Ikemen Prince Gilbert - Tumblr Posts

Abandoned(?) Wips

rockbert, circusbert, local man poses with bunny version of himself

the photos I redrew (first one is a mv still): rockbert circusbert bunbert

circusbert is obviously also a rendition of his legendary outfit from the Night Circus avatar gacha. could i have at least drawn in his other arm? yes, but i laze in the sun

all three of these go with three individual fics I'm working on, but I want to go in a different direction with the art

Yanno what. I think I wanna tease him a lil today. Gilbert. 18.

(Best wishes and congratulations, your grace~💜 pff okay that was cheesy. But i have more. You are a beacon of light in this fandom and an inspiration)

Love, V <3

A/N: here you go @vioisgoinginsane !! I💜 you to the moon and back.

Gilbert x reader; (obviously not canon)

Word Count: 1010

You’re waiting in his study. Surrounded by the dark wooden bookshelves filled to the brim with thick, leather-bound tomes on every subject under the sun, from romantic poetry to geographical histories to religious treatises, you sit comfortably in his heavy wooden chair, its soft, black leather padding reminding you of the gloves he always wears. You recall the feel of them on the slope of your cheek, the way he trailed the back of his fingers down it slowly, a whisper of a touch. His smile never faltered as he told you he had business to take care of and you were to stay put, stay safe within the thick walls of the castle until he returned. He’s come and gone before, leaving you several times since bringing you to Obsidian, but there was something in his eye, a flickering within its scarlet depths, a shadow dancing on the curve of his ever-present smile. Something about this parting was different….and when you asked him where he was going, he merely tapped the tip of your nose and said it wasn’t a concern for tender-hearted rabbits.

But you are no rabbit, content to sit in your hutch and tremble.

You have grown accustomed to Obsidian, and to Gilbert, to living in the castle, to the ways of its staff.

And you have made friends here.

You watched through the high arched window as he took his leave, sitting high atop his midnight-colored destrier, painted in the faded lavender beauty of twilight. You followed him with an unwavering gaze until he disappeared through the castle gates and could be seen no more. And then you turned, light-footed, and made your way to the one person who would know what was truly going on.

And now your gaze is on the study door when its golden handle finally dips and it is opened slowly by a leather-clad hand, now flecked with tiny red dots, imperceptible in the pallid wash of moonlight that falls through the study window. He moves, silent as a shadow, not expecting the soft yellow glow of your oil lamp or the sudden shadow that stretches across the lush carpeting to meet him as you rise to your feet. 

You’ve taken him by surprise, a rare feat. His face betrays him in the momentary parting of his sculpted lips, the rise of his dark brow. It is only temporary, the mask of genteel neutrality sliding back into place as he collects himself but you find a spark of courage in that split-second of the unexpected.

“It is a very late hour indeed for you to be hopping about, Häschen.” He leans his cane against the side of the nearest bookshelf, head tilted as he takes you in. You are in the same clothing as when he left. You have not gone to bed. Why did you wait all these hours? Were you….concerned for him? The very thought sends an unaccustomed warmth rippling through his veins. 

The lateness of the hour, the stillness in his body as he watches you, the uncertainty he is trying to hide. You feel it all, deep in your bones and are bolstered, your heart growing bolder with each passing second. Your steps are silent as you make your way towards him, the sound swallowed by the thick carpeting over the stone floor, by the shadows of the room. You stop in front of Gilbert, tilting your face up in order to look into his eye, now dark as claret. Your hand rises and the back of your fingers touch the cool skin of his cheek. 

He does not move. He barely breathes because this is the first time you are touching him like this, as if he is something precious, something delicate that must be handled with care. It is, in fact, the first time anyone has ever touched him like this at all.

Your fingers reach his neck and shift, turning, your warm palm pressed against his jugular, his heartbeat cupped in the palm of your hand, your fingers wrapping around the curve of his neck. His aide Walter’s words echo in your mind. 

The Prince has gone to exact justice on men who have wronged Obsidian. Rhodolite men who had stolen something invaluable. Not jewels or gold or weapons. No. They had stolen seeds that would grow in Obsidian’s dismal climate, that would feed its hungry people. Rare seeds from a far-away land that had taken Gilbert months of planning to accrue. Seeds that the men had simply destroyed without orders because they believed anything that benefitted Obsidian must be a threat.

And even you, with your gentle heart, could understand the Prince of Obsidian’s need for justice, his rage at the loss of something that could save his people, his fury at their pain. You felt it too, the injustice of it, the scorching anger that swept through you as Walter bowed his curly head and spoke, voice low, words heavy.

