🍡I love Saizo’s dango🍡

Don’t mind me shitposting ah a h

[unhinged-qiqi-main]

windwalker, lifebringer

Tags: Pregnancy, Abandonment, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, The reader is pregnant but no sex or gender is mentioned, Yandere, Kidnapping, Not Beta Read, POV Second Person Summary: The night is cold on the Plateau of Leng when the man feared as "Ithaqua" comes upon the warmth of two heartbeats.

It was such an innocent question.

“Can I have some more, please?” you had asked your husband during one of your stops, your voice so soft it was nearly lost to the wind.

You hadn’t meant to be greedy. You hadn’t meant to eat more than your share. You hadn’t meant to leave him to starve on your journey.

But that’s what he accused you of the second your words reached his ears. He’d screamed in your face, cursed your name, grabbed the meat still cooking over the campfire between you and hurled it in your direction. And you had tried, so very desperately, to explain yourself and to calm him, but the fact that you were heavy with his child and in need of more nourishment than he was providing meant nothing to him.

By morning, he was long gone; the fire that once warmed your fragile form reduced to a smoking pile of burnt wood under his boot, and the wagon and horse that carried you so far into your journey disappeared into the night.

Thus, you were forced to retreat into a small cave, getting by on a handful of berries you’d found in the otherwise dead forest. But so little could only sustain you for so long, and come evening, you were clutching your stomach from hunger pangs, made worse by the needy life growing inside you.

And when the night fell? You were drifting in and out of consciousness, growing weaker by the hour as the chill of the winter wasteland seeped through your woolen clothes and stabbed into your very bones. Your pulse grew weak, your breathing slow, and your words, as you sobbed tearless apologies to your baby, became slurred.

The stab of stilts into the snow-covered ground came late into the night, accompanied by soft lantern light as a tall, masked figure approached your makeshift shelter. You raised your gaze to them, half-convinced you were hallucinating.

“Please…” You muttered, watching your words swirl into vapor before disappearing into the howling wind. “Help me… help me…”

The creature stared unblinking for what felt like an eternity before they set their lantern aside, burying the hilt in the snow to keep it upright. They then crouched, examining your exhausted, starving form, and reached out one long, bony hand toward your stomach. Only when you flinched at the sight of their horrifically long nails did they hesitate, fingers curling as they opted to touch you with their knuckles instead of their palm.

As if sensing their presence, your baby began to kick, and you instinctively placed your hand over it. The stranger noticed and immediately shifted their hold, fingers intertwining forcibly with yours as they pressed against the kicks. That earned them a soft, panicked shriek.

“No…!” You gasped, flailing as much as your body would allow, trying to put distance between your stomach and this… thing. “D-Don’t… don’t hurt my baby! They’re all I have left!”

The creature, ignoring your outburst, did not remove their hand, but the pressure on your stomach did lessen. Still, it was a ghastly sight, one which you’d have averted your gaze from had you the strength to do so; their hand was almost branch-like, too large to belong to a human, and appeared so rotted you’d have thought it had necrotized.

But despite that… they were gentle, achingly so, especially when they dared press their thumb to the little lump created by your child’s kicks and rub it carefully. They blinked, or at least you think they did, but it was hard to tell with the mask.

Finally, they spoke, “...Why are you here?”

The voice that just barely reached your ears was soft, much like the touch on your belly, and its soothing quality made it all the more difficult to think clearly. Nevertheless, you forced out a response as best you could:

“My husband. He left me. He left me and our… my baby to die.”

Before the words had even fully left your lips, the creature was already removing their cloak, coaxing you into leaning forward so they could drape it over your shoulders. You could do little more than breathe a silent ‘thank you’ in return. They said nothing in reply. Rather, they curled their arms under your back and knees, unbothered by the layer lost even when the wind picked up, and stood effortlessly.

“Hold the lantern,” they commanded.

You reached for the axe holding the light.

"Only the lantern.”

You paused. Then, gingerly, you plucked the lantern as instructed, cradling it to your chest. It did not burn hot as you expected, only providing a pleasant warmth instead which, coupled with the safe hold you found yourself in, helped lull you into a deep sleep.

Your savior did not disturb you.

When next you awoke, it was not in a frozen wasteland, vulnerable for the elements and wild animals to leave you a forgotten memory, but on a worn sofa by a crackling fireplace, bundled up in blankets. The sound of boots and scent of cooking meat dragged your senses out of their dulled state. Your attempt to sit up, however, was prevented by a firm hand on your shoulder, pushing you back down.

“Don’t strain yourself,” came that same soft voice from earlier.

Turning, you found the hand belonged to a thin, pale-haired man, handsome yet ordinary in all but his eyes, where blue irises glowed against black sclera. The sight had you jerking back in surprise.

The man narrowed his eyes at you. “I said, don’t strain yourself . You’re too weak to be wasting your strength on pulling away from something hideous.”

“That’s not… I don’t think-” you tried to argue, but he was already pulling away to tend to something in another room.

That gave you a moment to think, to breathe; everything leading up to that point swam in your head, but what weighed on you most heavily was your concern for your unborn child, who would likely enter the world without a second parent, and perhaps even without a home should your savior choose to throw you out. Thus, when he returned with a bowl of soup and loaf of bread, you immediately took the opportunity to speak, “May… May I stay here?”

He said nothing as he took a seat beside you, gaze owlish as he handed you the food. You continued: “Only for a little while, until I can find a way back to my village. Please, I promise I won’t be a burden.”

Silence.

Your face flushed hot in embarrassment, fearing you’d spoken out of line, and you could only console yourself by indulging in the food he’d provided. Mid-bite, however, he spoke up, catching you off-guard:

“Why did your husband leave you to fend for yourself?"

You paused in your eating, fiddling with the spoon between your fingers. “He… he said I was selfish. He said that I was asking for more than I deserve, and that… I was ungrateful and attempting to hurt him.”

“You’re with child,” he muttered, eyes squinted as they raked up and down your vulnerable form. “You need more.”

“...He didn’t see it that way,” you sighed, resuming your meal. As your hand reached up to rub at your neck, the man’s gaze followed, finally noticing the faint bruises adorning it: plentiful and too distinctly shaped like a large hand to be self-inflicted or the result of rope.

“Have you anyone to return to?” he asked.

“Well… my family, but it’s a long journey from here, and I’m in no state to travel.”

Once your bowl was empty, you set it aside on the creaking, old table between you and the fireplace, folding your hands over your stomach. The soft kicks that met your touch set your heart alight.

“...You will stay here.”

You perked up at the sudden declaration. “Pardon?”

“You will stay here, with me ,” the man clarified. “Permanently.”

“What?! But-”

He raised a blackened, bony finger, silencing you. “You said it yourself, you’re unable to travel, and I am the only one who can provide for you.”

“But…” You tried to speak up, shoulders sagging in disbelief. “My family…”

“The same family who left you to journey with a man willing to make an attempt on not only your life, but our child’s as well?”

His words caused the color to drain from your face. “They’re not-”

“I will hear no more of it,” he said, reaching out to press his hand to your stomach. You flinched. “There is no sense in arguing with me… save your energy and rest.” There was a pause before his expression softened almost imperceptibly as he leaned down, eyes locked on your plush stomach. “...the same applies to you, little one.”

Your baby kicked at his hand. The man pressed the spot gently in response.

Then, as though he’d not altered the course of your life only a minute prior, he let go of you and stood, features schooled back into the perfect mask of no emotion. “My home is humble, but I will prepare a room for the three of us.” With that, he turned sharply on his heel, footfalls heavy against wood as he made his way to a staircase leading up.

“Wait-” you called, instinctively reaching for him.

The man paused on the first step, letting only the sound of the crackling fire fill the room for a moment before he replied coolly, “Ithaqua”.

“...Ithaqua,” you echoed, softer, which left nothing more to be said between you.

All you were left with for the rest of the night was a squirming, unborn child for company, and a dying fire for conversation.

[scenesniper]

☆ florian brand ; general sfw & nsfw headcanons

pairing / florian brand x afab gn! reader

disclaimer / possession, jealous themes, manipulation themes, overstimulation

word count / 1,174 words

SFW

⭒ florian brand is a man who masks his true nature. he presents him as need be, a humble and altruistic man. in reality, he is a man who does what needs to be to get by. a man who hides himself from the rest of the world.

⭒ when he first saw you, so helpless trapped in the fire. this was not a new sight to him but oh, something awoke in him. the mere sight of you completely overwhelmed the man of want. of need. your arms frantically clutching his shoulders as he carries you out of the fire. he can’t help but think how pathetic you are, just like everyone else. “i am your savior. you do not need anyone else.”

