#(i mean it's eventual; guys)

[witchkittymeow]

oh?

[lucabyte]

Perceptive kid, I wonder just how much they pretend not to overhear.

[egophiliac]

So how’s ride kamens going for you as I just pulled my self together long enough to read the other half of the current main story

I've been working on catching up on the event stories since they announced the upcoming main story update! (I totally bombed the last few events...they're so fast-paced and I just didn't have time...😭)

and then of course they went and dropped THIS on us today

(you don't understand, I LOVE Tajador and I already love the two blurry frames they've given us of non-silhouetted Kelka, I'm ready to absolutely lose my shit come the announcement/reveal(?) stream on Thursday --)

[pngblog]

[madbard]

Headcanon that Dust absolutely resents how much he resembles Classic. There are elements of this back in Dusttale, with how Dust prefers to hide his face and identity while building his LV, but this is more out of practicality (and even shame) than anything else. He doesn’t want his victims to recognize him because it’ll make it harder for him to sneak up on people, and a part of him really doesn’t want them to know that he was the one who killed him. The longer this goes on, the more his disguise transforms from a way of hiding his shame to a way of distancing himself from who he used to be. Sans would never kill all those people, but he isn’t Sans anymore. He’s not really a person anymore, he is the act of murder itself. He is Dust.

I think this would get way worse when Dust leaves his AU and enters the multiverse though, because right off the bat he encounters murderers, just like him… who don’t look innocent. Horror, Killer and even Cross are set completely apart from who they used to be. They are scarred and twisted and nightmarish. Looking at them doesn’t trigger memories of a happier, innocent past. They have renamed themselves, taken on a new identity - but for them, this change was physical as well. No one will ever mistake them for Sans.

So Dust wears his hood. He hides his face. He keeps his magic burning constantly, because if he stops his eyes will darken and there will be nothing setting him apart from the monster who died, years ago, the first time a knife ripped through his chest. The others realize it, too… Horror probably wouldn’t care either way. Cross would understand the desire to distance oneself from an old identity, but would ultimately be in a similar boat as Horror. Killer would bring this up to taunt Dust once he realized it bothered him - and would quickly get bored with it. Ultimately, the others would just accept Dust’s refusal to show his face, his hatred of his own voice and reflection, as part of who he is.

I like to imagine that one day, the gang get into a serious combat. It’s vicious and close; both sides are bloody and exhausted by the time it’s over. If one side wins, it’s by a hair, and not much of a victory. In the dazed silence following the battle, Nightmare slowly assesses each of his acolytes, ensuring that they are still alive and intact. When he reaches Dust, he pauses. The assassin is bloodied, slumped over. His HP is steady but low; he’s taken a lot of hits - more than most monsters would have been able to survive. His hand vanishes beneath his hood, carefully inspecting his face. That night, back at the castle, Dust steps in front of a mirror. He takes a deep breath and, for the first time in years, removes his hood to look his reflection in the eye. The combat left deep wounds across his face, injuries that would never heal completely, that would leave him permanently scarred.

Dust looks at his battered reflection and smiles.

[nite-puff]

this was what their dr:s interaction was originally gonna be. trust me. i’m mr. danganronpa

(no cuz seriously. how are you gonna have them interact and then forget that hiroko canonically has a bit of a thing for takaaki?) (i say this like the dr:s writers even knew who the other captives were)

[smile-files]

who let mephone direct the purim play?? (edit: fixed a typo lol)

(objectober 2024 day 7: production)

[cozylittleartblog]

idk if I've said it before, but your portrayals of both Rouxls and Queen are among my favorites, and the way they are when you combine the two is the sole thing that got me to say "yes" to queenkaard. When I first saw it in the game and it started catching on as a ship, I was like "nooo I hc him as gay," but then after seeing your stuff I was like "oh nvm I totally see this now."

i think hearing "i didn't see this ship before, but after your art i understand it and/or even ship it myself" is one of the nicest compliments i get, because it makes me feel like i'm representing something meaningful and sweet about a pairing and having people understand what i think is so great and captivating about them. i've gotten a couple asks like this and sometimes i forget to respond but i always really appreciate them :) thank you very much

[lavendermin]

the lovers, reversed | stellaron hunter sunday

pairing | sunday x fem!reader

wc | 1.6k

genre | angst, one sided love, unrealized feelings

warnings | mdni, alcohol mention, brief mention of sex, blood, wounds, unhealthy relationship, spoiler I guess if sunday really does end up being a stellaron hunter (have not yet played 2.3)

Fresh wounds, a few gashes. Nothing he couldn't treat. Because you wouldn't have anyone else though Firefly has always offered.

