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magicalbats · 11 months

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Flesh-Devouring Part 2

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 20,217

Warnings: Afab!reader, gendered language, brat taming, forced submission, corporal punishment, non consensual spanking, thigh grinding, mutual masturbation, belt spanking, some very mild violence (reader is mostly a helpless bystander nvxcnvde), a pinch of angst for spice

A/N: okay, I promise I’ll work on the next kinktober prompt now 🙈 and also we're just gonna' pretend Wriothesley has an actual belt somewhere on his person, I eyeballed the hell out of his official art and started to doubt myself buuuuuut I was already fully committed to the bit so dvdknvgkdngg

⭐

“Good morning, your grace!”

Looking up from the sheaf of papers in his hand, Wriothesley swivels his head around to watch you disembark from the elevator with a noticeably eager skip in your step. He quirks a brow at it and fully turns to greet you at your approach. “Good morning, little miss. You certainly seem to be in a good mood today.”

You can’t quite keep the smile off your face as you come to a stop in front of him, practically vibrating in your excitement. “Of course I am! Todays the day I finally get to meet with some of the inmates and get started on our new program, what else would I be?”

He smiles at that. “While your enthusiasm is quite commendable, I must remind you not to get your hopes up too much. The group that volunteered for this is a — mixed crowd, so to speak. I’m not exactly sure what sort of reaction you’re going to get.”

Drawing a stilted breath, you square your shoulders and give him a brief nod of understanding. You knew he was just being practical and realistic as always, but you felt good about this. Optimistic. You were positive your efforts would soon pay off in a very real, very tangible way, and at last justify all the grief you’d suffered at his hands just to get here. For weeks now you’d been meeting with him, discussing, planning, organizing and fine tuning a plan of implementation, all while wrestling with your own self control where the duke was concerned. There wasn’t any use denying that you liked kissing him a great deal. In fact, it seemed to be your new favorite activity, amongst other, less wholesome things …

Even now you could feel the urge to go up on your tiptoes so you could tug him down to your level threatening to overpower your common sense, but there were much more important matters at hand. You’d told yourself this over and over again, repeating it like a mantra to steel your resolve and keep your mind focused on matters of business instead of giving in, and it was going to pay off. Today. Here and now. You could feel it.

“I understand, your grace. I will make sure to keep my expectations appropriately tempered.”

Wriothesley looks at you like he doesn’t quite believe that, but he relents without further pressing you on it. His boots sound impossibly heavy on the steel plated flooring as he half turns, motioning you ahead. “Let’s be off then. Did you bring everything you need?”

“Yes, your grace.” Clutching your worn leather carry case in hand, you fall into step beside him as he leads you down the long winding corridor.

The Fortress of Meropide is somehow both stuffy and chilly at the same, the air thick but infused with the cool temperature bleeding in off the water that surrounds it. You’d learned your lesson the first time you came here (in more ways than one) and had opted for a light jumper over your blouse to stave off the ever present note of cold which you could take off if you got too warm. That seemed like a not far off possibility when you were internally quaking with nerves, both eager and anxious, but for now at least you just keep your attention on him while he gives you a brief rundown of who was supposedly going to show up for this little meeting he’d arranged for you.

Sixteen inmates had signed up. Not even half of that number were finished with their sentences, the vast majority still actively serving time, and you can’t help but feel a little disappointed about that. You’d of course hoped to give those who had made the conscious decision to stay at Meropide a chance to reconsider integrating back into overworld society but you try to remind yourself that this was only the first preliminary phase of a much greater project. If things went well today, there would be plenty of time to work with the others.

“Ah, and before I forget.” He says, sending you a meaningful look. “Someone by the name of George should be in attendance, if he bothers to show up. He’s a little rough around the edges but don’t let what he says get under your skin. He’s had his sentence extended twice now and as I’m sure you can imagine he’s a bit grumpy about that.”

“Understood.” You give the clutch of your bag a fierce squeeze. “May I ask why?”

Wriothesley thinks that over for a beat. “The first time was due to excessive fighting outside of the regulated channels. We have a three strikes policy here, as I’ve mentioned before. I suspect he was trying to assert himself as the top dog in his block but he ran into a bit more opposition than he was expecting, so he had to start using his fists instead.”

“And the other?”

“He tried to take one of the sponsor representatives hostage and use her as a bargaining chip.”

Your eyes go big. “Oh.”

Smiling one of those rare but incredibly flattering genuine smiles, he reaches out to lightly nudge your elbow. “Don’t worry. I’ll be there the whole time to keep everything under control and make sure nobody gets out of hand but the ball will be in your court, little miss. I’m just your guard dog today.”

You hate the way fluster slowly creeps up your neck but you valiantly stamp it back down as you shyly avert your gaze elsewhere. “Thank you, your grace. I … I really appreciate you doing this for me.”

“I know you do. But don’t thank me just yet. Wait until after we see what kind of response you get.”

That gentle warning niggles at the back of your mind like the tickling whisper of sharp claws brushing your skin, and your stomach gives a little flip. You were nervous to meet with them face to face despite being excited to get started. Working in the public affairs office and spending most of your time at a desk didn’t exactly prepare you for hands-on encounters such as this, but between your unfaltering conviction and Wriothesley’s ever present cool demeanor at your side you keep your head held high.

Up a short flight of metal steps and down another steel plated hall, you find yourself stepping into a small room that, based on the rickety old tables tightly packed into the cramped space, looked like it was perhaps largely used as a card room. You can’t help but feel a dull rush of relief at finding it yet unoccupied by anyone. Unable to fight the urge any longer, you reach out to snag Wriothesley’s sleeve and he sedately turns to look down at you.

Shuffling closer until you were practically pressed right up against him, you offer him an imploring look as you go up on your toes. “Your grace …?”

Something distantly sparks in his eyes and, humming softly, he carefully bends down to press his mouth to yours in an altogether chaste kiss. But even for as innocent as it is — not nearly as heated as some of the kisses you’d exchanged with him in recent memory — it still inspires a flood of warmth in you that races down your body. Sighing softly, you lean further into him and give yourself over to the stilted, hard press of his lips on yours.

It lasts for only a brief moment though, and your lashes flutter against the apples of your cheeks when he pulls back just enough to speak. “Don’t be scared.” He tells you quietly, so gently it makes your heart wrench.

“I’m not scared, just … nervous, is all. I think.”

Humming quietly, he gives you another quick, lingering kiss that makes your bottom lip warble against your will. “You’ll do great. I know you will, but even if you should happen to fall I’ll be right there to catch you. Just like always, right?”

Your face was quickly starting to become unbearably hot. Oh, how you wanted him so badly, even if he was the most confounding, frustrating man you’d ever met. “Will — will you have me later? When we’re done …?”

Wriothesley goes still, just looking at you for a drawn out moment, but you’re a little too embarrassed to be saying something so shameful out loud to meet his gaze anymore. Flutteringly, your hand comes up to anxiously tug at the fur collar of his coat under the guise of straightening it for him, even though you really wanted to use it to tug him in against you.

Finally, at length, he draws a carefully tempered breath. “How do you want me to have you, little miss?”

The violent shudder that abruptly tears through you almost has you going cross eyed. “I - I’m not sure, I just … I feel like such a mess inside and everything is confusing, and I don’t know what it is exactly but I want you to — to - -“

“Oh, sweet girl,” He exhales slowly, and you jolt when one of his hands finds your hip. Giving it a tight, possessive squeeze to make you tremble, he drags that oppressive palm further back and around to grab a pinching handful of your ass. “Do you need me to ground you in place? Is that what you’re asking me for? Huh?”

You sway unsteadily, feeling terribly faint when it seemed as if you were being smothered under his weighty presence. The heavy, rough calloused hand gripping your backside through the seat of your pants, the body heat bleeding off of him in waves to settle into you; the smell of him swarming your senses to settle on the back of your tongue and leave the masculine taste you’d come to recognize solely as the duke’s cloying in your throat. It was all too much.

Much, much too much.

Whimpering softly, you force your attention up to look in his face, still hovering mere millimeters from yours even when doing so proves to be quite the struggle. “Yes.” It’s little more than a faint whisper. “I want … I need you to reorient me. It feels like I’m — lost out at sea. I don’t know how else to describe it.”

With a barely audible, rumbling growl, Wriothesley closes his fingers around the meat of your ass hard enough to make your breath hitch in your chest. “You need your head cleared so you can focus all that energy you have where it belongs. I’ll give you that outlet, as much as you require it. I have no problem giving you a guiding hand, little miss. You know that.”

Your mouth warbles in a jittery smile, unable to keep it at a bay even when you try very hard to stop it from spreading across your face. You didn’t fully understand it yourself, what you were asking for or what you needed. All you’d seemed to grasp over the short time you’d known him was that Wriothesley made you feel good. Almost inexplicably so. Even when he was being infuriating and condescending towards you, even when he’d give your poor bottom a handful of stinging swats at the first sign of attitude to remind you to behave yourself, it still didn’t detract from this flutter low in your gut. There was something deeply gratifying about being with him like this, in this particular dynamic, and for as little as you know what to make of any of it, he seems to know exactly what it is you instinctively crave from him. Why you keep seeking him out this way.

The sapphires in his eyes shutter with what you’re starting to recognize as desire in his otherwise implacable facade and he leans in again, issuing an anticipatory breath into the scant space separating you. His mouth finds yours, as sure as any compass points north, drawing a threadbare moan from the depths of your shuddering gut. You lean into him, lips carefully parting to kiss him back, and — the shuffling sound of heavy approaching footsteps echoing off the metal walls has you wrenching back from him so fast your head spins.

Eyes going impossibly wide, you quickly slap him away in your fluster and rush to extricate yourself from his person. Chuckling softly, as if he wasn’t at all concerned about being caught in such a compromising situation, Wriothesley lets you go, but not without a playful swat to your ass when you move to brush past him. You yelp at the mild sting but keep your attention ahead as you hurry over to deposit your bag on one of the tables so you can dig in it and give your racing heart a chance to calm down. Even now you somehow manage to be surprised at how utterly unapologetic he was about everything!

Forcing your lungs to expand on a deep, steadying breath, you listen to the approaching shuffle behind you until an unmistakable shift of occupancy in the cramped room indicated that you were no longer alone with the duke. You keep your head down just a moment longer, both to ensure you had your expression under control and to also listen to the way Wriothesley amicably greets the inmates. You’d never gotten to see him interact with them before and, rather than coming off like the strict, hardass warden you’d had a first impression of, he almost seems to talk to them like they were … friends? Or at least on friendly terms with each other.

Could it really be that you were the only one unlucky (or lucky, depending on how you looked at it) enough to bring out that side of him? But why would that be …?

Slowly, more people start to drift in and you have to make a concerted effort to shove those thoughts to the back of your mind so you can stay focused on what really matters. You take your time neatly organizing your stacks of papers, the forms you’d carefully composed on the typewriter in the affairs office, and make a concerted effort to greet everyone with a smile when they move away from the duke to find their seats. Some of them are rather friendly when they respond, but others simply look at you without a single word and not so much as a backwards glance. No matter, though. You didn’t exactly come here to make friends.

All in all, only seven inmates show up. A pair of shady looking brothers, one woman and the rest are men who just disinterestedly eye you up and down with varying levels of annoyance reflecting in their eyes. You can’t quite shake the feeling that they’d expected someone a bit more impressive than the slight, eager-faced woman wearing a jumper and slacks standing before them now, and it probably didn’t help that you looked downright diminutive standing next to Wriothesley either. Oh, well. You were just going to have to try and make the best of it.

“Hello, everyone,” You chirp, a little higher in pitch than you’d intended thanks to your jittery nerves. “It looks like we won’t be getting anyone else today, so let’s get started. I’m very excited to be working with all of you.”

Resounding, echoing silence and a wall of blank stares.

You waver slightly, but recover admirably. “I’m from the office of public affairs, and recently I’ve been working with his grace here to come up with programs for the prison that can help or otherwise enrich the lives of the inmates here. I appreciate you taking the time out of your day to come see me, and I hope you’ll feel comfortable enough to speak freely. This preliminary meeting is first and foremost going to function as a feeler so we can get an idea of what sort of activities you'd like to see offered at the prison in the future.”

More silence. More staring.

You can feel your face starting to grow warm even though you’ve also broken out into a cold sweat, and you flounder for something else to say. Far be it that you’d expected them to jump for joy and lift you in the air over their heads in celebration or anything as preposterous as that, but you had anticipated at least some kind of response. What were you supposed to do when they wouldn’t even speak so much as a single word to you? It’s not like you could get anything of worth out of this if you were the only one talking.

Suddenly, Wriothesley shifts beside you and the soft creak of his boots makes your pulse nervously jump. “I expect all of you to show our guest some respect today. I'm not sure why you would sign up for this if you had no intention of participating, so let’s get it in gear. If you have something to say, now is your chance to say it.”

The brothers sitting nearest to you bend their heads close and exchange a quick, muffled conversation between themselves, but you’re a little too rattled by the tone of Wriothesley’s voice to make out what they’re saying. Ah, so it wasn’t just you then. Good to know.

“What sort of activities are we talking here?” One of the men in the rear suddenly speaks up, snapping your attention back into the present.

“O - oh, yes. We were thinking things like trade skills and daily lifestyle necessities that could give you a better sense of independence while you’re here. Things like sewing or cooking, or - -“

“Why would we need any of that?” The only other woman in the room chimes in. “Meropide works just fine as is and the system already in place provides us with all of that.”

“Well, yes, but - -“

“Yeah, what do I need to know sewing for when I could just as easily pass it off to someone who already knows how to do it?” One of the brothers, the larger and seemingly more cantankerous of the two, adds on, making you pull your mouth into a firm line.

“That’s exactly why.” You assert in an equally firm voice. “The prison’s internal functionality works like a well oiled machine, doesn’t it? Why want for anything else when everything is already right where it needs to be. Just like cogs, everyone fits into their role and they fit it well. You all keep Meropide running as it should, there’s no doubt about that. But each and every one of you has a life beyond the role you take on here. You aren’t just cogs, and you aren’t just part of the greater machine. I want to give you a chance to be independent of that clockwork, even if it’s only for an hour or two each day, and remind you that there’s still something beyond these tin walls.”

You draw a steadying breath, carefully taking in the faces sitting before you. It looked like a few of them were starting to come around, or were at least curious enough to actually hear you out now, and that bolsters your courage by some margin. You could do this. You would.

“I know how easy it is to get comfortable with the lifestyle here. His grace has taken the time to explain to me in great detail the ins and outs of the prison, how everyone lives on a schedule, what freedoms you’re allotted and what has restricted access. I’m aware that there is a great deal of self governing here in the fortress, which is precisely why I want to give you all an opportunity to deviate from that routine. It might be fun, right? Having a little bit of your old life back?”

A few looks are exchanged between some of the inmates, a soft murmur rising up, and your heartbeat starts to quicken. Next to you, Wriothesley snorts a quiet laugh before moving back to lean against the wall, leaving you feeling strangely alone and exposed standing there by yourself. You shoot him a quick, harried glance over your shoulder but he just crosses his arms over his chest and nudges his chin at the small congregation. When you turn back around, you’re more than a little surprised to find the other woman leaning towards you in obvious interest.

“I always wanted to be a seamstress some day.” She abruptly announces, startling you slightly. “My mother taught me when I was younger, but I never got a chance to really hone the skill. Is that really something you could arrange?”

You swallow your nerves, hearing Wriothesley’s reminder not to get your hopes up in the back of your mind, but it was so hard not to when she was looking at you like that. You wanted to help her. More than anything else, you just wanted to give them something more to live for.

“I believe we can. His grace and I have already reached out to a few businesses, and a few of them have expressed willingness to volunteer their services to the prison. I’m sure if everything goes well and word of mouth starts to spread, we could convince others to do the same as well.”

“I did always want to be a chef.” The larger brother admits somewhat sheepishly, and you smile. You couldn’t help it.

This was really working.

It doesn’t take long to have a full dialogue going after that. Even with the one or two stragglers still wary and uncertain about introducing any real changes to the system the overall reception seems to be resoundingly positive. You talk with them, discussing what they’d like to do, what they’d like to potentially see implemented, and through it all Wriothesley just hangs back against the wall, watching over everything like a silent sentry just at your back. He even stays true to his word and lets you be in charge even when tempers seem to flare up in disagreement every so often instead of snatching the reins from you at the first sign of trouble. All it takes is a sharp look from him or a low word of warning, and everyone grudgingly settles back down, which was not something you’d expected to relate so much with them about but you do. It almost feels like a strange sense of solidarity in a way, and you were immensely glad to have him on your side like this.

Everything goes so well, in fact, that by the time a real problem raises its head, you almost overlook it completely. The man in the far back corner hadn’t said much at all over the course of the last hour and some change, but you’d felt his burning gaze on you the whole time. He appeared to be the most opposed to the program you’d presented to the group, but you hadn’t been able to squeeze the reason out of him yet which is why you eventually defer to your hand typed forms. You’d thought it would be a good idea to have them put their thoughts down in writing in case they felt too shy to say it out loud, and you hoped your careful planning would pay off in this.

You’re in the process of handing out the papers to everyone along with the pencils you’d brought along, slowly making your way over to him last, and he tips his head back as if in challenge at your approach. You had a sneaking suspicion who he was, of course, but you still offer him a cheerful smile as you move closer.

“I know you haven’t said much today, but I hope you’ll share any thoughts you have on the form. It’s really helpful to have different perspectives on things like this.” You tell him, holding out the sheet.

“Can’t write.” He rumbles, making your hand falter.

“Oh.” You hadn’t even considered that being a possibility. “I - I’m sorry. Maybe we could see about starting up classes so you can - -“

“Don’t want em’”

You blink at him owlishly, trying to make sense of his surly attitude, but Wriothesley calls over from the other side of the room before you can think of something to say. “Watch yourself, George. I’m not going to give you another warning.”

Ah. So your suspicions were correct.

You start to pull back, decidedly unnerved by the way he clearly wants nothing at all to do with you, but then you see the look that flashes across his eyes. Like a street hardened dog that was ready to bite in retaliation. You almost hate yourself for it, but your heart irreparably softens and you turn your head to send Wriothesley a reassuring look. “It’s alright, your grace. I don’t mind.”

He begins to open his mouth to say something but you whip your head back around, speaking before he can further insert himself into the conversation.

“Please don’t worry about it, there’s nothing to be ashamed of. I know not all of us have been given the same kind of opportunities in life. Where are you from, George?”

The grizzled man sends you a slow look, the muscles in his jaw working with what you think is probably irritation, but you refuse to back down or give up on him. He was still a person deserving of respect and dignity no matter how much he might hate you.

“Fleuve Cendre.” He says at length, and you feel a distant twang of understanding in the back of your mind. The underground sewer systems in the Court of Fontaine were not always the best place to grow up so it made sense, in a way.

“I see. Well, if you’re at all interested I can make every effort to arrange for someone to come teach you how to write, or maybe I could even do it myself. Does that sound like a good idea?”

He suddenly leans forward in his chair, getting right in your face, and it takes everything you have not to go scuttling back though you do give a startled jerk in surprise. “Not a chance! I don’t want your stinking charity, lady!” He practically spits at you, vitriolic and full of malice.

“Charity?” You incredulously echo him, but he reaches out to viciously grab your wrist before you can think of anything else to say.

“That’s right! You think I need you looking down on me or something? How about I tell you exactly where you can shove it instead!”