⭒ his brain is already going into gear mode, racking up on how to mark you his. and so he decided, he doesn’t wish for you to just want him. he needs you to need him, unable to do anything but depend on him. “no one could ever love you like i do.”

⭒ he is a manipulative and cunning man, that you had already suspected ever since you met him. he seemed far too good to be of a man with that sham of a smile. he scared you with the way he looked at you, already having expectations of you. it was intimidating to be in his presence.

⭒ in this tiny town, there are far too many fires to be marked as “wildfires” and too little of individuals who’d just want to start fires every now and then. there can only be a serial arsonist you suspect and you can only be cautious to florian brand. yet, everyone brandishes him as a savior. he was this town’s liberator and even though he was the one who saved you from the fire, he was simply off putting to you.

⭒ he knows of your suspicions on him and finds it so humorous of you to be scrambling around about. after all, there will never be any evidence that points back to him. dropping tiny little evidence and hints every now and then just to tease your little self, he was done playing with you and decided that it was finally time for him to approach you more. not just as the boy next door, but something much more.

⭒ he’d frequent and commute to your house your neighborhood more often. since it was a tiny town and florian is a busy, sociable man in the morning and day, the townspeople around you didn’t suspect at all. it’ll start with morning visits, you’d open your door to start on your chores and already, florian is passing by your house. greeting you with a “good morning!” and then nodding his head and waving to the rest of the townspeople in acknowledgment.

⭒ then, as time progresses, those morning acknowledgments would be nightly visits. he’ll finish his work shift and you’ll find himself knocking outside your door. don't let the little fire investigator in.

⭒ kissing with florian are straight up make out sessions, no matter how soft you go at him at him, he’s going to have his tongue deep down in your throat and your lips will start to bruise.

⭒ when you’re finally all in, he’s the type to be showing you off. he loves physical displays of affection and loves to brandishes you in his love. your shoulders (his favorite place to mark you) would be littered with his hickies. he loves to give you kisses, repeatedly in one area. and especially in a private setting, he’ll be giving you trails of kisses down your waist to your hip.

NSFW

⭒ florian is average in size and in width, much skinny (even though he’s very strong). however, give him some time with you and already, he knows exactly where to get you absolutely mindless.

⭒ he’s such a childish man, he gets too easily jealous as if he’s a little school boy competing for his first love. he’d absolutely have jealous sex with you, repeatedly ranming himself into you in that same area of yours and yet, it hits differently and so deeper each time.

⭒ he’s the type to just fuck you over and over as he blabbers on and blabbers on in your ear. when he gets really into it, he’ll start biting your ear to the point it’ll feel like it’s about to break off and you have to give him repeated jabs in his back for him to finally notice he’s hurting your ears. or better, pull his hair and make him look at you. god, he loves that fiery look in your eyes and that sharp pain that comes with it.

⭒ he loves oral (reader receiving). he loves to suck on your clit and getting lost in it as he goes down on you. he’s the type to close his eyes and just enjoy it all but every now and then, he’ll look up at you and bats his little eyelashes with his eyes upturning and you know, he’s chaffing at you and loving it. after he’s done, with your legs shaking with how many time you came in his mouth, he’ll show off his tooth eating grin to you with your essence dripping down his lips.

⭒ he loves to overstimulate you and everything about your body parts. he’ll flick and play with your clit on hours and end, humming to himself and whispering lovely pet names to you such as “dear” and “honey”.

⭒ he gets off on your praise. everything you say with him, especially praise, keeps him going during sex. even degradation as any emotions that you feel towards him. whether it be happy, sad, or even mad at him, it has his blood boiling with endearment. he loves your attention and every form of it. as long as it’s directed towards him and nobody else.

⭒ he loves overstimulation. he loves to br overstimulated, you bouncing on his cock or him ramming you in to the point your mind goes blank and you’re practically twitching by the end. he gets so full of himself when he sees that sight of you.

⭒ he loves mirror sex. balls deep in you and having that sight all to himself, your bodies touching each other and you gripping his shoulder like the first day he met you. he’ll take you by your chin and have you turn your head to see yourself and him. “look how good you’re taking me darling. so lovely.” sex with florian is all messy, filled with need and want.

⭒ during sex and aftercare, you can always smell a faint gasoline on him. but what can you say? in fact, you already stopped caring about that little investigation of yours. you must be imagining. who are you to question him as he cleans up the mess and as he stradles you so lovingly in his arms with soft, buttery kisses to put you to sleep.

[yoshinoritoshi]

The “Joseph starting a family reaction” hcs were so good!! You write Joseph so genuine accurate to his character.. I adore!! I was wondering, in that same light, how would Joseph be with his pregnant spouse ? Is he wary or cautious ? Especially because you said they only have daughters for a while.. he’s probably so pleased when his son is finally born!

Hmm, that's a good question...

•

•

Personally, I don't think Joseph is ever a neglectful husband, as his family is very important to him. But he also values his camera research just as much, so finding the balance between the two is rough, especially for a man as passionate and driven as him.

What? Did you think being married and starting a family would deter him from that sorta stuff? Nah. In fact, it may just motivate him more, as he would want to keep the blissful family life he's cultivated... forever.

Still, even he will spare time to tend to the daughters he's accrued. They're genuinely joys in his life, though he does somewhat regret that they aren't boys, they're still his children, and that what matters. Not to mention, after being around their father and his cameras so long, they grow up wanting to help him... And he's more than happy to guide them in his studies and theories.

But, before they're born, he's a lot more unsure. Not because he doesn't want children, he is the one who ended up ultimately suggesting the notion- Joseph just doesn't know what to do. His parents were certainly not awful, but the grief of losing Claude soured his memories of when he was younger...

Still, you can trust him to make sure you're taken care of, even if it isnt always personally by himself.

[yoshinoritoshi]

Does Florian or Joseph do anything about reader having sweet tooth? Do they stop them from eating more desserts or do they encourage it?? 👀

Florian absolutely would not, he thinks you having a sweet tooth is just the cutest thing, and he uses a (not insignificant) amount of his pay from his job to make sure you get all the sweets you want! Candy, cake, desserts? What do you want? He loves to watch you eat, loves to watch you enjoy yourself, and he loves laying on your tummy afterwards! No matter what time of day, he always falls asleep super easy too, don't ask him how.

Joseph is more conservative with indulging you, he does buy confections fairly often, and he will use his money on buying sweets straight from France. Yet his do not come for free, if you want such a sweet reward, he does demand payment... So be a good little partner and listen to his every word, and he'll give you cakes till your heart bursts. The only time you'll get anything free from him is when you're ill- something about seeing you frail and weak with sickness always makes him soft willed.

[antoimne]

🍂Cornflowers withered in the sun

(Frederick Kreiburg x !sick reader)

Hey! Happy Halloween :)! What’s scarier than seeing our poor, doomed boy’s suffering? I’m not completely sure about this but I hope someone likes it ^^ (this is from last week’s poll!)

Tw: mention of illnesses, death, Frederick is just sad and miserable, non canon games.

It was night in the manor.
A stormy, restless night—as restless as the man who sat before the finely crafted wooden piano.
Everyone else was asleep; everyone but Frederick.

His hands moved frantically across the keys, the sound stifled by the light pressure of his shoe on the soft pedal. All that could be heard were faint groans and the movement of his fingers as they rose and fell swiftly upon the ivory.

Again.

And again.

And again.

His frustration grew with each note, a violent urge rising within him to bite his own fingers off.
The varnished carcass of the instrument reflected the faint light of the firework, his hollow gaze mirrored on its polished surface.

This was all pointless. Never enough.
He was not good enough, not for a Kreiburg.
The black sheep of his family, a disgrace.

He could always strive to be better, closer to perfection, yet no matter how hard he tried, it was simply never enough. He had written to his parents countless times, yet they never replied.
They had likely burned every letter, every piece of composition he’d sent, crumbling them into ashes- abandoning him completely.

A groan of frustration escaped him as he slammed his hands violently against the piano.

He tried so hard, followed his father’s trail. Music meant more to him than it ever could to anyone else, even those grand composers showing off their “talent” in Paris or Wien.

Then why, why was he cursed with mediocrity?
Or perhaps it was those imbeciles, those uncultured critics throwing unjust shame upon his work.
He didn’t know anymore.

He had come all the way to this God-forsaken manor just to claim what he had been promised— recognition.