And your admiration for Gilbert burst into a flame that still burns as you stare up into a face so beautiful it feels like looking into the face of some celestial creature, a child of blood and moonlight, kissed by the stars. You rise onto the tips of your toes and press your lips to the corner of his mouth where you stay for the span of a heartbeat.

One.

Two. 

When you lower yourself back down to earth, something has changed. The world is not quite what it was mere seconds before. Gilbert is uncharacteristically silent, his eye a glittering gemstone as it searches your face. You feel a sudden heat sting your cheeks and your heart is hammering so loudly in your chest it’s a wonder he doesn’t hear it. Overwhelmed by your sudden boldness, you murmur good night and leave the study with the cool taste of his skin burned into your lips.

Now alone, Gilbert draws a tremulous breath, removing one blood-flecked leather glove and then slowly raises his bare fingers to the corner of his mouth, pressing them there, where the ghost of your kiss still lingers.

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-writer @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @redheadkittys @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @queen-dahlia @aceuuuuu @scorchieart @bubblexly @joiedecombat

Fishbert

-invasive species

-no known predators, few would dare because of it's highly venomous nature.

You can still pet it. Once.

-prefers to live in rocky habitats that allow it to camouflage with ease (Obsidian)

-"Because of their voracious appetite and invasive patterns, there is growing concern over their impact on many tropical habitats around the globe." The trampling beast of the deep blue

-enormous stomach capacities due to its voracious appetite (can expand up to 30 times it's regular size)

-is a creature of the night

-causes infinite problems and is a constant nuisance to everyone around it, even it's own species.

-marine biologists are losing their minds with its expansion rates- from nonexistent to downright intrusive

-is a bit of a troll you see

gilbert x reader, the tomorrow telegram

Like cloud-tails spattered across The bluest sky, his laughter Breaks warm skin: your shoulder Upon which he drifts Every song and soft shape Of his human smile

A lungful of love From you to him. A lungful of love From him to you His every breath a garden; His every breath an hour Of daylight In a cold, forgotten, lonely world

He falls asleep, relaxed and easy, Among his roses

I wonder if I was thinking of whitelittlebunny's amazing art of Gilbert laughing as I wrote this

「うん、寂しいから一緒に行こう。お散歩 🫴 」

A/N: Cyran and Gilbert tied for second place in my poll. I was originally going to put them together in one headcanon but the styles were too different and it felt very disjointed, so they each get their own little fic.

Suitor: Gilbert, prompt: strawberry

An entry for Aqua and my Summer Days Sultry Nights CCC

WC: 854

Oh how excited you are, running through the dark stone halls of Obsidian, your treasure cupped in your hands. An angel on a mission, flying on invisible wings. Up the winding staircase you go, heart hammering, breathless with anticipation at showing him your miracle.

You burst through the dark Mahogany doors of his study. He’s at his desk, black quill in hand. You can tell by his posture he’s been here for hours: the tired roundness of his shoulders, the lax lay of his left hand beside the parchment he's perusing. The sound of your entrance turns his head and the sight of you is like the warmth of a sunbeam through glass on a cold winter’s day. He sets his quill aside without a second glance, holding out his arms in invitation.

“My Häschen comes bearing gifts,” he murmurs as you slide onto his lap, hands still cupped protectively. He anchors you against his body with one arm, bowing his upper body to rest his forehead against your shoulder, breathing in your scent like it’s as essential to him as oxygen. 

“Look, Gil.” Although he stay curled against you for eternity, he raises his head to look down at what you have brought him. Slowly you open your hands to reveal the riches you’re holding: A single, large, perfect strawberry. It still glistens from the water you washed it with, its size and ruby red color speaking volumes about the abundance of flavor it carries. He also knows the other reason you are smiling so brightly.

“It…..is from here?” You nod eagerly. You have been experimenting with gardening, working hard to try and find a way to get crops to grow in the arid Obsidian climate. How many nights has he come to bed to find you asleep, surrounded by botanical treatises and guides and lexica. Determination drove you and now you have managed to unlock the soil’s secret to provision. At least for strawberries.

“For you.” You hold one up in offering but he tilts his head. “Have you tried any yet?” Your silence confirms his suspicion. He reaches for the precious fruit, plucking it from your palm with deft fingers. “Seeing as how this is the first one, I believe the one who devoted so much time to its care should be the first to taste, oder?” 

His eye is an even richer red than the strawberry and all you can do is smile in sweet defeat, knowing he won’t take no as an answer. Your gaze never leaves him, as if you were nothing but a speck of iron drawn by magnetic force. Not even when he raises the strawberry to your lips. “Open,” he commands, although his voice is practically a purr, soft and near the edge of rough. Your lips part and he holds the fruit to them. He watches, a man hypnotized by the white of your teeth as they sink into the flushed, succulent fruit, pale red juice immediately running from the broken flesh, over the curvature of your lips, across your tongue. 

