This is an OC-centric blog for @scummy-writes' OC, Constance.
It will be treated as a journaling blog for her and where I will also answer questions, reblog things relating to her from my writing blog, reblog things she may like (photos), as well as post any comms/drawings I have of her. Interaction with other OCs are okay, however I have not managed a blog like this before so <:) there may be hiccups.
She/Her - Paired with Gilbert - Resides in Rhodolite primarily.
Raffle prize from @kitsurei17 - skrunkle cheebs of Gil and Constance.
Pictures on here may seem random and not showing up on my blogs elsewhere, but I usually save/print all pictures of Constance and use them elsewhere...
It’s a quiet rarity to wake up before Gilbert. In your time together, you had lost count of all the times you had awoken to Gilbert’s eye soaking in your features, his sly smile as he stole the first kiss of the morning from you. Today, however, you stretch and sigh pleasantly before realizing there’s no teasing words awaiting you, and in turning you discover your lover still fast asleep.
You can’t help the wonderment that steals your attention in seeing him so vulnerable, so peaceful in sleep. Without thought, your thumb slowly finds his cheek, stroking, easing him from dreams and into reality. It’s slow like the early morning light, but he wakes, eyelids fluttering open in a lazy gaze while he breathes in deep. He smiles upon registering you, words still laden with sleep as he speaks.
“Mmm… What is it, little-”
It’s all he can muster before your lips are on his, greedily stealing what was left to say. Gilbert doesn’t respond, just feels the warmth of you seeping into him with each press of your mouth, but soon he realizes what is happening, and he responds in kind.
This early, his teeth only greet you in gentle tugs of your bottom lip. Small nibbles to elicit soft sighs. Yet you’re treated to much more than you initially hoped; his own sighs mingling with yours, lulled moans of your name coming from his reddened lips.
It entices you to become more bold.
Between the kisses, you reach past your nightgown, hurriedly removing your underwear before you climb on top of his body with ease, pressing your sex against his clothed erection.
Gilbert groans, a mixture of your name and a curse escaping him in wonder before his hands find your hips, clumsily searching for underwear not present as you tug his member free.
You’re not thinking past your desires, and they plead for you to act on impulses. The second his cock hits the morning air, you’re pressing it against your folds, grinding for friction against your swollen clit.
“Little rabbit,” he rasps, brows knit as he gazes up at you. Stars aren’t in his eyes, only the burning embers of lust mixed with wonderment: he’s never had you like this. Desperate for him so openly without his coaxing.
His voice just spurs you further, feeling shivers down your skin that the pet name still incites. Sliding your hands up your torso, you lean over him so that your lips can meet once more. So that you can taste the hint of pleas on his tongue, but never voiced.
His hands grasp your rear, squeezing, helping move you to rub the head of his cock against your entrance. Wanting to tease yourself alongside him, you press your hips down just enough to take the head of his length in, then slowly drag it out. It’s enough to make him grunt into the kiss, his nails to dig into your cheeks, before you push down again in the same manner.
Clenching your inner walls, pressing him against that wonderful spot within you.
It’s him that breaks the kiss. A groan unbidden, and you use it to your advantage - nipping along his jaw, rewarding him with a moan of his name. It does nothing but fuel the desires between you, and his hands grip hard, but refuse to force you down.
Nails drag along his skin, etching thin and raised lines on his chest as you settle back onto your knees. The motion has his length easing deeper inside of you, his mouth slack in a silent groan as you take him in to the hilt.
It’s easy to see the beast inside of him trying to wake. His muscles tense as he tries to shift to his elbows, to begin to sit and control the movements from this point onward- but you’re faster. With a firm hand, you push back on his chest and force him against the sheets, shaking your head as your hips lift. Inching him back out until only the head of his cock remains, and then-
“Mmmph… taking the reins today? Ah!” He sucks in a breath as your hips slam back down, a gasp breaking free as stars fill your head.
How can you be so sensitive just from this? It feels as though your body is sizzling in barely contained excitement, fires burning within you begging for more fuel to send them blazing. The answer becomes clear, however, when you look down at your lover. Beneath you, he's melting into the sheets with a lazy grin, gazing up at you with such intense love glowing in his eyes that it steals your breath away.
The pace you languidly set makes you sigh happily, eyes fluttering shut as pleasure creeps over your skin. Gone are the anxieties that usually lay heavy upon you. Instead, your mouth opens with mewls you rarely voice, beginning to rise in tempo while you work your hips faster, harder.
You want nothing more than to feel his lips on you, to steal warmth in the way of kisses and suckling marks upon your skin. But the moment he does so, you know you'll be doomed to lose control, to naturally submit to his spoiling.
No. This morning, you want to let him feel as though he's still relishing in dreams, to succumb to your needy display of love for him.
Each drag of his cock along your walls makes your toes curl, lewd noises of your sex clapping against his fill the room. Panting heavily, you finally venture your hands along your body, seeking your sensitive spots, groping your breasts. It draws out a moan of his name, and Gilbert echos it with one of your own.
He still refuses to take control away from you, keeping his hold firm on your hips, following the roll of them with his own. His eyes never leave your face, watching intently, soaking such a display in to burn into his memory.
But you notice something new: his tongue darting out to lick his lips, words attempting to form before he decides against it. The moment you notice is the moment you realize just how lonely your mouth feels.