To be seen.

Not the handsome, charming young man. No, the real him— his fingers working emotions faster than words could ever express. Those notes poured out the pain he had buried so deep he’d almost forgotten it existed.

He was more than a shell of flesh and bone.

He sat back, burying his hands in his hair as his head hung low, hidden.
No one would care to see his misery.
Appearances were everything, after all. He was fortunate to possess at least one gift that gave him worth. It was a blessing, in a way- though it often felt more like a curse.

Having to pretend he was worthy of playing in courts or theaters when all those noblewomen wanted was not to hear him play, but to have him at their ‘afterparties’.

He didn’t even feel human anymore. He was merely an attraction.
An object to show off, and then discard.

Repulsive. That was how he felt.

Suddenly, the wooden door creaked open, revealing a figure in the doorway. All he saw at first was their shadow, projected larger than life on the floor by the warm glow of the oil lamp.

He quickly straightened up, hand moving instinctively to adjust the collar of his overcoat.
“Who are you?” he asked, not bothering with unnecessary greetings. His tone was sharp, annoyed to have been caught in such a private moment.

“Is there anything you might need help with? I’m rather occupied at the moment.”

“Oh!…” your voice came out surprised as you looked at him fully.
“Mr. Kreiburg, isn’t it?”

“That would be me. And you are…?”

You muttered your name, your voice trembling between rough, painful coughs.
“I didn’t mean to startle you. I was just exploring around here…”

“Well, it seems a bit late for apologies now. My flow has been disrupted.” He rose, smoothing his coat in another nervous gesture.

You felt mortified by his sharp tone and tried to make it less awkward.
“But— I’ve had the chance to hear some of your compositions before. I must say, I’m a fan.”

His gaze shifted back to you—eyes so flat it made you uneasy. His brows furrowed, uncertain whether you were mocking him. The people who usually came to hear him were the high-born, empty-headed nobles. You certainly didn’t look the part, though he couldn’t say anything for the last one: your nightclothes were simple, your hair messy, your eyes ringed with fatigue.

“You’ve heard my pieces?”

“Well, not directly in those fancy theaters or courts, but… I was in Wien once. I happened to pass by. Your music resonated deeply with me, even though I only heard it through the echo of the walls outside.”

The frown on his forehead softened slightly as you spoke again, coughing yet more.

“Seems like such a nice coincidence you were invited here as well.”

He nodded faintly, looking down at the piano for a few seconds.
“Can’t sleep, I see?” he said flatly.

He was still wary— distrusting by nature.

“Oh, Mr. Kreiburg, I haven’t been able to sleep in a long time. Lying down just makes my lungs hurt more.”

He seemed caught off guard by your words.

“Oh, don’t you worry! It’s not contagious. Just making me wither slowly.” You looked down at your hands, eyes distant and nostalgic.

“I came here for that, you see. They said they’ve got a cure for me. Can you believe it?”

He nodded faintly again, before sitting back down at the piano.
He looked as though he wanted to speak, yet thought it better to stay quiet.

“You said you like my music?”

“I do, Mr. Kreiburg. For as little as I’ve been able to hear.”

“Then allow me to play for you. I’ll give you something worth staying awake for. It’s been a long time since I’ve played for someone who seemed to truly listen.”

You hummed softly in agreement, sitting by the dimly lit fireplace.

His fingers began to caress the keys—feather-light, gentle. The sound came out tender, like the warmth of a lover’s embrace on a rainy evening. It made you feel safe, cocooned in something untouchable.

You closed your eyes, letting his notes spill like ink upon white paper.
The melody shifted- nostalgic, tormented, regretful. The manor grew distant as he poured himself into the music; His failures, his hunger for love, his fear of rejection.

He closed his eyes, his muscles moving instinctively. He imagined himself somewhere else— someone else.

Suddenly, he was back in the opera house in Wien, the golden hall gleaming as the audience applauded.
Not for his surname- Kreiburg, the burden he bore.
Not for his appearance.
Just for him.

“Mr. Frederick,” they said.
“We’ve been such fools! Please accept our apologies.”

When the last note played, he held it for longer than needed, letting it linger in the air.
He was in a trance until he turned slowly toward you.

When he saw your face, his composure shattered. Your cheeks were streaked with silent tears, falling as you slowly opened your eyes.

“Oh—my! This is embarrassing!” you muttered, coughing as you wiped your tears away.

“Dear God, don’t call that embarrassing,” he said firmly, though there was somewhat warm in his voice now.
“That is the highest honor I’ve known in years— to move someone truly. To be heard.”

The last words came out in a whisper.

“It was just… truly mesmerizing, Mr. Kreiburg.”

“Don’t call me that.

Just Frederick will do. The surname belongs to patrons who treat me like a circus act- expectations I can never meet.”

He looked at the piano bitterly, then back at you.

“Uh, are you sure—?”

“You’ve heard me. I insist.”

You nodded softly.

That was how your silent alliance began.

Every night, you would tiptoe to the piano room, sitting there to enjoy Frederick’s ‘magic’, as you liked to call it.
You exchanged a few words before returning to your room, repeating the same routine.

Days, weeks.

Frederick grew used to your presence- so much so that even during the day, you began seeking each other out. You’d walk in the courtyard when the weather allowed (not the greenhouse, he said it made him feel trapped), or sit by the fireplace and talk about whatever came to mind.

One particular night, you decided to share something about yourself. You knew much about Frederick, yet he knew so little about you.

“May I?” you asked, approaching him as he sat at the piano.

He glanced at you. “Hm?”

“I’d like to… play something for you tonight.”

He looked taken aback, then slid aside to make room for you.

“Beware,” you smiled. “It’s not much, likely terrible for an artist like you, but it’s dear to me. My grandmother taught me this when I was a child. One of the few clear memories I have.”

Your hands moved shakily on the keyboard.
It was a simple tune— three or four notes, slow and deliberate. Then you began to sing- not quite singing, really, but whispering uneven words under your breath.

Your technique was untrained, but your sincerity made him pause.
He watched your lazy, tender movements, the way your eyelids fluttered closed- and then he joined in, his hands gliding alongside yours, not to overshadow but to accompany.

The piano became a bridge- connecting your movements, your hearts, your very souls.
Two distinct melodies, harmonized perfectly.

When the last note faded, silence lingered before he spoke.

“That was beautiful. I’m sure she would be proud of you.”

“You think so?”

“I do.”

You shifted awkwardly, sensing something different between you- yet you couldn’t quite place what it was.

“I truly liked it. It could use a touch of technique, yes— but it was raw. Honest. That’s part of my repertoire too, now.”

His tone carried rare tenderness. His hand, resting on the keys beside yours, shifted slightly until it brushed against your skin.

The touch broke you.
You didn’t know why— but tears welled up again, unstoppable.

He froze, startled. It wasn’t annoyance or pity, he recognized that pain. It mirrored his own youth, the nights he’d cried into his pillow to hide his weakness. He knew what it was to suffocate emotions until they turned to crumbs of nothingness.

His hand tightened gently around yours.
He said nothing, only stayed still, quiet, present.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered at last, wiping your tears. “I must look pathetic.”

“You don’t.”

“You don’t have to be kind—”

“I’m not. I’m honest.” His tone came out harsher than he intended, so he softened it. “I’ve spent my life surrounded by people who made me feel pathetic. Everyone wanted my name, my image— no one wanted me. I know what that feels like.”

A cough escaped your throat.

“You’re not pathetic. Not to me. You found me at my lowest, yet stayed for my music and gave me yours. That means more than you can imagine.”

“Thank you, Frederick.”

“Always.”

You stayed like that, his hand pressed over yours, until you leaned in and hugged him.
He went rigid, then slowly relaxed, arms circling your shoulders. His coat smelled of clean linen and faint perfume- safe, reassuring.

“You seem shaky,” he murmured.

“I just feel… melancholic, that’s all.”

A lie. It had been so long since anyone held you like this.

“Melancholy,” he echoed softly. “The silent undertone as music fades away. We’re fortunate, you and I, we understand it better than most.”

You hummed in agreement.

“Would you mind staying a little longer?” you asked.

“Here?”

“We can move to the couch. I’m… a bit sleepy. Could you hold me? I know it’s strange to ask.”

“Ah- oh. Certainly.”

Inside, Frederick’s thoughts screamed. What are you doing? He had never allowed anyone this close. But something in him broke past the boundary.

You both sat on the couch by the fireplace.

As you laid down, your lids shut close.

