Metodey always laughed. Metodey always stole. Metodey always killed. Day after day, Metodey lived for nothing but indulgence, basking in cruelty as he pilfered his menโs pay, kicked aside street urchins, or sunk his knife into the flesh of whatever poor sap earned his ire that day. All punctuated with that infernal giggle: a staple of the Adrestrian nightlife, echoing in taverns as he stretched out his legs and imbibed pint after pint, alcohol having long since eroded whatever little conscience heโd thrown away -- all for the sake of power.
Such a rewarding vice โ power -- yet one immediately forgotten in the warm embrace of touch. It was the most magnificent sensation Metodey had ever felt -- surely such softness should be forbidden to one so wicked, yet here he was, marveling at how his fingers dug into a different sort of indulgence. Each press divined a promise he delicately carved to memory: the empathy heโd never had, the compassion he never deemed worthwhile, the adoration heโd never deigned himself to feel.
All this and more, chipping away at his coal-black heart until it finally pumped free from its crusty shell, beating with precious, overflowing love. It was enough to bring Metodey to tears.
"Why," choked Metodey as his hands finished weaving Flayn's Play-Doh cheeks into veritable pretzel braids, "why would you bestow such divine revelation unto me, the most minor of bit characters?"
"Do you need a reason to be happy?โ whispered Flayn, dainty fingers interlinking with his reverent digits, โat any rate, I never said you could stop.โ
Metodey smiled through his tears, diligently beginning work on his next piece. โYou are too cruel, my dear Flayn. Far, far too cruel.โ
Behold -- an absurdist prompt fulfilled for
@memofish.bsky.social, featuring the most cracky of #FE3H crackpairs in Metodey/Flayn. Look upon it, and know it, for our budding church is seeking more members to join its flock. #yesreally