Stretching over him, you cup his cheeks and bring your lips together with a fierce kiss, whimpering his name as your clit brushes against his pelvis. In seconds, one of his hands entwines with your hair, keeping you in place as he feverishly presses bruising kisses against your mouth, little gasps of your name said between them: a prayer of his, a mantra that makes your head spin more and more.
The reason is clear as he finally shares control with you, pushing his hips to meet yours on every thrust you direct, an unheard of keen leaving his throat as his brows furrow. You've driven him to new depths of voicing his need, and each slip of his pleasure has your confidence swell.
You manage to break apart from his lips, even when he nips yours once in an attempt to coax you back. To make up for it, your teeth trace his neck, worrying the skin there as you clench your inner walls, pulling another groan from him. He's so close. The impatience behind his actions, the way his neediness is rising, forfeiting subtly by the rise of his hips, the lapse in control of his hips.
“Gil,” the nickname is soft on your tongue, rolling off in a seductive tone you rarely muster. In response, his grip on you tightens, “you're the only one who can fill me up, Gil. I need it- I need you. I need to feel you deep inside me. Claiming me- mmph!”
Your own words are broken apart as he groans, pushing into your cunt as deep as he can manage.
A flush of heat pulses into you, making you whimper and clench onto him- instinctively, your pussy clamps down, coaxing him to spill every drop he has. He obliges, this time taking the remnants of control, delivering a handful of slow, harsh thrusts to delve his cum in deep before he inches his cock out of your swollen cunt. Leaving you resting on top of him as he drops his head back, letting out a long sigh of relief.
It's faint, but you can feel the heat that was spilled inside you. The sensation is odd, to say the least, but not unwelcome as it fills your thoughts with satisfaction; a perverse display of his love for you, intermingled with fulfillment of your unspoken wants.
As his cum leaks from your entrance, dribbling down your labia, the droplets collect on his abdomen. There's an impulse to apologize, to sheepishly use whatever is available to wipe away the proof of your desires hitting a new peak, but with exhaustion seeping deep into your muscles, you find it hard to care. You're both preoccupied with filling your lungs again, bathing in the afterglow of new experiences.
As you breathe life back into your tired body, a familiar sensation starts to creep back into your bones. Ache. A buzz of feeling exposed… embarrassment… you feel your cheeks begin to heat up, and it's then that Gilbert chuckles into your ear, arms staying firmly wrapped around you.
Peeking up at him, you're granted a lopsided grin- one that makes his eyes crinkle in joy. And suddenly, you're not so bashful when seeing your lover so relaxed and happy.
His lips find yours in a kiss still lingering with passion from before, cupping your cheek to keep you from shying away. A nip, and he draws out a giggle, smiling into the next kiss he gives you. Again and again, until you have to break to fill your lungs once more.
“Mmn, little rabbit… I like this side of you. You'll be showing it to me more, okay?”
You hide your grin against his chest, relieved from the worry weighted upon you from exploring your desires.
Thank you, Funger music covers, for helping me finally finish this.
This has actually been a wip since...........june................ it's been rough trying to get this out - I wanted to, but life had different plans. It's hard for me to look at it without feeling like it's so-so solely due to the fact that I've reread it SO much and the imagry in my head is hard to convey to words - however!! I think despite that, this is pretty good :] I'm happier with it now. Thank you RJ for cheerin me on with this one.
I think Gilbert loves being topped, and wants to be so badly. Apparently JP version might have an event about this? I'm expecting the typical cybird cop-out, but hey! Pushed me to finally finish this!
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I talk about how I enjoy femdom quite a lot, because I do. It's usually a subject I consume more rather than write, nowadays, because of how I have been writing fanfics the past few years. Often, I don't picture myself in the shoes of the reader here, I'm imagining a character, whether that is an oc, the mc of the game, or a vague undefined character.
A lot of my fanfics have been leaning towards a reader who is more shy or unsure of herself in some ways verses others. This happened in this fanfic because it was about Constance, who i currently have written (elsewhere) that she is a victim of sexual assault.
This was a fanfic highlighting her not necessarily 'getting over' it, but not letting the usual anxieties that come from it warp her sexual relationship with Gilbert. The way he also supports/wants it is very vague and thin, because the main focus is on how Constance is trying to enjoy herself when she's in 'control' of the scenario (initiating, taking the lead, making decisions) rather than letting Gilbert guide her through it. This is why the anxiety stuff is hammered in.
I like Constance a lot, but the truth of the matter is that she is underdeveloped and will likely stay that way for another year. It took me a few years to iron out Anju and Amelie's stories, and even then I didn't manage to write much with either of them.
This blog hasn't updated in a while because I've been struggling writing due to a lot of IRL stuff, head stuff, and being busy working on commissions through that. Commissions should end Soon, and I am hoping after these last two are finished and I close comms down for good for a while, then I can write a bit more often, and expand on Constance a bit.
Who demands to go to his 'study' in the dead of night, and he chuckles as he leads you to his research room. You're clumsy, having to rely on him for your standing abilities, and he's quietly thankful for his cane.
Once the doors open, you let out a gasp and slip out of his arms, looking up at the tall windows that make up half of the wall and ceiling, the moonlight basking you in a calming glow.
He thinks you're beautiful. Even when you stumble and fall into his chair, giggling to yourself. No, you're even more beautiful then.
