dulcetthorns - Tumblr blog

[dulcetthorns]

We all had sonic sonas, right? Well, I still fuckin love that blue hedgehog, so here's my sister and I as our sonic-sonas! I'm a cape fox and she's a Honduran white bat!

[dulcetthorns]

Have I been gone? Yes. Am I back? Ehhhh, kinda? Oh well, it's my blog, and if I wanna hibernate, come back to throw some stuff out, then disappear again, I guess I can!

[dulcetthorns]

hii , pretty please asking for permission to draw your oc Illya Volkov? do small platonic interactions with my fatui oc? he is only few weeks since made and looking for excuse to draw him with fatui things. also she is cute (๑ˊ͈ ॢꇴ ˋ͈)〜♡॰ॱ

Wow, thank you so much! And sure, feel free to draw her and tag me so I can see! I haven't been super active lately so I'd love to see what you come up with! :D

[dulcetthorns]

AAAA HI I JUST WANTED TO SAY THAT I LOVE YOUR WRITING FOR CAPITANO, IT IS SO NICE AND DOESNT EVEN FEEL YANDERE, THE WAY YOU EXPLAIN THE STORY AND EVERYTHING IS EXACTLY HOW I IMAGINE CAPITANO IS!

TY SO MUCH FOR WRITING THAT!!! ALSO I LIKE TO IMAGINE A SILLY SCENARIO WHERE CAPITANO IS FIGHTING SOMEONE AND HE GLANCES AT A FLOWER FROM AFAR AND STOPS HIS FIGHTING JUST TO PICK A FLOWER, AAHHHH YOU HAD ME JUST FALL IN LOVE WITH CAPITANO

Read Herbarium here!!

Ohh thank you for the compliment and your silly imagine, Anonie!! I was inspired to write my own scarier take on your idea, so enjoy this drabble  (づ ᴗ͈  ˬ ᴗ͈ )づ*.ﾟ

Tw:: YANDERE, violence, blood, murder, stalking, Stockholm Syndrome

Note:: Female reader, pre-release Capitano

♡ 773 words under the cut ♡

The meadow makes for an optimal battlefield. The open space enables various fighting styles. There are no obstacles for opponents to use as shields or hiding places. The soil can soak up the blood and consume the unclaimed bodies for nourishment.

It is only a pity that the flowers must lay witness to such atrocities. They are silent spectators if not casualties to be trampled on and stained with blood. There is no need to mourn them, however.

Once the battle reaches its end, nature shall persevere and reclaim its home. Some flowers may even be granted an untainted death and a beautiful afterlife by the mercy of the Fourth Harbinger.

✿ ⚘ 

The makeshift battlefield is home to a variety of wildflowers. The vivid scene is an unlikely resting place for the Captain’s opponents.

Capitano’s sword slashes the soldier’s arm in a spray of blood. They scream and drop their weapon, staggering away from him.

Blood drips from their wounds and dyes the grass red. The meadow has become a mess of ruined flowers and mutilated bodies. They trip over the newest corpse, recoiling at the sight of their comrade’s crushed head.

The gods are so cruel. Why must they be the last man standing?

The Captain has been silent throughout the entire fight. No proud insults or cruel laughter as he killed their comrades one by one. No unnecessary bloodshed or wasted movements to draw out his opponents’ suffering. He works with cold precision, taking no sadistic entertainment in the fall of his enemies.

He is determined to finish them off as quickly as possible.

There is one thing which the soldier finds odd, however. From what they’ve witnessed, the Captain could have easily murdered everyone in one fell swoop. So why did he allow his opponents to scatter? Why did he attack them in different parts of the meadow? Why did he choose to prolong their terror?

The soldier tries to retreat, only for Capitano to land another critical hit on their leg. They collapse just a few feet away from his initial standing point.

They were all so foolish to think that they stood any chance against the Captain.

Their team had only been tasked to spy on the Fatui’s military camp. They hadn’t expected to find the Fourth Harbinger in a secluded meadow of all places, seemingly distracted by a patch of blue flowers.

…Strangely enough, those flowers show no signs of damage.

The sound of ominous footsteps snaps the soldier out of their thoughts. Capitano doesn’t even give them a second to recover.

That is another benefit of this battlefield. In a meadow located far away from civilization, the screams of pain are left unheard.

✿ ⚘ 

The meadow’s peace has been restored.

Capitano sheaths his sword and inspects the final corpse. He was successful in minimizing the range of the blood splatters. The flower patch remains pristine, undefiled by the battle.