You open your mouth to say — what, you don’t know, but a shift of motion in your peripheral stops you in your tracks. Snapping your head up, you’re not the least bit surprised to find Wriothesley quickly closing the distance with long, purposeful strides, but it still horrifies you and your heart promptly jackhammers straight up into your throat.

“Wait!” You shriek, holding your uncaptured arm out as if to stop him. Like you even could. He’s like a solid wall moving towards you and you could already see how this was going to play out, your eyes going round as saucers seconds before a violent wrench on your arm takes you right off your feet.

In a sudden rush of movement that you can’t even begin to process or comprehend, you abruptly find yourself pinned to the front of George who’s shot up out of his seat. Wriothesley comes to an immediate halt, just short of being within arms reach, and you stare up at him in unseeing disbelief as George shuffles back to press himself into the corner, using you like a shield. You’re distantly aware of an eruption of chaos in the rest of the room, likely a result of everyone rushing to get out of the way, chairs loudly scraping and clattering against the floor, but you feel strangely numb to it all.

The only thing you can manage to think at that moment is that you were going to be in so much trouble once everything was said and done.

“Don’t touch me, you bastard aristocrat!”

“Wha — h - hold on a minute!” You squawk, feet kicking uselessly at the floor in a blind attempt to find some traction. It’s no use though, and your shoes just slip and slide against the papers you’d dropped in the shuffle.

“I thought we already went over this, George. You know taking hostages isn’t going to get you anywhere except straight into solitary.” Wriothesley intones, and the surprisingly calm, leveled quality of his voice surprises you slightly, prompting you to bring your head back up. But the look you find in his face, the icy heat curling in his eyes, is anything but tranquil, and your stomach twists in dread.

You’d never seen him look like that before … like he could really kill someone.

“I don’t want to hear it!” George snaps, nervously clutching you against him — as if you were going to stop anything! “I’ve had enough of this place, and I’ve had enough of all of you! Always looking down on me like I’m less than dirt!”

“No one is looking down on you.” Wriothesley says, clearly trying to reason with him. “Just calm down and let her go. I know you’re having a hard time adjusting, and I’m sure having your sentence extended didn’t help with that, but this is only going to make things worse for you in the long run. You can’t bargain your way out of this.”

“Maybe so, but I could kill her!”

“You what!” You shriek, nails sinking into the arm pinned across your front, but they both summarily ignore you.

“That’d show you not to mess with me!” George continues on. “I’m serious, you know! I’ll do it!”

“And why would you go and do a stupid thing like that?” Wriothesley shoots right back. “If you’re hoping to spend the rest of your life in Meropide you don’t have to do this to accomplish that. You’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like.”

“Dammit, I want out of here! I can’t stand this place! No sun, no fresh air, no sky! It feels like I’m going crazy down here!”

“Then let her go. You still have a chance to return to the surface someday and you’ll get to see the sky as much as you want then, but that’s not going to happen if you keep this up. If you extend your sentence much further, you’re just going to seal your own fate. Permanently.”

That actually seems to give him pause, and you hold your breath in anticipation of the pin dropping even when your chest strains and aches in protest. You almost didn’t dare to hope that he would actually listen to reason when you were viscerally aware of all the impotent rage and unrealized frustration coursing through his body, making him shake against you. It didn’t appear to be a bluff, at least not where you were standing. You think he really could kill you if pushed far enough, but … slowly, his hold on you eventually starts to relax.

“I don’t want to be trapped under the ocean for the rest of my life …” He murmurs, a brief glimpse of cognizance returning to him after that manic flash.

“Then hand the young lady over to me and let’s be done with it. I think this has gone on long enough, George.”

Carefully reaching out for you, Wriothesley takes a step forward. His ability to stay cool and collected even in a situation like this surprises you a great deal, of course, but you find some amount of comfort in his unflappable demeanor. It helps you stay calm, in as much as you’re able to at least, and a dull wave of relief washes over you when George reluctantly pushes you away from himself, shoving you straight into Wriothesley’s waiting arm.

You almost don’t believe it as his hand grabs around your waist and tightly gathers you up against him, angling you further from the inmate. It felt like you were dreaming. Numb to everything that had happened over the last few inexplicably short moments, you turn in his hold just in time to watch Wriothesley snag George’s wrist before he can pull it back all the way.

And just like that, he snaps the bone with one solid twist.

The sickening crack! that rings out makes your stomach lurch up into your throat.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Slamming Wriothesley’s office door open hard enough to make it bang against the interior wall, you storm inside so mad you could just scream!

He comes in behind you at a leisurely pace just a moment later, taking his time to close and lock it, but you’re a little too caught up in the absolutely blinding surge of anger you’re trying to wrestle with to question it. Seething viciously, you start to pace the perimeter of the room. It’s all you can think to do. You wanted to scream at him, kick him, slap him, spit at him! What was wrong with this man that he would ever think that kind of violence was okay?

“Are you alright?” He eventually asks you, just standing there in the doorway watching you stomp around his office as if it were a perfectly normal sight to see. That evenly tempered, almost blase tone of his voice just makes you see red though, and you finally round on him with a wordless shriek.

“Why did you do that to him?”

“He was dangerous.” Wriothesley says it like it should have been obvious. “I think he made that quite clear, don’t you?”

“It doesn’t matter! He’d already let me go, you didn’t need to hurt him like that! It was just excessive at that point, you damn brute!”

“That doesn’t mean he couldn't still hurt you. You’re not stupid, little miss. I know you’re aware of just how differently that could have played out if he hadn’t listened to me, and I wasn’t about to risk him changing his mind and having the means to lash out. You’re acting like I killed the poor guy.”

You couldn’t seem to process his logic and, with no other choice, you return to your fitful pacing. “I don’t understand you. It doesn’t even make any sense. You say you care about your inmates but then you turn around and do something like that?”

“I care about you too.”

Stopping dead in your tracks, you slowly turn to look back at him again. The chill that creeps over you is suffocating, threatening to choke you up on the spot. “No. Do not do that. Not right now!”

“But it’s true.”

“I don’t care if it’s true!” You shout, impulsively closing the distance so you can jab your finger into the center of his chest. “You broke that man’s wrist, your grace! That was uncalled for! If you cared about him, or the others, or me you wouldn’t have done something so — so unnecessarily violent! He was just … he was just scared, is all. I think.”

Wriothesley reaches up to carefully take your hand off him and you flinch at the contact but still let him do it because … because you don’t know why. You’re well aware you should be yanking out of his hold like he’d scalded you, skin crawling at just the touch of those rough worn fingers, but you can’t quite bring yourself to do that right now. Not when it felt like you were moments away from shattering to pieces right there in his office.

“You think?”

“I don’t know. Not really, but … he could have hurt me if he wanted to, right? But he didn’t. He only used me like a shield because you were coming, and he panicked. I can’t really blame him for that. I’d be scared too.”

“I bet.” He murmurs, lifting your hand to press a kiss to the backs of your loosely curled knuckles. Grimacing at the gesture, unable to reconcile it in your mind — this soft version of the duke and the brutal prison warden — and you quickly look away. “I’m sorry you’re unhappy with how I handled the situation. I probably did frighten you, and you have my sincerest apologies for that as well, little miss. But you have to understand that I was protecting you.”

“I didn’t ask to be protected!” You seethe. “Least of all like that!”

“Be that as it may, I still did what needed to be done. I already told you once, didn’t I? I’m your guard dog. You were in danger and I acted accordingly. It’s not fair of you to be so upset with me when I was only doing my job.”

“But there must have been another way - -“

“There wasn’t. Believing any different is just naive and childish. You need to let go of this little fantasy you have that everything can be solved peacefully if you’re just nice enough. That’s not how the real world works.”

You jerk your attention up with a low snarl, but he just looks at you with the same unreadable expression as always. He wasn’t the least bit sorry, nor did he feel any real regret for what he’d done. Not only that but he would have done it again without a second's hesitation. You could see it in his face, clear as day. He may as well have been saying it out loud for as little he tries to hide it.

“It doesn’t work with violence either.” You finally rattle out, shaking in his hold.

“I’d say my methods are a bit more effective than yours. You’re safe, aren’t you? If anything, you should be thanking me.”

Your pulse spikes as you wrench your hand free and slap him as hard as you can, popping him right across the mouth. Wriothesley doesn’t even flinch and that just makes you angrier. Going up on the tips of your toes to get as close to him as you’re able to, you hiss at him with every bit of vitriol you can muster. “Is that thanks enough for you, your grace?”

Terse silence descends over the room, interspersed only by your heavy breathing. At length, he finally draws a short, clipped breath.

“I’m going to give you one chance and one chance only to apologize for doing that. I do hope you make the right decision.”

Veins turning icy, you bring your hands up to shove at his chest and push yourself away. “You wouldn’t dare. Not right now. Not when I’m so mad at you I could just - -“

He’s on you in an instant.

For someone so big he certainly moves quick, and you barely have enough time to suck in a ragged, gasping breath of air as he roughly grabs under your arms and hauls you right up off your feet. The sudden rush of movement makes you nauseous, your stomach flipping end over end. Throwing your head back, you suck in a mouthful of air to scream.

Wriothesley abruptly drops you back down to the floor before you can follow through and the sudden impact makes sharp, splintering pain race up your legs. That split second hesitation on your part is all he needs to get a hand over your mouth and your eyes go big in wild terror as he all but drags you by the back of your jumper towards the chaise lounge against the far wall. You wrench against his hold like a trapped animal, desperate and mindless as you shriek behind his palm, but the sound comes out muffled. Distant. There’s nothing at all you can do to stop it as he pulls you over and plops down on the cushions before yanking you down to kneel between his feet.

You wince at the way your knees slam against the unforgiving ground but you don’t get a chance to fully process the hurt. He bends over you and reaches back to grab the back of your pants, using them to yank you up and brace you over his thigh. His hand stays locked around your mouth though, making it hard to breathe when you were sucking in quick, panicked gasps, one right after another as you frantically try to shove at him.

His hand abruptly cracks across your ass with enough force to leave you seeing stars, and you wordlessly shriek into his palm. Winded and lurching, you instinctively try to angle away from him but the way he’s got you trapped between his legs makes it impossible to get very far. He hits you again, right on the mark, and hot tears immediately rush up to flood your eyes. Wailing in pain and impotent frustration now, you blindly reach up to shove at his arm.

Wriothesley’s fingers just tighten around the lower half of your face though, securing his hold on you, while the other hand continues to rain down on your bottom in quick, blistering succession. Even through your pants it makes your toes curl achingly tight as you writhe there on the floor, rocking against his leg with each punishing blow.

You couldn’t believe him, doing this to you in a situation like this! It was one thing when you were being bratty or stubborn, or hardheaded, and you’d even come to rather enjoy those intimate sessions with him in which he’d gradually break you down piece by piece before building you back up into a whole, complete person again. It was strangely relaxing, comforting even. Therapeutic. But this was something else entirely. You were mad for a good reason. You’d hit him for a good reason! It wasn’t fair that he could spank your ass red and raw, but you couldn’t even slap him once without incurring his wrath.

So caught up in the tumultuous surge of emotions assaulting you all at once, you almost don’t realize when the tears start tracking down your face. They burn against your heated skin and pool in the seam where his hand is sealed over your face from the nose down, gathering there before eventually dribbling over his blunt knuckles. He has to feel it, has to know you’re crying, practically sobbing, but still he doesn’t stop. He just keeps spanking you, again and again, again, until the throbbing pain scorching across your defenseless backside seems to reach incomprehensible levels that have you struggling just to think through it.

And you try to, desperate to cling to your anger and your fear, the betrayal you’d felt when he broke that poor man’s wrist right in front of your very eyes with hardly any effort at all to show for it. You hadn’t thought him capable. Even now when he was lighting your ass up it seemed like an entirely inconceivable notion for him to be capable of that level of cruelty. But it’s next to impossible to hold onto any of those thoughts or feelings when you were so swept up in the pulsing thrum of hurt he’s inflicting on you and slowly, ever so slowly, your mind starts to go blank.

Evidently feeling you go lax against his knee in acceptance, Wriothesley’s voice starts to drift over you and it seamlessly penetrates the fog hanging over your head to dig straight into your brain. “I’m not sure who you think you are,” whap, whap, whap, whap, “But I have to say,” whap, whap, whap, whap, “I’m actually rather impressed you had the guts to do that,” whap, whap, whap, whap “I suppose that’s why I like you so much though,” whap, whap, whap, whap, “You're so damn bullheaded you just don’t know when to quit.”

Groaning deliriously into the meat of his hand, you mechanically bring your hand down to clutch his pant leg in a death grip while the other blindly stretches back as if to protect yourself from his strikes. He pauses above you as your trembling fingers creep across your bottom, drawing a clipped, mildly annoyed breath.

“Move your hand.”

You wail something that might have been a ‘no!’, incomprehensibly muffled, and he clicks his tongue at the petulance.

“Don’t test my patience with you any further, little girl. You have no idea just how much I can really make it hurt if you want to be cute.”

Noising a sound of surprised confusion, you hastily retract your hand in favor of shoving it up against his stomach and pushing at him with renewed determination, but he doesn’t even seem to notice. Leaning forward, he reaches down the front of your body to fumble with the buttons on your pants. You squeal a muffled protest and try to angle away again to no avail. It takes him a prolonged moment to get them with the use of only one hand, but eventually he has your slacks undone and he starts to roughly shove them down your quaking thighs.

“You know,” He says almost conversationally, as calm as ever while your internal panic was just ratcheting higher and higher. “I don’t want you to get the wrong idea, so let me explain something to you. There’s a right way and a wrong way to go about things, and somehow you always seem to consistently pick the wrong choice. I don’t mind so much that you’re upset with me. I still don’t think that was very fair of you, but you’re entitled to your own opinion. I’m certainly not trying to take that away from you.”

He’s finally got your pants bunched around your knees but, rather than spanking you over your panties next, he instead starts to yank those down too. A violent shudder tears through you at the implication, the suggestion, your blood running so hot for him it has you swaying there on the floor even as you give your head a weak shake. If he was skipping the usual buildup then he must have been rather upset with you indeed.

“But as always you get too carried away. You won’t stop until you push me enough to end up over my knee, getting your butt spanked like a child.” He swats your bare ass for emphasis, making you shriek and sob at the pulsing sting as much as the resulting jiggle it causes. “Do you have anything to say for yourself? Huh?”

You nod your head frantically, noising behind his hand, and Wriothesley gives your face a dull squeeze of warning.

“I’m going to take my hand away but I promise if you scream you’re going to find yourself getting hit with something much worse than a hairbrush, do you understand me?”

Another nod, even more wild than the last.

Slowly, his fingers loosen and then tentatively fall away, leaving you to gasp wretchedly at the flood of fresh air. You slump against him and try to catch your breath, wet little hiccups making your back bow. “I … I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have — shouldn’t have hit you!”

“I’d say that’s an understatement.”

Forcibly pulling yourself up even though it hurts to do so, you twist on your knees to peer up at him. Your lower lip promptly wobbles when you see the hard way he’s looking at you but you just sniffle and reach up to wipe at your tear stained face. “You made me so mad! And you never take me seriously! I tell you something and it seems like you always just brush me off!”

Wriothesley watches you shake and heave for a drawn out moment before sedately slouching down, elbows shifting forward to brace against his knees so he can lean over you. The gesture makes you feel so incredibly small and insignificant, a borderline hysterical sob bursting out of your mouth which you quickly cover with your hand. You screw your eyes shut, trying to calm down, but he just hovers over you like that in complete and utter silence until the shudders wracking through you get too uncontrollable and you start to sway dizzily on the floor.

His nearest hand finds your back and smooths over it in comforting circles, wrinkling your jumper in the process. Sucking in a thin, gasping breath, you instinctively rock forward as if to heave but all you do is cough like some sad, pathetic broken little thing.

“Calm down,” He murmurs, giving your trembling shoulders a firm pat. “You’re going to make yourself sick carrying on like that. Will you listen to me?”

Sniveling, you blink through the thick sheen of tears making your vision swim and nod your head with a faint whimper. His hand stills on your back, keeping you in place as he leans further down to your level and tips his head so he can see your face.

“I wasn’t brushing you off. I understand why that upset you and I’m nothing if not sympathetic. Really, I am. If you want the honest truth of it, I regretted it almost as soon as I did it. I’ll have to apologize to George later and have a real long talk with him about what happened, but I’m not going to apologize for protecting you. You’re under my charge regardless of if we’re in the city or your house, but especially when you’re here. If something happened to you on my watch, that would be a resounding failure on my part. Can you understand that much, at least?”

You hesitate and then nod your head again, not quite trusting yourself enough to speak yet. Wriothesley gives you an approving squeeze and another idle pat that makes you whimper softly. His hand was so big it felt like it was taking up almost the whole of your back …

“I didn’t mean to scare you … you know that, right?”

“Y - yes …”

“Good. Because that I will apologize for. It was unnecessary. I should have completely removed you from the situation first before acting but he just had me so mad, I wasn’t thinking straight, and … honestly, I probably owe you an apology for that too I had some reservations about letting him come to the meeting of course, given his track record, but I thought maybe it would help him adjust a little better if he had something from the overworld to keep him busy. Preoccupied.”

Gingerly, you shift on your knees so you’re knelt directly under him rather than braced up against his leg, and you lift your hands to hesitantly slide them across his strong jawline. Wriothesley let’s you do it, much to your thrumming relief, and you carefully tip his face towards you until just a scant breath separates his nose from yours.

“What’s going to happen to him now?”

He just looks at you, and your face slowly starts to crumple.

“Please don’t let him get into trouble.” You plead, unable to bear the thought of his sentence being extended because of you. “It was just a mistake and I wasn’t hurt. He didn’t do anything wrong, your grace! Not really. Please, please don’t punish him.”

Stiffly, he sighs out through his nose. “And there you go being naive again. I’m afraid there’s not much I can do to protect him at this point. He’s sealed his own fate.”

“But that’s … that’s terrible! If I hadn’t been there — if you hadn’t let me come here that never would have even happened! I’m the one at fault here, aren’t I? I’ll take the punishment in his stead! That would be fine, right?”

“Lovely girl - -“

Wriothesley reaches out with his other hand to cup your face and you try to pull away, a fresh wave of tears springing up in your eyes, but he holds you fast. Tipping his head, he seals his mouth over yours and swallows down the muffled wail you let out. Even when the rolling beads of moisture start to track down your damp face, he just kisses you and kisses you until you finally start to stir underneath him some indeterminable amount of time later.

You have no idea how long you’ve been sitting there on the floor but your legs are numb and prickly when you finally move, shifting forward to lean into him. Your breaths are still a little ragged through your nose but you start to kiss him back, tentatively slow at first and then with growing confidence. Growing hunger. The emptiness inside you is quickly filling up with a white hot, molten need, and you groan thickly into his mouth when you feel your pussy give a muted throb of interest. It matches the ever present sting across your ass, in a way, and you feel both in stunning high definition as you carefully raise up to meet him.

Gradually easing back when you find your balance and sit up straight, Wriothesley brings his hands around to cup your ribcage. He squeezes, rucking up your jumper and blouse in the process but, as always, he doesn’t try to relieve you of it. That he was still willing to go about this on your terms, at your pace, fills your chest with a strange helium feeling, and you try to follow after him when he eventually pulls back all the way, whining low in your throat at the loss.