"Did you want to come in here for the view?"
"Oh....! No, no, the...." you wave over to the side, trying to find the words.
"The hammock?"
You nod, exaggerated, but all it does is bring a smile to both of your lips. He makes his way to the chair, holding his arm out for you to grab and pull yourself up on.
"What did my little rabbit want with the hammock?"
"It's so pretty... i want to lay there with you."
"Mmm... we'll both fit, but you'll have to rest partly on me."
You grin, letting out a quiet cheer as he takes you over to it. He sets his cane aside and strips his jacket and cravat, and the two of you awkwardly get into the hammock. It's not without some pain and giggles- you accidentally put your elbow to his stomach, and the both of you laugh as you nearly topple out - but soon you're both snuggled together under his cloak, basking in the glow of the moon.
It's peaceful. Looking at the stars. Taking in account just how big the universe is, how small the two of you are. When he glances back at you, he's reminded just how small his world is. Small enough to hold in his arms.
You tilt your head up, eyes sparkling like the stars.
"What is it?"
"You look so pretty..."
He grins. You're definitely drunk and going to be embarrassed by your words tomorrow, but his reply is a kiss. Lingering, but sweet. Thankful. He's not had a peaceful moment like this before.
Quick sketch I did of Constance @scummy-writes OC, she is lovely and I love her. We've been talking about her and Melinda being friends, and that also has been a lot of fun jashisjs
Constance is still, technically, a work in progress. This post may be updated over time, and this will be notated with a date at the bottom to show the last time it was updated. This post is a little long since I am just rambling about her as a whole.
First picrew (split hair is not an option, edited). Second picrew.
⁀➷ Basics
Constance is near her thirties, and had accepted the fact that her life would undoubtedly be a quiet one. She keeps to herself primarily, and while most may think this is due to her anxieties, it's only a small part of the overall reason.
She's short (5'2), has a little weight to her, and favors more earthy colors and purple when it comes to colors she wears. Likes to wear long sleeves with collars of some sort, with dark skirts. She has a few beauty marks in random places on her body, but nothing much else to note.
She's often seen carrying a very modest makeshift purse with her that she's sewn herself (not amazing at it, but proud of making it), that carries whatever journal she is on currently, as well as various pencils and a couple of books.
⁀➷ Background (Before becoming Belle)
Her upbringing to others sounds rough: orphaned, found, and raised by a man she has no blood ties to, but it's all she's ever known. She doesn't find it sad, and gets rather annoyed by the pity found in otherfs gazes when it's ever brought up. On a rare night where there are more self-depreciating thoughts than normal, she will muse on the ambiguity of her history, but otherwise she finds no point in getting beside herself as there could have been countless reasons she may had been abandoned.
It is, however, why she was so insistant on trying to help take care of Rio when he was found- even if he was rather unplesant at first. She had an inkling that if others treated him like her in that regard, it would do more damage than good. So even when he was an ass, she would still persist and chalk it up to difficulties surrounding why he lost his memory (and would scream into a pillow when it got too much, before promptly going on with her day).
She follows the canon Mc's story decently close, even working at the bookstore as well as living on her own, she develops a little outside of that. She does enjoy romance, but also various other fiction and some nonfiction as well. Most of her interest is in personal accounts of hardships, fictional or not, as well as just fantasy type of romances. She doesn't stray too far away from darker subjects, but tends not to discuss this with others.
Reading, writing, and drawing are her main hobbies. Rio does not get to view her journal for any reason, meanwhile her friend Maggie (vauge, npc-ish side character) does get to see tidbits. This is due to Maggie being part of a troupe, and enjoying the poems and stories Constance writes. One of her ideas became the inspiration for one of their preformances, but Constance refused to be mentioned in regards to it.
She's friendly with the townspeople, there are not too many people who are rude to her. When they are, it's always regarding her selective mutism. Most are patient with her when she tries to communicate (mostly through writing). Her selective mutism has been with her since Akatsuki found her, so there are older townspeople who are very used to her mannerisms regarding this.
⁀➷ Relationships (Before becoming Belle)
Maggie: She is rather vague and just an ambigious spaceholder for Constance to have someone in her life that supports her creative endevors, but not to an overwhelming manner like Rio would (he means well, but...). When Maggie's troupe is near, Constance spends a few hours a day watching them practice or preform, or spending time with Maggie outside of the troupe. Maggie is patient, but Constance is aware that her mutism causes small issues between them.
Rio: very sterotypical to the plot in this regard, however to her his love feels a bit stiffling. She loves him as a friend, and has put down some boundries so he does not overwhelm her with the shower of compliments he tries to give her. She feels very conflicted in regards to him due to how he seems to put her on a pedestal she didn't ask for, but she is too cowardly to say too much on the subject since they are close friends.
Her relationships with the princes has not been fully considered. i feel as though she would get along fine with a majority of them. Nokto may make her wary at first, as well as Chev, but she'd still persist to talk to them like normal (her heart will go a thousand miles per hour just due to all the social differences, but she'd still persist).
With Gilbert... Still being explored. The idea is that he would not look at her with pity due to the way she is- something that others do even if its unintentional. This would draw her towards him just a little, with him knowing sign making her stick even closer to him, and from there it's the way he treats her, some ideals, and smaller events between the two. Almost like a morbid curiousity over his reputation.
