreciates story and lore very much too

Yaku

he’d LOVE the children

Probably would use characters that remind him of family members and friends

Klee, diona, qiqi, chongyun, xingqiu, razor, bennett

does spiral abyss but not obsessively

Lev

KENMA-SAN!!! LETS PLAY TOGETHER!!!

I’m sorry he would not know how the game works

Doesn’t do the ascension quests and gets stuck at AR 26 with 500k extra points

Thinks he’s amazing but it’s because he’s stuck at world level 1

I’m sorry lev ily but ……. its the truth

Tries pulling for everyone too and mains the first 5 star he got

(childe because he’s russian AKSHDKDHSKSHS /j)

Wants diluc and xiao because they look cool but gets Mona instead (doesnt understand how to use her)

Yamamoto

Also raises the women like tanaka but + kaeya

Lev complained to him about getting Mona while he’s wanted Mona for months

Not really a dedicated intense gamer EXCEPT for during those battle events

Fukurodani

Bokuto

WANTS THE STRONG AND COOL LOOKING 5 STARS

Eula, zhongli, diluc, xiao

but doesn’t know how to build either

doesn’t understand stats

would feel really bad for qiqi

Wouldn’t like signora for hurting venti :(

Wouldn’t like childe too :( until he plays the story quest and sees the ruin guard cutscene

then starts sobbing because of what a good brother he is

“AKAAAASSHI I wanna do that too!!!” then he dies

Tries to use childe but doesn’t understand the cool down management

Mispronounces and misspells tartaglia (タルタリア)

for more info on how bokuto plays genshin see Kimura ryohei’s YouTube channel ✨

Akaashi

the true childe main (just like me)

Uses characters based on utility

but mains whoever reminds him of bokuto FJDHFJFJDKSJ

Very good supports but unlike Kenma, he chooses and builds supports around his main

also uses very good supports so people won’t realize he’s using childe for the cv kimura ryohei (everyone knows anyway)

Literature nerd appreciates the plot, writing and deep lore too

Konoha

Tries pulling for everyone but has REALLY bad luck

Has really good characters but never the one he wants

loses all 50/50s and has a c4 qiqi

Ends up maining qiqi as dps

sorry konoha i didn’t mean to slander you

Shiratorizawa

Ushijima

does not know how to play or build

Uses whoever he has (aka starters)

Only plays because tendou downloaded and made an account for him

Doesn’t know how to ascend characters or farm

Forgets about talents (me)

Weirdly good RNG and doesn’t realize it 😩

“Let me look at your account wakatoshi-kun”

“Sure”

“You didn’t tell me you had 6 of jean’s Stella fortuna???”

“What’s that?”

Tendou

this man pulls for the seiyuus

Mains childe, hutao, mona for 5 stars

childe and hutao’s instinct based quickswap playstyle works so well for him!

jokes about cosplaying mona then actually does

Knows how to build, grinds, and manages ushijima’s account for him

Probably whales too

Shirabu

Meta meta meta meta

But f2p meta

Loves setting up reactions

More into the lore too and researches theories

Remembers actual names of boss drops

Semi: so how many of those buttplugs do you have again

Shirabu: 💢stop calling them buttplugs, they have actual names 💢

VERY diligent with battle pass, dailies, achievements and spiral abyss full stars

Until he //SPOILERS gets into med school and has no time for shit

Inarizaki

Atsumu

Would have a crush on a character I just know it

Invests heavily on his faves and is great at utilizing each of them

fussy . complains about a certain unit and how they can improve

or complains about how the game can improve to osamu

Osamu: yer just saying that cuz you couldn’t get a high score

Archons main (already saving for the tsaritsa)

Wouldn’t have a main dps but several hard hitting supports

Whale and falls victim to the weapon banner

Osamu

More casual player than Atsumu but still tries to get higher than him in events and spiral abyss

If atsumu’s a whale, osamu’s a dolphin

Great at dodging

Catalyst user!!