How inconvenient. Despite residing in such a large meadow, the forget-me-nots had chosen to flourish in a single area. He had to maneuver his attacks to ensure that those flowers would emerge unscathed.

The light blue petals are perfectly spotless, though their fragrance is drowned out by the iron scent of blood. It was wise of him to prepare an extra set of gloves.

“My lord! What happened?”

His spy has finally arrived. They walk past the corpses and kneel on the grass.

Capitano changes his bloody gloves. “I was merely ambushed by a few low-ranking fools. Sergeant Charus, your status report.”

“Of course!” Charus looks up and continues speaking. “Your wife is in good health, though she appears to be quite listless as of late. She still spends the majority of her time in her private library.”

His mission will be over in a few days. He must remain patient.

“And what of her new guard?”

“They rarely speak to your wife, as per your orders. From what we have seen, they are performing their duties without fail.”

“Continue to monitor their activity. Should they show any signs of suspicious behavior, eliminate them on sight. You are dismissed.”

“Understood, my lord!”

With that, Charus leaves the meadow.

If his spies were able to notice the difference in his darling’s gaze, she must be exceptionally melancholic in his absence.

A cruel side of Capitano finds gratification in knowing that the light in her eyes has become exclusively reserved for his company.

Capitano picks a small bouquet of forget-me-nots, mindful of his bloodstained armor. The gift and his return will certainly elicit one of his darling’s rare smiles. He is looking forward to their reunion.

♡

Once again, Capitano challenges my ability to write action scenes. Imagine his broken Damsel waiting for him in Snezhnaya, reading her books and wishing for his safe return :’>

Thank you again to everyone who has liked my Capitano works and sent me your sweet messages!! And once again, thank you so much to @diodellet for peer-reviewing this and suffering alongside me!! I didn’t expect myself to become so attached to the twisted love story of Capitano and my darling, but I dug my own grave  (＞人＜;) Tag a Capitano enjoyer!! @bye-bye-sunbird @yandere-romanticaa @shumidehiro @dear-yandere @northcafe @dulcetthorns @lambdrop @uhhhh-hi-im-sorry-for-this @poetics-of-fuubutsu @p214ven @elixir-de-silence @loleah @springtidewaves @frostedclementine @literaree @the-dreaming-city @something-was-here @lyra-mew @siphite @blankussy @xreaderarchive @yanmaresu @frogchiro @alexteea @zana-horowa @lcveaesop @siphite @the-dreaming-city @micchikari @ryo-ri @harmonysanreads @something-was-here

[dulcetthorns]

capitano and dove darling

she's the princess trapped in the tower

he's the knight in shining armor

except hes not rescuing her to give her her freedom but make her his <3

Just imagine, how it would be to look out your window to find this dark, imposing and terrifying hellish knight cutting through his foes with such ease.

Unlike other warriors who love the spectacle of a good fight, this one acts with cold efficiency. No wasted movement, no theatrics of heroism. An army of monsters perishing against a bigger, stronger, more determined monster who won't stop against anything to rescue his future bride.

[dulcetthorns]

Waltzing with the Harbingers

Colombina, Arlecchino, Signora.

“Almost nobody dances sober, unless they happen to be insane.” ― Howard Phillips Lovecraft

recomended playlist

Prologue:

After obtaining both the Anemo and Geo Archon's Gnosis, there is a huge ball to celebrate in Zapolarmy Palace.

Your father, an important snezhnayan diplomat, takes you along. You probably should be excited to finally be in the presence of the country's heroes... But what makes your heart flutter is the chance to see your sweetheart there, a young fatui soldier who is expected to be your betrothed as soon as he raises in rank.

You move slowly, your arm tightly linked with your father's. You smile, masterfully hiding all your childish anxieties behind your well-studied courtesies. Your father, on the other hand, did not abandon his serious countenance. Your chest rose and fell restlessly, as your heart threatened to jump out at any moment.

And there he was. Your future fianceé approaches you as soon as decorum allows him to. You turn shyly towards your father, who releases your arm so you can offer it to the young soldier as a sign of approval.

You take to the dance floor together with other excited couples. Everything seems like a dream: the beautiful winter decoration, the champagne glasses sparkling against the candlelight, the joyous laughter.

Your father smiles as he watches you dance... until a servant whispers in his ear that one of the Eleven wishes to dance with you.

Columbina.-

The rest of the dancers squeeze each other slightly to make way for Colombina. Her light footsteps are almost inaudible, and her angelic face is adorned with a sweet smile.

