💕 krissy

@ronsenburg.bsky.social

145 Followers 114 Following

krissy | 30s | she/her | pfp by @/babypears | ronsenburg.straw.page

Screenshot of text that reads: “Why bother coming back?” Felix asks, staring out over the grey-green horizon, where the clouds churn, ominous, in the scattered evening light. There’s a handful of practiced answers Sylvain could provide, from the outright lies (“all that sunshine starts to get boring after a while, you know? I think I was actually starting to miss the snow,”) to the almost-sincere (“believe it or not, leaving didn’t change all that much beyond my zip code,”). Hell, just this once, he might even consider the truth. It’s a nice thought, at least. “I don’t know, Felix. Why’d you stay?” The summer air pressing down around them is oppressive: too-warm and too-thick with the latent June humidity. Felix doesn’t turn his face away from the line of the advancing storm, but his gaze flicks briefly over, meeting Sylvain’s all the same. The flash of a far-away lightning bolt is reflected in the dark pupils of his eyes. Why does anyone do anything, really? It’s muscle memory, or something like it; Sylvain braces himself, already counting the moments before the answering rumble of thunder reaches their ears.
grid showing the covers of the following games: 1. pokemon red 2. crash team racing 3. final fantasy x 4. putt putt goes to the moon 5. fire emblem three houses 6. star ocean the second story 7. mother 2 / earthbound 8. ace attorney trials and tribulations 9. chrono trigger
It doesn’t take Sylvain long to find out why. A child steps down from behind the carriage door; a child with auburn red hair that curls loosely at the ends, with anxious brown eyes shaded behind a fringe of thick lashes, with a sweetness to the curve of his cheeks that neither Miklan nor his father could have ever possessed in their entire lives. Revulsion—at the situation, at his father, and most ferociously, at himself—rises like bile up into the back of his throat. The child, too young or at the very least too timid to mention the lack of manners on the part of his hosts, bows stiffly, clearly uncomfortable in his new clothes. “Your Grace,” he murmurs to Felix before hesitating, his familiar eyes glancing up nervously to meet Sylvain’s. “…My Lord.” Goddess. Sylvain can’t help the startled bark of laughter that escapes him, or the bitterness that twists the smile on his lips into something else entirely. “Woah, hey, enough of that,” he says, ignoring the sharp look from Felix that he can just barely see from the corner of his eye. The anger is too fresh, too raw, to be comported cleanly away. “Everyone here already knows you’re my bastard, right? Might as well just call me ‘Dad’.”