“Come here, pretty girl.” He murmurs, tugging you up to stand and you do so with a great deal of haste even when your sore legs threaten to give out under you. Bracing a hand on his broad shoulder to steady yourself, you carefully step out of your sagging pants and underwear when he stoops down to pull them over your feet.

Carelessly tossing your clothes aside, he grabs around your middle again and easily tugs you into his lap. Your heart pounds a wild beat inside your chest when you realize he’s centering you over his leg, and you quickly scramble to get into position. There’s no denying the excitement you feel searing your veins now, the speed at which you’d come to love this particular activity surprising even you. It felt like you were irreversibly addicted to it, and you moan very softly when your bare cunt presses down into his thigh. Pelvis tipping upward, you steal a quick glance down at yourself, still amazed at how broad and thick his leg looks under you. It’s not exactly hard to imagine something else forcing your thighs into a wide spread around him but that still scares a little more than you were willing to admit.

Gently pulling you forward so that your cunt rocks down to settle squarely against his pant leg, Wriothesley gathers you right up against his chest and bends his head to yours again. You moan into the searing hot kiss and bring your hands up to clutch at him, the toes of your shoes bracing on the floor to give yourself leverage as you settle into a slow, mind numbing pace with him.

It truly feels like your brain is melting when the stilted friction on your pussy soon makes you tremble and shake for him, panting heavily into his mouth. You’re distantly aware of the stiff tension in his body but Wriothesley just lets you find your pleasure on him without trying to take advantage of your muddied, intoxicated state. His hands roam over your body in a continuous caress, pinching, squeezing, kneading with rough calloused fingers, but he doesn’t wander to your chest or between your legs. He’d only touched you there once, back in that cramped little alley, but thinking back on it when you were moving with him like this … maybe you should invite him to touch you there again? It would probably feel good, and grinding yourself on his leg was such a slow, tortuous process.

Or maybe you could try touching him?

Turning your head to suck in a much needed lungful of fresh air, you take a moment to steady your nerves. You’d never crossed this line before, never been brave enough to take the plunge but, oh, you were so curious and your pussy positively clenches at the thought of feeling him under your palm. You wanted to touch him. You needed to.

“Y - your grace …”

“What is it, pretty girl? What do you need?” He breathes into the scant pace separating you from him, head tipped back to look at your from this slightly elevated position.

An intense shudder works through you at the thought of actually doing it, of actually saying the words, and you loose a keening mewl as you stubbornly turn your head to look elsewhere. You couldn’t look at him and say it, you just couldn’t!

“Can … ahhn, would it be permissible for me to, um — t - touch you as well?”

His thick fingers give a muted little jolt of surprise where they’re squeezing around your waist, and you tightly screw your eyes shut when he leans in to kiss the side of your neck. “Oh, little miss. You don’t have to ask. You can touch me as much as you want.”

Trembling there on his lap, you hesitate to do it but finally gather enough courage to drag your hand down off his shoulder. Shyly watching the slow descent of it down his broad barrel chest, over his stomach, all the way down to the center of his lap. You give a tiny little jerk when you see the stiff outline pressing up against the interior, the motion of your hips inelegantly stuttering as you take in the shape of it, the size. It was indeed quite large, your heart nearly giving out entirely in your overwhelmed horror, but … but like this it wasn’t quite so bad. Not as scary as if you were perhaps looking at it straight on.

Timidly cautious, you press your fingers over the outline and Wriothesley breathes out a thick, heavy sound that is suspiciously reminiscent of a growl. It seems to vibrate through you, pulling a quiet whimper out of your throat, but you force yourself to stay focused. Your curiosity was a little too compelling to get sidetracked now, and even your mindless rutting against him slows to a complete standstill while you feel along the length of him, just familiarizing yourself with the press of it against your hand. Even through his slacks it seems heavy and it’s so incredibly warm that you feel a dull, sympathetic tremor deep inside your cunt.

Evidently realizing just how distracted you were, Wriothesley pulls back from your neck enough to look down at himself as well. “Is it so fascinating?”

“A little bit …”

He laughs, sounding mildly strained. “If you’re curious I’ll teach you about it, but I won’t make you do anything you don’t feel comfortable with. In this, at least, I’ll play by your rules.”

And he’d done such a good job respecting your boundaries thus far … perhaps it was alright to test the waters some. To give in to this primal urge coursing through your system, making you feel indescribably hot and mindless.

“Would it really fit inside me?”

The hushed noise he makes sounds so wounded it actually startles your attention up, and you take in his pained expression with great big eyes.

“W - what? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing. Please don’t start getting defensive, now of all times.” Grunting, Wriothesley grabs under your arms as he shifts back further against the lounge so he can rather gingerly recline back, pulling you right along with him. The careful motion stretches you out across his body to rest against his chest, prompting you to readjust the way you're straddling his thigh to keep your thrumming cunt pressed up tight against it. Letting out a shuddering exhale, he shifts underneath you just so before tipping his face down again. “If you say things like that you’re going to make this go crazy, and I’m not so sure you’re ready for that yet. Try rubbing it, like this.”

You can’t quite stop the squeak of surprise that bursts out of you when he reaches over to grab your stilled hand. Redirecting you to the center of the bulge, he manually squeezes your trembling fingers around him and your skin positively crawls with an eruption of goosebumps when you feel it pulse against your palm. Wide eyed and quaking, you slowly bring your gaze back down to watch him guide your hand up along the rigid length and then back down again. You’d never before seen anything quite like it, but there was a very real, very primitive part of your brain that abruptly clicks on at the sight of it.

“Will it hurt?”

“No.” He grunts, still dragging your hand up and down, up and down the length of him. “It feels good. Like when you rub that cute pussy all over my leg. You can squeeze it, if you want.”

Experimentally, you do just that and the responding twitch of Wriothesley’s cock has your cunt repeatedly clamping down on nothing, a harried, deeply frazzled whine rising in you. It was like you were cumming, but not really. You felt close, though. As if just touching him like this, feeling the hot, pulsing need of him in the palm of your hand was stoking your own fire. Building your own pleasure up into something that was very nearly palpable.

More confident this time, you give him another squeeze, and he makes a rumbling, needy sound in the back of his throat. Consumed with your own wanton need, you turn your head to look at him again and a distant thrill of surprise rushes through you when you find those deep sapphires watching you. Not your hand on him, but you.

“Am I really making you feel good, your grace?”

“Very much so.”

Smiling, you lean up to press your mouth to his. He watches you do it, accepts your kiss, and a stilted puff of air rattles out of him to dance over your lips. You’ve never seen him hold himself quite so stiffly before but he starts to kiss you back just a heartbeat later, slowly at first and then with more demanding force behind the motion. Just like every other time he pulls you into his pace with ease, soon dominating the exchange while his hand continues to stroke yours over his trapped cock. It doesn’t take long for you to start feeling impatient like this, indescribably needy, and you wriggle yourself down on his leg in search of more friction. Wriothesley gladly obliges you, curling his leg up a little higher to press more firmly into your cunt to make you keen at the sensation.

As you start to ride him again, the hand that had remained carefully on your back this entire time starts to drag lower, tracing the curve of your waist and further still to smooth over your reddened bottom. You suck in a sharp breath at the sting but it just seems to make your pussy clench and drool even more obscenely. Rearing back against his hand, you give his length another tight squeeze to pull a low groan out of him.

“You are a real menace, pretty girl.” He softly chides you, pulling back just enough to look in your face. “For as prim and proper as you like to act, you’re certainly an insatiable little thing.”

You start to apologize for it, but then think better of it. “Do you like it, your grace?”

“More than I’d like to admit.”

Your breath catches at that and you lurch on top of him when a warning tremor tears through your shuddering body. “Will … will you bounce your leg against me?”

“Of course.” Eyelids drooping to attractive halfmast, Wriothesley presses his forehead against yours and tenderly nudges at your nose. “Shall I spank you while I do it? Something tells me you’d like that an awful lot.”

“Ooh … yes, your grace, please spank me.”

Another rumbling groan rises in him, eyes drifting shut as if in great pleasure. You don’t get a chance to linger on how positively devastating he looks like that because he presses his thigh up into you, sending you lurching with a faltering, deeply wounded sound. The motion of his leg jostles you slightly, prompting you to clutch at him all the more fervently — one latched around his cock and the other clinging to his neck — and you toss your head back with a high pitched squeal when he suddenly swats your ass without warning. You waver, hesitate for only a blink of the eye, and then you’re driving your cunt down to meet him with fast mounting urgency.

“Oohh, gods —“

Swat! Across the other cheek to make the meaty swell bounce.

A deeply flustered sound punches its way out of your mouth, hips swiveling desperately. “Ahhn, ahh! Y - your grace! Nggnh!”

Swat! The first cheek again, this time with a possessive squeeze afterward that makes your toes curl.

“I’d say I could never get tired of watching you bounce that pretty pussy on my leg, but I’d hate to discourage you from wanting to try anything else.”

Your tense fingers impulsively squeeze down on his cock, making his chest hitch, and you seethe through your teeth at the quickly cresting waves of ecstasy washing over you. You were close, so close.

“Please —“ Swat! Swat! First one cheek and then the next, in rapid succession. “Ooh! God! I - I want it, your grace! I want it!”

Swat!

“What do you want, lovely girl?” Wriothesley grunts, his own voice faltering now.

“I - I want this!” You give his length a desperate squeeze, so lightheaded and dizzy you barely even know what you’re saying anymore.

Swat!

“It’s already yours, sweetheart. Whenever you’re ready for it, you’ll have it.”

The thought alone of taking him deep inside your body makes every single muscle in your shuddering frame lock up, and you lurch to a sudden standstill on top of him. Your mouth drops open as if to scream but nothing comes out when he just keeps bouncing his leg on your drooling cunt, quicker now. A little harder. You sway unsteadily as your thighs begin to shake uncontrollably around him, chest heaving with the gasps you frantically try to suck in but you can’t quite seem to get enough air. It felt like you were smothering under the intense pressure, hanging right on the precipice.

Swat!

“Cum for me, cum all over my leg and let me see that pretty face you make.” He practically growls, grabbing a tight, pinching handful of your ass to really drive the sting home.

It’s that sharp, toe curling throb of pain that tips you over, and you cum with a gutted lurch. Wheezing, you arch against him so hard your spine aches in protest but you can’t stop it. Your hips judder wildly and your knees nearly give out from how hard it slams into you all at once, but he clutches you tight in his arms while you spasm and writhe, squealing in mindless delight. It’s all you can do just to keep your voice down, painfully aware that the two of you were not in the privacy of your flat, but you manage, somehow, to get through it without shrieking at the top of your lungs.

You’re so exhausted and drained by the time the tremors finally ebb and fade that you collapse on top of him with a deeply frazzled groan. Giving your bottom one final, lingering squeeze, Wriothesley drags his hand back up to rub across your back and a faint shudder ripples through you when you feel him bend close to place a brief kiss to the top of your head.

It was … really nice, actually, sharing such a quiet, intimate moment with him. It wouldn’t be hard to get used to it. In fact, you dully realize, you kind of already were.

“You’re such a good girl for me sometimes.” He murmurs into your hair, his voice warm with praise and affection alike. “It just makes me wonder why you can’t be so good all the time.”

“That would get boring.” You dazedly slur, making him chuckle.

“That’s true. There’s no fun in it without a little power struggle first.”

You hum a noncommittal sound, already half dozed off where you’re spread out on top of him when a muted twitch under your loosely curled palm makes you jolt. Blearily lifting your head from his chest, you glance down to find him still rock hard in his pants and your brows quickly draw together in confusion.

“You didn’t - -“

“Don’t worry about it. It’ll go away.”

“But - -“

“Hush. Just do as I say for once and let it go.” Reaching up to palm the back of your head, he forces your cheek back down to his chest and holds you there even when you weakly try to struggle out from under it. “You really aren’t making this easy on me, you know that? Saying all that nonsense and now this. It’s nothing for you to be concerned about, little miss. Not yet.”

Your mouth pulls in a pout even though he can’t see it. “Will you teach me more later?” It’s little more than a mouse squeak when you were so tired, so exhausted after everything that had transpired today.

Wriothesley seems to think on that for a moment before softly pressing another kiss to the crown of your head. “I’ll teach you everything in due time. You just need to be patient. I don’t want you to get so caught up in the moment that you rush into something only to regret it later. As I said before, I’m a guarddog. I'm not interested in biting the hand holding my leash.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

You aren’t sure when, exactly, you fell asleep, but you wake up on the lounge some time later, finding yourself blinking up at the ceiling of his office in a bit of a daze. You’re a little disoriented at first and then you remember where you were. Everything that had happened. The meeting with the inmates. That horrible incident with George. The sound slap you’d given Wriothesley right across his stupid smug mouth. The way you’d crawled into his lap and …

You bolt upright with a soul sucking gasp. Your instinctive panic is immediately interrupted, however, when you realize his coat is now pooled in your lap, and you blink down at it with owlish surprise. He’d given you his jacket while you slept?

“Ah, you’re finally awake. I was wondering how long you’d be out for.”

Startling, you twist around on the lounge to look over at the desk where you find Wriothesley reading over a small stack of paperwork in his hand while the other lifts a steaming cup of tea up to his mouth. You could smell it from where you were sitting, the rich aroma drawing you a little further out of your half asleep stupor and a bit more into reality. Archons, you felt like you were dying of thirst.

“You wouldn't happen to have an extra cup for me, would you?”

“Of course I do. Don’t be silly.” Setting his own back down after taking a sip, he sedately glances over at you from across the room. “I even grabbed some sandwiches and cookies for you from the cafeteria. I figured you’d be hungry when you woke up.”

You immediately realize that that was an understatement. You weren’t just hungry, you were famished!

But when you move to get up, pulling his coat off your lap, you abruptly come to a screeching halt. Eyes widening to the approximate size of dinner plates, you stare down at your bare legs in abject disbelief. “Where are my pants?”

“Don’t sound so alarmed. I put them somewhere safe.”

“Well, I’d like to have them back!” You snap, shooting daggers over at him.

Humming as if in thought, Wriothesley drops the paperwork on top of the desk and reclines back into his chair. “I don’t think so. Not just yet anyway. I’m not quite through with you yet.”

A shudder races up your stiffening spine, and you nervously gather his heavy jacket close to your chest, clutching at it. “W - what does that mean? I thought you said you’d let me decide when I was ready?”

He barks a quick laugh. “I don’t mean that. I’m talking about your punishment from earlier. We got a little sidetracked, didn’t we?”

“Oh.” Heaving a long suffering sigh, you roll your eyes and move to stand up. Keeping his coat held to your front, you slowly shuffle over to the desk to stand in front of it. “Is that really necessary? I understand why you had to do it, even if I don’t agree with your methods.”

Idly tapping his finger on the sturdy wood, he just silently studies you for a long moment. “It’s not exactly about agreeing with me.” He says at length. “I’m still waiting on an apology, for starters.”

You promptly shrink in on yourself. “You hit me all the time …”

“No, what I do is spank your bratty little bottom to sort you out. I don’t hit you across the face, and I never would unless you asked me to.”

“Why would I - -“

“Do not try to change the subject. I told you once before that I’m not so easily distracted, didn’t I?”

He tips his head to one side as if to further drive his point home, and you feel your cheeks start to warm. “You’re like a dog with a bone.”

“Ah, so you have been paying attention then. Good. I know firsthand just how smart you really are so I do expect you to start figuring things out, the more time we spend together. And I do hope that you’ll continue to share more with me.”

You hesitate at the first inkling that something was not quite right here. He was talking about more than just the slap, wasn’t he? But what else could there be that he wanted to talk about?

“I do enjoy spending time with his grace,” You say slowly, warily. “Even if he does make me feel uniquely harassed half of the time. And I’m sorry for hitting you. You’re right that there’s a difference between the two. I tried to hurt you out of anger, while you do it to —“

Wriothesley chuckles when you search for the word only to come up empty handed, the smile tugging at his mouth equally roguish and charming. “To correct you. I can’t deny that you can be a little frustrating sometimes, but I’m sure the same can be said of me. In fact, I know it can. But I don’t hit you in anger. Not when I’m nearly double your size and weight. To allow my self control to slip even slightly would be … reckless indeed, because I could seriously hurt you. I’m always careful to make sure I’m fully aware of what I’m doing and how hard I’m doing it before I ever put my hands on you, little miss. I hope you know that.”

Your back straightens when it suddenly hits you. That’s what he was worried about?

“Are you afraid I won’t want to see you anymore after the way you … broke George’s wrist earlier?”

A long stretch of quiet settles over the office, perfectly still and perfectly quiet.

“A little.” He says at last. “I couldn’t exactly blame you if that was the decision you came to, but I’d still be a bit — disappointed to lose you. A lot, actually. I enjoy our time together too.”

You swallow. Hard. “Your grace, I … I won’t deny that you scared me earlier, but it’s not like it was the first time. You’ve made me nervous and frightened, and happy, and sad, and so incredibly confused I could just tear my own hair out sometimes, but — I was more frightened for George than myself, if I’m being honest. I was scared you were going to hurt him.”

“And then I did.” He says simply, and you nod.

“Yes. Frankly, I was horrified. That’s why I got so mad at you. I never thought you’d actually be capable of something like that, and I guess I didn’t really know how to react. But you’ve never made me feel like I was truly in danger. I’ve never worried about you breaking my arm, or snapping me in half even though I’m sure you easily could. I’m not scared of you, your grace. I just … I don’t want to see you hurt anyone else, least of all because of me.”

He lets that settle for a drawn out beat, clearly turning everything over in his head, before decisively leaning forward to grab up the teapot sitting on a tray at the corner of the desk. “Well, I can’t exactly promise you that. Should the need ever arise again, I won’t hesitate to protect you. Especially if it’s one of my inmates trying to cause you harm. But with that being said,” He starts to pour out a second cup, also taken off the tray. Your eyes voraciously wander over to the little plate covered with a tin lid, knowing there were promised sandwiches and cookies hiding underneath, and your stomach churns in hunger. “I solemnly swear that from here on out I will do everything in my power to avoid it ever coming to that. If we can stop it from reaching that point then surely both of us will be satisfied. Does that sound like a reasonable compromise to you?”

“Yes, your grace.”

“Excellent. Then come sit on my lap and help yourself to some food and tea. I’m sure you’re starving.”

For once you only feel slightly hesitant to heed his command without needing to be told twice, and you eagerly shuffle around the desk to join him. You’re able to hide the nudity of your lower half behind his coat which you keep tucked around your waist even as you get settled on his legs. It was a seat you were quickly (perhaps even embarrassingly so) getting used to, and the thick arm that snakes around your middle to secure you in place was likewise becoming something comfortably familiar as well.

The first thing you reach for is the plate, stretching across the desk to pull it closer so you can peel away the lid and find out what’s inside. A handful of neatly sliced sandwiches of a few different varieties greets you, as well as a small pile of assorted biscuits. You don’t hesitate to snag one up and pop it into your mouth, humming in delight at the taste. Chuckling softly, Wriothesley gives you a brief squeeze around the middle as his other hand slides over to pick up the abandoned stack of papers again.

“Are you aware just how adorable you can be at times?”

Humming in agreement, you covetously go for a sandwich next. “His grace flatters me.”

“Brat.” Giving your tummy an affectionate pinch, he turns his attention to the papers. “Another question, if you would be kind enough to humor me. Are you aware that you’ve earned yourself a few fans here in the prison?”

You freeze in place with the dainty little triangle lifted half of the way to your waiting mouth. “I beg your pardon?”