“I’m not sleeping,” you murmured. “Just resting my eyes. They feel… dry.”

He noticed the faint red stain on your tissue as you coughed.

“I come from unfortunate stock, Frederick. Did I tell you that?”

He said nothing, listening as your words dragged weakly.

“Life hasn’t been easy. The real reason I came here was to find an escape.”

His chest tightened. You looked so pure, almost childlike.

Real.

“Is this place an escape, then?”

“I’m not sure anymore,” you whispered, coughing harder. “But… it’s better than being there. And you’re kind, Frederick. You make me feel…at ease.”

He said nothing, staring into the fire.

“I don’t sleep much either,” he admitted quietly. “It’s… uneasy, isn’t it?”

You hummed faintly.

“But you need to rest,” he added. “You’ll only hurt yourself more.”

“Oh? Worrying about me now?”

“I just don’t like the idea of losing you.”

Before you could reply, he returned to the piano.

“Let me try something different- a lullaby. For both of us.”

His hands moved softly over the keys, each note slow and tender, no performance, just feeling.

You drifted into slumber for the first time in what felt like ages.

When he stopped, he closed the piano gently and turned toward you. You looked peaceful. Beautiful.

Beautiful?…He’d never thought that of anyone before.

Vulnerable. Yeah, maybe that was more appropriate. Definitely.

He brushed a stray strand of hair from your forehead.

You didn’t remember falling asleep—only waking in your bed, morning light spilling through the window. On your nightstand sat a small blue cornflower- the kind he kept on his coat.

You chuckled. It was his quiet token of trust.
You made him feel seen. He made you feel cared for.

And he kept his word.

You grew fonder of each other.
Night after night, you’d fall asleep by the fireplace, your head on his lap, his fingers interlaced with yours— your heartbeats syncing in rhythm.

But time passed, and your illness worsened. Medicine was a rare sight in the desolation of the manor. You coughed blood, grew weaker, thinner.

Frederick refused to let you fade alone. He learned to recognize your breathing, the hollow rattle of your chest.

He knocked on your door one evening. “May I come in? Please.”

After a pause, you opened it slightly. “Ah, Frederick. Yes.”

He entered quietly, careful not to stare at the bloody tissues or sweat-soaked sheets.

“You’re getting worse,” he said softly, as it was a matter of fact.

“It’s nothing. Just a pesky cough.”

“Don’t insult my intelligence. You’re sick— sicker than before. What are you even doing to help yourself?”

You frowned. “With all due respect, that’s my own business, Frederick.”

“‘Due respect?’ You think me a fool? This is my business now!”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is. I can’t stand by and watch you destroy yourself. You think it hurts only you?”

Silence.

“You’re breaking my heart,” he whispered. “Don’t leave me. Please.”

Your voice trembled. “Can you just… stay here?”

He did. Of course, he did.

All day, until evening, he held you—arms around you, counting every breath. Making sure you were still alive.

Days passed, and soon came the day before the game.

You laid pale in bed. He never left your side, kissing your temple.

“I don’t care about tomorrow,” he murmured. “None of it matters. Just rest now.”

You wanted to tell him so much— that you were grateful, that if this was the end, you were glad it was with him. That he made you feel loved, even when you couldn’t love yourself.

But nothing came out. Only a strangled sound.

He hushed you. “Save your strength. I already know what you mean.”

You closed your eyes.

How could he know?

He made it all look so easy.

The next morning, tension hung thick in the air, sharp enough to cut.
You had been dragged with the few other residents of the manor to the so-called “location,” an abandoned wooden village.
Instructions were scarce; you had to figure out how to navigate the locked place.

Then, through half-lidded eyes, you saw something that made your blood freeze.
A tall, monstrous figure moving toward you in the distance.
Whatever it was, it wasn’t human.

It all became clear. Perhaps you were nothing more than sacrificial lambs, lured into a trap.

Frederick stayed close, hand firmly gripping yours. His body tensed in ways you had never seen before.
For the first time in years, Frederick felt fear.

He ran with you, holding you like a lifeline while the creature’s attention was momentarily elsewhere.
Was he prepared to sacrifice himself for you? Probably.
But now, with you in his life, he refused to give up. He couldn’t.

Not for you.

The sound of machinery suddenly popped in the distance.
He spotted another source of light.

“Let me do this. I’ve got you,” he said.
His muscle memory worked well. Complex mechanisms, like music, could be understood in patterns.

Then came a high-pitched siren.

“Maybe…it’s over. We’re done,” you whispered.
“Will we really escape?” Your breath rattled; your forehead was slick with sweat.
“Yes. Yes, we will. You’ll get through this, and I’ll follow close behind.”

He couldn’t be certain.

He only tried to believe his own words. He promised.

You both ran toward the sound, but your pace slowed. Near the gate, you collapsed.
Blood poured from you, limbs spasming violently.

It happened too quickly—inhumanly fast.

One moment, you were there, trusting promises and looking at him with those genuine, beautiful eyes… and then—

Frederick rushed to you, catching you before your head hit the ground.
“No, no- hey, don’t you dare. I promised, you promised…”

Thump. Thump. Thump.
The monstrous figure loomed again.

“Go, Frederick,” your voice came weak, soaked in blood.
“No, I won’t leave you! If I leave… you’ll die.”

His eyes widened in horror. Reality hit him like a hammer— this was possible. This was happening.

“You’re too… too strong, and stubborn. I need you too much to leave—”
He choked on the last words.
“I love you.”

His breath caught. His gaze softened, eyes glossy.
“I love you too…” you whispered.
“I love you, a lot, actually.”

You pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of his lips, then pushed him away with what little strength you had left.

“What?…”

He stumbled back as another participant dragged him out of the gate.
“You have so much to do, Frederick. I have nothing anyway.”

“No! I’m not leaving you. Let go of me!”

It was useless. The gate slowly closed between you.
He reached out, stumbled forward— but it was too late.
“You can’t do this to me, please!”

He had never been so raw, so desperate for anyone in his entire life.

The gate sealed. He fell to his knees, hands clutching cold metal, hair in his fists, screaming as slow tears poured down his cheeks.

One after another.

It was as if he had died too.

The manor remained indifferent—silent, routine, as if you had never even been there to begin with.

Birds chirped. The fireplace crackled. What had it all been for?

For the first days, Frederick barely existed. He could not sleep, could not eat. He only played—played and played on the piano, pouring despair and anger into it, almost breaking it several times.
He screamed atop melodies, cried in silent moments when the anguish overwhelmed him.

It was so unfair. Why did it always have to be him.

He knew it would end like this.
Everyone had left.
He was an unwanted, useless child—not even his family wanted him.

So why had he dared to think he could have something as precious as you?

[yoshinoritoshi]

Not Richard babytrapping </3 kinda diabolical

Is it really a trap if you're leglocking him?

[scenesniper]

Hello hello, good day to you! If you don't mind may I request general headcanons for Matthias? (I got attached to him pretty quickly after multiple successful kites)

Tysm!

☆ matthias czernin ; general sfw & nsfw headcanons

pairing / matthias czernin x afab gn! reader

disclaimer / mention of blowjobs, finger fucking, tit fucking, dry humping

word count / 1,005 words

author's note / thank you anon, i'm having a good day i hope you are as well! i've been meaning to write about matthias for awhile (really, he's been in my drafts for a month now) so getting this request made me more motivated to finish.

SFW

☆ ”welcome, to the outstanding show..” a human so stiff as if he’s a puppet, he could easily be mistaken as one indeed. if there was no puppet in sigh, there’d be no telling that he was truly the puppeteer in charge.

☆ matthias czernin, a gloomy man with his drooped eyes that’d have mothers clutching their children’s shoulders as they walk past by him in the street, whispering, ”don’t look at him..” he looks almost unremarkable at first glance but if not for that burnt side of his.

☆ he’s not one to talk much, his expression seemingly to wander elsewhere and his eyes looking downwards. he’s one that lacks self confidence and self respect but oh, he so badly wants a sense of normalcy in this life. a mundane life.

☆ his uncertainty and hesitance towards commitment is clear, even after developing a relationship firsthand. he’s riddled with insecurities but god, does he love the idea of pursuing a romantic relationship. something that he’s lacked his entire life. he’d like it if you could meet him, outside of his family, his personal life. outside of ever meeting louis.

☆ matthias would certainly be lacking in the romantic field but he’d be a romantic at heart, albeit shy and very discreetly. fleeting, hidden touches of your hands in the dark or under covers. he’s not one to necessarily initiate, nor really enraptured with physical touch. however, he’d notice there’d be days where he would miss you and your touch.