"Hold still," Sunday quietly instructs as steady hands work quickly to disinfect and dress unsightly marred skin.

You wince and clutch the sheets until your knuckles turn white. The pain was never easy, but a consequence of your recklessness nonetheless.

Under deft fingers you're all skin, no shame. Not when it's him.

Another whimper you can't suppress escapes your lips, and maybe it finally breaks something in him because you hear him sigh quietly. With his teeth he swiftly pulls off one of his gloves and holds it to your lips.

"Bite down on this," he instructs, voice calm and level. "There's still debris in one of the gashes. I have to take them out one by one."

You can only nod, not registering much else as the pain has your vision tunneling. It's another twenty minutes as he tries to work as quickly as possible. It takes everything to keep his composure despite your muffled cries of discomfort.

"This should have been done in the medical wing." Sunday's reprimand has little to no bite as he clears the medical supplies from the coffee table he had pulled up from across your room.

Your breath is weak and shaky, but still a gentle thing he's used to. "Too bright in there. Makes me feel like a lab rat within those white walls."

"Smells too clean?" he chuckles. Something he can't help around you more recently. There's an innocent and peculiar way you view things. Much like–

Sunday shuts the cabinet in your bathroom a bit harsher than he intended. He can't think of her... not right now. It would only bring emotions he didn't need to process—couldn't process at the moment.

There's red on his hands, on his clothes, staining his once pristine gloves. The awful metallic smell feels like it’s burned into his nostrils—a nauseating mix of crimson and the strong smell of sterilizers as he cleans the tools. His hands work on their own under the running water of your sink, almost out of body as his mind wanders. There’s a slight tremble he catches. Pathetic, he thinks, unable to keep it together in such a dire time.

The 'script' did not mention anything of a necessary death, but of course it would never detail wounds or misfortunes in detail. Some of those just come with the job. And sometimes he would feel a bubbling anger at the twisted fates that often befell you. But he knows it's a spiral that leaves him down a foggy road, one he shouldn't tread on.

Still, you're alive, and he's here. And for now, that's enough.

Your strained voice pulls him back to his body. Back to the present with a clearer head.

Right. The painkillers.

Sunday is quickly back by your side, pushing the small pill past your lips and lifting your face gently to give you water.

"You forgot," you tease despite your hoarse voice.

And those golden eyes you love dearly can't even bear to look at you as he sits next to you on the bed. There's no response other than a halfhearted hum he gives you. You know he didn't forget, and his lack of correction knowing how matter-of-fact he is only further sinks your heart.

But you don't get to tell your heart who to love.

The now-wrinkled glove he gave you is placed next to his leg. "Sorry I messed up. I'll buy you a new pair."

"Thank you..."

"You're wel-"

"You should say ‘thank you’. For the gesture. But don't apologize for the inevitable from missions. What's done is done," Sunday interrupts, voice firm. A little cold.

"I-" You're cut off as he grabs your wrist, his eyes unfocused as he looks at the ground.

"If you had done as I said– You could have gone missing. A lot of things could have gone wrong. Don't use yourself as bait. If anything happens to me, you escape by any means necessary. Understand?"

The grip is a little less than comfortable and you can only nod. Obedient only if it was his words that commanded. It brought a feeling he didn't want to describe rushing through his chest. The way your eyes looked at him—a mix of fear and blind adoration. It made him nauseous to consider himself worthy of such affection.

The morals of why he kept you by his side—of why he sought you during moments of his own damned weakness... He would dwell on that another time. If his morals were in a slow decline, perhaps he would even turn to burn the words stuck in his throat with the liquid he once detested and swore would never stain his lips. The liquid courage might bring him tumbling into your arms, an eagerness to be held and soothed for the sin he feels tainted with.

That maybe in his drunken stupor with his face buried in your neck and his throbbing frustration filling you up, he would realize even in nothingness, there is you. Always you.

A rebound. A close second. A replacement.