She'd ultimately feel betrayed during a point in their relationship (spoilers), but she'd also want to stay by him as the only one who knows some secrets about her. (will try to expand when I have more braincells)
I believe Chev would treat her similarly, but she wouldn't feel much of a connection.
⁀➷ Other Details
-> Constance is someone who had believed that her life would be very simple, and while daydreamed about love at times, did not forsee herself getting married or being so involved with someone. This was due to some internal issues, but primarily she was content with this. She knew a grand adventure did not await her, and while her quiet town life left her yearning for more at times, she found that relief in stories she read/watched or penned herself. Her life was acceptible to her, and she figured that if something needed to change, she could confidently work through that.
She did resign to the idea that if love was something that she truly felt she needed in life later on, then she'd more seriously consider Rio and debate her feelings on the subject more.
She became suddenly very adverse to such topics, and those close to her do not know why. They haven't broached the subject too much, save for when she snapped out of character towards Rio for his behavior with her. It took a week until she could form some sort of apology regarding it, but had to ask him to tone it down for a while. After a few months, she seemed okay again.
-> Becoming Belle terrified her. The idea of such a huge decision failing would keep her awake late at night, shaking. The idea of having to work through her speech issues terrified her, but she was trying to work through them a bit more with Rio and Sariel instead of clamming up completely. It's one thing for a stranger in town to treat her poorly over it, it's completely different when it's someone that holds power over her.
-> She finds most ease interacting with Licht, Luke, Leon, somewhat Yves, and Keith
-> She's not too fond of Nokto or Jin, but she still treats them politely. Just certain remarks make her unable to mask her distaste for the comments they can sometimes make. Silvio pisses her off.
-> Chev makes her uneasy, but she still treats him as well as the others. She isn't fond of how Clavis talks about him, but she's chalked it up to weird sibling rivalry. There's an odd comfort she can find in Chev at times but its rare it ever happens. Clavis, she's guarded with but enjoys when he's harmless.
-> She's constantly questioning her feelings towards Gilbert and is confused.
-> Can handle her alcohol well. She doesn't seem the type but theres many stormy nights where she enjoys having some alcohol while watching a light storm pass through. Hates getting drunk.
-> Has bad habits that I will not elaborate on, tied towards her random bouts of self depreciation.
⁀➷ Misc.
Constance herself became an idea with Clavis' route. I wanted to try and make an OC for him originally, since I was very in love with him. And then Gilbert needled his way through. After some daydreams of toxic polyships between them, I started forming a better idea of Constance- as previously, she was loose strings of ideas only barely connected.
She is still lose strings, but they are forming apart into a shape of a person now, and so she's slowly growing into being her own character. This got kickstarted with a song named Aura.
I don't think explaining how she came to be from that song will do a lot of good, it's vibes primarily- there is a section in the song where the singer is asking/pleading to be told when this curse of a fog will subside, and then a creaking type of noise in response. In my mind, this was a woman asking the embodiment of death when the fog that plagued them would end and life would get better. Due to my brainrot, this twisted into me visualizing this as Emma and Gilbert in a strange sense, then an Oc and Gilbert.
Constance was originally going to be a performer- she was to write this song and perform it, with Gilbert making some sly remarks about the symbolism that it could have with Obsidian. but I already have an oc like this. I didn't want to repeat. Instead, I now have Constance drafting these types of poems, songs, stories, in private. I've mused about having her publish a few things (erotica would be funny but not likely for her character), but haven't decided yet.
Warnings: This fanfic focuses on the act and discussion of self harm. I do not recommend this to those sensitive to it, and fully encourage you to scroll past. Additionally, this is not meant to be portrayed as a glorification of the act.
-----
Until that very moment, you weren't aware of just how long you could hold your breath.
An ache settles deep in your jaw, your lungs, as you stare back at the figure standing in the doorway to your room. The only sound you can register is the thunderous thumping of your heart beating against your bones, until Gilbert quietly shuts the door behind him.
The click of the lock sets your mind into overdrive, a thousand panicked thoughts meshing together in a cacophony. Painful, as you struggle to remember to breathe. With his first step towards you, you've dropped your knife on the floor in your haste to cover up your thigh.
He's already seen it. You know he has. But you pitifully try to pretend otherwise, not caring how stained your underskirt will be the longer you hold it there, against your crying skin.
His steps come closer, until the tips of his boots come into view- and that view is forced on him now, as he grasps your chin, looking down upon you.
"Little rabbit, what have you done to yourself?"
.
In all the years of this haphazard routine, there were steps you followed to do your damndest to ensure that this was kept private. Knowing that you somehow even managed to mess that up during a fit of overwhelming emotions, that Gilbert, out of everyone it could have been, found out…
It was shameful, the speed at which tears flooded your vision. Gone was his blood red eye, and instead you winced your eyes shut as you croak out a plea.
"D-don't tell anyone."
It's the first words to tumble from your mouth, and the way they do so is pathetic. Your voice is shaking, so much quieter than you had hoped for, and at first he pauses.
The emotion you couldn't put a name to, adding so much tension to the air, finally shows itself in the way his grip tightens on your chin. The way he pulls his hand back, taking in a deep breath before moving to sit on his knees, pulling the fabric of your skirt away from your hands.