Mains ningguang, klee, yanfei + other catalyst supports

Also uses keqing

Kita

the man appreciates routine aka VERY diligent with dailies, battle pass, farming

“if you do things properly results will follow” or whatever quote he said ✨

Starter team but raises other characters for abyss

Reads dialogue and appreciates the plot

Barely gachas

Aran

will defend TO THE DEATH the underappreciated characters

Has empathy for noelle 🥺🥺

Noelle, Barbara, xinyan, bennett, children user 🥺

Talks to every NPC and loves the backstories and lore

also would feel really bad for qiqi

Suna

Uses the tall men and women and builds them all as dps (childe zhongli diluc kaeya beidou ningguang jean lisa rosaria eula)

He’d probably make a support character a dps tbh

Disregards team synergy for the shits but somehow manages to do domains and abyss

Itachiyama

Sakusa

c6 everyone

leaves

[hopelesshawks]

History of Us Part 15- Memories

Summary: Once upon a time Todoroki and (y/n) were best friends. Now they haven’t spoken in years. When (y/n) is forced to transfer to UA, will she and Shoto reconnect or will their troubled past keep them apart? A childhood friends to enemies to lovers hybrid fic.

If you don’t want to see History of Us content blacklist #hopelesshou

Warning for descriptions of child abuse (it’s Todoroki’s backstory)

Masterlist Kofi

“Who’re you texting?” Shoto asks with faux casualness. “Shinso from 3B,” you explain with a shrug as you type out and send your last text before clicking your phone off and tossing it away on the bed. “Didn’t he use his quirk on you to make you give him your number?” Shoto asks. “Technically he used his quirk to give me his number. I’m the one who decided to text him. He’s pretty cool actually,” you explain. Shoto’s tempted to further pry into the nature of you and Shinso’s communications but the thought is halted entirely as you curl up closer to him under the blanket, situating the popcorn he’d brought in your lap. It shouldn’t be a big deal. Huddled up next to each other was the two of you’s default position as kids.

He remembers vividly what growing up with each other and the fathers you two have was like. It didn’t matter that the two of you were just kids, training was rigorous. Endeavor and Black Storm were both sick of the monopoly All Might seemed to have on the hearts of Japan. They were determined to raise their children to do what they themselves clearly could not. It started after Touya’s accident. Endeavor decided he’d lost too much to give up on the dream of surpassing All Might through his children, so when his most trusted partner and best friend, Black Storm, had proposed training you and Shoto together, he had jumped at the chance. The trainings were harsh, too harsh for children, but that didn’t matter to your imposing fathers. The two of you were isolated from all children except each other and your relationship was intended to be strictly for the purpose of training. That didn’t stop the two of you from becoming close though. When your fathers were at work, the two of you would run and play and watch movies and do everything you could to pretend you were just normal children. Better yet, your mothers would frequently sneak the two of you games and treats to try and make up for the damage their spouses were dealing you.

The day Shoto got his scar was one of the very rare times you weren’t over at his place. Your mother worked at the hospital, her healing quirk perfectly suited for the job, but an influx of villain activity had been keeping her busy. As a result, Rei Todoroki had needed to bear the responsibility of protecting you and Shoto alone for awhile. She had told your mother in no uncertain terms she couldn’t handle the responsibility of another child for the day so despite Shoto’s pleading that you be allowed to come over, he’d been forced to spend the day alone. He kept to himself for the most part that day, after all his only real source of social interaction typically was with you, but then he overheard his mother complaining to his grandmother on the phone. More specifically, he heard her complaining about him and how unsightly his left side was. He hated hearing his mother upset so he stepped into the kitchen with a quiet call of “Mom?” with every intention of asking her what was wrong and trying to help.

It wasn’t long afterwards that he felt the boiling hot water on his face.

He remembers how badly it stung even after it had been treated and wrapped up. It hurt and it hurt and it hurt but he never once blamed his mother. He knew exactly whose fault his injury was and he’d made that fact very clear after his father told him his mother wouldn’t be coming back. When you’d finally come back over, your mother looked murderous when she saw him, her eyes surprisingly fierce as she stared down the number two hero and commanded that you and Shoto go to his room while the adults talked. The moment the two of you were alone you fretted over your friend. “Can I see?” you’d asked, left hand hovering near his face. He had simply nodded and carefully removed the bandage to reveal the still fresh wound. It must have been a horrifying sight, especially to a young child, but you hadn’t turned away. “Does it hurt?” you had asked. He nodded in response. “I can try to help,” you offered. Shoto shook his head. “When your dad gets back they’ll make us train,” he explained. Guilt had risen in his throat at the thought of you getting in trouble for tiring yourself out before training to help him. “I don’t care,” you had pouted. When Shoto tried to insist you cut him off again. “I don’t care! I’m gonna help,” you asserted with all the authority a young child could muster. You gently placed your little left hand on the damaged skin, apologizing quietly when he winced at the touch all the same, and then your hand had started glowing as you tried to help. Your quirk was much weaker then, of course, and you’d gotten nowhere close to healing the skin completely, but to this day Shoto will insist the scar would’ve been much worse had you not been there and he knows for a fact that if nothing else you had stopped the incessant stinging and pain the scar had resonated.