Her fingers travel through the space between you until she meets your hand in a soft, delicate move. An eerie light, almost like a translucent moonbeam, shines on her aristocratic beauty, rendering you speechless.

"Aren't you a pretty little thing? Will you tell me your name?"

Her behavior was so similar to that of a lover, that it produced an intense uneasiness in you. You wanted to avoid her, and at the same time, you let her dominate you as if you were nothing but an obedient pup.

Flustered, you answer timidly.

"My, what a beautiful sound!..." she repeats your name in a melodic whisper and places one of her hands on your shoulder. She has a lovely way of blushing when she smiles. A nod is enough for the musicians to change the beat of the song, "... Shall we?"

Arlecchino.-

"Would you do me the honor of a dance?"

Time seems to stop when you recognize Arlecchino's face in the silent crowd. You had seen her before, always from afar. Not knowing what price you'll be paying in the future, you give her your hand as if that question had really been an order.

One of her hands gently holds yours in response, and a passionate melody erupts as she spins you around, opening the skirt of your dress like a blooming flower.

Her fingers spread across your lower back like the bloodstain of a deadly wound: Slow, gentle, and warm. Her eyes sparkle, fixating on your face, and her lips softly praise your beauty, making your heart pound. It was as exciting as a song come to life. Lady Arlecchino was every bit the fairytale knight girls swooned over, the golden glow of candlelight gave her an aura unlike any other.

But there was something in the way that she looked at you that made you shiver. Underneath all her gallant charm something peeked at you, like the eyes of an unknown beast lurking behind a bush. It made you feel... small, helpless.

Signora.-

As the last note ends, you hear thunderous applause from the other end of the room, which you also join in realizing that the woman of the moment, Signora, had decided to join the dance floor. She was terribly beautiful, as beautiful is the fire that devours without mercy.

The applause dies down as you all start to notice her coming your way.

You bow and mutter some well-practiced praises, which your partner repeats. She smiles at you, then makes a movement with her head to indicate your future fiancé to move away. He hesitates for a moment, but when her eyes meet his, he bows and lets you go.

"Come," she extends her gloved hand, her movement charged with bewitching arrogance, "We must dance."

Neither rough nor brusque, but with enough of an edge to make you fluster, she twirls you around the hall. Her embrace was not chaste, and while you experienced in full measure the beautiful bewilderment of a true passionate embrace, instinct warned you ominously.

[dulcetthorns]

Innamorati

Summary: Darling, even though you might be shared amongst all the Fatui Harbingers, remember who you serve and where your loyalties lie. Remember who saved you. Where this ice rests in eternal sleep, the gods cannot hear your prayers. Only I can. Pairing: Pierro x Reader Rating: NSFW. Implied sexual content, yandere, emotional manipulation, mind games, referenced non-con acts, religious imagery

Notes: This is part of a Fatui Harbinger collab where each Harbinger shares a darling. As usual with me, there will be smut later. Shoutout to Sunnie who created this beautiful header.

Recommended Music. AO3.

Fools preach the joys of worship. Within the Celestia I saw why the gods do not communicate with open arms. That moment judgment forces you to recount what has sat at the center of your soul, pried away like a newborn's first cry, you'll not talk of joy.

Pierro flipped the page. Stains and tares lined the edges, only a reminder of the cycle which fell to all. Each carefully turned page, the sound of ticking, and your soft snores were the only sounds that sailed through the chilled air of his study. An unfinished game of chess sat on the table between you like a forgotten memory.

Sleep. A rarity for any of the Fatui. The moonlight trickled through the window behind him.  Cascading snowy shadows decorated the pages of his book. Though snow blanketed the landscape outside, the piles would never completely cover the ambitions of the Snezhnayian people. Like the weight of moonlit snow on pine branches, the soul held strength to endure.

What sort of things would you endure?

He’d thought the chess game before him would provide useful intel.  Games and toys were worthwhile if they were useful. Take a children's slingshot, for example. While entertaining for the young, it also served the purpose of teaching survival. Dolls taught young ones the art of conversation. Stuffed animals provided some substitute for the innate instinct of touch. A proper toy also served as a tool.

Taking the toys away or losing them also taught important life lessons.

But the so-called toy that sat before him had yet to elaborate on its gifts. Striving to hone one's abilities was one of the beauties and curses of human nature. For each of the Harbingers, a toy's survival differed. For Pierro, useless toys were unneeded. While many collect toys to sit and look pretty, his toys needed to provide.  

Another page.