As the cool air touched your sensitive skin, littered with clusters of haphazard cuts, you realize that it is anger that exudes from him.
The question of why, however, remains unanswered. Too distracted with how shame fills you, watching as he inspects what you've done to yourself.
Never in your entire existence did you hope for this. This was an outlet, a secret of yours that you wished would never rear its head as often as it did.
But here was Gilbert, letting out a steady sigh at the sight.
"You don't let them get infected." He mutters, and the anger dissipates slightly.
You’re unsure of how to respond, the fear of the situation still settled into your bones. In hiccups your breath attempts to steady out.
“A-are you going to tell anyone?
“That depends on your answers.”
“You’re…Going to integrate me over this?”
Gilbert’s eye flicks back towards you, and through the thinning tears you can feel the sharpness of his gaze.
“I want to know why you’re doing this.”
“That’s… Complicated. I can’t answer that succinctly.”
“I’m aware,” another sigh leaves him, eye looking for what you dropped earlier now. Despite that, the tension he holds never ebbs away- his touch on your thigh now a tight fist, and you can tell he’s considering his next action.
It’s then that he finds your knife, taking a cloth from his inner pocket and wiping it clear of the lingering blood and dirt it gathered. Decidedly, he holds your knife up, continuing.
“I don’t plan to ask away and give nothing in return.”
The metal catches the light, a cast of white against the dark that is Gilbert as a whole. There’s a layer of fear still coating each thought, each breath, but you manage to clamor your heart down. The question of why Gilbert is seeking answers is one you know you can’t uncover, not as it stands now, but. Knowing that for once, just this once, someone could take the dirtiness of the act away from your sore hands, wins over your reason.
.
The way he handles the knife with ease, fills your heart with a cold unlike any other. Knowing that his movements are practiced, because this is nowhere near the first time he's laid a blade to someone else's skin. That, if he so desired it, he could hurt you beyond repair. Sink the metal into your pliant flesh, scar you indefinitely.
Yet, it rests gently against your skin. He holds it still, surveying the faded marks resting there. He drags the tip of the blade to each one, thinking.
"You never cut deep enough to leave an actual scar. Why is that?"
The casual way he asks such a thing causes your stomach to twist. All of this is just idle curiosity for him, and nothing more.
But the fear of the others- of Rio finding out, wins over. Numbly, you mutter out.
"I don't want it to be obvious. If it's too deep, it could hurt to walk- and people would realize something isn't quite right-"
"Even those who drove you to this?"
"...I did this. No one forced me."
That piercing red eye is upon you once more, his expression emotionless, searching. Unsure of what it seeks, you stare back at it, nibbling your bottom lip as your nerves settle in.
After a moment, Gilbert turns his attention back to your thigh, tracing the tip of your knife down past the history you've carved, to a patch of clean skin. It's there that he angles the knife, hesitation void.
The first cut is a kiss against your skin. Blood pebbles up in spots along the cut, but it barely satiates the itch that has been screaming inside of you. It wasn't deep enough- why was he going easy with you?
You decide that, perhaps, he's spent the years being so cruel, that it's difficult for him to reign it in properly- that this was too gentle on accident.
Yet, the second cut mimics the first. Barely any blood, barely any pain, and your body is shaking. This craving you've had built up over weeks, and the man you expected to show no mercy in this regard was currently hesitating.
"Do you hurt yourself in other ways?"
The question is quiet. Gilbert is still staring at your thigh.
"Sometimes."
"But you settle on this? Why?"
Why? Your thoughts come out instantly, your throat feeling hoarse.
"It's punishment."
The third cut has your breath stopping. It's no longer a lovers kiss- instead it's biting, sinking deeper into your flesh than you've ever had it before. You have to clench your jaw and knuckle your seat, lest you come off as weak.
And as he slices through your skin, Gilbert keeps his gaze on your face, watching how it twists in discomfort. How, once he finally stops, your eyebrows relax into relief.
"For what?"
"F-for…everything. For being me. For existing. I-I don't…" Again, annoyingly again, tears well up in your eyes, "I can't explain…"
Unable to stand his eye, his imploring- his everything, you keep your eyes shut. Out of all the discomfort of letting someone else know of this, of playing along with idle questions, you're more disgusted with yourself at the fact that the inhumane wailing inside of you- your own personal beast fighting its confines, has finally died down. At the pain ebbing in your thigh, you're finally able to ease the deep ache in your muscles. And shame hits you. Hard.
"Prince Gilbert, I can't… I can’t."
Gone is reason and will, at this point. Now, you just want to hide away, burrow under blankets until you’re forgotten by all. The burning inside of you has been released, and pitifully you come out of the afterglow, scarred and exhausted.
In a moment like this, it would make sense for a man such as he to live up to the titles others whispered to you. To mock you in some way, blackmail you over such a vile act.
Yet, the only sound past your quiet hiccups is him wiping the knife clean, and the shuffling of cloth. There was a gruffness that you had expected from the start, yet Gilbert’s hands are gentle on your skin. With patience, he gingerly wipes the blood from your skin. No comments come from his mouth until you hiss from the ointment he dabs onto the cuts, and it’s as quiet as his touches.
"Do you remember that night in the church?"
It's the sound of your poor attempts at collecting yourself, first, in the silence. But Gilbert waits patiently until you nod, giving up on finding your voice.
"Do you remember what I told you?"