☆ conversations with matthias would be with substance. he’s not a big fan on small talk, something that he’s always not been the best at. however, he’d always try his best to engage in it, only for you really.

☆ he would love to take you out, even if it’s a small outing. any moment with you is more than enough to him, a fleeting moment of you is everything to him. just to get away from his past, future, present.

☆ kissing with matthias can and could be awkward, he’s not experienced whatsoever and it’s more of a small and fast peck. but when it’s those days, when he’s completely so infatuated and need you ever so badly, he’d take you like a crazed man. it’s messy, sloppy and horrible, but you can feel those porcelain lips of his on you and really, that’s all that matters in that moment.

NSFW

☆ overtime, he would get confident on himself and those brief periods of yearning would turn into makeout sessions, him struggling to take off his layers of clothing and him gently pushing you on his bed, the sight of you all laid out for him.

☆ he’s hasty each and every time with you, not knowing where to look or how to act when he sees your naked sight. he’s embarrassed and feels as though he’s committing a great sin just having this view all to himself. but that turns him on even more.

☆ matthias czernin in bed is much more confident in both his personality and ability during bed, as if a switch is being turned on. he loves to take the reigns, to finally have some sense of control in his life. he’s slow and serious.

☆ he loves you giving him blowjobs, guiding you by your hair and pulling and tugging. those sounds of gagging that’ll come out of you and that feeling of his cock hitting the back of your throat, he can’t last as long as he likes. rather than cumming inside of your mouth, he much prefers it if he cum outside of it as he doesn’t like how disrespectful it could be.

☆ matthias is someone that’s attentive. he’ll have his hands all around you as if you’re a doll, occasionally touching you in places just to get any elicit response. whether it’s him rubbing your nipples, playing with your clit and shoving his fingers deep in you. oh, how he loves the sight of his fingers deep in your womb. “you’re almost taking it all in..”

☆ he’s very sensitive in every part of his cock but especially the area hidden and lifted up from his foreskin. tease his foreskin, tease him and graze your lips. that just absolutely drives him crazy.

☆ he wants to hear your every sound, something that reassures him that he’s doing good. he’s very vocal but tries to shield it (which he really isn’t good at, at all). the sight of you burying your head in your pillow while he’s balls deep in you, is a sight that’s practically ingrained in his mind every second of the day.

☆ he has a boob and ass fixation, his hands are always on it or nearing those areas. whether it’s him licking your entire nipples, squeezing, or even tit fucking (no matter the size).

☆ he loves clothed humping, the feeling of friction. he could do foreplay for as long as possible, pinching your nipples through your clothes, his clothed cock poking you from behind and his other hand splayed around your entire stomach. he's absolutely in love with the sight of his rubbing cock on you as you’re clothed.

☆ his most certain favorite position is cowgirl. however, he’s very insecure of his “ghastly” appearance. he’d sometimes raise his hands near his face as if it’s out of habit to conceal himself.

☆ reassure him by putting his hands down, kissing each and every part of those “imperfections”, people would call him as they jab. praise him for his beauty and all that he is. he truly needs it. to return those affections, he loves to put his hands on your face. his thumb grazing your cheek and nearing your eye.

☆ aftercare with matthias would always be one with a bath drawn. he loves to feel and be clean. he’d love to help you dry your hair and you helping him with his afterwards. something about it just seems so.. domestic to him. it’s a heartwarming comfort to him.

[yoshinoritoshi]

…i want to suck off matthias until he’s overstimulated >////< i swear he’d make the cutest sounds

Yes absolutely I agree.

NSFW.

Something like...

"Ah... It's too much... Hngh- wait! Ahn- no! If you keep going- please- I'm gonna die...! ...c-cumming...! Againnnn!"

All while mewling and moaning as his thighs literally tremble from overstimulation, it's way too cute. Not to mention him whining for you to stop... Oh Matty, I could never stop when you're so adorable!

He's going to end up totally cum brained at the end...

[yoshinoritoshi]

Clearly Minded (SFW)

Frederick Kreiburg (Clear Rationality) x Fem!Reader. (8.6k)

Summary: Men are terrible and vicious creatures, so it's best to keep your distance and just play along.

•

•

You've grown up hearing about the tales of the cruel men of the sea.

Horrible brutes they are, creatures of evil, barbaric beings that those in the sky spawned to punish those below.

Peeking your head out from below the dock, you gaze at the men working to secure their ships to the wooden masts with barnacles clinging on for dear life. Large ropes that creak and groan under the pressure of keeping the swaying boats from simply floating away into the open sea, uncaring to the ocean's desire to reclaim them.

Clearly Minded.

Happy mermay! I've been looking forward to writing for Frederick, even if it is one of his skins... Funny, when I joined IDV he only had one A Tier, his COA skin (which I couldn't get)... Now look at him!! Two released in one year!!!

[yoshinoritoshi]

Frederick thoughts pretty please 💖💖💖

Hmm... Okay! Let's see...

•

Frederick doesn't like wearing clothing that exposes his arms, legs, or torso, because his chimerism makes his skin look dappled. (Like the fur patterns of a horse). While it's easy to cover the markings on his face and neck with makeup, a full body coverage just isn't possible, so it makes him uncomfortable to be seen... vulnerable.

Related to the above point, he is insecure about his 'curse', the permanent markings it's left on him, and how others perceive him... Frederick desires comfort, assurance, yet he doesn't know how to accept it, even from you. Even after coming to accept your affection and your care for him, it's a lifelong problem... One that'll take a long time for him to fully overcome, but as long as you're willing, he is too.

On top of all that, he also struggles a lot with intimacy. He isn't used to being a relationship that isn't merely transactional in some form- so sometimes, he furthers things without even thinking about it. When you swoop in for a quick side hug before a match, he kisses you deeply, and then has to internally scold himself for 'moving too fast' while leaving you dazed at the smooch. Later on, he will apologize for rushing you so early in the day, and insist you "Refrain from indulging him" for the rest of the week.

...you indulge him a lot.

[yoshinoritoshi]

Yoshi I am madly in love with you!! Please write Richard Sterling beating us up!! I am not lying about loving you to kiss up and get this!! Pleas ebelieve me!!! I have a good heart!!!

Oh fine, a special little treat for y'all since I was buttered up so well.

Warnings: dead dove, violence, slight misogyny mention (doesn't matter if you're not a girl, you're girl enough to him), reader has no gender but is in an arranged marriage with him

•

•

"I told you not to try running again, yet the moment I turn my back..." Grunting angrily, he tugs on your hair firmly as he drags you back home, ignoring your crying and pleading.

"It hurts...! Please stop...! Ack- ow!"

His grip doesn't relent till he's pulled you through the front door, quickly motioning for the maids and butlers to leave you two be... Before kneeling in front of you and grabbing down of your hands.

"My darling... What has upset you so much to try leaving me? You were doing so, so well." Looking down, you try to avoid gazing at his face, but his nails digging into your palms direct you otherwise, and you obey.

He looks saddened, his frown is deep and his eyes are wide with expectation, but you know it isn't genuine. Nothing with Richard is. None of his love is real, you finally remembered that after so long of trying to push your feelings aside and do whatever he wanted.

Swallowing hard, you bite your lip and shake your head, refusing to speak.

Standing up, he refuses to let go of your hands, even when you lightly try to pull them away, "...my songbird, won't you grace me with your lovely voice?"

Refusing further, you know he's going to punish you for it, but you can't explain yourself. You ran away because you felt like it, and he will hate that answer, because it's what you always used to say when he first forced you to marry him. Back then, he would apologize and promise to do better for you...

You used to believe him, too. Now though, you know better, and he doesn't try to sugarcoat himself like that very often anymore.

Eyes blazing, he growls, "Fine. Be that way. I'll force you to speak, then."

There isn't a second between his lips closing for you to react, as his hands let go of yours so he can grab your shoulders and push you down to the floor, uncaring that you stumble or that you hit your head up on the wood. He's on top of you the next moment, straddling your midsection as the fireplace illuminates him from the side, leaving you gasping in surprise.

"Don't worry, I know to not punch a woman in her stomach."

It's your only warning of what's to come before he punches your face, a clear impact that nearly knocks you out as you lift your arms to protect yourself. Richard doesn't care, hitting you again and again on your arms as you close your eyes and gasp in pain.

"You really hate me so much?" He pants, "I'll embrace that then, make this marriage a real hell for you."