"Who knows if the gods understand the greatness of the human soul, even while watching us prattle the secrets of our lives. Human suffering is a power in its own right, one they could never fathom. A god's memory reeks of apathy while treachery against the tormented lasts for generations. The people cry out in holy prayers--dirt embedded within the nailbeds of their crossed fingers--for rest. Yet Istaroth never provides the time for that peace, and prayers on one's knees only waste daylight. The cathedral words fade as a snowflake upon winter heaps until they are all but frozen as one beneath boot prints. Still, the gods demand that knee, as if they already didn't have the universe."

Another page.                                                                                                                   

Gusts of wind bellowed against the trembling window. Your eyes slowly opened and took a moment to process the setting like a mammal coming out of hibernation. Pierro continued reading while your brain and body took its time to catch up with being awake.

He'd spent hours playing chess with you. After all, the other Harbingers often put your body to its limits; it was only kind of him to provide you with what was probably a much-needed break. Falling asleep was not what he had in mind for that break, but he had a text to analyze, anyway. There was always something to do, and his toy didn't provide much usefulness in the things needing done.

Your upper lip moved in hesitation to permit words, an apology probably, but you quickly tightened your jaw. Some comrades did not enjoy being spoken to without speaking first. Pierro did not care unless the words were pointless. Of course, the meaning of words differed from individual to individual. What words a person provided told their story.

What was your story?

Words also provided layers like the blanketed snow above deadly ice above freezing waters. They veiled and masqueraded. Yet that, too, told a story in itself.

"The way you silence yourself reveals much of what you've had to endure," Pierro commented while flipping another page. "Speak freely with me unless I deem otherwise."

You bit your inner cheek and eyed the chessboard as if it would change design by sheer will alone. "Forgive me, but hearing you say that provides little comfort in this situation."

"I know we've gained little ground in terms of mutual trust, but what you provide for the Harbingers is paramount. In my presence, though, I've yet to see its fruition. Alone with me, you do not have to sit and look pretty, even if it is a pleasant side benefit."

You didn't bother with your next move even though it had been your turn before slumber reached. "Well," you croaked, testing the sounds against your alveolar ridge. "What book are you reading?"

"It’s the journal of a fallen soldier," he answered, which was not totally a falsehood. "A rather blasphemous book to many. Are you religious?"

You shrugged. "I suppose it depends on who's asking."

Smart. "I see. So, you are not religious. It seems we have something in common."

You shifted your legs. "That's a surprise, considering your loyalty to the Tsaritsa."

"Indeed. For her, I am devoted. One could see that in a religious sense depending on the perspective. Is there anything to which you are devoted?"

The chess pieces remained as thoughts circled your mind, reflected through your pupils. "Not anything I can think of at this time."

Bold. "Everyone is devoted to something, even if they do not see. Tell me, are you familiar with Mondstadtian theatre?"

You shook your head. Your eyes briefly flickered to his and back to the board again.

"For monarchs of old, royalty kept a court jester. Jesters had many vocations within their role. Comedic relief was one. The same goes for the jester of a play. Often these Fools would point out shortcomings within royal meetings or people and stories in humorous ways. Like a dance of death, teetering on offense yet accurate. The audience laughs, yet those with understanding know what lies beneath the surface of the hilarity. The Jester knows all, the story from beginning to end, as well as the enigmas of each character."

He flipped a page before speaking again.

"Some people might say the Fool not necessary for a good story. Why have a clown recite the story when the words are already presented to you in the form of dialogue"

He continued scanning his pages.

"Ah," you spoke. "Probably so the audience knows when they're being tricked and what they're up against. Maybe the interpretation is less convoluted that way?"

Interesting. "Some would view that as hand holding. If the Fool's words are even to be trusted, of course. Many a people make for unreliable narrators, and that includes Fools. Still, the importance of their position within the story is unlike any other."

"I didn't take you for the humorous type," you commented carefully, almost biting the words back as if you'd accidentally bitten your tongue.

He chuckled. "Maybe not, no.  I am not necessarily devoted to any sort of typical humor, but the role itself is fascinating, wouldn't you agree?"

You nodded.

Dialogue, the art of conversation, would pierce through you yet.

“To circle back to your inquiry. Ah, before that, tell me,” he ran his fingers through his beard. “Are you literate?”

You nodded.

He waited a few beats for you to elaborate, but no sound came. Still, being literate at all was a feat in itself. Just how literate were you was the question. He stood from his chair with book in hand and knelt beside yours.  With a flick of his thumb, his saved reading spot was open to your eyes.

“Care to join me in the pleasure of reading?” he inquired.  “You can go first.”