Through the haziness of shameful satisfaction, finding the answer takes a moment. When you had initially heard the odd declaration, your mind had promptly tried to brush it away, but now a cold sweat forms as you mutter, "you said you're…the only one allowed to hurt me."
“Did you not think I was serious?”
You’re unsure how to answer. Instead you meet his gaze, resisting the shiver at seeing his frown. Now, you’re plagued with your own questions, and one slips out at the thought.
“Why does this matter to you?”
There isn’t an emotion to his face, not as he bandages your thigh, paying special attention to the last cut. When he deems it secure and tended to, he tugs your skirts back down. It’s then that you notice how tired he seems. That the anger in the air still lingers, but dissipated. An odd calm remaining in spite of it.
“We’re friends. It’s normal not to want them to get hurt by others- or themselves, no?”
He continues without your reply, standing and looking back down upon you. The judgement you want isn’t there. Instead, you watch him pocket your knife deliberately, giving a smile that doesn’t reach his eye. You almost miss his words at first, the twisting in your stomach suddenly wishing that this cruel man wasn’t showing you an ounce of kindness.
“I’ll keep your secret this time.”
“And the next time?” You meekly call out, worried your voice will be drowned by the sound of his cane tapping back towards the door.
“Will there be a next time, little rabbit?”
-----
No tags on this, I don’t want to hear about if you believe this is ooc or not either. If you did not like it, kindly leave me alone.
I don’t know what the takeaway of this will be. I don’t know if this is confusing, or if this makes sense to some. I am also not sure if I will keep this up, or add it to my masterlist. I might let it sink into the void of my blog. I do want to provide some clarifications, however, just for my sake.
Gilbert will not do this again for her. He will not suggest it, threaten it, or promise it as a ‘reward’. For me, this was Gilbert allowing her one last indulgence while trying to understand where her thoughts took her for these actions, before forcing a step towards stopping.
Ikepri Masterlist || Ikevamp Masterlist || Ikevamp/Ikepri Server
Really, she didn't know what to expect. She held the bottle in her hands, gently swishing the liquid back and forth in thought. When Walter had given it to her, he merely said Gilbert had wanted it prepared for her- yet when she blinked up in confusion, stating she hadn't felt ill lately, he had paused.
"Have the two of you not spoken about this yet?"
Yet.
Her face must have been enough for Walter, as he sighed and muttered some choice words about Gilbert before shaking his head.
And now she sat in his room, swishing the liquid, bouncing from thought to thought. She wasn't stupid, despite the initial reaction she had. There was a suspicion to what the liquid was, but quietly, privately, she was hoping it was something else entirely.
Her thinking was interrupted by the clack of his doorknob turning. Gilbert came into the room with a sigh, visibily perking up when seeing her waiting.
"Hehe, did you miss me? You could have visited me in the lab, instead of leaving me all alone."
She hummed, glancing down at the item in her hands. Was there a point to go over a preamble?
No. There wasn't. Not when she realized just how tense her shoulders were, her stomach twisting in anticipation.
"Gil..." She lifted it out of her lap for him to see, "Walter g-gave me this. What is...?"
His expression changed, just for a moment- a flash in his eye, vacant of emotion until he blinked again, smile lingering.
"I'd like you to start taking that."
Mm... The feeling in her gut churned once more.
"Why?"
He didn't respond, focusing on dressing down for the evening.
"I won't. Not until you explain." Her voice was firm, and she was quietly thankful her stutter didn't surface.
"Little rabbit, you know what it's for."
"No."
Sighing, he put his hands on the back of his desk chair, keeping his back to her, "this isn't a debate."
"No, it's a discussion. That I want."
"We can't have a child." A pause, as if waiting for her to speak, "that's non-negotionable. If the medicine makes you ill, I'll improve on it to combat the side effects-"
"Explain."
She could hear the creaking in the wood as he gripped his chair harder, but he relented. Gilbert turned around now, facing her with his cryptic smile.
"You know of my plans, what they were, or have you forgotten?"
"I haven't. Don't regard me so poorly."
"Then is it a surprise I don't want this bloodline to continue? To pass on the curse of this-" He cut himself off, pausing before speaking again, "I won't have a child."
"I... Don't want a child, either." She began, glancing up at him after she spoke. When he continued to look her way, expression... telling her nothing negative, she went on, "I don't... like my choice being decided. Without d-discussion."
"There is not disc-"
"Yes. Yes there is. I-It's talking to me, before ha-having someone else hand me the bottle. It's t-treating me more as an equal, instead of s-something you own." She furrowed her brows, frustration growing at her stutter spiking, "I respect your choice. But I want the r-respect of you telling me what you would like to d-do to prevent this, instead of e-expecting me to accept wordless treatment."
Quiet seeped back into the room, and she found her heart didn't stop pounding. Instead, her ears rang, chest tightening uncomfortably.
"O-one of the reasons I love you i-is for treating me as a person. I don't like being treated otherwise, I've already gone through that a multitude of times. And I deserve more than th-that."
She saw Gilbert pull himself away from the chair, before carefully joining her by her side. Wordlessly, he slid his arm around her middle, pressing a kiss against her temple.
The way his hand rested on her hip was gentle, as if pressing on her further would hurt her. It didn't resolve her anger, not completely. But it quelled the heavy unease, the general fear of speaking for herself.