“Belle, the woman at the meeting earlier, slipped this note into my mailbox some time ago. She apologizes for what happened with George, and she wishes you a speedy recovery with hopes that you’ll return soon to start your sewing classes. You’re welcome to read it for yourself if you’d like.”

Slowly, you lower the sandwich and reach out for the paper. You’re more than a little surprised to find it says exactly what he’s relayed to you. “Wha — but I don’t understand?” Dropping the sandwich altogether now, you numbly flip to the next page only to find a second letter written in two different but equally terrible sets of handwriting. Those brothers.

“Don’t pay them much mind.” He murmurs as you scan over the, frankly, perplexing note. “They’re trouble, but mostly harmless. I won’t go so far as to say they mean well, but …”

Thoroughly perplexed, you flip to the final page. This one is rather neat and tidy, and relievingly concise, but you can’t quite place who it would have come from. All it says is that they hoped you wouldn’t be scared off by what happened, and that they looked forward to the program being a resounding success. It was of course very flattering but rather unexpected. A bit confounding, if you were being honest.

“Who wrote this one?”

“His name is Gaspard. You probably didn’t notice, but he was making puppy dog eyes at you the whole time.”

Flustered heat promptly crawls up your neck to settle deep in your cheeks. “Has anyone ever told you that your sense of humor leaves much to be desired, your grace?”

“Oh, I’m actually being quite serious. I thought for sure if I was going to have to pry someone off you it was going to be him.”

Another teasing pinch at your waist accompanies that and you sigh out through your nose, trying very hard not to let his foolishness distract you. “May I ask what he’s serving time for? This handwriting looks very well practiced, and his spelling is perfect.”

With a quiet hum, Wriothesley leans to the side to brace his chin in the palm of his hand. “He’s in for embezzlement.”

“Embezzlement!” You squawk, beyond horrified. “B - b - but if it’s the man I’m thinking of, he was so polite and quiet! I thought he was just shy so I didn’t want to draw too much attention to him!”

“Those are the ones you have to watch out for the most.” He laughs. “You’ll learn that in due time. The ones like George are mostly all bark and no bite, unless you back them into a corner. Gaspard’s type is way more dangerous because you can never be quite sure what they’re thinking.”

More than just a bit ruffled, you defensively clutch the small stack of letters to your chest. “So then I suppose that would put you in the latter category?”

“Hm … I suppose it would.”

With a click of your tongue, you set the papers aside and primly return to your sandwich. “Regardless, I think it’s clear how we should proceed. We need to get a seamstress out to the prison as soon as possible for Belle, and I’m sure we can find a willing chef for those two troublemakers as well.” You pause with the little triangle almost up to your mouth again, hesitating a moment before slowly lowering it once more. “That is — if you’d still like to work with me going forward. I’m sure you probably have some reservations after what happened today, but I promise I’ll be more cautious next time and - -“

“Hush. I’m not going to take it away from you like a toy you’re not allowed to play with anymore. You’ll still have your little program and I’ll still work with you to help you implement it. You’ll just have to be a bit more closely supervised with it going forward.”

“… you are truly detestable sometimes.”

“So I’ve heard.”

Wriothesley thankfully lets you eat in peace after that, and your stomach is quite glad for it. You happily scarf down two sandwiches and another cookie to go with your cup of tea, but you quickly begin to feel full. Eventually, you find yourself leaning back against his chest with your head resting along his shoulder, and you just quietly watch him work through a different stack of papers, this one much more formidable than your measly pile. You were going to cherish them forever though, even had half a mind to go out and have them framed immediately, but that seemed a little excessive, even for you.

The intimate atmosphere and the close proximity with him almost has you dozing again, but the large hand idly rubbing over your tummy keeps you more or less grounded in reality, you sigh, very softly, when he eventually gives you an attention grabbing pinch some indeterminable amount of time later.

“You’re not falling asleep on me again, are you?”

“No, your grace. I am only resting.”

“Good.” He says rather amicably, setting the sheet in his hand down. “Because there’s still the matter of your punishment to go over.”

Groaning, you let your head loll back against his shoulder to look up at the ceiling. “You really never let anything go, do you?”

“It would be remiss of me if I did. More importantly though, I wanted to show you something. Do you remember what I said earlier, about getting spanked with something much worse than a hairbrush?”

You immediately lurch on top of him, skin crawling at just the thought as you try to jump up off his lap and escape, but Wriothesley just tightens his arm around you to keep you pinned even when you inelegantly flail. “Wait — that’s not fair, your grace, I — ow!”

The hard slam of your knee against his desk has you whimpering in pain, and he quickly takes advantage of that stunned moment to haul you back and secure you more firmly in place. “That’s what you get for jumping to conclusions. Let that be a lesson to you.” Sighing, he presses his mouth to the top of your head in a lingering kiss while you try to shake out the hurt from your leg. “Troublesome girl.”

“I don’t want to hear that from you right now!” You snip, still rubbing at your bruised knee. “And what were you even talking about? I don’t think I deserve to be struck with a stick or a measuring rod, or — or - -“

“You don’t, you’re right about that. But I want to show you what comes after the hairbrush, if you’ll let me. I’d like to think having that knowledge in the back of your mind might give you enough incentive to make better decisions in the future, but given how hard headed you are … maybe it won’t.”

Huffing, you petulantly cross your arms. “You only want to show me?” You didn’t trust it at all. Not one bit.

“I planned to actually strike you with it, of course. Otherwise it would just be an empty threat and you’d have no baseline to gauge how far you’re willing to go just to throw a fit over something. But how about this? I’ll make you a deal. You like when I do that, don’t you?”

You were loath to admit it out loud but you did indeed, and your pussy slowly clenches with interest. Damn him straight to the abyss and back. “I’m listening.”

“Good girl. I figured you would be.” Another kiss pressed to the top of your head, his breath displacing some of the flyaways there. “You get to choose then. Would you like me to round off your punishment with my hand and twenty strokes of the hairbrush, or would you prefer to take six from the mystery implement?”

Twisting around in his hold, you look up at him in abject shock. “Only six?”

“Only six.” He confirms.

“And you won’t tell me what it is first? Is it really that bad?”

“No, and no. It’s just a different kind of pain, is all. Something you aren’t used to. I strongly suspect if I told you beforehand, you’d be too frightened to take it on and would instead gladly subject your poor bottom to a much worse fate than it needs to suffer.” Drawing a stilted breath, Wriothesley slips one of his hands under the jacket to caress along your bare thigh, warming the skin under his palm. “As far as I’m concerned, you’ve already been appropriately corrected. There’s no need to actually take you over my knee unless you leave me with no other choice. The second option is preferable for both of us, first and foremost because I intend for it to be a warning more than anything. The choice is yours though, little miss. I am but at your beck and call.”

You snort at that and pin him with a wry look. “Sure. I might believe that when pigs fly.” With a shake of your head, you turn back around so you can slump against him, listlessly picking at the fur trim on his jacket in your lap while you think it over. One was obviously the better sounding choice but … didn’t that mean it was a trap?

Big, burly arms squeezing around you, Wriothesley bends close to kiss your temple, your cheek, down to your neck. They’re soft and fleeting, decidedly, chaste, and yet they still make your pulse start to thrum a little faster. You really were regrettably weak for him. It just wasn’t fair.

“May I add an extra term onto our deal?”

“Let’s hear it.”

“If I choose the second option, will … will you play with me afterward?”

He seems to hesitate against you, no doubt catching onto your meaning. “I was planning on doing that anyway. I always make sure you get rewarded at the end, don’t I?” A lingering kiss pressed into your temple.

You were really starting to become hot and flustered again, and it shows in the way your voice strains slightly. “I don’t mean like that. I — I think I want you to touch me, your grace.”

This time he really does go still. A long beat of quiet punctuates the moment, and then he shifts against you, speaking across the side of your face. “Where do you want me to touch you, pretty girl? Between your legs?”

Just hearing him say it makes you shudder from your head straight down to your toes, and you fitfully twist on his lap so you can tip your head back to look at him. “Everywhere, sir. Between my legs and — my chest too. If you want.”

“Of course I want to, silly thing.” Breathing out a rather terse exhale, he tips his head to kiss your mouth but it is regretfully short lived, and you whine softly when he retreats again. “I need you to clarify something for me first though, so I know exactly what it is you’re comfortable with. Do you want to get completely undressed for me or would you rather I touch you through your shirt?”

“O - oh.” You hadn’t thought about it that far, and you shyly avert your gaze. Although you did want to feel his hands on your breasts, the thought of being completely nude with him was a daunting one indeed. It was silly, of course, but that seemed like something of a big step and a potentially awkward one at that. “I … I don’t know if I’m ready to get naked yet so — through my shirt?”

“Through your shirt it is.” He agrees, pressing his mouth to your cheek in a hard, reassuring kiss. It makes you squirm, just a little bit, how willing he is to humor you in this way, but you think that it probably means more to you than you even fully realize. “You’re a good girl, you know that?” He murmurs against your skin. “I’m so proud of you for being honest with me. I know that’s not always easy for you to do.”

“Enough already.” You huff in embarrassed fluster, making him chuckle.

“Don’t start getting cranky. I don’t want to have to really spank you if I don’t have to.” Finally, he pulls all the way back to give you some space, patting your leg under the jacket. “Alright. Stand up and put your hands on the desk for me. We’ll do this standing up.”

Suddenly confused, you hesitate just a moment before rocking forward with no shortage of hesitation. He didn’t often strike you while standing. Usually only when he was made to grab you to stop you from scuttling away and a chair or other wasn’t readily available …

You try not to think about that too hard though as you find your feet with his coat somewhat awkwardly clutched to your front still. He reaches around to take it from you and you reluctantly let it go, shivering when it falls away to leave you bared from the waist down. Shuffling forward a step, you then reach out and slowly place your hands palm down on the desk while he stands up behind you, pushing the chair further back to allow for some space.

Wriothesley presses up close behind you then, making a fresh shudder work down your spine as he leans over you to gently reposition your palms a little further apart. He reaches down to take your waist next so he can carefully bend you forward with your legs squared, nice and firmly rooted. You aren’t quite sure what to make of it all but his hands feel decidedly nice on you, and you just sigh very softly when he moves back. The following moment or two of rustling further leaves you stumped, especially when you catch a soft metallic click on the air, and you have to try very hard not to turn around and look. He seemed quite sure whatever it was would startle you a great deal but …

When he eventually comes up beside you again, you turn your head to look at the hand he holds out towards you. Your brows make a prompt, very expeditious trip up to your hairline.

“Wha — y - your belt, sir?” You warble out on a squeak, genuinely flabbergasted by this revelation.

He chuckles faintly, snapping your wide eyed attention up at him so fast it nearly makes your head spin. “That look on your face is exactly why I didn’t tell you outright but it sounds worse than it actually is. At least the way I’m going to do it is.”

“W - which would be?” You ask, nervously glancing at the folded over strip of leather with a great deal of fast mounting horror.

“We’ll start off slow and work our way up in intensity, but even by the end I won’t be using too much force. My goal isn’t to actually hurt you, just teach you. See, the thing about this is it covers a wider area. I can strike you across both cheeks in one swing, and the relative flexibility of the leather means it carries a sharper sting with it as well. I don’t think it’ll take much to have you dancing on your toes, so I probably won’t even end up using a fraction of my strength when all is said and done. Does all of that sound agreeable to you, little miss?”

You work to swallow down your nerves and almost choke on it. “I … I suppose so. But — if I really can’t take it, will you stop?”

“Of course I will. I have no interest in brutalizing you or anything of the sort. That being said though I’m confident that you’ll do just fine. Who knows? You might even enjoy it.”

A wholly mirthless laugh punches out of your throat. “I’m really not sure about that, your grace.”

“Then let’s find out.”

Transfixed, you follow the motion of the folded over belt when he lifts it in one hand and then slaps it down into the waiting palm of the other. You startle at the loud, meaty whap! and suddenly your blood turns to ice. You can feel yourself slipping under alarmingly fast, whatever the incomprehensible shroud was that blanketed your mind every time you ended up in these situations with him, but you had a feeling it wasn’t going to do much to shield you from the full brunt of it in this particular instance.

Trying very hard not to shake when he steps behind you, you tip your face down to stare blankly down at the desk. The tension thrumming through your body is thick enough to suffocate and nauseatingly cloying. Just thinking about him hitting you with that was enough to make you sick …

“Oh, and just a word of advice.” He tacks on, standing about a step behind you by the sound of it. “Try to breathe through it as much as you can. That will help more than anything else.”

“… yes, sir.”

“Good girl.”

His fingertips brush across your ass then, and you jolt so hard you almost come right up off the floor. Wriothesley just takes a moment to coo at you though, chiding you softly for being so jumpy, but it was a little hard not to be! You felt like you were going to vibrate right out of existence, and the heavy weight of nervous anticipation was not making it any better. You’re such a mess of nerves and sharp adrenaline that you barely even notice the way your skin prickles under his hand, still hot to the touch and tender from your earlier spanking, and you wince slightly as he rubs over your bottom. It seems like a cruel thing to do, getting you sensitized and warmed up for his belt like this.

“I’m going to start.” He finally warns you as his hand retreats, and you immediately brace for the deafening crack and the splintering pain to go with it.

To your flinching surprise, however, the belt just lightly swats across your bottom with a soft little pap! and you absolutely hate the way you still violently lurch, having expected much worse. Your cheeks immediately flood with heat as he laughs softly behind you at the big reaction.

“I told you we’d work our way up. That’s one. Count for me, pretty girl.”

You obediently open your mouth but you only make it so far as drawing a breath to respond when the belt slaps across your ass, a little harder this time. You notice the sting he’d mentioned immediately, as well as the insidious reach it has across the swell of both cheeks, but all it does is make you rock forward on your toes a bit. You’d never admit it out loud to him, but he was right. This wasn’t as bad as you’d thought it would be.

And that was precisely why you didn’t trust it.

“… two, sir.”

“Good girl. Your bottom looks mighty cute like this, by the way. I think I could get used to seeing you bent over my desk.”

You clench your teeth, half in annoyance and half to brace for the next hit. If they kept steadily increasing like that …

Whap!

This one subtly jerks you forward with the impact and you wheeze over the desk, trying and failing to process just how sharp the sting really is. It leaves you dizzy, a bit stunned in the aftermath as prickling fire welts up over the swell of your bottom. It has your toes curling in their shoes, skin crawling with needle pinpricks as you work to steady yourself. Okay, that was marginally worse than his hand but still not quite as bad as the hairbrush.

“Ooh … three, sir …”

“You’re doing very well so far. What do you think of it?”

You weren’t entirely sure you were properly equipped to answer that question at the moment, but after a short beat of consideration you finally say, “I see what you meant. It’s a different kind of pain, but it’s not terrible.”

“It could be.”

You snort. “I bet it could.”

Wriothesley shifts behind you making you instinctively brace for the next hit, but it never comes. Instead, he speaks again after a drawn out pause. “Do you really trust me not to get carried with it, and to know your pain threshold better than you do?”

That seemed like an odd question to ask after all this time, but you decide you can humor it as you readjust your feet with a quick shuffle. “I do, your grace. You push me sometimes but you’ve never actually crossed that line. Until you do, I trust you.”

“That’s very generous of you.” He murmurs, a note of humor in his voice now. “Incidentally, I think you should know that I trust you as well. I suppose that makes us even.”

A dull trickle of surprise washes over you, but before you can fully process what he’d said the next strike comes with a considerably louder crack and it startles an ‘oh!’ out of you. Rocking forward on your toes, seething, you gingerly shift your weight from one side to the other but it does absolutely nothing to dispel the throbbing strip across your backside. It really was insidious how it could catch the meatiest parts of your ass in a single blow, and you carefully try to stretch it out with a dramatic curve of your spine.

“That’s quite a show you're putting on for me right now, pretty girl.” Wriothesley drawls in a low tone that sounds like silk in your pounding ears. “Are you sure you don’t want to take your top off? I’m already seeing quite a lot …”

Whimpering faintly, you shyly squeeze your thighs together and straighten slightly. “Don’t be a pig …”

“My apologies. It’s so easy to forget my manners when you’re presenting such a cute pussy to me like that. I’ll be sure to mind myself.”

“Ooh … will you touch it, your grace?”

“Yes. Gladly. But only after we’re done.” He says. Then, much more softly, “It will be a reward for the both of us.”

You draw a steadying breath and force your constricting lungs to expand with it as you carefully resume the position he’d put you in, or something close to it. “Four, sir.”

“Good girl.”

This time you know the swing is coming because you can hear the displacement in the air, and it seems to catch you in a particularly vulnerable spot, because you dance up on your toes with a frazzled yelp. The sting of unshed tears in your eyes quickly joins the splintering sensation across your decidedly sore bottom, and you sniffle rather sadly at the hurt. You understood now why he’d set the count to six, and you were immensely glad for it.

“F - five, sir …”

Wriothesley’s hand abruptly finds your shuddering back and you jolt before stiffly relaxing into his touch. Gently, reassuringly, he drags that massive palm across you in slow, coaxing circles. “There, you’re almost done. I’ll let you decide when you’re ready for the last stroke.”

You can’t decide if that makes it better or worse, but you take a moment to collect yourself, just taking slow, deep breaths, just like he’d said to. It does help, a little bit, but the searing line across your ass is very hard to ignore. You were undoubtedly scared of what was coming and, yet, his steady presence at your side was a comforting one. You could do this. You knew you could. Not for him, but because of him.

Gingerly easing your body out of its defensive hunch, you carefully move back into position again. “I’m ready, sir.”

Your first sign that this was going to be awful is the fact that Wriothesley keeps his hand braced against your middle back and just shifts to the side. Your second is the sharp sound of it cutting through the air.

Whap!

Pain explodes across your entire body unlike ever before. You lurch with a wounded, faltering animal sound, unable to even scream, it was that bad! Your knees instantly turn knobbly and you practically collapse with a strained, gasping sob, but he’s right there to catch you. So lost in the swimming daze of blind agony, you barely register him holding you around the waist to keep you upright and somewhat steady, but the soft press of his mouth against your shoulder somehow still manages to catch your attention. It pulls you back into the physical world, bit by bit, at a sluggish pace, and the sound of his crooning voice soon penetrates the numbing fog to mist over you.

“— such a good girl, I’m so proud of you for taking that so well. You didn’t even scream, and I thought for sure you would on the last one. Do you have any idea how much strength that took? You’re such a precious thing.”

Groaning dizzily, you slowly start to straighten up under his helpful guidance, and you don’t protest when he gently steers you back towards the chair with a hiccuping mewl. You’re glad for it, in fact. You just wanted to crawl into his lap and cling to him for the rest of the day. Night? You weren’t even sure what time it was. How long had you fallen asleep for?

You feel well and truly delirious as he sits down and gets situated behind you before reaching back up to tug you into his lap, and you viciously seethe the moment your throbbing ass brushes his pants. Making a valiant effort to arch up off him and escape the pressure, you openly sob when he just pulls you right down. You writhe at the pain, twisting in his arms but then — you abruptly realize where his hands are headed.

Choking on a stuttering gasp, you tip your tear stained face down with a confused little whimper to watch his palms drag up the front of your body, further rucking and irreparably wrinkling your jumper in the process. They smooth over the curve of your breasts and then pause to give them a savory squeeze, and you shudder intensely at the sensation. You’d never been touched like this before. Not by anyone, and it surprises you how sensitive your chest is under the weight of his hands. Your nipples immediately spring up even under your clothes, and you fitfully turn your head to rest across his shoulder with a half strangled wail.