With a careful nod, you cleared your throat to begin. “Waylaying the plans of a god might seem prideful to those without ears to hear, but what would man say if that same god took the innocence of their child away?  I have reached the heavens, only to see a throne in name. The same throne that grants vision in the same breath that it snuffs them. Waning though I am, I can still remember the tiny fist of my daughter, stamping her knuckles against her game bored at her loss.  In the same way, gods demolish the board rather than admit their wrongdoing.”

You paused in thought.  The edge of your braid tickled his arm as you leaned to glean more of the book’s content. And then you spoke. “When I was a child learning to read, I remember my mother gifting me a fairytale.  The tale featured a bear that couldn’t fish.  Though the reading level was simple, the words confounded me.  After many desperate attempts, I threw the book against the wall.” A chuckle softly escaped your lips.  “My mother in the next room never even heard.”

“You seem to be doing fine now,” he noted.

“Yes, I’ve…had plenty of opportunity to study.  Not to mention that little me was also very determined to pick the book up off the ground the next day and try again.”

“Do you think the gods in this story similar to your dilemma as a child?”

You pondered the question. “While I’d need more context, I’d say the message the author is trying to implicate here is that the gods in this tale act more like petulant children rather than trying to learn or grapple an understanding of their creation.”

Pierro hummed in approval.  “Maybe the gods aren’t ignorant or weak as much as they are prideful.” Though every single being, including gods, had a weakness.  Felling a god proved difficult, but once fallen, it was a matter of destroying the remaining shades.

“I would say that is the downfall of many,” you replied as your eyes scanned more words on the page.  “But it could also be a strength, I think, depending on the context.”

Pierro shifted on his knees and beseeched you to elaborate.

“Well, taking pride in your accomplishments is one of the beauties that life affords us, I think.  Feeling proud for creating something nice or doing well. Those are normal human emotions.  With anything, it can become a burden if you allow.” You gestured towards your barely touched glass of wine.  “Like alcohol.”

“Are you not one for wine?  Or was it not to your taste?”

Your hands quickly gestured in disagreement. “The taste is delectable I just…have learned that having smaller amounts makes for more pleasant company.”

Or you were wary of what one might put in a drink, Pierro mused.  Not to mention that clarity was vital when dealing with Harbingers.  Not that Dottore kept such things in mind; wine was probably restful in comparison with whatever medications he played with. Pierro didn’t begrudge your slowness of drink.  On the contrary, having such mindfulness of your surroundings was endearing. 

“There is no need to worry.” He took one of your hands —cold to the touch— in his and rested it in your lap.  “I am more curious about your mind. While wine is certainly one way into a person’s mind, I would prefer yours to be unclouded.” Gaining trust without the help of alcohol proved more useful in the long run.

You did not push his hand away.  “My mind,” you whispered.  Your gaze fell to the side along with a chuckle that puffed from your dry lips. “Would you dissect me like Dottore?” Pierro chuckled in turn.  “Not physically, no.” “Why was I chosen to be here,” you quickly pleaded.  Your hand trembled slightly beneath his own.  “My talents are miniscule, even if all you people wanted was a fuck toy.”

Your brashness struck him as if you’d struck him with his book.  “Interesting.  So, you think you are nothing but a fuck toy.  Tell me, don’t you take pride in anything?”

“I used to.” Someday you’d elaborate without being prompted.  He was certain.  “What was something that you used to have pride in then?  If I might be so bold, I do not think it was chess.”

Now that caused a laugh.  “No, but it was something similar.  Fencing.  The sport.  Smallsword style.  It is often said that fencing is like chess at the speed of light.”

That was news to him.  Glancing at your arms and thighs, he could tell even through the fabric you wore.  One bicep protruded more than the other, and even with one eye he could see the shapely tone of your legs that drifted down the plush chair as gracefully as a ballet dancer.  While the sport itself was not one hundred percent in tune with combat abilities, it did prove useful for many instances.  Were you competitive?  Judging by the unfinished chess board, competition was not at the forefront of your mind. 

“Fascinating.  I have heard that such a sport is popular in Fontaine. Did it originate there as well?” He’d known the origins, of course, and he’d known that those origins were not the true origins.  As with most things of this world, beginnings were buried within the surface away from prying eyes.  To know the beginning would be to know the fragility of the world and its creators.  Perhaps some would think it best to keep such things buried beneath the dirt so that those who could abuse such knowledge kept away.

“The origins are a bit complex, but the sport derives from many different cultures,” you chirped, pulling your hand away from his and to your chest. 