"You're right."
It was a simple agreement. But it helped her shoulders ease, her breath come out sooner.
"Yes. I am."
The huff in her voice brought forth a chuckle from him, and her brows immediately furrowed. However, he was quick to quell her, planting another kiss against her forehead. And another, as her frown persisted, until she relented.
They'll have more moments like this, that she knew. Until he learned to further let his walls down, to accept that trust needed to be needled into every action that they took together. But she was willing to be patient with him, as he was with her.
I don't think Gilbert is an abusively controlling partner. I think he is someone who is used to having to make hard decisions and going through unpleasant plans in order for things to be better in the long run.
I think in a scene like this, Gilbert did not want to discuss this in depth, at least not at that moment, due to the fact that it's not something he feels can change without a risk to them both. The child could likely inherent his poor health, the child could end up growing up without him as a father at a sooner age than anticipated, so on, so forth.
This action was not one of "you will do as I say", but an unspoken "take this until I can talk about this further"
The way he sighs and squeezes at the chair is not anger towards Constance for speaking up and pointing out how disrespectful this is, its frustration at the inability to discuss this specific topic just yet, and that she is right, this was a shitty thing to do.
I'm not happy with the last couple of lines, and to be blunt idk if this is how the conversation would go. I almost had Walter bring it up first, but then realized there were very few moments that could happen, and went this route.
Really, she didn't know what to expect. She held the bottle in her hands, gently swishing the liquid back and forth in thought. When Walter had given it to her, he merely said Gilbert had wanted it prepared for her- yet when she blinked up in confusion, stating she hadn't felt ill lately, he had paused.
"Have the two of you not spoken about this yet?"
Yet.
Her face must have been enough for Walter, as he sighed and muttered some choice words about Gilbert before shaking his head.
And now she sat in his room, swishing the liquid, bouncing from thought to thought. She wasn't stupid, despite the initial reaction she had. There was a suspicion to what the liquid was, but quietly, privately, she was hoping it was something else entirely.
Her thinking was interrupted by the clack of his doorknob turning. Gilbert came into the room with a sigh, visibily perking up when seeing her waiting.
"Hehe, did you miss me? You could have visited me in the lab, instead of leaving me all alone."
She hummed, glancing down at the item in her hands. Was there a point to go over a preamble?
No. There wasn't. Not when she realized just how tense her shoulders were, her stomach twisting in anticipation.
"Gil..." She lifted it out of her lap for him to see, "Walter g-gave me this. What is...?"
His expression changed, just for a moment- a flash in his eye, vacant of emotion until he blinked again, smile lingering.
"I'd like you to start taking that."
Mm... The feeling in her gut churned once more.
"Why?"
He didn't respond, focusing on dressing down for the evening.
"I won't. Not until you explain." Her voice was firm, and she was quietly thankful her stutter didn't surface.
"Little rabbit, you know what it's for."
"No."
Sighing, he put his hands on the back of his desk chair, keeping his back to her, "this isn't a debate."
"No, it's a discussion. That I want."
"We can't have a child." A pause, as if waiting for her to speak, "that's non-negotionable. If the medicine makes you ill, I'll improve on it to combat the side effects-"
"Explain."
She could hear the creaking in the wood as he gripped his chair harder, but he relented. Gilbert turned around now, facing her with his cryptic smile.
"You know of my plans, what they were, or have you forgotten?"
"I haven't. Don't regard me so poorly."
"Then is it a surprise I don't want this bloodline to continue? To pass on the curse of this-" He cut himself off, pausing before speaking again, "I won't have a child."
"I... Don't want a child, either." She began, glancing up at him after she spoke. When he continued to look her way, expression... telling her nothing negative, she went on, "I don't... like my choice being decided. Without d-discussion."
"There is not disc-"
"Yes. Yes there is. I-It's talking to me, before ha-having someone else hand me the bottle. It's t-treating me more as an equal, instead of s-something you own." She furrowed her brows, frustration growing at her stutter spiking, "I respect your choice. But I want the r-respect of you telling me what you would like to d-do to prevent this, instead of e-expecting me to accept wordless treatment."
Quiet seeped back into the room, and she found her heart didn't stop pounding. Instead, her ears rang, chest tightening uncomfortably.
"O-one of the reasons I love you i-is for treating me as a person. I don't like being treated otherwise, I've already gone through that a multitude of times. And I deserve more than th-that."
She saw Gilbert pull himself away from the chair, before carefully joining her by her side. Wordlessly, he slid his arm around her middle, pressing a kiss against her temple.
The way his hand rested on her hip was gentle, as if pressing on her further would hurt her. It didn't resolve her anger, not completely. But it quelled the heavy unease, the general fear of speaking for herself.
"You're right."
It was a simple agreement. But it helped her shoulders ease, her breath come out sooner.
"Yes. I am."
The huff in her voice brought forth a chuckle from him, and her brows immediately furrowed. However, he was quick to quell her, planting another kiss against her forehead. And another, as her frown persisted, until she relented.
They'll have more moments like this, that she knew. Until he learned to further let his walls down, to accept that trust needed to be needled into every action that they took together. But she was willing to be patient with him, as he was with her.
There is a lot of patience she gives to man who seems to have little himself.