“These feel so good in my hands, pretty girl. Is this what you wanted me to do? Hm?”

Screwing your eyes shut against the onslaught of so many sensations all at once — the pain and the pleasure so horribly intermingled that you could hardly tell them apart anymore — you offer a quick, jerky nod. “Mhm!”

Wriothesley breathes out a terse sigh against the side of your head and nuzzles further into you while his hands keep fondling your breasts. “Good. They seem sensitive. There are a lot of fun things we could do with that information, you know. I have a few — toys you might be interested in later. Do you like having your pretty tits played with? You certainly look like you do …”

Whining low in your throat, you shudderingly arch to shove your chest further out, and he takes advantage of that to squish them up and together. A deeply frazzled moan rattles out of you when he jostles them for a brief moment before letting them go so that they bounce back into place. He groans, very softly, as he quickly cups around the swell of them again, just holding them in his palms for a moment while he bends close to kiss you.

You’re sinking alarmingly fast, much too fast to make any sense of it, and you clutch at his shirt in a fitful, twisting death grip. He doesn’t even seem to notice, just hungrily kissing you for a tortuously long stretch before eventually pulling back with a stilted exhale. Meaningfully, he sends his gaze lower and you follow his lead, slowly looking down at yourself just to find your tits straining up even through two shirts and a brassier. You issue a low, wounded sound, watching through the impossibly heavy fall of your lashes as he brings his hands up to delicately pluck at the stiffened buds. That alone is almost too much, both the sensation and the visual, but he really starts to tug on them.

“You like that, do you?” He chuckles at all your sensitive quivering. “I’m sure you’ve noticed I’m more of an ass man myself, but these are nice too. Very nice, indeed. They fit so nicely in my hands, almost like they were made for them. And your nipples … oh, sweet girl, are you going to cum just from having me play with them?”

That didn’t seem to be as much of a preposterous suggestion as you would have otherwise thought when you were currently wrestling with the thrumming tension that spikes through your body. You’d never felt quite so hot or overly sensitive, and you keen at the growing need threatening to swallow you whole.

Evidently catching on, Wriothesley drags one of his hands down across your front, over your belly and straight down to dip between your trembling thighs. You feel him experimentally touch over your slit for a brief moment, familiarizing himself with it, before pressing his fingers into meaty lips to spread them. You rock violently in his hold and instinctively curl your legs out wide even when they weakly twitch in the air, keeping them spread for him. You’re not sure what you were expecting in your punch drunk state of mind, but it shocks a flustered yelp out of you when he slips in to tease over your clit. It has you twitching, twisting and writhing against him for everything you’re worth. The calloused pad on the tip seems to catch at soft flesh even with the excessive slick coating you and he tauntingly nudges at the delicate little pleasure button, just drawing it back and forth, up and down for a moment, before starting to press down more firmly. You promptly go cross eyed, lurching in his lap with a gutted moan.

The direct contact felt so good … so good you could hardly even stand it, and it brings fresh tears to your eyes. You liked rubbing yourself on his thighs. Thought you’d liked that the most and that you couldn’t like anything else better — but this was overwhelming your already cotton stuffed head alarmingly quick, and the way he continues to pluck at one of your nipples did not seem to be helping you in the slightest. You were going to vibrate right off him if he kept that up!

“Y - your grace! Ooohhnnggh!”

“Do you enjoy that, little miss? Hm?” He nuzzles against the side of your head, pressing idle kisses to your temple again.

“Ahhnn … yes! I do, your grace! I - I feel like I’m gonna’ — oohh!”

With a soft chuckle that makes his chest vibrate against your back, Wriothesley reaches across to the other breast to give it a savory, pinching knead. Fitful and needy, you impulsively reach down with trembling hands to grab the hem of your jumper so you can yank it up to bunch under your chin. He obliges you by grabbing at your tit again, through just the thin layer of your blouse now, and you somehow manage to shake even harder when he digs his fingers in to tug at the brassier underneath. It’s hard to do indirectly like this and he jostles you slightly with the effort, but you still feel the exact moment your stiff teat slips out of the top of the cup and you just shake even harder.

“I bet you do. Such a sensitive little girl you are …” Pulling in a carefully tempered breath, he abandons that tit much to your blubbering disappointment and reaches over to do the same to the other. Pinching through fabric to grab at the lacy material underneath and nudge it down enough to leave both nipples cutting up directly into the fabric of your shirt. You writhe on top of him with a back bowing shudder and blindly grab at him, his arms, his shirt, the now rumpled collar of his button up, whining a low plea. “Hush. I’ve got you. Bring your hands up for me and wrap them around my neck. Think you can do that for me?”

Offering a stilted nod, you do as he’d asked without question or even much thought to the matter. Later you might wonder why you’re so obedient and pliable with him like this, but in the heat of the moment you find nothing but pleasure, and deep satisfaction at the rumbling noise of approval he gives you when your arms stretch up to curl over his shoulders in a loose hold. The position proves a bit awkward when you can’t get a very good grip on him, but the reason for it quickly makes itself known. Your tits lift under your shirt with the upward motion to jut further out, and his blocky hand quickly descends upon one, pinching the tightly coiled teat to leave you moaning in equal parts distress and delight.

“Ooh, isn’t that a lovely sound? You really are going to be the death of me … let me show you something nice now. You’ll like it, I promise.”

The blocky fingers on your clit slowly retreat and you hiss at the loss only to choke on it a heartbeat later when he firmly presses them over your slit. He gives them a sedate rub and your pelvis involuntarily jumps, pressing up into them with a juddering twitch, eager for more. Desperate for it.

“There, now move with me, pretty girl. Just like you do when you’re grinding this sweet pussy on my leg … that’s it, move your hips. Back and forth. Just follow the motion of my hand — see, you’ve got it. Keep going and don’t stop until you’re shaking for me.”

You suck in a thick, heavy gasp as you bring your swimming attention back down to look at the way you’re spread open on top of him. The wide stretch of your legs is shameful and a little embarrassing even now, but your cunt looks so small and dainty rubbing against his big hand while your thighs quack around it and you can’t quite bring yourself to care about it right now. Wheezing, you rock your pelvis up to follow the friction of his rough fingers before swiveling back and — you outright choke when your sore ass grinds down on him in the process. The faintly raised welts seem to crawl and sting with renewed fervor at the brush of his pants, the hard press of his cock digging up into you in search of the hot, wet warmth between your legs. Your pussy squeezes wildly at the sharp pain, drools yet more sticky slick to coat you in an obscene amount of liquid arousal, and you quickly do it again. Up against the firm pressure of his hand and then back again to rub your sore bottom on him.

It doesn’t take long for you to start quaking in earnest like this and you cling to him desperately as the tension in your body rapidly swells, threatening to bowl you right over if you weren’t careful. But as always Wriothesley’s hold on you is absolute, and you’re free to shake and twist as wildly as you want without having to worry about falling. The hand on your chest alternates between your breasts, squeezing, pinching, tugging at your nipples, each in turn, to leave them feeling raw and sensitized through your shirt while the other keeps guiding your pelvis through the stuttering motion. Maintaining it becomes more difficult with the steady locking of your muscles as warning tremors wrack through you, but he remains an ever steady presence around you and it’s so easy to get lost and swept up in his pace.

Your cunt tilts up against his hand and then your ass nudges back to make dull throbs of pain erupt across your bottom.

Up against his hand with a sticky glide that does absolutely nothing to stop his rough skin from dragging against petal soft folds, then back to feel the weight of him digging into sore flesh that burns at the friction against his slacks.

Up against his hand, back against his cock.

His hand, his cock.

Wriothesley’s hand and Wriothesley’s cock.

The coil snaps. Just like that.

Throwing your head back against his shoulder, you wail through your soul shattering release as quietly as you can manage. You seethe, you hiss, you groan, low and faltering. You squeal and you wheeze, bucking uncontrollably with a frantic desperation that he takes in stride. His hold on you doesn’t falter, and he neither grunts or flinches even when you spasm on top of him without heed. He’s like a solid wall underneath you, and he pets you through it all until you finally, at last, start to come down from it some moments later one jagged piece of you at a time.

Going boneless with a haggard noise of deep sated pleasure, you just lay there for a long while and let him caress over you to leave pleasantly warm tingles in the wake of his hands. It’s comfortable like that, there with him. Sitting in the stillness of his office in the buzzing afterglow of release, simply listening to each other's heartbeats for a long time. He was right to say this was something he could get used to, because you could too.

And strangely enough that thought doesn’t frighten you half as much as it probably would have at one time.

“You’re a very good girl for me, you know that?” Wriothesley says at last, finally interrupting the quiet.

Snuggling deeper into his body with a content little sigh, you tip your head back to look up at him from just a scant few millimeters away. “You’re very good to me as well, you’re grace. T - … thank you for that.”

A slow smile tugs at his mouth to accompany the almost wry quirk of his brow. “Oh, am I now? Well, you’re very welcome, of course, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t half expect a different sentiment.”

You frown at that, unable to stop it. “You are easily the most frustrating, blockheaded man I have ever met, and I won’t deny that, but you — you’re kind to me, aren’t you? In your own strange way.”

“I try to be.” He relents, his gaze drifting lower to fix upon your mouth. You can tell he’s thinking about kissing you again by the way his eyelids droop to attractive halfmast, but you reach up to cup the strong ridge of his jaw before he can follow through on it.

“Can I … be kind to you as well, sir?” You give your butt a pointed little wiggle down onto the hard length straining under you, and his brows draw together as if in great discomfort.

“As much as I would like that,” He intones rather thinly. “And for as much as I am tempted, I would rather teach you about that somewhere a bit more appropriate than in my office. At your home. In the comfort of your own bed, if you would permit it, sounds ideal to me.”

You hesitate to respond just a moment too long, still a little overwhelmed at the thought of sharing your bed with him despite the eager thrum you feel at the suggestion, and he takes the chance to gather you against him in a tight squeeze.

“There isn’t any rush, sweet girl. Whenever you’re ready, you will have me. I just want to ensure you receive the care and attention you deserve first and foremost, and I also want you to feel safe. Your bedroom will represent that final boundary and when you’re prepared to invite me into your life like that, that is when I will take you. That sounds fair enough, doesn’t it?”

You want to tell him you are ready, that you want him now, you’re sure of it. Your body and mind alike both seem to crave the intimacy of skin on skin contact with him, while your heart …

Oh, you simply couldn’t think about that right now.

“Yes, your grace.” You murmur instead of any number of other things you could have said to him, wanted to say to him. Needed to say. “That sounds fair.”

“Good.” Wriothesley gives you a reassuring pinch to make you squirm slightly in his arms. “Then I think with that settled it’s about time you and I considered making things somewhat official. Do you think you can stand to be seen with me in public in a non professional capacity for an hour or two?”

Going still against him, you frantically try to parse what he’s asking, what he’s getting at. Make it official? “What do you mean, my lord? I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

“I’d like to take you out to dinner, little miss. On a date.”

Your face instantly lights up like a firework. A date? With the Duke of Meropide himself?

Oh, but you suddenly felt terribly faint.

“I … I think I’d like that, your grace. Thank you.”

“Wonderful. Then that is what we will do.”

⭐

Crossposted: here

#genshin impact #wriothesley #wriothesley x reader #self insert bullshit

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amerricanartwork · 9 months

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I saw your lilypad art post, and I got curious: why do you enjoy lilypad? it's not a common RW ship, so I'd be interesting to hear what about it you enjoy!

Hear me out, guys... I must explain myself before I get onto the Lilypad essay.

I made that original comment because, at the time, I wanted to just get the aforementioned headcanons out as soon as possible. Understand, my reluctance wasn't because I didn't want to talk about Lilypad, but rather the exact opposite: I had so many feelings about it, yet had put so little effort into expressing them in a coherent, presentable format that I just knew it'd distract me for the next week or two if I let it rent too much space in my conscious thoughts. But now that little comment has left me with several people asking me to share those thoughts, and, both thankfully and unfortunately, I simply can't resist indulging in thoughts about the characters I love—!

Keep in mind, I haven’t finished Saint campaign yet, and even then I’ve found like less than half the broadcasts in Spearmaster campaign yet, so there’s likely some extra canon info I may be missing that could add to or change some of what I say here. I also apologize if some of what I write here seems really out-of-character. I try not to let my passion for my little headcanons and scenarios make me disregard the canon, but even so, I might slip and think up some weird things occasionally. Nonetheless, I feel like I’ve got enough of the picture to start confidently enjoying this ship, so I’ll talk about it anyway!

As always, feel free to add to these ideas if you can! Without further delay, enjoy this 3381-word essay, with a few initial headcanons sprinkled in, on why I adore Lilypad!

Oh, and just in case, if you couldn’t already tell, major Hunter campaign spoilers below.

Quetzalli on Loving Lilypad

I’m gonna start this out with a preface: I can generally find the appeal in a lot of different ships and the art other fans make for them, but for me to ship something enough to actively draw it and make my own headcanons about it and such (outside of, perhaps, gifts for other people), it usually has to contain a variety of “ship tropes” that I personally fancy. Many of my most-favorite ship tropes tend to be the ones that aren’t just cute, but that carry narrative significance and seem poetic in some way, usually because they can facilitate character arcs in the involved characters. The more of these a ship has, or the more ship tropes I can portray it with without it seeming too out-of-character, and the more I like those specific tropes, the better. This principle is a major reason why I’ve gravitated towards Artimand as my main slugcat ship, but for now, I’m going to focus on which of these I see in Lilypad — in canon content, other fan-portrayals, and my personal headcanons — that, as opposed to other iterator ships, has currently won me over.

I’m gonna describe the main general things I like seeing in this ship. Some of them are more due to fandom portrayals than what’s in the canon, but they all play a big role in my current love for Lilypad.

Synergy

I’ll begin with how I really appreciate just how much synergy Looks to the Moon and No Significant Harassment are shown to have, at least in fan content! I always like seeing pairings where the characters aren’t just romantic, but also work really well together as a team or even just as friends. After all, just because the characters may be romantically in love doesn’t mean they must only show it in explicitly romantic ways. To me, Lilypad strikes me as a relationship where Sig and Moon would make an amazing team in many aspects of their lives, whether it's collaborating on projects, sharing their interests, or trying to maintain order in the rest of their group. And their compliment is just really sweet to me, though I’ll get to that later.

A Shoulder to Lean On/The Lady

One of my favorite ship tropes is “character with a lot of weight on their shoulder who finally gets to lift it off and be ‘normal’ for once when around the other”. I’ve always found it sweet when characters like this, especially ones who are normally very selfless, finally get a chance to indulge and enjoy themselves for once! And once again, this is another thing I imagine in Artimand too, and you could project this onto Trafficlights given Suns’s implied high status, but I think it works especially with Lilypad, given Moon’s role as group senior means she objectively has a lot to manage all the time with no permanent escape from it. Even beyond the whole Five Pebbles rot drama, Moon probably had a lot on her plate just in terms of maintaining order between the rest of the group and setting a good example to the younger generations, especially as the group expanded over time, not to mention trying to find the solution herself. Combine this with how I picture her to be the kind of person who cares a lot about her image as a “proper” and “dignified” leader, and someone who often sacrifices her own desires to promote the group’s welfare, I just find it really soft for her to have someone to lean on, metaphorically (and in a worm-off-the-string scenario, literally), and who better to go to than her best teammate, who knows the power of a good laugh and will stop at nothing to have fun with those he loves? Not to mention, since I headcanon Sig as slightly younger than Moon (2nd gen, specifically), I just find it rather cute in an ironic sense that the older, more serious Moon is soft around the younger, far more chaotic Sig, especially as Moon would go through the realization that she actually kinda likes this little troublemaker!

This also comes back to something I mentioned in the tags of that beepsnort post, which is that one of my other favorite ship tropes is “guy who loves/is good at making people laugh x girl who has a REALLY weird/embarrassing laugh”, and that just works so well with Lilypad! It’s admittedly a very headcanon-based thing for me, but given how I’ve already explained my perception of Moon as very proper and serious, I imagine one of the best ways Sig takes the weight off her shoulders is by being the only person who can consistently make her laugh so hard! And with the beepsnort headcanon it’s even cuter, because of course Moon would be super embarrassed every time she even so much as gives a half-chuckle at one of his jokes, because Sig is relentless when it comes to getting the giggles out of her, and he won’t stop until she’s rolling and shaking on the floor of her chamber, her beepy-snorts filling the room! My GODDD I love this trope so much, and for beings who are inherently such workaholics, I think getting to genuinely relax and have fun for a bit, once she gets over the initial shock and embarrassment, would be something Moon would really come to value.

Inverses Attract/The Tramp

I’ve mentioned it in my last Artimand headcanons post, but one of my absolute all-time favorite ship tropes is the classic “opposites attract”, although I prefer the name “inverses attract”. As I like to portray it, the trope not only involves characters who are opposites personality-wise, but those being opposites of the same core aspect, and ultimately helping balance each other out by offering the other half of the equation to each other (hence the name “inverses”). The trope I just wrote about above is how Sig helps Moon to relax and have fun, but as I try to do with all ships, how does it work the other way too? Well, I really like to imagine Sig learning to be more openly serious and dedicated! Don’t get me wrong, Sig is a hard worker (it’s pretty much the nature of all iterators), but given he seems to pretty strongly reject the quest for the Triple Affirmative, I imagine the next problem would be in him finding a new purpose to strive for. And what better new purpose than in standing by and protecting the group senior he thinks he just might wanna be more than friends with?

It already works because Moon, of course, would work to keep Sig in check and make sure he doesn’t go too overboard with his shenanigans. But just imagine how inspired he’d grow over time seeing Moon work so hard to keep the group together and keep them striving for their purpose, even if he doesn’t agree with it. I imagine it’s why Sig’s methods are still rather controlled rather than purely chaotic, and there’s a reason to his rebellion. Thanks to Moon, rather than slaving away at a seemingly impossible solution until his mind collapses with his structure, he’ll use his talents to, at the very least, keep the local group together as long as possible, because even if they’ll all be gone one day, that doesn’t mean they have to go alone!

It’s why I’m also labeling these two tropes together as “the Lady and the Tramp”, yet another ship dynamic that gets me every time! It’s a specific instance of “inverses attract” where the noble, proper lady finds a taste of freedom and courage from the dangerously charming tramp, who from her finds a new sense of purpose and honor! And in my opinion, Lilypad is most definitely the best opportunity for this dynamic among Rain World ships!

The Fated Couple

Slow-burn couples seem to be pretty popular in many fandoms, but what about a really slow-burn? There’s something just so romantic to me about the idea that Moon and Sig, from the moment they met, have always just clicked so perfectly, and have been by each other’s side so constantly ever since, to the point it seems practically inevitable to everyone (except them of course) that they’ll eventually get together romantically. Of course, there are two main roadblocks to their romance being 1.) their whole objective and purpose for being created is kind-of fundamentally opposed to strong attachments like love (I mean, if Karma 3 is Companionship, wouldn’t romantic love be considered the worst example of that?), and 2.) even if they did reject this purpose, being massive immovable structures with the only humanoid part stuck deep inside a box, a budding romance seemingly couldn’t really go anywhere anyway. In fact, because of these roadblocks much of my Lilypad imaginings take place in the ever-popular “worm-off-the-string” scenario, especially since the next couple of reasons for why I like the ship play a lot into the themes I like to incorporate in this story concept.