“Mmmm,” you sigh as you’re hit with the full-bodied taste of the strawberry. It’s  the sweetness of summer, of sunshine, of long days and warm nights. It’s cool wind and cooler water. Shoeless feet tickled by green grass. It's fire-flies and full moons. It's bare skin and sweat. Your eyes close as you savor the sensation. Gilbert watches your face, the euphoria that has your body going lax in his arms, the way your eye-lids drop, stealing your gaze away from him. Your soft exhale of pleasure. Something hot and jagged suddenly bolts through him. He doesn’t want you looking like that, sounding like that, for any reason other than him.

He takes the half-eaten strawberry and sets it on his desk, rising suddenly, with you lifted into his arms. Startled, you cling to his neck as he carries you over to the large black velvet couch. “Gil?” Ever so slowly, he lays you down on your back, his expression alight with sharp intent as he leans over you. “I will have my taste now.” 

You’re about to tell him that he left the strawberry on his desk when his body drops to press you into the softness of the sofa, his hands sliding up to hold your face as he lowers his head, his mouth capturing yours with all the swift resolve of a triumphal conqueror. He licks the leftover juice from your lips languidly, leaving not even a millimeter of them untasted. You gasp as he guides you, tilting your head so he can plunder your mouth, devouring you until he has lapped up every single essence of strawberry that lingered there. He is merciless, chasing that ghost of summer flavor until you are left breathless beneath him. 

He breaks contact for a moment to look down into your face, now painted in shades of want and yearning and red-hot desire. And he smiles, satisfaction riding the blistering current of pleasure that rushes through his body. 

Much better, he thinks. And then your hungry hands are in his hair, pulling him back to you and all thought is abandoned, much like the poor, half-eaten strawberry.

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-writer @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @aria-chikage @redheadkittys @tele86 @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @rhodoliteschaos @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @queen-dahlia @aceuuuuu @scorchieart @bubblexly @joiedecombat

just after emma boops his nose and just before she's bitten

i apologize in advance if i end up taking this lighthearted piece in the angstier direction i just thought of. i might, i might not.

"doubt thou the stars are fire // doubt that the sun doth move // doubt truth to be a liar // but never doubt that i love (you)" x gilbert (or whoever you feel fits this best)

-revassierum

A/N: Gilbert won the poll so the first fic belongs to him.

This is the fic that comes before this one but I think that you can read this on its own.

Gilbert x Reader

WC: 2.3k

Full quote:

"Doubt thou the stars are fire; doubt that the sun doth move; doubt truth to be a liar; but never doubt I love you. I love thee, I love but thee with a love that shall not die. Till the sun grows cold and the stars grow old. -William Shakespeare, Hamlet, Act II, Scene II

His knuckles, hidden under his black leather gloves, are white as he grasps the cold gray parapet. His eye, red as a hellish comet streaking across a midnight sky, surveys the shapes he can make out below, the ones revealed by the twin luminance of moonlight and torches: the shadowy lines of the encampment tents in front of the castle; light winking weakly off the metal of soldiers’ helmets as they move around. Beyond them the ribbon of pale gray road that disappears into the imposing darkness of the treeline, so dark it drinks in all the light without leaving a single drop.

The road holds his gaze, has every ounce of his attention so thoroughly that he doesn’t react to the man who joins him, the one who is silent as he stares at Gilbert, his expression as stoic as the stone Gilbert’s gloves are so tightly clenching. 

After a moment, he speaks.

“Yes, Doctor?”

Walter reaches up, adjusting his glasses.

“The night is chilled. You should be abed, resting for what is to come.”

Few people in the world can speak to Gilbert in such a way, telling him what he should be doing. But Walter is one of them. The man who carries the weight of Obsidian on his broad shoulders doesn’t answer his physician but the tightness of his jawline is enough of a sign that he has heard.

Walter finally turns his head, his pale gaze following Gilbert’s line of sight until he too is looking at the place where the road vanishes into black forest. He remembers a whispered conversation with Roderich, hushed and hurried, quick as a sparrow nervously jumping from branch to branch lest it be snapped up by the jaws of some far-quicker predator.

“If I may speak freely….”

Gilbert waves a hand. “As if that would be something new.” Though there is a faint glimmer of humor in his voice, his gaze is as intensely focused as ever and he does not glance at the doctor.

“You sent her away. Quite….forcefully, if I recall the story.”

That gets his attention. He turns away, a movement as quick and sleek as silvery clouds sliding across the face of the moon.