Pierro encouraged you to go further.  He wanted, needed, to hear what you could put forth.  And as the words poured from your mouth, he was blessed with an output of excitement that slowly bubbled from your stomach to your esophagus to your tongue until it settled in the sporadic gestures of your palms.  Endearing could certainly describe the scene, but only time would tell if the joyful glint in your eyes was simply because you hadn’t had a proper conversation in so long. Either way, the passion you bestowed pierced the very air like a perfume.

During a pause, Pierro spoke up.  “Would you call yourself adept with the blade?”

The book had been long closed and set to the side, yet he still lingered by your chair’s side to follow your gestures and eyes.

A slow and steady grin graced your lips.  “Well, I wouldn’t say I’m awful. Sometimes I helped the local children.  There are many people better than I, though.”

“There will always be those that are better than we are, even with the things we are passionate about.  It seems, though, that perhaps this is something you could take some pride in, hm?”

You exhaled.  “Maybe so.”

Silence hung in the air with the unspoken; your arrangement did not provide you time for leisurely pursuits.  Pierro doubted many of his Harbingers allowed for such times.  He would find out, though, and with each piece of information he could understand where their mindsets lie.  This was especially important considering the unrest that trembled through the Fatui. The unease that came with death and ranks and betrayal.   

Pierro rubbed his thumb gingerly over the leather of his book, waiting to see if you’d continue your tantalizing speech. 

You did not.

Instead, your eyes fixated on the chess board.

Pierro gripped the book in his hand and lunged his arm forward toward your chest.  Surprise lined your features, yet your arm instinctively parried his attack to your right quarter.  As if on instinct, you riposte with your hand to his chest.  After a momentary victory grin, shock flushed your features; you stilled as frozen as a prey.  Your hand stayed resting on his chest, probably unsure of how to proceed.  Striking a Harbinger, whether a form of self defense or not, could be detrimental for you unless otherwise granted permission.  Perhaps you’d become so wrapped in the conversation that you’d forgotten where you were.

Which was the idea.

Pierro bowed his head slightly forward and gently pressed his hand over yours.  “It seems the touch is in your hands.  The point goes to you.”

Your hand quickly retracted; you held it to your chest.  “I didn’t know we were…sporting.  I apologize.”

He chuckled.  “Well, you didn’t seem interested in chess, so I figured the scene could use something you might be interested in.” “Why…” you stuttered.  Your brows knit together as your jaw clenched. “Why would you care about what I’m interested in?”

“Isn’t it obvious,” Pierro replied calmly.  He leaned his elbow on the armrest of your chair.  “I’m interested in getting to know you.”

“Why.”

“Why does anyone want to get to know another?”

“To use them.”

“That could be a reason for some.  But aren’t we all using each other, then?  Even for love, comfort, contact, companionship.  Basic human needs. One works for his employer to feed his family. Another works to surpass his employer.  Each culture and society dictate which reason is more noble.  Do you find one more noble than the other?”

You shrugged.  “I don’t know anymore.  Most might say love or companionship.  But I…” You hugged yourself.  “Food. Less pain.  If that.  If I can get those things, I’d do anything.  Who gives a fuck about getting to know each other when I’ve hardly eaten in two days and my arms hurt from getting slung around?  The bruises haven’t even healed.”

You winced before Pierro could even blink, most likely expecting a blow that never came.  Pierro was not one to succumb to anger as easily as some of his Harbingers.  Your anger only opened you up more, made you more vulnerable.  In some ways, it was beautiful. 

He gently took your chin between his fingers and watched water form into droplets that welled from the corners of your eyes and cascaded down your cheeks.  He ran a thumb along one of the water trails and took a tear onto his thumb.  Your lower lip shook as you tried to bite back the emotions.  It had probably been many moons since you’d had a moment to allow yourself the time to anguish.  To grieve everything you had lost. 

“It’s okay to cry for now.  The range of human emotions knows no bounds, and you may not get the chance to mourn later.  But your basic needs.  I will provide them.  You will not be without food, shelter, or clothing.  You will not lose your life here.  In exchange, I need something from you.”

He continued wiping away the wetness of your face with the cuff of his sleeve. 

“Become a Harbinger.”

“What?”

“I cannot promise you complete safety or status.  But if you become my eyes, I can make things more bearable for you. All I need is loyalty and what comes with that.”

“That…that sounds too good to be true,” you croaked.  “I don’t really want to be a Harbinger…what does that even mean for me?”

“When you’re on duty with another Harbinger, I need you to report every single detail to me upon return.  You will receive a new name.  You’ll most likely stay within headquarters, but that does not mean you will not ever go out into the field.  This likely means bowing to their whims just as you do now.  Possibly more so since you will be their underling.  But along with your information comes my promise to provide you with more comfort.”