However, these issues towards such a romance are also what make it so sweet in the end! Just think of Moon, alone in her chamber, beginning to worry about how she’s actually kinda sorta, maybe, hypothetically, possibly, just a little bit starting to like the carefree and charismatic Gen 2 in the local group as even more than just a work partner and a dear friend, but oh no, that’s indulging in a Karmic Sin, and as group senior she can’t just throw away their purpose like that and set such a bad example to the rest! What’s she gonna do?? And then on the other side, Sig puzzling in his chamber, pining so hard for the group senior yet seemingly unable to confess, because, even disregarding Karma 3 and the fact that giant immobile calculators aren’t about to be snuggling any time soon, why would someone as perfect and powerful as her want someone like him, so dismissive of their core purpose and unorthodox in his methods? Is there even a point in having these feelings at all, when they might very well end up simply fading to dust along with the rest of his structure?

Maybe, they both think, it’d be better to just keep these feelings to themselves and quietly love from a distance. That is, until…

Moon’s Collapse and the Slag Reset Keys

The fourth reason is, of course, the most steeped in canon. It goes back a bit to the “shoulder to lean on” concept, but even aside from that, there is something just so romantic about this on both sides.

Firstly, from Moon’s perspective. There’s no doubt that the collapse must have been very traumatic for Looks to the Moon physically, but I like to think about just how much it’d affect her emotionally, too. I mean, being so painfully destroyed by your own brother, with seemingly nothing that can be done to stop it and no one to help you? And then consider how lonely it must have been in her final moments. The only comfort she does get is from Spearmaster’s visit, and even then she sends him off to go deliver her final words, which has still got to be really depressing. And finally, think about how betrayed she must have felt, trying so hard throughout her operation to help her citizens and the local group and be kind to everyone, only to have it be repaid like this, forced to collapse in on herself, being buried under her own body, unfathomable pain all around, and with not a soul to help her.

So then, think about just how shocking and heartwarming (literally, if you think about it) it must be when that lovable Gen 2, always so playful and carefree normally, is the one to give her a second chance and being her back when all hope seems lost, and using such a unique delivery method no less! I mean COME ON, Sig literally brought her back to life, how could one NOT fall in love with someone who did that for them? It links back to the “shoulder to lean on” idea, in that, for once, someone finally looked out for Moon and gave back to her for all the kindness she gave to the world. Think about this as the moment she truly realizes she’s in love with No Significant Harassment, and how tragic it’d be knowing now, it’s too late to say it. But, even so, if he’s willing to go this far to make sure she’s okay, then maybe, just maybe, there’s a chance her love at least wasn’t alone.

Now, my thoughts about this from No Significant Harassment’s side (which also kinda turned into a mini NSH appreciation paragraph that links back to the earlier Inverses Attract and Lady and the Tramp segment), I think it’s very poetic to see him going out of his way to take his messenger concept, originally used for no more than a trivial prank and at most a very experimental and unfinished alternative communication method, and turning it into a noble last-ditch effort to rescue the one he loves. It doesn’t just clearly show how much he cares for Moon that he worked to save her when no one else did (and if that’s because the odds of being able to do anything seemed very low to the rest of them, that makes it even more sweet) I think it shows off a lot of Sig’s character beyond just being a jokester. Like, I’d seen this kind of personality for Sig in the fandom content before, but this action and the other broadcasts are what first made me truly realize not just that it is based in canon, but that, more importantly he’s not just stupid or unfocused, he’s rebellious. He doesn’t joke around because he just doesn’t care, it’s because he’s independent, he’s got other places he wants to go and plans that don’t fit into what most of his peers are used to. He makes light of the world because he sees what others don’t, and it’s honestly pretty frickin’ funny how blind others can be most of the time (case-in-point: him making a slugcat from a messenger, which no one else thought to do because those creatures seemed too “dull” and “primitive” to ever be capable of such a thing). So think about how significant it must be when he’s openly taking something seriously. This is where that dynamic of the Tramp, and how Sig would benefit from this relationship is really highlighted. I just adore it when the easygoing, carefree character finally finds purpose in their lover, and springs into serious action like they never were before! And it makes sense too given what I said about them not getting together before: seeing Moon collapse would show him directly that even beings as durable as iterators don’t last forever, so if he’s got these feelings for Moon, he’s got to make a move while there’s still a chance! And what better way to show his love than to bring her back when all hope seems lost? Which brings me to the final aspects I’ll talk about here, first of which is…

True Love’s Kiss

Yes, you read that right. The real reason I love the slag reset keys as a plot element so much is not just because it shows Sig’s secret strength of character, not just because it finally gives reward to Moon’s kindness, but because it is a real fairytale come true!

I know this sounds crazy and probably totally unrelated to Rain World, but think about it! You guys have probably seen Snow White and Sleeping Beauty before, or at least one of the two? Isn’t the whole trope that the beautiful princess, fairest maiden in the land, gets cursed through some means or another to die (or in Aurora’s case, fall into an indefinite sleep), which is only undone when the strong and brave prince, riding upon his noble steed, awakens the princess by giving her true love’s kiss? I already love both those movies on their own for various other reasons, but after my description, is this starting to sound familiar in another way?

I mean, with everything I’ve said about Moon in this post so far, there’s no doubt you could perceive her as the “fair princess”, who through unfortunate circumstances is put to a premature and indefinite death. And there’s no doubt Sig fills the role of the brave prince by working to save her with the slag reset keys, which in this metaphor are undoubtedly the “true love’s kiss” that ultimately conquers all, always longed for, and finally delivered! And hey, given Hunter is the one to carry the keys to Moon, a small yet courageous beast who stops at nothing to meet his goals, Sig even has his own “noble steed”! And even if Hunter is technically the one to actually deliver the green neuron, and the death the “princess” succumbs to wasn’t out of genuine malice towards her, I think the sentiment is still there and the parallel is close enough!

But yes, as strange as it may sound, the fairytale parallel is the main reason Lilypad resonates with me so much! Those classic fairytale-esque romance tropes and that poetic storytelling found in Disney’s first feature-length animated films has always been dear to my heart, and is even more so now that I’m older and can truly appreciate the beauty of them. So now, even in my fandom experiences, ships that win my appreciation over all others are often those that manage to embody those classic romance tropes and themes as best as possible, and frankly, even Artimand loses ever-so-slightly to Lilypad in this regard! Or, as I also enjoy calling them, “Lifeline”, for reasons that are probably obvious now.

And it’s even better when you consider…

Some Things Never Change

Another trope I’ve recently begun to love is the idea that some phenomena in the world never truly disappear, but simply manifest in different ways, sometimes unexpected ones. And given the whole Triple Affirmative quest and the Ancients’ mass ascension philosophy, this idea is something I especially love seeing in Rain World content. Even the canon events show this idea, but think about how wonderfully it would work with Lilypad beyond just the slag reset keys, especially taking up that “worm off the string” iterator AU concept some have explored in this fandom already.

Just think about how sweet it would be when Moon and Sig, operating primarily through their puppets now, get to finally hug and kiss and be with each other so directly now! Think of the way Sig would speak to Moon about how, even after her collapse, she's still somehow beautiful as ever, and Moon returning with how even all the trouble the group has faced hasn't put a dent in his charm! And it's even sweeter when you consider it’s against everything their creators stood for! Think of Moon, after everything she’s been through and how much she’s probably changed at this point, now willing to give some of these “worldly attachments” a chance, because you can never truly get rid of them, but she knows better than anyone that you won’t be around to experience them forever, so why not enjoy it while you’ve got the chance? And it’d make sense too, not just for her own benefit, but for Pebbles and the rest of the group’s sake too! She’s always strove to set a good example for them, and since their original quest has left them with nothing but pain and trauma, why not show them that maybe all these attachments aren’t so bad after all?

I just think it’d be really interesting to see Moon joining Sig in that rejection of the Triple Affirmative, and what better way to do that than by finally embracing that love they’ve felt for each other for so long? Because love never truly dies, it just appears in new people. And maybe they don’t have to spend their whole lives as grand iterators, the vast infinitely-advanced mechanical deities who embody perfection in almost every way. Maybe, even just for a bit, they can just be people, falling in love just as their creators did all over again!

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

And with that, I think I’m FINALLY done here. HOLY COW, this is easily my longest post yet, and I hope it doesn’t disappoint! Part of the reason it took so long was because I was trying to find the perfect way to express all these ideas without it just spilling out onto the page in some weird half-coherent mess. But eventually I just said “ah screw it, let’s just ramble about this ship and see where it goes!” and my god, did it go far! And I still managed to somewhat organize it, so yay!

But aside from that, thank you SO MUCH to everyone who asked for my thoughts on Lilypad, and everyone who made it to the bottom of this essay! I’ve never really gotten a chance to openly ramble about one of my favorite ships to the rest of the fandom like this, so seeing that some fans, even if it’s ultimately not a huge amount, actually wanted me to do it was such a welcome surprise!

I hope you all enjoyed the drawings and the art! I’ll be around in case someone wants me to write another ship essay or something! And who knows, it’s likely I’ll find more reasons I like Lilypad as time goes on and I see more fan-content and find the rest of those broadcasts! But at least this was a starting point!

Expect more LIlypad content to come in the future, but until now, thanks again for the opportunity!

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spectres-n-soap · 5 months

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The Things I've Said PT 3 - Ghost x Soap x Reader

Content Warnings - afab!fem!reader, pregnancy, grief, c-section mentioned, worries of motherhood

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Simon picks you up from the building and for once, you speak first, “I called Mrs. MacTavish. We’re gonna have tea later this week.” You say as you pick at a loose thread hanging from your shirt.

“That’s good.” Simon responds before he adds, “I’m proud that you’re taking that step.” For some reason, the word proud makes whatever had built up in your chest disappear and relief replacing it. You smile to yourself as you wade into that feeling. You stare out the window and you realize you’re looking out the window not to avoid a conversation but because you want to. You want to see the world passing by.

The flat is clean when you enter, something you know Simon has been doing while you’re away. You’re grateful for it, one less thing on your mind as the due date draws closer. You look at the calendar app on your phone and feel your stomach clench at how close the date is. It feels like yesterday you were taking those tests and now you’re only a handful of weeks away from meeting this baby. From meeting Johnny’s baby, you cup a hand over your mouth as a wave of nausea washes over you. You glance at this week's coming events and remember some of the items the internet recommends for you during the last six weeks of pregnancy. Practicing your breathing, relaxing your body and going on walks but not too much. Follow the 50/50 rule and get a bounce ball. You were sure there were other things you were forgetting as you sat down on your couch.

You also try to remember that your due date wasn’t guaranteed although if you were going to have a c-section you would have a set date. Since it was a surgery after all. You glance over at Simon who tilts his head at you and you fight the urge to ask him to sit next to you. You dart your eyes away and get back up off the couch, “I’m gonna go lay down.” You mutter and stiffly waddle back to your room. Despite letting him sleep next to your bed at night you couldn’t bring yourself to hold a conversation with Simon.

The week passes by slowly, mostly because Simon insists on doing anything that requires even a small bit of effort. “I can wash the dishes!” You protest as you try to push yourself in between the man and the dirty dishes.

Simon shakes his head and rolls his eyes, something that makes you want to slap him, “I know you can, I’d just rather do them myself.” Simon says and you make a noise in the back of your throat.

“I’m pregnant Simon, not fucking helpless.” You snap, “Let me do the stupid fucking dishes.” You point your finger at him, “You already do everything else.” You grumble. Simon stares at you and you narrow your eyes at him, trying to make sure he knew this was something you were not about to back down from.

Finally, the day had arrived. After setting a time and place for you to meet up with Mrs. MacTavish, the day was here. You bounce your foot up and down, which you couldn’t stop despite literally pressing down on it with your hands, as you wait to see her. You know the drive from Scotland could take a while but you keep checking and rechecking to make sure you have the time right.

Finally, you see her. Graying brown hair and soft blue eyes, a contrast to her husbands and children’s bright blue ones. Everything about her screamed motherhood. Tired eyes but laugh lines more prominent than any other wrinkle on her and you wonder if that's what you will look like one day. Covered in proof of a life filled with happiness despite the terrible things that happen. You know that day must have been the worst day of her life and you swallow whatever nausea had tried to rise up.

A waitress comes by and takes your orders, a fruity drink for yourself and a coffee for her. The silence hangs in the air for a little while longer before you speak first, “I’m sorry for breaking down and snapping at everyone during the baby shower.” You say with burning cheeks and stinging eyes. “I shouldn’t have done that and I’m sorry.” You startle in your seat when she reaches across the table and takes your hands in her own.

“I forgive ye, I’ve been worried fer ye. I ken this cannae be easy.” She says and squeezes your hand. You try to muster a smile but can’t seem to hold it for long. “Ye’ve been goin’ to therapy? I suggested it tae Simon-”

“Yeah I have. It’s been helping.” You say, not wanting to hear about him right now. The waitress comes back by with the drinks and you thank her. You take a sip from the fruity drink, enjoying the sudden bursts of fruit on your tongue. “I’m worried.” You admit.

“Worried about what?” She asks after swallowing her mouth full of coffee.

“Being a mum. What if I’m not a good mum?”

She chuckles as she sets down her cup, “Every mum and every da has the same worries. I know I sure did when I was pregnant, each time I was terrified even if it was a bit silly after I had given birth tae several children before.” She smiles at you. “Let me give ye some advice.” She scoots closer like she’s about to tell a secret. “Ye learn as ye go. Ye can never be prepared for parenthood, that’s something I had tae accept when I had mah second child.”

“Really?”

“Aye. Parenting is a learning experience, all you can do is give it your best and know that you’ve given your best.” She says and squeezes one of your hands, “But I have faith in ye. Yer gonnae be a good mam because yer already worryin’ about bein’ one already.”

Mrs. MacTavish kisses you on the cheek before she leaves and says, “Thank yer fer bein’ there fer mah Johnny and yer gonnae be a good mam.” You smile and say thank you. You come home to Simon making dinner and your eyes fill with tears at the sight as your heart hurts for who isn’t.

tag list - @itzzjxlyn @mandalover2023 @pepsicolacoochie @http-paprika @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @dracu1ara @snoopyee

#john soap mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader #john soap mctavish x you #soap #call of duty #cod #thyh #ghost x reader #mw3 spoilers #simon ghost riley #thoyh #soap mw3 #simon ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you

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bentcrowbar · 10 days

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Augh!

Personal yet important note:

Hi guys, felix here! I’ve come to announce to whoever still follows me for their 1-4 month hlvrai art that i’m gonna be leaving the fandom.

For how long this account has been alive, me posting hlvrai art has been somewhat taxing to me. Everyone in the fandom are so amazing and very good artists! But, I can’t seem to get the confidence to put myself on a pedestal as high as i put everyone else and that alone has killed my confidence as a artist (and well, my low quality drawings getting more attention than the drawings i actually enjoyed and put effort in at the time)

I will be moving on now, posting my oc art and other fandom art i make! But, i may not fully quit the hlvrai fandom and may do a drawing once in awhile, but this is no longer going to be a hlvrai dedicated art account

This also doesn’t mean i will post regularly LOL ! Really depends since i’m going to college soon for animal biology, chemistry, environmental science and all that nerdy shit and im getting a temporary job for work experience at a reptile shop! So my life is getting BUSY! More busy than it was!

(Also after that nerdy college, im planning to look into art and design colleges too, so YESH)

Enough rambling from me! I hope yall are doing good and i wish you the best of luck <3

#hlvrai #benrey #gordon freeman #doodles #heart to heart #last post #kinda #me rambling

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razorblade180 · 1 month

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Charlotte:Aether! *pulls out notepad* Fontaine needs your opinion!

Aether:Adding parsley on top of fish doesn’t mean you can charge double.

Charlotte:You’re right, but that’s not what I’m looking for. We’re talking fashion! I’m collecting data on outsiders perspectives and I need to know your favorite male and female aesthetic that you’ve seen. Who has really captured your eye!?

Aether:Ummm

Furina:Chiori doesn’t count.

Chiori:Careful. Your insecurities are showing.

Furina:Good, they were never hiding.

Navia:It’s okay to be honest. Everyone has their own tastes. My feelings won’t be hurt in the slightest.

Aether:Is it weird to say I like the uniform for Fortress guards?

Clorinde:Not at all. They’re functional, stick out, while also being coordinated. I find them pleasing as well.

Everyone:….

Clorinde:Not for the reasons you think.

Chevreuse:Nobody said anything~

Charlotte:I’ll write that down but I’d still like a few more from you. Don’t be shy! It’s just an opinion.

Aether:It’s hard because there’s a difference between an outfit and the person wearing said outfit. Navia’s outfit is pretty impressive but the only reason it’s perfect is because Navia is as sunny as the color itself.

Navia:*smiles brightly* Look at you, saying all the correct things.

Lyney:I’m starting to think you care more about this than you lead on.

Chiori: *squints* Making a distinction is important, but I’d recommend you choose your words carefully. Some might say Navia’s outfit enhances everything people love about her.

Aether:*looks at Furina* Hmmm

Furina:Y-Yes? Speak up.

Aether:*red* I do like your style, but I honestly can’t imagine disliking anything you wear. It’s really you and your eyes that- *mouth covered*

Furina:That’s more than enough! Please look at someone else now!

Everyone: (Her tune sure changed)

Aether:Emilie’s design really stuck out to me. The high slit in the dress is pretty bold and the color alongside her hair makes her resemble a Rainbow Rose.

Emilie:Aw, that’s really sweet. I personally wouldn’t say it’s anything particularly noteworthy but I do put effort into my look.

Charlotte:Are we gonna talk about how you clearly favor outfits that draw appeal to the legs?

Aether:We don’t have to. I was just giving some honest thoughts!

Chevreuse: I know stalling when I see it. Out with your favorite!

Aether:….If I’m being completely honest then probably Lynette.

Everyone turns towards the girl, who was in middle of stuffing a cinnamon roll into her mouth.

Lynette:*red*…..*points to self*!?

Aether:Yeah. I really like the shade of bluish green and how it mixes with the black. At first I thought you were wearing a skirt but turns out it’s actually ruffles creating the illusion of one. It’s very clever given your occupation and the entire design just makes you look…cute and magical.

Chiori:Okay, that’s worth a 20% discount the next time you want something from me.

Lyney:Once again, it appears I’m outshined by my own blood.

Aether:Oh hush. I gushed about your outfit the day we met. Same with Clorinde. It’s hard for it not make an impression. Especially with the hair streak.

Charlotte:*writing* Hmm, got it! Thanks for the explanation. To be honest, I had assumed it might be Chevreuse or myself; given your “prior history.”

Navia:What history?

The reporter casually pulls out some selfie photos with her next to Amber, and another next to Yanfei.

Everyone:*looks at Aether* So red and legs is a choice huh?

Aether:*red* No! I- It just happened okay!?