Walter knows him well enough to read his face. He sees the miniscule flash of surprise in the depths of his crimson eye, the slight drawing of his shoulders. Anyone else would think Gilbert had no reaction. The doctor knows that this particular subject has just set off a cascade of emotion within the Obsidian leader.

“I won’t ask how you know this or else I would be forced to deprive Obsidian of its best healer.” Annoyance lines his words as he turns back to the parapet, as if he cannot help himself, as if staring at the line between the encampment and the forest is necessary. Agitation dances across the tight line of his shoulders, the straight rod of his back.

Walter clears his throat, stifling the urge to place a hand on Gilbert’s arm. 

“Rhodolite may be the enemy. But it is where she is safest.”

His statement is met with silence, as cool as the night breeze winding its way across the battlement, Gilbert’s black cloak dancing in its wake.

“I’ve taken my tonic. I believe your presence is no longer required tonight, Doctor.”

The dismissal doesn’t bother Walter. He knows Gilbert has heard him. His dark head bows in deference.

“Gute Nacht,” he murmurs, casting one last look at the man whose life he is charged with keeping safe. He may be responsible for Gilbert's body but there is no doubt that his heart is within someone else’s hands.

Gilbert waits until the doctor’s footsteps fade into the other sounds of nighttime, the ebbing murmur of his soldiers as they retire for the evening, the faint clanking of armor as guards patrol the grounds, the lone, mournful hoot of an owl. Only when he is certain he is alone does he allow his head to drop, eye closing for a brief moment.

There is little that escapes Gilbert von Obsidian. He is three steps ahead of everyone, always, the human mind a complicated puzzle he is adept at solving. And yet, when he sent you away from his tent, you with your starlight tears and petal-soft mouth, when he watched you flee, eyes as wild as a fearful rabbit, when he told you to return home to your roses and your pale-haired king…..he was not entirely certain you would listen.

The doctor is right. It was the more rational choice. But it was not the one that his heart wanted, the one it is still screaming for. You belong with him. You should be his. 

He has tasted you, knows the sound of his name when it escapes your lips on a wavering sigh of want. His teeth have sunk into the soft skin of your shoulder, his tongue has traced the line of your neck. He has felt the waves of desire as they ripple through your veins, all because of him. All for him. It is all he has wanted for so very long, all that has consumed him….

And yet he had smiled, sharp as the edge of his sword, and told you to run. Sent you away even as your scent of lavender and roses lingered in his tent, settled across his black mantle like a ghost unable to find peace.

What is he even looking for, out here in the night, as the tents darken one by one like candles blown out by the wind. You are halfway back to your kingdom of roses. You chose home and you chose Chevalier.

So why can’t he tear his gaze away from the darkening road?

It becomes a phantom as the torchlight dims and the moon excuses herself, stepping behind a barricade of clouds. And still he lingers, even as the night air turns cold and unwelcoming, and he feels his muscles contracting in response, struggling to support the cry of his heart to stay….just in case.

Teeth clenched like a beast on the edge of growling, he is about to turn and head inside when he sees it. A shadowy shape bursting out of the black treeline, a spectral horse and rider charging down the ribbon of road. 

And he knows.

The castle walls blur as he flies down the spiral stone steps, down down down and then out, past the startled guards. He is a tiger honed in on its prey, eyes flashing with resolve and hunger. 

You’re already off your horse, speaking in that voice to a soldier with his sword raised in your direction. You are, after all, a stranger who has just flown into their camp like a banshee.

When he arrives at the scene, the soldier immediately lowers his sword and drops to one knee. Gilbert does not hear any of his stammered words. Instead he reaches out, his gloved fingers closing around your wrist as he pulls you towards the nearest tent.

“Raus,” he orders the soldier who was just getting ready to bed down for the night. The word is iron, undeniable and final. The man gathers his things quicker than he ever has before in his life and exits, the tent flap falling closed behind him with a soft whooshing sound.

It is a simple foot soldier’s dwelling with an oil lantern still burning next to the untouched bedroll. The wan light throws your shadows across the thick canvas walls, moving like images inside a zoetrope. 

Gilbert is breathing hard, his chest rising and falling as he struggles to catch his breath, but there is nothing unsteady about the way his eye, the color of wine in moonlight, is fixed on you. With trembling hands you push back the hood of your cloak, white with small red roses embroidered along the hem like drops of blood. Your cheeks are flushed with the urgency and speed of your ride. Your skirts and boots are splattered with mud.

“I know….you warned me to go and I started to.” Your voice is airy but uncontrolled, a tornado forcing its way past your throat. “I got just past the border and stopped at a tavern to rest the horse. Rhodolite soldiers were there, several tankards in, and they were bragging…they’re coming, Gilbert. At first dawn they’ll be here.”