“So I’m just a spy?” You laughed.  “Just another tool?”

“Do you have any other choices?”

You frowned at the floor for a moment, catching yourself about to speak and then slamming your lips shut.  Pierro would allow you time, of course.  Not that you knew that.  It was easier to catch you in this moment than allow time to think.  Either way, you’d take the opportunity.  Pierro would probably do the same if he were in your shoes. 

“I’ll do it.”

“Well, then,” he softly grabbed your clenched hand and leaned to place his lips against your knuckles in a kiss. “Your partnership is appreciated.  Your name is now Innamorati, number twelve of the Fatui Harbingers.  Though we bow to her Majesty the Tsaritsa, never forget where your loyalties lie.”

Number twelve and traitor to them all.  Official ceremonies and authorization would be yet to come, but you didn’t need to know such things.  What mattered was the power of the mind, how you viewed yourself, your choices, and your duty.  All of which aligned with the stage he’d set to play.  While the physical chessboard sat dormant to the side, a more important one laid in the palm of the hand that held yours.

[dulcetthorns]

Why are you a whore for blonde men??

LEAVE ME ALONEEEEE

[dulcetthorns]

Brain empty, Dio Bakugou

[dulcetthorns]

You will not bathe scrunkle

[dulcetthorns]

Omg "Quartet at the Ballet" from Anastasia just reminds me of Little Dove and the Harbingers all vying for her attention and the chance to dance with her at the ball

You are a very rare sight. Capitano never takes you to any meeting, and you rarely leave the manor unless it's for your routine walks, in which you are always accompanied by him.

After your kidnapping, those sightings become even rarer, as you were not allowed to leave the manor anymore. At most, they could catch some glimpses of you inside the manor's garden, but even those were fleeting, one blink and you were gone.

To see you in a ball, dressed like an absolute angel, stirs something in them. It's like seeing the first flower bloom after a crude winter. Your beauty is highlighted with almost irresistible violence. You had always been forbidden, but now that their chances to get their hands on you grow slimmer and slimmer... Well, never a celebratory ball had felt so tense, so close to disaster. One glance from you and things could end really bad.

[dulcetthorns]

"Little Dove...it's late. Why are you not in bed?"

"Is it improper for a wife to read next to her husband by candlelight? You've been at this paperwork for hours."

"Because I have an important duty. Nevertheless, must you read in my lap?"

"You don't seem to complain when your soldiers see."

[dulcetthorns]

⋆‧͙˚*✧•̩̩͙*˚  Fairytale  ˚*•̩̩͙✧*˚‧͙⋆

I thought that writing Herbarium would free me from the Capitano agenda. But I was wrong and now we have a side story + epilogue written from Capitano’s POV…….pls don’t expect much from this, as it’s just a collection of dark fluff and bonus scenes which take place throughout Herbarium. Also, three cheers for Sumeru update ٩(๑❛ᴗ❛๑)۶

To those who previously enjoyed Herbarium, I hope you enjoy this fic and don’t mind me tagging you. I will forever be grateful for your feedback!! And thank you once again to my dear friend @diodellet​ for peer-reviewing another self-indulgent fic :’>

Tw:: YANDERE, unhealthy relationships, kidnapping, violence, blood, murder, psychological trauma, mention of child abuse, mention of nsfw, spice

Note:: Female reader described as physically weak and smaller than Capitano, pre-release characterization of Capitano which will likely be obliterated by canon lore

♡ 3.3k words under the cut ♡

i. Once upon a time, an unlikely romance blossomed between a Monster and a Damsel.

The battlefield is a merciless place. A corner of the world nourished by violence and bloodshed, a place where only the strong could lay claim to honor and victory. For as long as he had been a Fatui Harbinger, Il Capitano had full control over this domain.

On the battlefield, there is no chance to appreciate the beauty of the natural surroundings, not when all would eventually be sullied by blood and death.

And yet here he is, standing in a peaceful meadow so far removed from the reality of the world. Having fallen victim to an opponent like no other, whose weapons take the form of melancholic glances and immortalized flowers.

“This is for you.”

She gives him flowers again. The dandelions are pressed between two sheets of parchment paper, puffy seeds flattened and denied of their promised liberation.

And just as he had done with that fateful bunch of windwheel asters, Capitano accepts her gift.

Keep reading

[dulcetthorns]

WIP of Capitano and his Little Dove, Illya. Probably gonna do my usual lining style instead of the painterly technique I've been using to draw her. I'll finish this someday!