“Stop thinking so hard,” you command, poking Shoto’s cheek and snapping him back to the present. He blinks over at you as he reminds himself where he is and an odd warmth fills him when he remembers that he has you once again. “Sorry,” he chuckles lightly. “What were you thinking about?” you ask. “The day I got my scar,” he admits, seeing no reason to lie. “I’m still sorry I couldn’t fix it,” you admit, your left hand briefly hovering there as if to try and rectify that mistake now. He gently grips your hand and moves it away. “Don’t worry about it. You actually helped a lot that day,” he assures you. “Don’t patronize me,” you scoff with a roll of your eyes. “I’m not,” he promises, “it actually still hurt a lot before you intervened. I’m grateful.” The sincere sentiment flusters you a little and you have to cough to cover up your reaction. “Whatever, let’s just watch the movie you dork,” you recover, warmth still pooling in your cheeks even as you turn back to the waiting laptop screen on your bed. “Ok,” Shoto agrees easily before leaning forward to press play on the waiting movie and then getting comfortably cuddled up to you once more.

A/N: The puzzle pieces of (y/n) and Shoto’s backstory are finally coming together. We also got a little bit of insight into Endeavor and what his deal with (y/n) is 👀 Shoto and (y/n) both deserve better but hopefully getting them all soft together makes up for the pain of hearing about their past

Taglist: @sorrythatspussynal @miss-bakugo-writes @pixelwisp @larkspyrr @sokkaandzukosimp @akkaso @sunaispretty @mindofess @todoplusultra @oliviasslut @lapysllazuly

[moodymidnightkitten]

Fangs and Flowers 1

Pairing: AU Garou x Fem! Reader

W/C: 1.6K+

Genre: Fluff (mostly building the setting)

Warnings!: slight swearing but not all that much

A/N: After 3+ months after my car accident I can confidently say I'm ready to get back into the game and I'm so happy that even over these months I'm blessed with Tumblr users who come to my dash and liked and reblog things, y'all have really kept me going and I love you for that, thank you. And if anyone needs any emotional help in regards to traumatic experiences please give me a shout, I know things can get scary sometimes but I will be here always, to listen whenever you need me.

psst heres my masterlist

Why is it that when you finally have everything figured out life just switches up on you. Landing yourself in a world you’re not too familiar with. You try not even thinking about how your father is going to feel when he’s learned that you seriously couldn’t control your powers this time. How were you even going to get back?

You’re a combination of powers from your mother and father, healing and universe traveling. A mix that made no sense but blended quite well together. Or so you and everyone you thought.

You looked around, the signs on buildings decorated with flowing symbols, those must be words. You looked at them longer, waiting for them to make sense to you, as it usually happens. A little backstory, your people are considered the be all kinds of people, the people who, in combination could do anything and everything but not one person was capable of doing everything themselves, most people, like yourself in your clan had a max of three, and that really depended on your lineage. Lucky enough for you, your parents and ancestors were the strongest in the clan, every first born naturally developing three abilities. And here you were, the first born waiting on your grandfather's power to radiate to and through you.

It took what felt like forever but it finally came to you, the sign slowly making sense in your mind.

“...C-ci-ty Z?” you squinted a bit. “City Z, interesting, it’s blocked off.” ignoring the other signs littering the way claiming it wasn’t safe, not possibly feeling as though where you are could threaten you, you walked through the gates, your long black cloak swaying as you walk through the quiet streets. You came to the conclusion after walking for five minutes that where you were in a desolate area, abandoned even, whatever happened here must’ve been serious.

“Absolutely wonderful, I should assume I won’t be home for awhile so this will probably be the best place for me to be for the time being, I can settle down here,” you said talking to yourself, pondering over all of your living possibilities, you kept your thoughts to yourself for now, finally coming to a stop in front of a tall grey building. You walk in and settle for the open apartment on the fourth floor, with two bedrooms and a spacious communal area, not that you needed all of the space, it was still nice.

You rummaged through the apartment, it was almost empty of food but the electricity and running water was working, odd but okay you thought to yourself. You came to the decision that you would need to go out and grab more things, get used to your new home for now. Luckily whoever was living here before was also a female of the same size, stature and taste. You pulled out a light beige dress with black lace trimming, it hugged your hips perfectly, you twirled in the mirror and loved how it blew out around you, a bit above the knees, airy but not too short. You also found a cute pair of beige flats that had a glossy overlay to them. No you looked like you really belonged.