You step forward, your hands reaching to gather the soft folds of his black cloak, fingers curling into it as it could steady you, a bulwark against the storm of information you need to tell him.

“They have weapons. They intercepted an Obsidian transport and they have guns.” He hasn’t said a word yet, hasn’t had a chance in the face of all the words you’re hurling at him but now you pause, searching his face. “Gilbert, did you hear me? They have-”

He finally moves, twisting his leather glove off his hand and tossing it aside fecklessly. The next thing you feel is the cool touch of his palm against your cheek, his fingers curling to cup your face.

“You’re here.” 

The words are husky, maybe because he is still catching his breath. Maybe because he can’t believe it.  Or maybe because he can and he’s basking in the confirmation of his prediction.

“I…..” You need him to understand the urgency of what you are telling him and yet his hand feels so good. The last time he touched you that hand was at your throat. Now it is cradling your face with a gentleness just as dangerous.

Your words drop to a whisper. “Gilbert…..they’re coming and they–” And then, as he raises his other hand to his lips, biting into the tip of his glove and removing it with his teeth, the truth hits you like an avalanche careening down a mountain. The encampment here. Gilbert occupying a castle so close to the border and not heading home.

“You already knew.”

And now he’s holding your face in both hands, the coolness of his skin paradoxically sending waves of something unbearably hot through your limbs. 

“But you didn’t. And you came back, risking everything to tell me.”

The world begins and ends in the red of his eye, the fall of dark hair across his pale forehead. Something inside you breaks, shatters like stained glass struck by stone. You reach up, curling your hands around his wrists.

“I….I couldn’t live with the thought that something could happen to you….I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t try to stop it, even if it meant-”

The rest is stopped by the savage press of his mouth against yours. He will not even allow you to finish that sentence. The grip of his hands tightens as he hungrily swallows any other words you wanted to say, as he drinks deeply from the gasps of your lungs and the moans of your throat. Over and over he devours you while still holding you between his hands, your own having gone slack at the very first kiss.

He kisses you until your lips ache from the crush of his mouth, the sting of his teeth. Your tongue is full of him, the rich, cool taste of him. It is the sweetest nectar, ambrosia as heady as the starlit sky. It leaves you spinning with satisfaction, dizzy with content. And yet, it leaves you parched, always seeking more and more and more of him as the hot winds of desire blow through your veins.

Gilbert is the one to break away, to gasp a lungful of air, feeling the absence of your lips as keenly as any ache. His eye burns like a singular star, swallowing up the darkness.

“Retreat to the castle.” His hands roam your body as he speaks the order, as if he can’t help but touch you even as he demands you to leave him. “The cellar is safeguarded. My men will go with you-”

You shake your head vehemently, capturing his hands in yours, holding them hostage in your own tight grip.

"I have turned against my country for you. I was ready to face whatever hell awaited me here if it meant keeping you safe.” Your voice is low, trembling as it skirts the bedrock of emotion in your chest. “I'm damn well not leaving your side now."

He recognizes a mind as sharp as his own, a will as iron. As much as he has craved your gentle heart, your kind spirit, those soft, beautiful parts of you, he is equally as drawn to the steel in your nerves, the forge of determination in your bright eyes.

He could have you sent away, dragged by his soldiers down to the underbelly of the castle where you would be safe. But as he reaches up, cradling the nape of your neck with one hand, he realizes you are right. After all, who could protect you as well as him? Who but him would trample the world for you? Would set the night ablaze before allowing anyone or anything to harm you?

One arm winds its way around your waist and pulls you close. He leans down, his lips brushing the sensitive shell of your ear. His voice is hushed, but rough, gravelly with emotion.

"When all this is over, my brave Häschen, I will reward you.” He catches your earlobe between his white teeth, his heart fluttering at your gasp. “Over and over until your voice is hoarse with the sound of my name." 

There is no time to catch the breath his words have robbed you off. The distant warning of cannon fire fills the night and the encampment is coming awake, following the carefully laid-out plan in preparation for what is coming.

“Come.” And with your fingers linked with his, you step out of the tent together, into the foreboding night.

Tagging: @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-writer @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @aria-chikage @redheadkittys @tele86 @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @rhodoliteschaos @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @portrait-ninja @queen-dahlia @scorchieart @nightghoul381 @joiedecombat @ozalysss

A/N: This year, as I deal with a far more limited amount of free time, I want to focus on writing things that really spark something for me. These headcanons, which I started almost 6 months ago, recently came roaring back into my imagination and I decided to go for it.