You want to cry, especially when you can already feel the bruise beginning to form on your cheek from his first punch, but that's not what hurts the very most.

It's the fact that everyone is going to see these marks... But they're not going to care. You remember when Richard bruised you that first week of your marriage, all the maids said was that 'it was a necessary discipline'. None of them care about you, they just wish to make Richard happy, so they're all complacent is his mistreatment.

When he begins to beat on your chest, hard enough to mark but not enough to break anything, you finally snap, "Ngh- ah! I'm s-sorry!" Sobbing, you even uncovered your face, hoping to earn any sympathy, "P-please! Richard! I'm sorry!"

His own chest is having from the anger he worked up within himself, but upon seeing your face, he sighs and leaves his hands upon your skin. They don't lift up to hit or smack you again, so you feel a wave of relief.

"...truly, you mean it?" Like this, he almost sounds like a little kid, leaning down to force you to gaze upon his face. "You know I love you the very most, don't you? That these punishments are for your own good?"

You begin to shake your head before recalling he wants your voice, "I know! Of course I know!" Lifting up your sore arms, you gently cup his jaw and smile, just like he always wants you to.

"There you are... There's my sweetheart, my songbird." Pleased by your obedience, he leans down and kisses you softly, his hands moving away from your chest to caress your cheek longingly. Uncaring when you twinge upon his touch, or that you whine in pain as he feels the sore skin.

"Richard..." You murmur against his lips when he pulls away, giving you a charming smile as he looks down upon your submissive form. He then moves himself off of you, not to leave, but to sit by your exhausted body and look upon the fireplace beside you.

"I apologize for lashing out, my love." Never once has he meant that, and you know it.

"...I'm sorry too." Those stunning eyes of his catch yours as he turns around to watch you sit up, a grin splitting his face before he rests his cheek upon his fist, raising his eyebrow.

"Oh? What for?"

Damn it, he's got you right where he wants you, and you walked right into it. "For upsetting you..."

"You can make it up to me later tonight, songbird."

You fell for it again... No, you always fall for it; he makes it impossible not to.

With fear in your heart and bruises forming on your flesh, you nod, forcing a smile while he pulls you close to his side and kisses your temple. "I'll make it up to you as well."

[lumenwoodd]

‘Like a true knight would’

[identityua]

Haha... hi... slides in so cooly and normal-y... I hope you're doing well!! :D

I always find it so so interesting seeing people's relationship headcanons?? So if you're down for it, could we potentially see headcanons regarding a relationship with Richard Sterling and a gender neutral reader? If not that is so chill 🫡 I just think he's so neat & even with the little bit we've been given lore-wise, he's genuinely really interesting.

Anyways, thank you if you do, and no hard feelings if ya don't!! 🫶 :3

I don’t know what you guys see in him… but who am I to judge? Let me know If I messed up his character, I went purely off the canon knowledge here. (Also omg I finally finished my midterms, we can start the finals prep now!)

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

R. STERLING HCS

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

PAIRINGS: Richard Sterling x GN! Reader

WARNINGS: Sensitive content. Richard being Richard, abusive/toxic relationship dynamics, mentions of intentional harm. Read at your own discretion...

Not proofread!

Source: ianrkives

Let’s start with a little analysis!

You can rely on Mariyka to never sugarcoat someone’s personality or flaws. Maybe, some like to portray this “Knight” as a lovesick, obsessive, manipulative romantic. A dark fantasy, so to say. A term that is often applied to this character archetype is “yandere” — an individual willing to do anything for their love.

Here’s the big kicker. Richard cannot love.

One thorough glance at your partner’s mind under a microscope can tell us a lot about his mental health. Let me put my nerd glasses on as I diagnose Mr. Sterling. Psychopathy and narcissism, textbook examples. While of course not everyone with the diagnostic criteria will push their "sister" down a flight of stairs, the shoe fits unfortunately. This one is villainous and the diagnosis does not help.

So, how does he fit the shoe? Richard does not display empathy or remorse towards his actions, he conceals his true intentions, he is a pathological liar and has delusions of grandiose. He wants to pose as the “Knight”, the ultimate savior for his royal highness. In this case, that is you (condolences).

At first, in pursuit of your heart Richard will come off as charming and dreamy. It may seem like a fairytale! You are the delicate rose and he is the nurturing florist, attending to your every beck and call. In fact, he may proclaim undying love for you as soon as there are hints of reciprocation from your side.

He will use the gentlest words of affirmation to coax you out of your shell and learn what makes you tick. People you value, places you like, your deepest fears... All will be used to keep you glued to his side without a chance of leaving. Richard is fully committed to fostering an illusion of a perfect relationship where his beloved can hide behind his back at any sign of danger. But what to do If he is the danger? Who to call for help now?

All escape routes will be gradually cut off, leaving you to solely rely on your partner. Sterling will step-by-step isolate you away from any support net you have had before, entirely submerging your being underwater, trapped in a fishing net of his unyielding devotion. At least he tries to write it off as devotion. The kisses he showers you with are sickly-sweet honey, ignore the bitter aftertaste.

In reality, the intense feelings hammering in the "Knight's" ribcage are a twisted concoction of preoccupation with the ideal love and a sense of entitlement. He deserves to be your only one, he is the only one who can provide his lover with the best conditions. Your opinion on the matter is irrelevant, Richard knows what is best for you.

Granting you with the ability to be beside him should be an honor you flaunt akin to a precious trophy. After all, the public exclusively sees his affectionate glances towards you and self-sacrificial gestures. The local aunties are in awe at this gentlemanly socialite! Play your role, whether you like it or not. If you are a disobedient actor... well, let's just say he might take some heavier measures to keep you in line.

As a mere boy, your partner was capable of manipulating servants to put them in sticky positions that endangered their well-being. Taking ladders down and leaving maids stranded on roofs, tripping up servants carrying heavy pots. Those little pranks were just a child's play (quite literally). Richard's been off his rollers for a while now, his sadistic creativity sky-rocketing with the flow of time. Tread on eggshells around this one. He may be patient, but pushing it is a bad idea.

A misstep previously cost him everything, forcing his hand at erasing the memories in the flames. He cannot mess up again. No matter how much you analyze the little twitches of your partner's face, Richard can never expose his true self. Can’t you see? He is just the perfect man catered to your desires.

Jealousy is not the right term to describe the sheer amount of hatred he has for any advances towards you. Remember, his sense of identity is built around an illusion. If someone tries to interfere with it? Richard takes it as a personal attack and responds accordingly. Quietly, not to seed any doubt that would compromise his image.

Your "lover" does not shy away from rather unconventional and at times disturbing methods of manipulation. Forget raising a hand at you, no, that would bruise his illusion of a perfect bond. Why not slip an herb you are allergic to into your tea instead? Or "coincidentally" leave you locked out of the residence for the night? A perfect opportunity to have you helplessly rely on your knight-in-shining-armor, chipping away at your self-efficacy.

"My dearest angel, I will cure thy illness.", wiping away the sweat from your feverish forehead, Sterling will grasp at your jaw just tightly enough to cause a stinging sensation. His smile is loving, yet his constricted pupils tell a different story. You write off the threat in Richard's tone alongside a chilling promise as side-effects of the brain fog. You must be seeing things. And he will go to great lengths to keep you in this vulnerable position.

Now, for the million dollar question – does Richard ever develop an attachment to you? The answer is surprisingly yes! However, there are some complications.

Within the first stages of your relationship the "Knight" sees no further than your usefulness in his ideal play. A resource to be discarded If it loses value. Gradually, that fixation begins to make a tiny space for you as a person. Richard finds himself genuinely intrigued by your personality traits and interests, which confuses him to no end. How did he come around to purchase your favorite novel, not because it caresses his ego... but because he wants you to enjoy it? Conflicting and unprocessed emotions will simmer in his mind, resulting in irritation. Then, wariness. Finally, acceptance.

Perhaps, for the first time in his emotionally bland life, there is a sense other than morbid curiosity. Should this realization excuse your partner's malicious actions? Absolutely not! The manipulation will not subside at any point, his delusional goals will keep you on your toes no matter what.

Yet, there will be flowers every morning by your bedside, their fragrance thoughtfully matching your preferences. Richard finds it amusing to scratch this unexplored itch of placing importance onto another person. Don't even think about leaving him. It was never an option the moment you've interlocked your hands in a promise of an eternal love. As the "Knight" he is forever loyal to your bond and the same sentiment is expected in return.

[yoshinoritoshi]

I'm too newgen to know...