#genshin impact #gi navia #gi aether #gi charlotte #gi chevreuse #gi lyney #gi lynette #gi clorinde #gi furina #gi emilie #furina de fontaine

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sadstrever · 9 days

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cw: 116lbs

gw: 106lbs

hw: 150lbs

hi. so my last account got banned so i realize now i should be a little more careful of what i say cuz i guess i concerned some of you. or this will just be my last post because i need to vent.

wanna hear how i started my day? i chew and spit my food into plastic bottles(i know i’m disgusting no one should ever do this) and i was opening it and it exploded fucking everywhere and the smell was putrid and it was all over me and my bedroom. and i was hungover. and it was 7am. and i threw up immediately after. anyways, i haven’t e@ten in weeks. lol. almost a month, which isn’t the longest i’ve gone so don’t worry this is not that bad lol. ALSO NO I WILL NOT BE GIVING TIPS. ever since my brother moved away it’s been pretty easy to st@rve. the hard part now is knowing where to draw the line. my best friend has broken down a lot recently because of me. i’m an awful person lol. i let them get too close and now they know too much about the disgusting things i do. i needed space because seeing him just makes me feel guilty for putting him through this with me. i tried to end the friendship 2 nights ago over a bottle of v0dka. it did not work out very well. i said some really hurtful things to him that i didn’t mean in an effort to push him away. once the alc wore off i made him a cake to apologize which now that i say it out loud, it does not feel like much of an apology at all. he somehow easily forgave me which makes me feel even shittier. he said it was because he knows im sick. i don’t know what i’m doing. the derealization has gotten worse. i tried going half sober which didn’t help. i’ve developed a laxative problem too which also doesn’t help. it’s not as bad as others though, i was just taking 3 a day for a minute(a few months)but that’s so fucking bad for you and it really made my stomach problems worse. i took 3 today for the first time after not taking them for weeks and there was really no reason. just a desperate attempt to make myself feel better. when that didn’t help, i tried to smoke but i got too high because i only smoke every other day now which lowered my tolerance. when THAT didn’t work i went to the gym and burned 460 calories and then THAT didnt work so i walked around and burned 240 more. none of it made me feel less empty. i’m so sick of it. why is it all so fucked. nothing feels right. i want to try and recover but i don’t remember the person i was before all of this. my brain just fucking can’t figure it out. i don’t feel like a real person man. i want to recover and not because i’m giving up. starving is the easiest part of my life. it’s all that seems to make me feel a little better. eating always makes me so depressed and in a worse way. it makes me aware of reality in a way that fucking kills me. i need to do it if i want to feel human, if i want to be a good friend, daughter, sister. i’m gonna wait until i’m underweight which is once i’m 109lbs. 7lbs away lol. it’ll probably take a week or two so i guess i’ll update on how i’m trying to recover. fuck i really don’t want to man. pls give me tips because i can’t die and just be a sad fucking story to everyone i love. or just fucking report me like u guys did last time, not having any safe place with people who relate will totally help too!!!

#starv1ng #3d not sheeran #3d f4st #4nerex1a #4norexla #3ating d1sorder #light as a feather #34t1ng d1s0rd3r #tw 3d shit #tw skipping meals #pr04ana #pr04n4 #pr0ana diet #pr04nn4 #pr0anna #4nor3xia #@tw edd #tw ed ana #ed but not ed sheeran

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luzzytheray · 2 months

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Having an awful depressive episode right now over my status as an artist. Early on when I started drawing, I always thought that the reason I felt this depressed about being an artist was because my work wasn’t good enough, and that to get over this pain I had to improve quickly and constantly, becoming as good as I feasibly could become in the short time I’ve fully picked up art as a medium. And that extended to the type of work I could make too.

In my head I thought that If I could be as good and experience in every lane of art I thought I could learn it would fill this depressive void that makes me feel like I’m not an artist at all despite all the time and effort I’ve painstakingly put into improving myself over the course of what felt like a life time but was only 4-5 years. I think I’m starting to come to the conclusion that I may never get over that pain by myself, and its why being told that I’m any kind of artist by anyone else brings a kind of joy and bliss to my life that I don’t think I could ever receive from the process of creating itself. In that same vein, not being told that I’m an artist, and animator, a 3D modeler, that I’m any of the things I’ve poured my heart and soul into feels like a shot in the chest, and I know thats because I barely regard myself as an artist, and I should have been this whole, irregardless of the quality of my work.

I think I’m gonna start being nicer to myself as a creator, I’m going to call myself an animator even if I might not reach the standards of what anyone perceives that an animator should be, I’m going to call myself an artist despite the fact that my work as a character designer might not be strong enough for me to be considered a character designer., and I’m going ti call myself a 3D modeler even though blender fucking sucks to learn (god I dread properly learning how eevee or cycles works, or how to properly use node graphs when animating). I want to have more confidence in myself as a artist so that I don’t only view myself as an one when I’m around people who are nice enough to call me one (and a heartfelt thank you to anyone who might’ve, all of the support I’ve received on my works is like genuinely one of the only reasons I’ve stuck with being a creative for so long)

#cw: depression #LuzzyRants #think I might start using this tag so that you guys can know what you’re getting into when you see a pose with like 3 paragraphs in it lol

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balladofsallyrose · 4 months

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Emmylou Harris interview by Cameron Crowe Rolling Stone, June 19, 1975

Fame Catches Up with Emmylou

Los Angeles – Guitar in hand, Gram Parsons sat in his road manager’s Laurel Canyon home and coached singer Emmylou Harris through the harmonies of the old Burritos classic, “Sin City.” Later, after she’d excused herself for a visit to the kitchen, Parsons grinned proudly. “There she is,” he said, “that’s my kick in the ass, keep an eye on her.”

That was in 1973. Now, two years later, Harris’s first major solo effort, Pieces of the Sky, has done well and her current club and concert tour (augmented by a band featuring Elvis’s guitarist James Burton and his keyboard player Glen D. Hardin) is drawing unanimous raves. But Emmylou Harris, it seems, is the last to catch up with Emmylou Harris. Still a bit dazed over Parsons’s untimely death in the fall of ’73, the 28-year-old singer is only now waking up to the reality of a successful solo career.

“I know what’s happening but it hasn’t really hit me yet,” she drawls softly, curled up on the sofa of a West Hollywood hotel room. Two nights earlier, she’d enthralled a capacity Palomino Club audience that included such luminaries as Bonnie Raitt, Maria Muldaur, Lowell George, Commander Cody, Joni Mitchell and Linda Ronstadt (for whose recent country hit, “I Can’t Help It” Harris provided the strong counter harmony). “I guess it’s just been a kind of long hard road. In a way I’ve been at this for almost ten years on almost all kinds of levels – from waiting tables to playing in New York clubs and not having anybody listen to me, to making a terrible first record for a bankrupt company to working with Gram.

“I suppose working with Gram was the most amazing thing that ever happened to me,” she continues. “There was just something very magical about the experience. It was so much fun to just get up there, sing with him, and not worry about carrying a show myself. Everyone paid all this attention to me and told me how good I was and all that. It was really like being some kind of fairytale princess. Somehow that affected me more than all this that’s happening now.” She lets her words settle for a moment, then decides on a quip. “Maybe I’m on time delay.”

Born in Alabama and raised in Virginia, Harris remembers a reputation of being a “real prig” in high school. “I was considered to be a kind of oddball. You know, always studying and making good grades. Singing began as a social thing. I realized when I started singing at parties people began noticing me. High schools are real hip now, everybody’s cool, but there was a counter-culture in Woodbridge, Virginia, in 1963. You were either a homecoming queen or a real weirdo. Here I was a 16-year-old Wasp, wanting to quit school and become Woody Guthrie.”

Instead, Harris made it to the University of North Carolina on a drama scholarship. Using free time to play off-campus bars in a folk duo, she lasted a year and a half before applying to the more prestigious drama department at Boston University. “I was gonna work as a waitress in Virginia Beach for a while to get enough tuition money,” she recalls. “But there was an incredible little music scene going on down there. That’s when I got serious about singing.”

Harris never made it to Boston U. “I thought I was going to get married. My first big love below up in my face, so I just went to New York ’cause there was nothing else to do. I was greener than green. I got a room at the YWCA, started going to the Village, playing basket houses [pass-the-hat-clubs] and just . . . hangin’ out.”

In two years of scuffling around New York, Emmylou made some valuable friends like singers Jerry Jeff Walker and David Bromberg. “Besides turning me on to country music, they sort of looked out for me,” she says. “Even so, I must have had some protective kind of bubble around me. I used to walk home from gigs on dark streets at two in the morning with my guitar and never think anything of it. Looking back, I get scared to death.”

Harris’s first album (on the now defunct Jubilee records), recorded in New York just after her marriage, is one she’d like to forget. “I was trying to keep it a secret,” she laughs (ironically, since the 1970 release was titled Emmylou Harris). “I hope somebody in authority will be able to buy the masters and burn them. Everybody involved with that record hated everybody else and I was in the middle trying to keep the peace. It was a disaster.”

Several months after recording, “the worst possible thing any girl could ever do to her budding career” happened. Harris became pregnant with her child, Hallie. “Up until then,” she admits, “my life had been a little too nebulous, I had no clear vision at all. The pregnancy, although it wasn’t planned, gave me something very real and something present to relate to.”

Later, with her marriage broken and ten dollars in her pocket, the protectiveness of motherhood, soon drove Harris out of New York. “I didn’t know where I was gonna go, but I knew I had to get a job and make some money. By accident I got back into music through some friends, Billy and Kathy Danoff [writers of ‘Take Me Home, Country Roads’]. They were still living in their basement apartment with all the cockroaches running around. They were the ones that put a guitar in my hands and ordered me onstage again.”

It was early ’71 when Flying Burrito Brothers guitarist Rick Roberts stumbled onto Harris performing in a small Washington D.C. bar called the Red Fox. The next night, Roberts brought the rest of the Burritos down for a look. They invited her to join the band; before she could accept, the Burritos had dissolved.

“Chris Hillman,” Emmylou remembers, “wanted to come out to L.A. so he could produce some demo tapes. He was really busy at the time. Anyway, I think it probably worked out the way it should have.” The way it worked out was for Hillman to turn on Gram Parsons, the Burritos’ long estranged cofounder, to their incredible discovery. Months later, Parson dropped in on one of Harris’s many D.C appearances and made a few vague promises. A year later, Parsons invited her to L.A. to sing on his first solo album, GP. Their partnership quickly intensified. “It was gonna be a Dolly Parton-Porter Wagoner situation. We didn’t see any need to break up that partnership because we really got higher on what we did together than anything we did separately. I still feel that way.”

It was hard work, she says, that kept her from slipping into an extended depression. “Gram’s death was like falling off a mountain. It was a very hard year between his death and the recording of my album [Pieces of the Sky]. A year of throwing myself into a lot of work that my heart wasn’t really into. There was a lot of stumbling involved. I was playing quite a few bars and was in a real vulnerable position. People felt that they could come up and ask me anything. I used to get hostile. It hurt. I didn’t want to get emotional around some perfect stranger who had the goddamn gall to come up and ask me something that was none of his goddamn business.”

The subject brings her close to tears. “Gram was such an amazing part of my life. I have so many good memories of him, it seems pointless to dwell on the tragedy of it.” Abruptly, she reaches to turn up the country station already blaring from a hotel room radio. “Do you like Conway Twitty?” she asks. “I just love the harmony on this.”

Pieces of the Sky was almost a year long project in itself. Emmylou for one could not be more proud. With the help of Anne Murray’s ex-producer Brian Ahern, great care was taken in selecting material. “I’m just starting to write again,” says Harris. “I don’t mind the fact that I only wrote one song [“Boulder to Birmingham,’ cowritten with Bill Danoff] on the album. There are just too many tunes that I get off doing and want to turn people on to. I feel very deeply and personally involved with each one, so I don’t miss that writer’s identity of making a statement.

“I think any singer feels that way,” Harris says about choosing songs like the Everly Brothers’ “Sleepless Nights,” the Beatles’ “For No One”and Dolly Parton’s “Coat of Many Colors.” Like Linda [Ronstadt]. When she sings a song it’s really sung. Nobody cares that she doesn’t write; the delivery’s all that really matters.”

Besides a heavy touring schedule and the summer recording of her next album, Emmylou Harris spunkily refuses to acknowledge the long-range future. “A lot of my life has been circumstance. The future just doesn’t exist for me. You’re not responsible for decisions if you don’t make them.

“What do I see in the future?” Harris asks, reaching for the telephone. “A chocolate shake. Hello, Room Service?”

#emmylou harris #gram parsons #pieces of the sky #1975 #70s

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aquaquadrant · 6 months

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Hello! I've been told to ask you this =D

What do you think about Jimmy as a minecraft player, what is he?

It's for a project =3

ooh a project, how fun :0

i should preface this by saying i’m not the BEST person to give this opinion, cuz despite how much i write jimmy, i uh… don’t actually watch his pov? i haven’t seen any of empires (except the hermit’s crossover in s2), i don’t watch his streams, and i don’t watch the one-off vids he posts on his channel. most of my knowledge of jimmy comes from his appearances in other pov’s life series episodes and how ppl portray him in fandom.

howEVER, that said, i’m curious how my interpretation would line up with other ppl’s. i view minecraft players as generally fitting into a few broad categories- tho there can def be overlap between them or a jack-of-all-trades situation. and this prob applies more to people who actually play minecraft professionally (ie. ‘play video games for a living’) than the casual player (such as myself hagshdha).

builders: have a creative eye and practiced skill in building to the point where they can, generally speaking, throw down a decent build on the fly (things that require a lot of planning/detail work often drafted in creative mode first). have good understanding of achieving a certain shape and color with their block placements. may or may not include terraforming ability. generally drawn to the game’s building aspect and spend a lot of time/care making things look good.

redstoners: have an adequate amount of base knowledge for how most redstone components work and interact with each other, tho they may occasionally still use tutorials or take inspiration from others (can only reinvent the wheel so many times). usually capable of making simple redstone machines/contraptions on the fly. generally drawn to the game by the possibility of farms and automation. some take it to extreme game-breaking lengths (doc).

competitors: have highly-trained skill in areas such as PVP, parkour, and/or any other multiplayer server type minigame. think hypixel and MCC. this isn’t to say they don’t have their own solo worlds for building or other projects, or don’t participate in smps, but their main draw to the game initially was competitive multiplayer and it features heavily on their channels. to me, speed-runners/challenge-seekers are a subcategory of this.

explorer: this type doesn’t actually show up often in popular mcyt bc it’s a largely solitary- and in some ppl’s opinion, boring- experience. but these are the players that spend hours in their solo worlds just traveling around, mining out massive caves, or doing any other kind of repetitive grindy work as a manner of relaxation. some ppl really enjoy this aspect of minecraft and it’s a major draw for them. special mention for kurtjmac, a mcyter who’s spent 13 years and counting just walking to the farlands in an old version of the game (tho he does other things on his channel as well).

and now for what category i think jimmy fits best in (which again, doesn’t mean he can’t build or do other things). i don’t have a good name for it rn so i’m just gonna call it ‘the sillies’ (affectionate).

sillies: above all else, they’re here to have fun. most, if not all, of their content is on multiplayer worlds (both public servers and private smps), and on these worlds they are extremely social, making a concentrated effort to interact with others even if not legitimately roleplaying. high amounts of pranks and hijinks abound, as well as ‘committing to the bit.’ lots of videos feature them doing some kind of funny little challenge, game, or mod with their friends. again, that doesn’t mean they can’t engage w the other aspects of the game or be skilled in those categories, but generally, it’s not their main objective and not how they spend most of their time.

that’s what i’ve got! obviously u could split all of these into many subcategories, and your average player is gonna be fairly well-balanced. but for our pro cubitos, i think this is a nice way to categorizing things (and it at least makes sense in my mind).

#hermitcraft #empires smp #solidaritygaming #back in my day minecraft only had two genders: miner and crafter #(LMAOOOOOO)#ty for the ask it was neat to get my thoughts down on this

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habken · 1 year

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hey habs. i don’t have a question i just have some shit to say

i’ve been following you for some time now and i have this to say - not only is your art amazing, it’s hella inspiring. it’s not only the silly bkdk comics you do, or the sketches or the fanart. not only that, but the sheer amount of love you put into each and every one of them. every line in your art feels like a hug from the screen, every character you draw feels like a good friend i have known for years. but the best thing in your art is not any of those things above. to me it’s you yourself. i have never met you, probably never will, but the incredible amount of effort and love that your art radiates is what makes me get up, pick up my pencil and work as hard as i can. it’s not just the art itself, it’s the way you bring it to life. your art means to me a lot more because it’s YOUR art. artists like you remind me why i started drawing in the first place, and i’m so excited to see you grow and i will do my best to catch up to you because your art raised the bar for me high enough to make me realize, that even tho i have a way ahead of me it is in my reach. your stuff made me believe in myself and i will be forever grateful for that

sorry for the long post i just really got in my feels. you don’t have to reply i just really wanted you to know. hope to see more of your art soon. have a blessed day

I don’t have the proper words to express how much this means to me this is the nicest message I’m gonna be thinking about it for awhile thank you so much :’) The highest honour with posting my art is seeing the way it has an effect on others, I never thought my stuff would have any sort of footprint but getting to see how happy it can make others is the most motivating thing. The fact that me and my work can have any sort of impact on you and your desire to create and improve is such a treat for me, and I believe in you too !! Thank you!

#ask #sobs

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sensitiveheartless · 1 year

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hi, I just wanted to drop in and say that I don’t know what it is about your art and writing but on my absolute worst days it seems to be the only thing that makes me feel the slightest bit warmer. maybe not better exactly but warm, idk how to explain it. uh. the point is I don’t know what special ingredient you put in your works but. it’s working. please keep doing it! you’re really awesome and I hope you’re doing ok, at least compared to earlier.

(also maybe a bit of a weird note, but I tried making soup from scratch a few months ago when I didn’t know what to do with myself. it turned out absolutely terribly which was disappointing and surprising seeing as everything else I’ve tried to make has come out decently well. After a dramatic month where I swore I would never touch soup again, I kept experimenting and a few days ago I made one that was half decent - a nice spicy broth with lots of vegetables. I probably wouldn’t have tried to make it if it hadn’t come up so often in your works, which I know is a bit silly but the idea of making soup as a comfort thing got stuck in my head and what do you know? it was comforting. and a bit rewarding too haha. I already decided I’m making more tonight.)

god sorry this is so long and probably way more to throw at you, a stranger really, than I should have, but I guess I just wanted to let you know? as much of a cliché as it is, sometimes little things really do hit in all the right ways.

I’m going to be so embarrassed after I send this lol

quick! send it send it!

Anon you will make me cry (in a good way!), this is so sweet and honestly really encouraging to hear ;; I’m really happy the stuff I make has helped you in any small way, and I will continue to do my best! :D

I have been slower with making things lately than I’d prefer — I have a couple chronic health issues that’ve been flaring up and making things difficult, especially energy-wise. But drawing and writing always help keep me going, so I’m absolutely gonna keep on keepin’ on! And I hope the stuff I make can keep helping you in little ways <3

(Also congrats on the soup success!! Making it from scratch isn’t easy alskdjfj I still get a bit paranoid I’m gonna mess it up when I’m making it by myself, particularly the spices — like I’m gonna put in way too much or too little and ruin the whole thing, but luckily it’s always a bit more forgiving than I expect. More to the point, I’m so glad your efforts paid off! My comfort-soup fixation encouraging you to keep experimenting is so fun alsksjdjfj that is not something I was expecting to ever come out of the stuff I make but it’s awesome! :D)

(Also here is a soupkoku doodle channeling my weird thing with worrying about spices)

Hope you have a lovely day today, anon!✨

#bungou stray soup #why not I’m making that a tag now #it’s soupkoku time #bsd #ask box #my art #bsd chuuya #bsd dazai #bungou stray dogs

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snaill-dragon · 5 months

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Hello everyone! Art time, plus a poll :).