This is imagining how these suitors would react to their small child entering their bedroom in the middle of the night.

Leon, Sariel, Jin, Keith and Gilbert

WC: 2.2 k

The child's white bedroom door, painted with a silvery moon and twinkling stars, opens slowly, a whisper in the still of the night. A small head pokes out, knuckling sleepily at eyes still heavy with the remnants of dreaming. A look left, then right.

The hall is empty.

Tiny bare feet tiptoe across plush carpeting.

One hand clutches a stuffed animal, the other reaches for the curved handle of your bedroom door and which, on a quiet exhale, opens.

Leon

He is awake the moment the door opens. A light sleeper, he never fails to hear when his daughter enters your bedroom, no matter how quietly she tries to. Even now, he pushes himself up, running a hand through his cacophony of dark hair, watching his offspring step as quietly as possible as she makes her way towards the bed. She’s so concentrated on not making noise that she doesn’t notice he’s already up and watching her until she arrives at the foot of the bed.

“Papa!” Her gasp is half surprise, half disappointment when she realizes he has, as always, heard her. Leon laughs softly, the sound still rough with sleep as he motions for her to come over to his side of the bed. 

“I was trying to be extra, extra quiet.” He offers her his hand and she takes it, climbing into the bed and then into the circle of his arms where he cuddles her close. “You were, peanut. You were very quiet but your father has very, very good ears. Especially at night.” 

Perhaps someday she’ll learn why. How good hearing and light sleeping could mean the difference between life and death in the slave pens. But not tonight. Tonight she snuggles into his embrace, clutching her brown bear with his black and red cape to her chest. 

“Shall I bring you back to your bed?” He brushes several dark locks of hair that have escaped her braid away from her plump cheek, his golden eyes warm with affection. His daughter stifles a yawn. “Can I stay here tonight, with you and Mama?” 

How can he say no? “Of course.” He shifts her, tucking her in close against his side where she curls up like a kitten, warm and content. Leon sighs, his heart fuller than he ever imagined it could be, before closing his eyes and drifting back to sleep.

Sariel

He looks up from the paperwork on his lap when the bedroom door slowly opens. One glance at the clock on his nightstand and he knows exactly who dares enter his room, unannounced, in the middle of the night.

His son, hair dark as onyx, eyes as bright as violets, peeks around the door to see his father sitting up in bed, reading by the soft light of an oil lamp. 

“I see you, little one.” The child gives up stealth and hurries into his parents’ room, climbing up the foot of the bed and crawling his way across the velvety covers up to Sariel, careful not to jostle you while you are sleeping. He settles in next to his father, peering at the sheaf of papers still in his hands. “Why are you still up, Papa? It’s so late.”

Sariel glances down at his son, his lips curved in a soft shadow of a smile. “You know what? You are correct. It is very late.” He carefully removes his glasses, placing them in a safe spot on his nightstand and then sets the missives and letters and parchments beside them. He extends his arms and his son happily accepts the silent invitation, burrowing into his father’s embrace, clutching his soft, stuffed snake with the onyx eyes close to his little chest. “We’ll go to sleep together, ok Papa?”

Sariel reaches out, extinguishing the warm light and then shifts, dipping his head to press a kiss to his son’s midnight hair. “A sound plan, son.” He closes his eyes, contentment flowing through him like the soft waves of the ocean. “A very sound plan.”

Jin

He freezes, lifting his head from your neck, his large hand going still on the sensitive skin of your hip. As involved as he may be with you, he has excellent hearing and the opening of the door is as loud in its whisper as a gust of howling wind. He feels the soft huff of air against his cheek as you reign in your galloping heart. Things were just getting good.... With a groan, a mixture of disappointment and the dying embers of desire, he sits up as you adjust your nightgown and tilts his head at the small outline in the doorway.

“Yes, Princess? What is it?”

“I heard a noise. In my wardrobe. I think there’s a monster in there.” Her voice is small, almost tentative as it floats through the darkened bedroom. Jin pushes back his covers, swinging his long legs over the side of the bed. He reaches back, squeezing your hand, a gesture that says I’ve got this, before getting up and walking toward his daughter. "Alright little lady, let's go investigate." She slips her small hand in his, clutching her stuffed baby eagle close as they make their way back to her bedroom.

Stepping inside, she pulls her hand away from his and points to the white and lavender closet. “In there, Papa.” Her garnet-colored eyes are wide as Jin clears his throat, fixing a scowl on his face as he faces the wooden doors.

“Listen up. This is Prince Jin speaking and any and all monsters hiding in this wardrobe better leave RIGHT now or else you’ll have to answer to me!”