But have y'all seen some of the JP Twitter in-character replies of IDV characters?!?!?

Here's some of Joseph's...

Joseph the man you are... One of these replies is literally on my birthday too, gah! It's literally he really was made for me 🥰🥰🥰

Unfortunately, the google doc I found has only some of the replies translated, and it doesn't have any past 2021, but still, it was very useful for finding some older content like this that I never would have seen otherwise!

Who knew I wrote Joseph so in character in that fic I wrote earlier this year... Huh. I'm just that good at reading him, I suppose.

[mercillery]

You already know who this is lmao. Since you wrote Andrew perfectly from IDV I GOTTA see how you write Frederick relationship overview 🙏💕 I love my poor disgruntled ex prodigee French man

WARNINGS: GENDER NOT SPECIFIED + NOT PROOFREAD

NOTES: I’ve got nothing to say about Frederick mains yet because I stopped playing around his release…but i’m sure his mains are fun to play with. I imagine they accidentally pop ciphers a lot too.

At first, Frederick would charm you in a way that feels almost unfair, like he’s playing a game you didn’t know you’d signed up for???

You’d find yourself completely entranced by Frederick—there’s no escaping it. This man doesn’t just walk into a room; he makes an entrance with a grace so smooth it practically slides in on polished shoes. He’s got this natural elegance that makes you wonder if he spends his weekends secretly training under some Victorian-era etiquette coach.

Every word, every subtle movement, is meticulously chosen to leave a lasting impression. You can almost hear a soundtrack playing whenever he talks. His gaze? Oh, it’s not just looking at you; it’s reading your very soul, flipping through your emotional pages like a well-loved book. This guy has the power to sweep any lady off their feet, whether they want to be swept or not. But don’t get too worried—you’re not just anyone to Frederick.

Dating Frederick is like a high-stakes thriller with poetic intermissions. When he’s chosen you as his focus, you’ll know it. He’s as devoted as a knight in shining armor with an artistic twist. Forget flowers—he’s out there composing symphonies that embody the way you laugh or the way you wrinkle your nose when you’re annoyed.

And yes, he’s that extra. But it’s not all rainbows and heartfelt sonatas. His passion runs as deep as the Mariana Trench, and with that comes a protective streak that would put guard dogs to shame.

His moments of jealousy? Let’s just say he doesn’t do halfway—Frederick only knows extremes. If you so much as wave at your barista a second too long, brace yourself for a brooding soliloquy about loyalty and his existential fear of being forgotten.

See, the man doesn’t just want to be liked or loved; he needs to be your everything. He’s got this internal scoreboard and if he’s not winning the gold medal in your heart, what’s the point? To Frederick, being mediocre is worse than losing—it’s being invisible, and he won’t settle for that. And honestly, why should he?

When it comes to love, Frederick doesn't do simple—no, he composes entire symphonies that could put Hollywood’s most dramatic love themes to shame. His idea of showing affection? It’s nothing short of an epic masterpiece.

You’d find yourself at the center of a grand concerto, where each note is painstakingly crafted to echo the highs, the lows, and those delicious in-betweens of your relationship. And, of course, private performances would become as routine as morning coffee.

Picture this: Frederick seated at a piano, fingers dancing across the keys, eyes darting to your face every other second as if he's trying to capture every flicker of your reaction. Is that awe? Is that admiration? Good. He’ll take that as a win. Your approval? It’s like a five-star review in a world where his love language is measured in crescendos and decrescendos.

But let's not forget—Frederick is a hopeless romantic, the kind who’s read Wuthering Heights one too many times and thought, Yeah, I can top that.

Love letters? Oh, they’re not just notes; they’re beautifully penned, metaphor-laden works of art that could make Shakespeare sit down and take notes. Candlelit concerts? He’s already planned three for next month, complete with a playlist that rivals the greatest romantic ballads in history.

And the surprises don’t stop there; you'll find flowers and little notes tucked into places you'd never expect: your bag, the fridge, maybe even the laundry hamper (don’t ask how they got there).

But for all his flair, Frederick isn’t just about grand gestures. There are those quieter, softer moments that catch you off guard and remind you that his love is as layered as one of his symphonies.

A simple lean of his head on your shoulder while you read, a touch so subtle you almost question if it happened, or that electric, intense gaze from across a crowded room—those moments are like a secret shared between the two of you. It’s like speaking an unspoken language, one where every glance and touch is a verse in an ever-unfolding poem that only the two of you understand.

Frederick’s sensitivity is a double-edged sword in your relationship, like owning a cat that’s both affectionate and completely unpredictable. On one hand, his perceptiveness is unmatched. This man could tell you’re upset from the way you’re stirring your coffee or the subtle shift in your smile.

Before you even have the chance to sigh, he’s there with those eyes full of concern, ready to listen and offer comfort that feels like a warm blanket on a cold day. It’s this deep empathy that forges an almost magical connection between you two, making you feel seen and understood in a way that’s rare. When Frederick’s with you, he’s with you—body, mind, and soul.

But there’s a catch, and it’s a big one.

His own emotions are about as stable as a teetering Jenga tower in the middle of an earthquake. Frederick feels everything on a scale of 1 to 100, with no in-between. Did you forget to say goodnight because you fell asleep? Prepare for an orchestra of internal questioning that could rival Hamlet’s soliloquy. Did you compliment a friend’s new jacket without immediately reassuring him that he still has the best taste in the room? Cue the silent spiral of doubt. He doesn’t just overthink—he over-operas. (Am I funny yet or do I just sound corny?)

Reassurance isn’t just appreciated; it’s essential. A simple “I’m here for you” can turn his internal storm into a calm, clear sky. Without it, his mind becomes a symphony of self-doubt, complete with the tragic overture of “Are they slipping away?”

And while it might sound exhausting, knowing this about Frederick means you’re sharing in something unique: a relationship where vulnerability is met with raw honesty and a commitment to each other’s emotional landscapes. Just be prepared for those moments when your calming words are the only thing standing between him and a full Shakespearean-level existential crisis.

While Frederick effortlessly projects an aura of undeniable charm and sophistication, it’s in those rare, private moments that you get to see beyond the polished exterior. These are the times when the cracks in his armor show, and you catch glimpses of the man behind the grandeur.

He’ll sit beside you, the gleam in his eyes softened, and open up about the disappointments that still gnaw at him. He’ll talk about the aching void left by his estranged family, the times he felt abandoned, and the relentless fear of mediocrity that follows him like a shadow he can’t shake.

It’s then you realize that his vanity isn’t just there to dazzle; it’s a well-crafted shield, desperately protecting the perfection-seeking artist who’s terrified of being truly seen and found wanting. In these moments, your acceptance of him—raw, imperfect, and honest—is worth more than a standing ovation at a sold-out concert.

But, spoiler alert: listening quietly won’t cut it.

He doesn’t just want to see that you’re present; he needs to hear your voice, feel your words like a balm on his frayed nerves. A silent nod isn’t enough when his mind is a cacophony of insecurities. He craves your reassurance like it’s the only song that can drown out the dissonance of self-doubt.

Then there are those times when Frederick’s paranoia takes center stage, and his brain transforms into a crime scene investigator looking for clues of your potential disinterest. Did you pause a beat too long before answering a question? He’ll dissect that silence like a forensic expert, eyes narrowing as if you just handed him the Rosetta Stone of heartbreak.

Even your simplest words or expressions are put under a microscope, magnified until he’s convinced he’s found proof that you’re slipping away. And yes, this can lead to some tension that’ll have you wondering if you’re in a relationship or a 24/7 reality show with constant performance reviews.

But here’s the twist—your patience and understanding are the keys to unlocking the security he craves. Sure, it might feel like you’re on an emotional tightrope at times, but when you take that moment to reassure him, to tell him he’s enough, you’ll see the tension melt away, and the storm in his eyes settle. Your steady, confident love is what helps Frederick silence the relentless chorus of doubt, making him feel seen, cherished, and—finally—secure.

Frederick has an eye for beauty, a radar for aesthetics, and a deep appreciation for life’s most elegant experiences, so if you’re with him, get ready for a whirlwind of high-class romance. Dates with Frederick aren’t just nights out—they’re productions.

Picture this: a night at the opera where he’s reserved the best seats, just for you and him, leaning close to whisper his insights on the music while his fingers absentmindedly trace patterns on your arm. Or an evening spent at a prestigious art gallery where he guides you from piece to piece, sharing stories and perspectives that make the artwork come alive.