I wanted to practice making more complicated WOF designs and accessories on my dragon characters so I came up with an idea.

There’s are actually a bunch of originally non-WOF ocs I’ve been meaning to make a family tree for. But I hit them with the WOF beam so I could combine my two projects.

So I’m gonna do a full design for these guys, hopefully each of them… because that way I can practice my complicated design ideas without having to ever draw the characters again since these guys already have their own story and I will probably never post about them again after this lol. Easier for me that way.

But which ones am I gonna draw first… well I’ll let you decide that. I’m gonna put it to a poll so that way I can actually pressure myself into finishing this higher effort project.

#no one feel pressured to RB this it’s a lot lol #but please vote #I’m interested to see how this goes #part of me is tempted to give more information #but I also wanna see what people think just based on headshots #and their wof-ifed names #artwork #look #wof

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zwy01 · 7 months

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Blood Moon AU!! Part 1 - Nobles

Time for a second major AU yayy!! I’m still working on Millennium AU as usual, though I want to get started on another one that’s been on my mind since years ago but never really got the chance to put on paper.

So here we are. I’m calling this Blood Moon AU. The nobles and werewolves basically have a race swap in an almost brand new setting. Lukedonia and werewolf island still exist; it’s the characters that have changed.

All characters reference their canon counterparts to various degrees. Some are similar or even near identical to the original, while some are vastly different. This could apply to names, looks, personalities, heritage/family, moral alignment… etc. It’s gonna be fun! I’m going to let myself get crazy with this and change things up quite a bit, haha.

As for the story. To be completely honest, at this point I just want to start off this new AU as more of a simple artistic approach. Right now I’m much more interested in designing and drawing the characters rather than writing the story itself. Maybe I’ll come up with something much later but it won’t be nearly as complicated as Millennium AU, and it’ll be fairly straightforward. Even then, I don’t want to rush it so that’s for the future. If I end up liking this new AU more than I do right now, maybe I’ll give the story an honest shot and turn it into more of a long-term project, but time will tell.

(Fyi “Noblesse” does not exist in the world. Too early for details but they either never existed, are a now permanently extinct special type of noble, or they simply peaced out and ditched Earth and returned to their special heavenly realm… etc. Honestly doesn’t matter. In this AU’s setting, they are absent. “Raizel” and his brother do exist but they’re both human. Actual normal human beings, with a normal life, currently students at a normal high school, stuff like that. Just your average human. The trio are also unmodified normal human beings. They are scattered across the world and never meet each other. Basically, unlike their canon counterparts, their existence is minimal and contribute to almost nothing in this universe. It’s weird, I know! That’s just how this AU is set up)

I’m going to split the noble and werewolf characters into two parts. Doing the (originally werewolves) nobles first! Posting the werewolves in a future post aka. part 2.

The characters!

Lucretia Natalina “Lunark” Drosia: Leader of the Drosia Clan. Kendrick’s twin, and on-and-off lovers with Julius. A rather carefree woman who is primarily interested in having fun, and shows little to no concern for the future of Lukedonia as a whole. When it comes to her people, she is a decent Clan Leader and manages her family efficiently. Lucretia’s efforts only apply to her clan, and her interests in other noble affairs are almost nonexistent. She has a habit of ditching meetings and whatnots. Sometimes, she even tries to ignore the Lord’s summons but ends up going anyway because her lovely daughter makes her show up. The only thing that can get Lucretia’s blood pumping with true passion is an offer to spar. Lucretia is an excellent fighter. People have to be very careful to not interrupt her fights unless they want to unleash her wrath, because she hates it when people invite themselves into her business. She also likes to flirt with her opponents during spars. Lucretia has a bit of a weird relationship with Julius, who is the father of her daughter. They seem to have positive feelings for each other, but that’s only when both of them are very bored and have nothing better to do.

Kendrick Tian-Chen “Kentas” Ru: Leader of the Ru Clan. Lucretia’s twin. A prideful, stubborn man who believes that the stronger should rule the weak. Like his sister Lucretia, he likes to fight and enjoys a good spar. Sometimes, people can choose to settle a quarrel with Kendrick by offering to spar with him and he would gladly accept. You can trust him, because he’s a man of his word. No more grudges, no hurt feelings. Done. In a way, he’s quite simple. Unlike his sister, Kendrick does care about the future of Lukedonia. He has a strong moral code of his own, but that can be overridden by his belief of submitting to the strong. That is why Kendrick is extremely loyal to their Lord and never questions him even if the latter makes some controversial decisions. As of now, Kendrick has no children.

Marcus Duruvan “Maduke” Siriana: Leader of the Siriana Clan. Erica’s older brother, and the Lord’s advisor. The only person who truly has everyone’s best interests at heart. You can say he’s the most “good person” leaning guy in this entire AU. Marcus is quite worried about the future under their Lord’s reign. Life is pretty comfortable inside Lukedonia, which is by itself very isolated from the rest of the world. However, Marcus foresees the destruction of planet earth if no one stops the Lord, since the latter doesn’t care about other races and is only concerned with the prosperity of nobles. Though, he doesn’t want to overthrow the Lord and instead wants to convince him to step away from his current path of darkness. He believes there is still hope. Simultaneously, Marcus is secretly gathering followers and supporters who all share his beliefs and formed his own organization. Together they work to transport resources out of Lukedonia and deliver them to humans and werewolves in need because the Lord refuses the share.

Marcus is struggling to plan for the future of the Siriana Clan, in case the Lord gets tired of him and decides to kill him one day for “meddling” too much, because his younger sister Erica is insane and cruel which makes her the worst possible candidate for the next Clan Leader of Siriana. Marcus loves her, but also fears her. He doesn’t know what she is capable of. Marcus is trying to look for ways to bypass his sister and hopefully be able to hand over both his position and Soul Weapon to another pure-blooded Siriana who isn’t his sister.

Marcus had a son, but he was assassinated sometime after his coming-of-age ceremony and now Marcus is once again childless and without an heir. To this day no one can figure out who the culprit is.

Erica Siriana: Marcus’ younger sister, and next-in-line for the position of Siriana Clan Leader. Wife of Lord Maximilian, and mother of Ashlynn. Erica is a ruthless, bloodthirsty woman. She is actually the person who orchestrated her nephew’s assassination. She made sure he was killed, then got rid of his killers, whom she sent, with her own hands. No one is going to suspect a thing and they’ll never find out no matter how hard they try. Erica did this to eliminate brother Marcus’ heir so she can regain her position as first-in-line. She’s been after her nephew ever since he was born, but waited for two whole centuries before doing the deed. To Erica, she’s just getting back what she’s entitled to, which is the full power, control, and privileges of a Clan Leader. Marcus is trying to be discreet but if Erica ever finds out that her brother intends to bypass her and give his position and Soul Weapon to someone else, she might actually just kill him and take over the clan immediately. Erica is truly a terrifying, power-hungry woman who will do anything to reach her goals. She does not care for anyone aside from her daughter Ashlynn and husband Maximilian, whom she genuinely loves. As messed up as Erica is, she is capable of being very loving and committed to whom she treasures. She and her husband are absolutely addicted to each other and he would let her do anything her heart wishes for, even if she continuously breaks Lukedonian laws.

Vivienne Branwen Di Ashlynn: Name means “lively and blessed raven of dreams”. Daughter of Erica Siriana and Lord Maximilian, and the next Lord of Lukedonia. On the surface, Ashlynn isn’t as straightforward as her mother despite their similarities. Ashlynn is just as ruthless and bloodthirsty as Erica, but the former puts on a facade in front of her people and pretends to be a sweet, altruistic future Lord. The perfect angel princess. And she’s very successful at it. Ashlynn is energetic, talkative, and empathetic around her subjects. She always tells them about how she wants her father to teach her power so she can protect not only her subjects, but also people around the world so they don’t have to suffer from hunger and war. In reality, she doesn’t care about any of them and she honestly thinks of them as a burden. They’re nothing more than cockroaches to her, and she’s only doing this because she enjoys deceiving her people and pulling on their puppet strings. She welcomes the love and respect they give her, and at the same time pities them for not knowing better, for she’s had them fooled this entire time. The world is her stage, and she’s the center. Ashlynn only drops her act and returns to her true self around her parents, who not only tolerate, but also accept and even encourage their daughter’s behavior. Well, their entire family is insane. Erica and Maximilian are totally overindulging Ashlynn while being completely aware of the fact that she is just as insane as them with no attempt to correct her, because she’s their little princess and hey, if she wants the world, then they’ll give it to her. Like Erica, Ashlynn doesn’t care about anyone who isn’t her family. Ashlynn loves both of her parents to the moon and back, and she might as well kill anyone who dares to speak ill about either of them. No one is allowed to disrespect them in front of her. Not a single word.

Ashlynn has a crush on Dominic and wants him for herself one day.

Eutimio Friedrich Di Maximilian: Name means “good-spirited and peaceful ruler of the greatest”. The current Lord, husband of Erica Siriana, and father of Ashlynn. Maximilian firmly believes that nobles are the most supreme beings to exist on this planet, and that they have a right to rule over every other species. Humans, werewolves, whatever… well, for now he’ll let them be for as long as they’re still useful. He won’t hesitate to unleash his power on them if he loses his patience. From a world view, Maximilian would be categorized as “evil”, but he doesn’t think of himself as such. In fact, he believes that he is doing good for his people, who are his priority. Which is true from a certain perspective, especially to the nobles who share their Lord’s vision. To them, Lord Maximilian is the greatest Lord in all of noble history. To others who strongly disagree with him, he is the most terrifying and coldblooded Lord in existence. Maximilian is only concerned with the prosperity of Lukedonia and doesn’t quite welcome the idea of distributing resources with the rest of the world. He doesn’t want the nobles to simply exist alongside other species; he’ll make sure the nobles are on the very top of the food chain. Everyone else is irrelevant and they’re all at his mercy. Generally, opinions are very divided and you either side with him, or you don’t. Life is very, very comfortable inside Lukedonia, and indeed, to some nobles, that is all they care about. Those with more empathy see beyond the obvious and are concerned with what goes on outside Lukedonia. The thing with Maximilian is that despite showing neither mercy nor any sign of remorse for his deeds in the outside world, he is actually quite lenient and loving with his subjects. You can say he has two extreme sides to him. He’s very kind to his nobles, but only them. He doesn’t mind if Lucretia skips meetings; he’d let her be. Or when his servants make mistakes, when someone does something offensive, etc... it’s alright, no big deal. In a way, Maximilian’s Lukedonia is teeming with freedom like never before under the rule of his predecessors. This is where Marcus comes in. He is just nervous and overthinking about getting killed if he says the wrong thing, but in reality Maximilian doesn’t mind voices of objection. He’s not going to give anyone a treason sentence or kill them for saying what they really think of him. You can tell him you disagree with him, he’ll just shrug it off and laugh. Say all you want, he knows you’re trying to persuade him, he doesn’t care. He’ll just keep doing what he’s always been doing. Maximilian knows he’s the Lord, and ultimately it is his decision to make. Just don’t let Ashlynn know, because she’ll come after your head if she figures out that you had doubts about her precious Daddy.

Maximilian is a very loving husband and father to his family. He is obsessed with them just as much as they are obsessed with him. On a personal level, while Maximilian himself doesn’t crave for the blood of his own kind like his wife and daughter do, he doesn’t mind letting them do whatever they want for the funs and thrills. Erica and Ashlynn are free to break the law all they want. Though, they’re smart and strategic with it and don’t commit murder in broad daylight. Still, Maximilian is aware of his beloveds’ occasional killings, and he lets them be. He’s the type of person who would let them burn down the entirety of Lukedonia to nothing more than a pile of ash if that is what they wish to do. It’s no big deal, he’ll just rebuild Lukedonia to be even grander and more luxurious than before! To Maximilian, they are the only two existences in this world to come before Lukedonia. How sweet.

Zivon Tradio: Leader of the Tradio Clan. An elderly sorcerer who is quite the hard worker, and spends most of his time studying existing spells as well as coming up with new ones. He’s from the previous generation of nobles, and he stayed behind because he’s just too damn cool to die. Just kidding, his love for magic is why he’s still rocking it. It’s still too early! Zivon’s ultimate goal is to push the boundaries of noble magic and to create what has never been seen before. A true spectacle to behold. Zivon is one of Lord Maximilian’s favorite subjects and the latter even has an entire wifi system built and set up in Lukedonia as a gift just because the former has the hobby of streaming and likes being an “influencer”or whatever the humans call it. Zivon is quite an internet celebrity and Lord Maximilian is supportive of his work of “spreading superior noble influence over humans”. Zivon is also Princess Ashlynn’s tutor, who calls him “teacher”.

As of now, Zivon has no children.

Julius Loyard: Leader of the Loyard Clan. On-and-off lovers with Lucretia. An elegant man who is well-received by his fellow nobles. Julius is a man of few words and usually doesn’t express himself beyond the bare minimum required to be polite. While Julius does admit to enjoying the lavish lifestyle that was a gift from the Lord to all nobles, he is beginning to see why this is a problem for beings outside Lukedonia and starts to sympathize with them. It isn’t easy for him immediately to give up what he’s been used to all these years, but he’s starting to steer away from that lifestyle in support of the less fortunate. Julius was one of the first members to join Marcus’ secret organization of smuggling resources out of Lukedonia to help those in need. Currently, he’s responsible as the leader of the food distribution sector. In his free time, Julius is a jewelry designer and Lord Maximilian is a fan of his work.

Julius’ heir is his son whom he had with Lucretia. He is fond of her but doesn’t entirely agree with her rather carefree personality. They seem to have positive feelings for each other, but that’s only when both of them are very bored and have nothing better to do.

Giada Agvain: Leader of the Agvain Clan. Like Kendrick, she is extremely loyal to their Lord. She’s been by his side since the beginning, and they are childhood friends. Everyone knows that Giada used to feel one-sided love for the then-Maximilian and now Lord Maximilian, but what they don’t know is that she is still in love with him. Well, maybe it’s better for them to continue to believe that she has gotten over him. It’s not like he’ll ever like her back anyway, and you’ll never know what Princess Ashlynn will do if she finds out that anyone other than her precious Mommy is “coveting” her beloved Daddy. Giada is one of the few people who knows about Ashlynn’s true nature despite the latter’s angelic facade. While Giada does love Max on a personal level and is loyal to him, she doesn’t agree with his actions. She is also one of the first members of Marcus’ organization. Currently, Giada is responsible as the leader of the money distribution sector. In her free time, Giada tends to a small spider lily garden.

Giada’s heir is her daughter whom she had with an unnamed noble woman.

Dominic Raffaello “Dorant” Blerster: Leader of the Blerster Clan. A calm and rational man who remains unfazed in extreme situations. He is also the youngest to become Clan Leader, because his mother and predecessor saw so much potential in him, she passed over her title and Soul Weapon to him as soon as he came of age. Dominic pretends to be fairly neutral, and most people think he isn’t dedicated to anything or anyone, but he’s actually Lord Maximilian’s right hand man in the shadows. On the surface, he is simply Clan Leader of the Blersters and does a good job of managing his clan. When he no longer needs to act as Clan Leader, Dominic goes to the castle and reports everyone’s moves to his Lord. Dominic is actually a member of Marcus’ secret organization and oversees the medical distribution sector… as a double agent. His allegiance is with the Lord and he’s only there to watch what everyone else is doing to report back to his master. That includes a long list of who is working with Marcus, what resources they have been smuggling out of Lukedonia, who is on the receiving end… etc. Every. Single. One. So Lord Maximilian is very much aware of Marcus’ “betrayal” thanks to Dominic. Curiously, Lord Maximilian tells Dominic to just let them be. Perhaps he finds this to be amusing. Nobody knows what he’s thinking. Dominic, on the other hand, is in total awe of his Lord for his immense generosity for the “traitors” even though they clearly don’t deserve it.

Dominic doesn’t know that Ashlynn has a crush on him.

As of now, Dominic has no children.

Undine Mergas: Daughter of the leader of the Mergas Clan. A woman with a short temper who is also easily provoked. Undine’s father, the current Mergas Clan Leader, believes that she is unfit to become Clan Leader due to her personality and tendencies to boss the knights around instead of being a responsible and respectful leader like she is supposed to, but he is hopeful that she will change one day. Undine is best friends with Mimi and the two of them are almost always seen together. On one of her travels to the outside world, Undine met a human named Michael Travis Osborn by chance and she has had a crush on him ever since. He’s pretty cute. Maybe the Lord will let her capture him and bring him back to Lukedonia, she thinks.

Mimi Elenor: Daughter of the leader of the Elenor Clan. A woman with a similar personality to her best friend Undine, but less impulsive and more calm. That’s why they get along and are best friends because they have much in common. Mimi has an older brother so she likely won’t become the next Elenor Clan Leader, but she’s fine with that. In fact, she’s glad she won’t become Clan Leader because all those responsibilities, hassles, sitting in meetings all day, blah blah blah… ew, just too much work. She just wants to have fun, so her brother better be competent so she won’t have to bother with her clan at all. Mimi, like Undine, also has a crush on Michael Travis Osborn. They chat about how cute he is. Both of them want to capture him and bring him into Lukedonia. They’re thinking about discussing this with the Lord. If Lord Maximilian hears about this, he’d approve of the capture and tell them to go ahead and enjoy themselves because of course he wants all of his nobles to get their hands on everything they wish for. Plus, these two remind him of his daughter Ashlynn so he’d be even more generous towards them.

Kushaal Kertia: Leader of the Kertia Clan. Cousin of Galileo. A respected fighter known for his immense speed and agility even amongst the Kertia. Kushaal is also honorable. He dislikes dirty fighting and is fairly open to acknowledging his own weaknesses and strives to become even stronger and faster. He has heard about a certain blonde werewolf warrior who is the fastest of his pack, and wishes to fight him one day. While Kushaal enjoys and supports the luxurious lifestyle given to him by their Lord, he believes that humans and werewolves could use some help from Lukedonia. After all, if they’re all gone, he’s not going to have anyone interesting to fight with anymore. Kushaal would love to spar with the werewolves, so he hopes that they’re doing well. In his free time, Kushaal likes to collect rare werewolf artifacts to display in his home because they feel familiar to him, for some odd reason.

As of now, Kushaal has no children.

Galileo Kravei: Son of the leader of the Kravei Clan. Cousin of Kushaal. A man who has a bit of an inferiority complex because his abilities seem to have hit a wall, and he can’t get stronger with his own strength. Galileo is probably going to get by just fine, even though he himself is more impatient than anyone in terms of wanting to gain strength. Other than that, no one really knows much about him since he tends to keep to himself. In his free time, he plays with his three supernatural pet aquatic snakes: Ramen, Ramyeon, and Lamien. Galileo has a huge love-hate crush on Kendrick, and people will tell you he’s both extra mean and extra nice to him. He sends him cheesy “let’s fight” love letters written on rose scented paper. Yeah. He’s totally in love.

And that’s it for now!

Again, very open to questions and discussion. Quite happy about my second major AU! While this post only touches the surface of what I have in mind, I have a feeling that I will grow to like this AU even more. Maybe I’ll even create brand new OCs specific to this AU lol.

Thank you for reading and stay tuned for future posts!

#noblesse #manhwa #myart #fanart #kori’s blood moon au #alternate universe #lunark #kentas #maduke #erin #muzaka #zaiga #ashleen #juraki #garda #dorant #gayare #kuharu #urne #mirai

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