Gilbert's hands trace her curves, a hum playing out in disappointment, "this would be easier without-"
She shakes her head again. Frown firmly etched on her lips. He thinks it's adorable, meanwhile she's trying her best not to snap at him for prodding at her wishes. Constance knows that if she voices her dissent with a certain tone, he will let up.
She also knows that he's not doing this maliciously, only to try and work through the walls she's built up with her shy nature.
He sighs, a dramatic flair to it, but continues to happily run his hands over her clothed body, pausing momentarily to give an extra squeeze.
"Your measurements haven't changed much."
She looks over his shoulder, questioning his disappointed tone.
"I thought you'd eat more after time," his hands land on her hips, before slowly moving towards her stomach as he speaks, "they say that when you're happy in a rela-"
Smack
They both pause. Constance's hand is still in the air, frozen after slapping his wandering hands away from her stomach. She can feel her ears burn as she realizes she acted without a second thought, her discomfort over something she didn't notice suddenly becoming clearly apparent for the both of them.
There's a stretch of silence, and then Gilbert starts to laugh, repositioning his hands somewhere less sensitive for her.
"I think you're the first person to ever slap me, little rabbit."
She breathes out a thankful sigh as he dissolves into teasing her for the impulse, covering his hands with hers as he hugs her from behind.
Constance is full of fear, naturally, when the prince of obsidian is introduced to her. She opens her mouth to speak, then decides against it, doing a curtsey to be polite. There are others around, his focus won't be entirely on her. Surely.
But he smiles at her, with teeth and a different attitude than expected- and promptly, she feels clammy. She was going to have to speak this time.
A quiet breath, and she manages a short greeting, only stumbling on the first word. The other visitors are busy, and with how Gilbert is regarding her, they feel miles away as she's trapped under his gaze.
He's doing nothing, but she still feels her heart pound a beat faster, hears a small ringing in her ears. More anxiety, more panic. She darts her eyes to the side, praying he won't care.
He doesn't seem to, at the moment. He chuckles and moves on, and the further he steps away, the easier air comes back into her lungs. Her muscles ache, suddenly, and she realizes just how tense she was.
.
The next time they meet, it's in the hallway. She was heading back to her room for the night, tired from being pulled between Sariel or Silvio, exhausted by Rio trying to pep her up. She's aching for silence, for the comfort of covers and pillows. But he stands a couple of yards away, another smile.
Her hand is on the doorknob. Realistically, all she has to do is give a curt nod, or greeting, and turn the knob to escape. That's it.
But she feels rooted to the spot, debating on if he knew her room was here. Debating on how much of a menace he is, or at least towards people like her. Debates on if he will bother her, just like everyone else, over her identity.
To her surprise, however, Gilbert moves his hands, communicating with her in a way no one has for years.
Hello, little rabbit.
Her eyes widen, mouth slightly agape, before she's signing back a greeting. Her hands shake, but this time it's not from fear, its excitement. Bewilderment that he knew.
His smile grows, a short laugh coming out, "surprised?"
"N-n-no ones t-tr...." she stops, taking in a deep breath, a wash of frustration threatening to take over. Instead she changes.
My friends don't know how.
He regards her for a moment, something in his gaze is hard to decipher.
Most scars are invisible, laced together with painful memories. patched with care, or neglect of acknowledgment. Constance is used to the guessing of her past by strangers- how she must feel about being orphaned, about being 'unable' to speak, about whatever other words are being put into her mouth. The sensation makes her mouth remain shut, knowing well that her voice would rarely be heard.
She's aware of how this impacts those closer to her. Maggie still smiles brightly as she waits for Constance to jot down her next words when her voice fails her, but Constance can see the faint way her eyes dim at realizing today was only a writing day. How Maggie seems put off, in a vague way that she can only catch in glimpses. This would never be voiced, as she feels as though Maggie has the patience of a saint, but it festers in the back of Constance's mind.
Rio has heard her more than Maggie, but not in the same ways. It was born from necessity when she found him, her self-conscious nature hastily put aside as panic for his wellbeing arose. But as time went on, her voice came and went, regardless of how he praised her when he could hear it, or doted on her scribbled handwriting. Days where he prompted her to talk with exaggerated, but supportive greetings and questions being met only with her silence was... difficult for her to watch. There was a strange pressure from him, that she knew was unintentional. One that made her stutter worse at times, due to how overwhelming it was for every action to be praised.
Regardless of how often they would accommodate her, the sensation of dread still overtook her. How much of a relief would it be for them, if only she could talk with ease? To blend in with the rest of the townspeople, or tell those close to her how much she loved them? To be normal?
To combat this, she would spend time in front of her mirror, practicing her speech, practicing what made her nervous to say, repeating syllables she commonly tripped over. Yet time and time again, it would be proven that talking to her reflection rarely could substitute for those eyes of pity. Of annoyance. Of disgust.
The act of becoming Belle terrified her, in this sense. It was enough that the townspeople would handle her, but princes? Other nobles? Her silence was often taken as affirmation, what would happen here?
It turned out that the looks she feared still would follow her here, but not completely. Some... treated her as an equal. Knew sign language- she wouldn't have to burn through so much paper or suffer those awkward silences as she hurriedly wrote, she nearly cried- and when she stuttered, sometimes the look in there eyes would never change.
Speaking. Was still Terrifying, in some regards. But she found more of her voice, slowly, as the days went by.