You waltzed out of the apartment and back outside, where it was luckily still quiet out. Looking back to make sure to remember the building. You dangled the empty bag you grabbed before leaving by your side before coming up to the least damaged grocery building and restaurants. Everything fresh was still good thanks to the power that was maintained in the area. But you still grabbed as much as you could just in case, it was certainly more weight than you should carry but it wasn’t killing you. Grabbing food and basic first aid supplies as a generic thing, just in case, you didn’t know what kind of diseases or harm this place could do but it seems as though this first aide was something universal. Even though you could heal yourself, it has its limits, like everything does.

You easily got lost in thinking within yourself, taking in your new surroundings and enjoying everything you’re seeing, until you come up to a peculiar building, one intact except one thing, a body shaped hole in the side, weirded out but so highly intrigued you walked up to the building and placed the bags you were carrying by the building. Peering into it you could see the front of the building wasn’t doing as well as the back, You averted your eyes from the tops and to the sides of the building finally looking down to notice there in front of you was a man. Naturally you were startled but grew some confidence to finally submerge yourself into the building to get a closer look. You bent down, laying a hand on his back, he was breathing. That was good you thought, at least he is alive but not conscious, his heartbeat was still going too slow for comfort though.

As you started to channel your healing ability to the palm of your hand your eyes grazed over his body, beaten badly, he was decorated in cuts, scrapes, bruises and what lies beneath you’re more than sure is a couple of broken bones and an illness, everything was more than you could handle healing in one setting. So you took your time, you’re going to wait it out until he’s healed enough to awaken again. After a few minutes more of assessing the person beneath your hands you began to notice his odd features, from his spiked up white hair to the strained and tired but well built muscular figure, he seemed as though a man not to be reckoned with.

And there it was, after sitting with him for ten minutes you felt his heart rate pick up and a small cough, it startled you, causing you to fall back from your knees, your butt now on the ground. The man took a deep breath and pulled himself up onto his elbows, rolling himself over, face up to the ceiling now. You watched in awe, finally seeing the rest of him, the jawline and color of his eyes, how much worse he looked when you saw his face. He put a hand on his chest and fell into another coughing fit. You were just sitting still, unmoving, breathing quietly, waiting for him to notice another presence within the same space as him. He began to sit himself up, legs criss crossed underneath him, taking a deep breath. You noticed how his muscles tugged at the shirt that was tattered, how they flexed so beautifully you could mistake it for water flowing in a stream.

“What are you staring at?” he said quietly, with a tinge of annoyance dancing on every vowel.

“My apologies...I noticed you were hurt badly, where I come from I heal those in need…” You were nervous in the presence of this man, a man with such delicately beautiful looks it could put all the men from your clan in shame. You could hear the man click his tongue against his teeth, trying to stand up he just grunted loudly and sat back down.

“Then heal me dammit instead of just sitting there,” he hissed to you. Your mind racing a mile a minute, even when he’s hurt he’s still as venomous and powerful, his aura eating away at the beautifully crumbled atmosphere.

“I...I can only do so much in a certain period of time, I used up everything I had to even get you awake...but I can help you over to my living establishment and I can continue to help you there, I know I’m rambling but there is a lot wrong with your current state and would also like to heal you to the point of resolving all internal and external injuries.” He sat there in silence peering at you through the corner of his eyes, concentrating on your proposal. A small grin also spreading across his face, your heart jumped, this man was more than a singular force, he was the whole beast, a predator, a blush crept along your face, as new to this world as you are this was about to become an amazing ride and you couldn’t wait.

“Help me up,” his tone shifted from annoyed to less annoyed but welcoming. You scrambled to your feet, crouching alongside him as he lightly draped his arm on your shoulders, using your right arm and put it flat against his back to offer as much support as you could, a blush lacing across your cheekbones. As you two began to stand up you noticed his build in all its glory, he towered over your small and frail frame, putting weight on you, grunting with most motions to get himself onto his feet. He also understood the size difference between you both, he’s either feeling better standing or is holding in the pain in consideration of how much of him and his weight you can handle.

“My name is Garou by the way,” he muttered out softly and in between huffs of air.

“Mine is y/n, nice to meet you Garou...even under these circumstances..” You looked to the ground smiling, even without looking at him it was as if the feeling of him grinning with just boring into you. You two have made it out of the building and you grabbed your bags and threw them over the other shoulder that was free of the damaged and in pain predator Garou and started walking to your new home, the feeling of giddiness feeling like twinkling stars against your skin.