Even a simple walk in the park with Frederick is elevated; he’s not just strolling—he’s carefully navigating to the most scenic routes, stopping at every blooming flower and golden-lit pond to take in the view and share a quiet moment of awe with you. He’ll glance at you with that expectant smile, as if to say, Isn’t this incredible?—and yes, he’ll definitely be checking to see if you agree.

And yes, if you’re wondering, he does have standards—expectations, even. Frederick doesn’t want to enjoy these experiences alone; he wants to bask in your shared appreciation, revel in your mutual admiration for art, architecture, and all things exceptional.

He’ll be delighted to show you off to his social circle, introducing you with a certain pride, as if you’re the finest piece in his collection of treasured things. But with that comes an unspoken agreement that you’ll match his refined demeanor and partake in his world of cultured conversation and elegant gestures.

Now, don’t get me wrong, he’s not expecting you to memorize 18th-century sonatas overnight or debate the merits of impressionism versus post-impressionism at every cocktail party. But if he catches even the slightest yawn during a concert or a vague, non-committal “It was fine” when he asks your thoughts on an exhibit—oh boy, brace yourself.

His brows will furrow in a way that says Is this really happening?, and suddenly, the air will feel a bit tense, like you’ve hit a wrong note in the symphony of his evening. He thrives on shared enthusiasm, so when he doesn’t see that spark in your eyes, he’s left wondering if you’re really on the same page or if you’d rather be anywhere else.

The key to navigating these moments? Patience and a touch of reassurance that, yes, you’re in this for the full experience—fancy outfits, whispered critiques at the opera, picturesque paths and all.

One thing about Frederick? He holds mediocrity in absolute contempt. This extends beyond his own aspirations and into the realm of your relationship, which, to him, is just another area where greatness must reign supreme.

If you're with Frederick, get ready for a personal coach, cheerleader, and, occasionally, an overly intense life mentor wrapped into one. He’ll push you to chase your dreams and won’t just clap when you reach a milestone—he’ll give you a standing ovation, complete with dramatic applause.

But with that passionate encouragement comes an edge; Frederick will also be your most unsparing critic, the kind who’ll say, “That was good, but it could be phenomenal,” right when you’re ready to celebrate. It’s motivating, sure, but if you don’t share his relentless pursuit of excellence or just need a break now and then, it might feel like you’re jogging beside someone who’s running an ultra-marathon…

If you really want Frederick to beam like he just won an award, show a genuine love for his craft or nurture a passion of your own. Respect for talent and hard work is practically woven into his DNA, so when he sees that you have your own spark, that’s when you become more than just a partner—you’re his muse, his equal, the one who fuels his artistic spirit.

Conversations with Frederick are not your run-of-the-mill small talk. Forget chatting about the weather or weekend plans; he’s here to unravel the mysteries of the human mind, ponder the nature of ambition, and debate the intricacies of creativity.

His interest in dissecting emotions, motivations, and talent isn’t just a casual hobby; it’s like he’s running a one-man TED Talk every time he opens his mouth.

And you? You’ll probably find yourself nodding along, wide-eyed, captivated by the way he speaks with such eloquence that even the most mundane statement sounds profound.

Honestly, he could say, “An orange is orange,” and you’d be nodding like, “Absolutely, that’s so true,” while trying not to swoon from the sheer brilliance of his delivery.

That said, these conversations aren’t just one-sided lectures. Frederick expects engagement, intellectual back-and-forth, even if it turns into a bit of a debate. And make no mistake—he’s got strong opinions and isn’t afraid to challenge yours, especially when it comes to art and talent.

But here’s the thing: he respects those who can spar with him in these verbal duels. If you stand your ground and hold your own, you’ll earn a rare, approving smile that makes all those philosophical tangents worth it.

Plus, there’s something quite mesmerizing about listening to him—his voice, rich and confident, pulls you in, and you’re left thinking, “Yes, Frederick, tell me more about the complexities of human nature and why oranges are orange,” while internally planning your Nobel Prize acceptance speech for keeping up with him.

Beneath Frederick’s air of grandeur and confident public persona, there’s a side of him that only you get to see—a soft, almost fragile version of himself that craves simple, unguarded intimacy. These are the moments when he lets the mask slip and the weight of being Frederick Kreiburg, the heir, the prodigy, the perfectionist, melts away.

It’s in these quiet interludes that you find him seeking solace, laying his head in your lap as you read, his fingers idly tracing patterns on your knee while he closes his eyes, enjoying the rare sense of peace. He doesn’t need to fill the silence with grand words or impressive declarations. In your shared space, the performance is over; he’s just Frederick, vulnerable and human, grateful that he doesn’t have to strive for perfection in your presence. Your presence alone is enough to soothe the symphony of doubt that usually plays on loop in his mind.

And while he might dazzle the crowds with his musical prowess and philosophical musings, one of his quieter passions is equestrianism—a skill that, unlike many of his pursuits, isn’t about impressing others but about finding a rare moment of freedom. It’s a pastime that lets him shed the pressure and simply enjoy life for what it is, the rhythmic pounding of hooves syncing with his heartbeat as he gallops across open fields, feeling the wind tug at his platinum hair.

When he invites you to join him on horseback rides, it’s more than just an activity; it’s an invitation into this private realm where he feels unburdened and alive. Teaching you to ride? Oh, he’ll approach it with all the patience and joy that he usually reserves for his most cherished pursuits. He’ll guide you with an amused smile as you find your balance, his hand never straying too far from yours, ready to steady you at the slightest wobble.

But nothing makes his heart lift quite like seeing you experience the same exhilaration that riding brings him. That shared thrill—the wind in your hair, the laughter that bubbles up as you both race through sun-dappled trails—is something he treasures. It’s one of the few times where his worries, ambitions, and relentless pursuit of excellence fade into the background, and it’s just the two of you, free and unbound.

And when he looks over at you, eyes bright and a grin cracking through his otherwise composed demeanor, you realize that, yes, this is Frederick at his happiest—not the heir or the virtuoso, but a man who, for once, is simply living in the moment, sharing it with the one person who makes it all more vibrant.

Ah, the shadows of Frederick’s past—a specter that never quite left him, always lingering in the corners of his mind, whispering doubts and sowing restlessness. There are days when this presence looms larger, and he becomes a man consumed by his inner turmoil, pacing like a caged lion or retreating into the sanctuary of his study.

In these moments, it’s like he’s waging a war with his thoughts, wrestling with the frustration of creative blocks or the relentless voice that tells him he’s never enough. He might shut the world out, drowning himself in a storm of music that’s as chaotic as his thoughts, fingers flying over the keys, each note a plea for peace that never quite comes.

It’s during these times that your role is both simple and profound. You may not know it, but your quiet, unwavering presence is the lighthouse guiding him through the storm.

A soft touch, the brush of your hand against his arm as you pass by, or just sitting in the room while he spirals—these things are the lifelines he doesn’t always know how to ask for but desperately needs. And while you might think that just being there isn’t enough, oh, how wrong you’d be.

The truth is, your patience and silent support do more than calm the chaos; they remind him that he isn’t alone in the struggle. Your reassurance is like a hidden chord in his symphony, one he clings to when the rest feels dissonant.

Of course, it’s not always easy. There will be times when the emotional weight feels as if it’s pressing down on you too, and you catch yourself thinking, Is this worth it?

And then you remember—remember the man behind the polished façade, the one who laughs a little too loudly when he’s truly caught off guard, or who looks at you with such raw, unguarded affection that it makes your heart stutter. The one who finds solace in resting his head in your lap and who lights up when he shares the simple joy of a horseback ride. The man who, despite his brilliance and bravado, is just as flawed and human as anyone else.

And in those moments, it doesn’t feel so exhausting. It feels like you’re part of something beautiful and rare—like you’re holding a piece of someone that no one else gets to touch, no matter how flawless his public persona may seem.

You realize that while being with Frederick comes with its trials, it also comes with moments of breathtaking vulnerability and love so consuming that it makes every struggle worth it. Because underneath the charm, the intensity, and the restless ambition is a man who, at the end of the day, needs you more than he’ll ever admit out loud. And that? That makes it all worthwhile.

[bloodstainedgauntlet]

whats that kink called that you get from reading too much fantasy lit as a child that makes you want to be tortured in front of someone who loves you so you can see the pleading desperation in their eyes and hear how much they love you in between the cracks of their voice and really truly believe they would do anything to save you. also you get to look so cool and brave and covered in blood and soooo able to withstand pain haha no just me? ok

[nekocelleng]

衣川季肋 FA