“Yeah!”, she adds helpfully, eyes narrowing as she glares at the wardrobe, a mirror image of her father.

Jin reaches forward and flings open one door, then the other. Inside are all her dresses and coats. Her shoes all lined up neatly along the bottom. A few stockings peek out of small drawers and her wooden training sword and shield with Jin's crest lean against the side, askew. Jin searches through the clothing, stands on his toes to check the top shelves. He makes a show of it, incredibly thorough and yet serious. Then he turns around to face his daughter. “Looks like any monsters are long gone. And they won’t be coming back.”

A smile like the dawn breaks over her face and she rushes towards him. He leans down and catches her in his arms, holding her tightly against his broad chest. “Thank you, Papa. No monster would ever be stupid enough to come back now!” 

Jin carries her back to her white four-poster bed, grinning as he lays her down amongst her fluffy pillows and pulls the soft covers up to her chest. “Nope, not when they know they have to deal with me.” He glances over his shoulder at the wardrobe. “But how about tomorrow, we go to the knights training grounds and you bring your sword and shield. We can work on your swordsmanship so any monster knows to be just as afraid of you too.”

She grins, nodding eagerly. “Good idea!”

Her enthusiasm has him returning her grin and he leans down, running a large hand over the soft chestnut of her hair. “Alright then. Get some sleep so you’re ready for tomorrow.” She snuggles down into the warmth of her blankets, stifling a yawn even as she rolls over. “I love you, Papa.” He swallows for a moment at the lump of emotion that suddenly swells his throat. “I love you too. Princess. So much.”

Keith

Little feet whisper across dark green carpeting, continuing their journey to his side of the bed. “Papa,” she whispers, tugging on his covers, her stuffed deer dangling from her grip on its antlers. Keith inhales, his handsome face frowning in his sleep as her voice cuts through the fog of dreaming. But he doesn’t wake up yet. However, his daughter is nothing but insistent. She pats his upper arm, clearing her throat and speaking again, this time louder. “Papa. Wake up.”

His golden eyes open slowly and he blinks as he returns to the here and now. The sight of her, with her ashen blond hair and your intelligent eyes, has him sitting up in bed, the last misty tendrils of dreaming vanishing like fog in the sunlight.

“Yes, darling? What’s wrong? Is everything ok?” 

She glances to your empty side of the bed. “I miss Mama.” Those words send his heart spinning, leaving a trail of ache inside his chest as he nods slowly. “I do too. But you remember how she had to go back to Rhodolite. I promise, she’ll be home again soon. Just a few more days.” He reaches for her hand, his thumb running soothingly over her knuckles, marveling at the tininess of her fingers, the softness of her skin. She speaks again, her voice compressed by sadness. “I still miss her.”

He sighs as she hangs her small head, curls covering her face. Then he has an idea. Slowly he gets out of bed and leads her by the hand across the room to the heavy glass doors of the balcony off of the bedroom, his favorite place in the palace to stargaze. Keeping a secure hold of her hand, he slides open one heavy glass door and then walks with her to the large brass telescope. “Take a look in there,” he murmurs, kneeling as he adjusts the eyepiece for her. He wraps one arm around her middle, holding her close. “Can you see it?”

She leans forward slightly. “It’s blurry.” Carefully he adjusts the focuser until he hears her breath catch. “Oh it’s so pretty!” She stares through the telescope in wonder at the bright star, brilliant in its silvery-blue light. 

“That,” he says softly, almost dreamlike, “is your mother’s favorite star.” Gently he pulls her away from the telescope and points upwards. “You can see it without the telescope just there, see the three stars just in a row?” She nods emphatically. “It’s the one all the way to the right.” He pauses, resting his chin tenderly on her small shoulder. “When you miss Mama at night, like you do now, you can look up at the sky and find her favorite star. It may make you feel better.”

She turns around and wraps her arms around Keith’s neck, hugging him with all her might. “Thank you, Papa.” He hugs her close, this walking embodiment of his heart, and smiles.

Gilbert

He is already sitting up when his daughter approaches the bed, her stuffed tiger tucked under her arm. He heard the opening of the door and knew who it was immediately. No one else would ever dare to enter his bedroom in the middle of the night without fearing for their life.

“It’s past midnight, Mäuschen. Why are you wandering through the shadows?” His voice is a gentle that only you and those very close to Gilbert have ever heard. A genuine softness like the blanket of dusk as it falls over the land, the protective moon whispering as it cradles a favorite star. His daughter sighs, pushing away a stray lock of dark hair. “I’m hungry.”