Her favorite thing to do is to sit on his lap while he works and read. Not only does it make his subordinates extremely uncomfortable, but it also gets her extra perks around the mansion afterwards. Win-win if you ask her, and she gets a warm place to read!

[dulcetthorns]

did a super quick and messy mock up of an image that i had in my head of this super dramatic gothic romance-novella -esque scene of Illya coming back to her husband's mansion after a snowy walk. Not my greatest work but hey, I think I at least captured the mood!

(Im sorry, but every time I look at my little Capitano doodle I laugh my ass off. HE'S SO TINY.)

[dulcetthorns]

RRRTDHDTDSETCG

I love your darling art TAT ❤️ plz more arts with Capitano

ADFGHJKLFJIFJIF THANK YOU SO MUCH IM GLAD YOU LIKE HER.

I'm working on some more art with her during my spare time, so they'll definitely be more coming soon! Thank you so much for your loooovvvveeeee!!!!

[dulcetthorns]

My Little Dove

Introducing my pink-haired Little Dove character inspired by @bye-bye-sunbird ‘s Capitano scenarios  and @jessamine-rose ‘s AMAZING fic “Herbarium”.

Meet Illya Volkov, Capitano’s “sad little wife.”

Illya was originally born in the frozen Schneznayan tundra, but after the deaths of both her parents as a baby, was handed over to a monastery orphanage. Due to her incredibly weak countenance and frail body, she was sent to live in the warmer climate of the Monstadt monastery orphanage in hopes that the weather would improve her health, but to no avail. Illya grew up very isolated from others due to her health, and consequently became very introverted and unwilling to connect with her peers, choosing instead to spend her time among the plants of the orphanage garden.

Following the backstory of “Herbarium,” she was adopted only to suffer within her family until coming of age and supporting herself as an assistant librarian of Lisa’s library.

Cue events of “Herbarium” (Seriously, GO READ IT), and now she’s the lady of the Capitano estate.

Tons of extra info about her:

Illya is incredibly possessive, of both her things and what she perceives as “hers.” Because of her isolated upbringing, she found her friends among material items such as antiques and plants, rather than people. Due to this, she is incredibly sentimental of items and her plants, treating them almost as sentient beings. In contrast, she sees most people as irrelevant objects to her, simply existing outside her sphere of influence, and therefore pointless to consider.

Her possessiveness extends to her husband, Capitano. As resentful as she is of him for forcibly marrying her, she does see him as “her” property, and therefore worthy of her attention and time. This only extends to as far as he is useful to her; if he had nothing to offer and wasn’t immensely stronger than her, she wouldn’t have entertained his confinement for even a moment. Illya can be very affectionate to Capitano to get what she wants and, in a way, does love him. She personally believes that you can still love someone even if you want to kill them.

Illya is very frail, but does possess a dendro vision, and is not afraid to use it. Many a disrespectful fatui has been strangled to death by a variety of pretty, flowering plants as a result of her ire. Her appearance makes her seem harmless and bereft, but this hides a cruel streak that has only gotten worse since her kidnapping and matrimony to the militant harbinger. She often uses the bodies as fertilizer for her garden given to her by Capitano, where she grows a variety of plants from the seeds he brings her from his missions. She often presses the flowers and plants in books as presents to her husband as thanks.

Every single on of the harbingers, as infrequent as it is for her to see them, terrifies her. Even Childe, who is seemingly the nicest to her, triggers instinctual fear within her, so she’s incredibly wary of all of them. The fact that her vision provides no protection from them leaves her deeply unnerved. She’s as polite as possible when around them, but if you look closely, her ever present frown gets a little more severe whenever one of them are around.

One of her favorite activities is to take a book from her personal library (gifted to her by Capitano, of course) and go to her husband’s office to sit on his lap to read while he works. He is surprisingly warm and a good seat while she reads, and he is often in a better mood afterwards, so she takes full advantage. (Size kink go brrrrrrrrr)

Illya can embroider and sew, so Capitano has received a number of embroidered handkerchiefs as gifts from his wife. None of his soldiers dare to comment on the floral fabric when he’s around.

On occasion, usually when Capitano is away on a mission and she has naught but a maid or two who aren’t allowed to talk to her to keep her company, Illya will crack for a while. Giggling and soft singing will fill the halls during the day as she talks to her plants like children, while in the night, wails and screams will rattle the windows, chilling the maids down to their bones, unable to do anything. She always regains her composure when Capitano returns, and the maids keep their mouths shut.