Sunday subconsciously has been latching onto you. It’s something he doesn’t remember starting, something he can’t stop nor explain. You, who are like an injured little dove to him, easily hurt and predictable in seeking comfort with his presence.

At first he firmly tried to keep his distance, remain cordial. But now… You provide him some psychological need to keep his same routine from before or have some semblance of familiarity amidst this new path he's been set on. This relationship was just something platonic, he swears by this. Just an innate need to protect and guide you since you were also a clumsy new recruit.

You couldn't help it—falling for him. Slowly being consumed by an infatuation that morphed into a hopeful yearning that filled your chest with a syrupy thickness of strong emotions you were inexperienced with.

And Sunday was at a loss. That wasn't part of the plan. Well…granted he didn't have much of a plan with you. The platonic acquaintance he had built with you was nothing more than for his own gratification. His desperate attempt at normalcy. Someone to fill the void of not being able to see his dear sister.

Still... you're so willing to just give and give and give to him. Anything, for even the slightest possibility of returned affection. Even if you don't outright confess to him, he sees it. In your actions, your speech, your eyes.

Would it truly be so bad to take that which is offered in earnest?

A heart in his hands with nothing to show for it. Lies to himself that this closeness is his attempt to bring you salvation. To settle your heart.

He knows how your script ends, looming over his consciousness. Testing his heart as if he were a newborn god stumbling over his first creation meeting its written demise. Some part of him is too scared to ask if you know it, too. Maybe there's still some naïveté in him if he believes for a second that you don't. A hope that your heart remains innocent and lovely and–

For now Sunday lets you love. It would be a bitter thing to not take the heart you have handed to him.

The painkillers have started to work, your body finally able to sleep for a bit after he changed your soiled sheets from treating your wounds. Before he leaves, Sunday presses his lips to your knuckles and idles for a few moments to watch your steady breathing. Sweat glistens on your brow from the exertion the wound treatment put on your body. Your endurance was nothing to be laughed at.

Sunday doesn't need to turn to know who's outside your door when he leaves.

"Was there something you needed?" The question lacks any warmth.

Kafka chuckles where she leans against the wall, fiddling with a card in her hands. "Here to drop off your compensation for the mission and look after the little lamb," she replies simply, throwing the card to him. He catches it between two fingers. "She lost her phone this past mission so make sure to give her that card for the time being."

Sunday's eyes narrow. "I'm looking after her."

"Poor thing sent me a message asking that I check in on her so she won't bother you. Unless that's a problem?" Her unreadable smile is something Sunday is growing to detest.

"Not necessary. I'll be handling it." His voice is firm, a warning woven into his tone with careful consideration. A natural habit from his years as the head of the Oak Family.

"Really now? If you don't want me looking after her due to trust issues then Bladie can–"

"No." Sunday can feel his heart pounding in his ears, a frustration deep-set in his veins at the pure thought of someone that isn't him near you when you're at your most vulnerable. He wishes he could wipe that smile off Kafka's face. Victim of her teasing again. Remember your composure, a conditioned mind rings. With a clear of his throat, he continues, "No, that won't be necessary. I've already cleared my schedule to ensure her wounds are looked after so there isn't any scarring. I'll take care of it."

Kafka relents and pats his shoulder as she passes him. "Very well, birdie. Sounds like you have our little lamb's heart in your pocket. Or perhaps it's your own?"

Before Sunday can ask her what she means, she's already vanished from his sight. His hand reaches into his jacket pocket when he feels something rigid and pulls out a card he's sure she placed there.

A tarot card depicting a dove perched on a lamb. The lovers.

[canisalbus]

To me, Machete kind of has the energy of a secondary villain/coldhearted side character in someone else's story that a lot of fans latch onto, moreso than the protagonist. Question is, would he be the villain in anyone's story?

Why, thank you! I'm actually glad to hear he gives off that vibe. I don't think he set out to become a villain but a lot of people certainly view him as one.

[roadkill-punk]

these are my birds. Do you like them

[robinfollies]

Been really pondering Fantoccio and the cursed citizens lately… like, if you’re stuck in a city for 15 years with some of your only company being these cursed globby versions of the people that used to surround you normally, you’d start to Notice Things that remind you of who they used to be, right?