He laughs quietly, his chin tilting down as he regards her. He speaks quietly, not wanting to wake you. You need rest after all, so close to the birth of your second child. He gets up, slipping on his black silk robe and then holds out his hand. She takes hold of it, wrapping her cool little fingers tightly around him and then pauses. “Wait a moment, Papa.” Turning back to the bed, she carefully places her stuffed tiger next to you where you sleep. “Watch out for Mama,” she orders sternly and doesn’t notice the bright gleam in Gilbert’s eyes as he smiles at her protective gesture. She turns, grabbing his hand and nods. “Ok Papa, fertig.” Ready.

He leads her out of the bedroom and a short walk down the hall to his office. Once inside, he walks over to his massive wooden desk, made of the finest dark walnut, and leans forward, turning on the desk lamp. He settles into his chair, into the crimson velvet cushioned seat and motions for her to join him. The Obsidian princess climbs into his lap, eyes bright as she looks at him expectantly. “Shh…this is our secret,” he murmurs, tapping his finger on the end of her nose. She grins slowly and nods. “Versprochen, Papa.” I promise. One arm holds her close as he leans down and opens a bottom drawer. Inside is a small round tin which he takes out and sets on his desk, next to the missives and parchments waiting for him come morning light.

“Go ahead,” he says encouragingly and she leans forward, carefully working the lid off with chubby fingers and then he feels her straighten up in excitement when its contents are revealed. She reaches in and pulls out a hearty oatmeal and raisin biscuit. The cookie is nearly at her lips when she pauses, thoughtfully. Shifting in his lap, she turns to face him and then holds it up. “Do you want a bite, Papa?” Her generosity has him smiling, a warmth like no other brightening his heart as he pretends to consider. “You don’t mind sharing?” She shakes her head, several loose, dark curls framing a face that is the youthful echo of yours. He leans forward and bites off a tiny corner, then leans back with a satisfied sigh. “Mama makes the best biscuits.” 

She bites into the same cookie with much less restraint and then smiles, chewing happily. “Mm hm.” She leans back against his chest and he wraps his arms around her as she continues munching. “Just this one and then it's back to bed with you, little mouse.” She nods, mouth too full to answer and focus far too lost in the pleasure of her treat to respond verbally. Gilbert sighs, turning to rest his cheek against the top of her head. He is utterly and completely at peace.

Tagging: @xbalayage @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-writer @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @aria-chikage @redheadkittys @tele86 @dear-mrs-otome @curious-skybunny @rhodoliteschaos @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @portrait-ninja @ikesimpleton @ikemenlibrary @mastering-procrastinating @namine-somebodies-nobody @greatstarlightstarfish @queen-dahlia @scorchieart @nightghoul381

For Leon content: @leonscape

For Gilbert and Leon: @ozalysss

For Keith: @drewadoodle-dandy

Gilbert bisexual? Or would this make him asexual?

Re reading Silvio’s route and wow poor Gilbert he mustn’t like running or physical activity at all. Can’t wait for his route. He’s still a little shit though. But looking at that expression he looks like he hates running.

2 days til Gilbert not including the day of his release.

Spoilers for Gilbert’s route.

‘Oh god they’re both staring at me this is so awkward!’ Mc thought to herself.

‘…why is she here? What has Gilbert done to her?’ Keith thought to himself.

‘Gross.’ Silvio thought grimacing.

“Heehee.” Gilbert said grinning from ear to ear.

This is my opinion on what was going through their heads.

Spoilers from Gilbert’s route!!

Same bro same. How relatable.

From Gilbert’s route not really spoilers.

Anyway such great commentary from Silvio.

This is why he’s my 3rd favourite.

These 2 give me the same vibe and after almost finishing Gilbert’s Route and being up to date on the English server of Twisted Wonderland my thought process was completely right.

They pretty much even have the same pose.

Technically still haven’t finished his route (romantic route) I need more romantic and dramatic points or whatever like always.

But…

Fuck you, Gilbert!

(Not in the good way)

Fuck you to the moon.

Uggggh, why like I was prepared for his route to be heartbreaking but OH MY GAWD!! Damnit, I just don’t know what to think and I won’t spoil anything.

SPOILERS FOR Gilbert’s Dramatic Route!!

Both of his routes were good but I think his Romantic route was just as dramatic. But still give it up to the guy:

Gilbert von “made it out of the friend zone” Obsidian!

Also my theory of the Rhodolite Princes thinking of Mc as their little sister or just sister in general during the non brothers route is confirmed thanks to Chevalier’s last statement in Gilbert’s dramatic route.

Though he sounds more like a father than a brother. Also why the fuck is he nicer in Gilbert’s story than his own!?!? Like what the fuck!!

Anyway now I’m going to enjoy a refreshing can of Pepsi Max and play my Nintendo Switch.