[luck-of-the-drawings]

[<==PREV PAGES] [NEXT PAGE==>(not out yet.wait a year.or maybe more.imagine.]

saw alot of comments on prev pages; saying 'i HATE that mean teacher! im gonna FIGHT HIM!!' & i LOVE the energy!! it WOULD be nice. to have that catharsis. but the story of young tidestrider is Not one of catharsis. it is a story of being so small and so special and sucking so bad.

[what-am-i-doing-in-this-fandom]

GIRL A FRIEND AND I HAVE ALSO BEEN TALKING ABOUT A POKEMON AU. We thought up the idea that Stan has a failed nurse Chansey who's too aggressive to be working in a pokemon center. Basically a "somehow they became besties" situation.

...

Of course for angst we also decided she would've been sucked into the portal with Ford, with Stan being left with Ford's Pokémon and a Happiny.

(Stan x Angst is just the true otp I guess lol.)

WAIT STOP I WAS THINKING THAT TOO great minds think alike FR 🙏‼️

I was thinking of Ford desperately throwing his Pokéballs like he did with the first journal when he gets sucked into the portal so Stan has to take care of them 😭🙏

I would feel too bad to have Stan be separated from his Pokémon, but absolutely seperate Ford from his 🤞

The only Pokémon I was really thinking of for Stan was a Meowth because.... c'mon, it may be unoriginal but it is real as hell. But I do love that idea of him befriending a too aggressive Chansey, that's so funny 🙏

(I'm partial to Stan x angst, but here I think Ford x angst is a much more palpable OTP 🙌)

[paper-possum-party-pal]

Meet The Narrator!

And it appears that there are two other characters to unlock in this lineup!

I’ll give you all the lore for main tsp AU once I reveal the design for the final character, but for now you get to learn about my Narrator!

The Narrator is a being known as an Informis Voxumis that has spent years observing humanity. The Narrator and other beings like him do not have natural physical forms, they’re just a voice/consciousness stretched across planes of dimensions and reality. This existence intersecting these planes can allow them to build physical forms for themselves, but it’s incredibly difficult to do so considering the matter that needs to be pieced together in a functional manner. It’s a miracle that The Narrator would eventually manage to pull it off. Informis Voxumis, or ‘Voices’ for something simpler, existed across the galaxy since near the beginning of time, but their numbers have dwindled to the point that The Narrator and his two cohorts have only interacted with each other, and while there’s still probably more out there, it’s unli they’ll ever meet. There are two more Entities similar to the Informis Voxumis that are also watching over Earth and the three Voices, but that’s a story for another day.

The Narrator’s Bio!

(The Narrators fear and disdain for humanity is completely warranted. Not only are living things, to him, gross meat things that do awful gross stuff, but intelligent mortal beings are fully capable of killing or controlling the Informis Voxumis. How? Oh I definitely totally remember how and am certainly not stalling to tell you when I figure it out)

After spending years watching humanity The Narrator begins to grow bored, and while he’s weary about interacting with any aspect of Earth, he’s become insatiably curious. The Narrator gets the clever idea (in his opinion) to create a human and place it in a little sandbox he’s created to study the idiosyncrasies of humanity.

This is the start of The Parable.

Unfortunately for The Narrator, he doesn’t really know what he’s doing and while he thinks he’s making a completely original human, he’s actually plucked the recently deceased soul of one Stanley and has begun fiddling around with it. The original Stanley is mostly lost in this process, and beyond the few remanents left of Stanley, he is nothing more than a shell of what he once was, so at first he doesn’t really do much. The Narrator then has to tweak Stanley until he can move around, understand orders, etc. This creates a new Stanley with no memories of the past beyond what the Narrator has shoved into him for his character. This new Stanley starts out curious and optimistic, but you know how the story goes by now. He loses that optimism, starts doing everything he can to go against and irritate The Narrator, and they start butting heads. This begins their on again off again friendship and rivalry.

I’m still deciding when in the timeline it happens exactly, but The Narrator eventually makes his human form, partly to prove that he’s better than humanity and that he’d make a great human. Another repressed part of him did it because he was curious and lonely, and the most repressed part of him did it because he noticed how lonely, depressed, and touch starved Stanley was becoming. He doesn’t use it for a long time after making it, he hides it and doesn’t tell Stanley, but eventually he’s given the push he needed to try it out and finally greet Stanley in person.

He is immediately punched in the face.

Stanley doesn’t apologize, which is warranted, but that’s the moment they really start over and try to get along better.

That’s one(ish?) part done. Sorry if I’ve rambled on too much or if it’s disjointed. I’m honestly not used to writing things down like this and I needed to put what I had in my head out into the world. I’ll probably write a more comprehensive document or something, maybe answer questions, idk. It probably doesn’t help that there are certain aspects of this AU that I’m still trying to develop. I’ll need to make a separate things so I can make it clear exactly what’s going on with Stanley.

One final note, my Narrator does share a human name with one of @shinakazami1 Narrator’s from her lovely Ao3 fic “Destiny Surely Likes to Play Tricks” that she made with Taking_L’s. I wanted to make sure they got proper credit, and if you haven’t read it already, you really should! I’ll be posting a link to the fic separately since this post is already long enough.

Congrats if you managed to wade through my idea speghetti, good job! And thanks for all your lovely words in my last posts, it really makes my day!

The first image but without the character shadows

[paimonial-rage]

otome isekai snippets - geo boys

synopsis: in which your favorite characters get dropped into a random stereotypical isekai plot of the author's choosing characters: albedo, gorou, itto, zhongli notes: title, synopsis, then snippet

Albedo - Protecting the Hero With Love

The hero’s journey was met with betrayal from every end, the first of which from his adoptive guardian, Duke Kreideprinz, who experimented on him endlessly as a child in an attempt to use his unique mana to defy the gods. Reborn as the hero’s sibling, there was no way you would be letting your brother go down such a harsh path! First obstacle? You would stop the duke from ever taking notice of your brother! Wait, what do you mean marriage!?

“Goodnight!” You exclaimed as you slammed your bedroom door shut.

You ignored the heat that flooded your cheeks as you fled to the comforting embrace of your bed. Your hands shook as you took your fluffiest pillow, buried your face into it…

And screamed.

Something was wrong. Something was very very wrong. Why in the world was he doing things like… that!? Dining with you every evening, placing his hand upon your waist in public, walking to your room at night and taking your hand to kiss while he looks up at you with those piercing blue–

You screamed into your pillow again. 

What in the world was going on!? He wasn’t supposed to be like this! By saving his sister from her terrible fate, you planned to prevent him from even taking interest in your brother’s mana. He was supposed to thank you with a sum of money and then send you on your way. His offer of a marriage contract as a form of protection for you and your brother came as a surprise, but when he simply stated it would be a benefit to him as well, you agreed. Since it was a mutually beneficial arrangement, he certainly had no reason to take interest in you.

So why in the world was he–

You slammed your fist into the pillow.

You knew the duke! Not only did you know him from the book, but you even heard rumors of him before you even met him in this world! He was supposed to be a loner! He was dismissive of most of his peers! He preferred the company of beakers and potions to actual people! The only person he truly cared about was his sister! So what in the world was that!? Just as his lips brushed against your fingers, he gazed up at you with those seafoam eyes and–

“So you don’t mind if I pursue you seriously then?”

You flopped forward onto your pillow and buried your face into it. Your heart couldn’t take this. Especially not when he looked at you like that. 

--

gorou, itto, and zhongli under the cut!

Gorou - I’m Not the Villainess Anymore!

It was the classic tale told many times past of a beautiful, yet pitiful woman that was saved by a handsome man. Together they overcame jealous villainesses, corrupt politicians, and jealous older siblings to live happily ever after. But that was not your story. You, as the jealous ultimate villainess, were exiled to a lonely monastery at the edge of the kingdom. But you know what? It was about time! Finally, you can live your life unfettered by the chains of the novel! But if that was the case, why does the head knight keep bothering you!? Your job as the villainess is done! It’s about time he left you alone!

You bit your lip as you scrubbed that light spot in the corridor for the fiftieth time. Who would have thought that after months of getting General Gorou to leave, the moment your wish came true you wanted nothing more than to keep him here with you. You knew his strengths and accomplishments. You knew he wouldn’t be taken down easily. But the thought that he’d be going up against the Shogunate…

You gritted your teeth and pressed your scrubber even harder into the spot. 

Who cared? Regardless of what happened, Sangonomiya Kingdom had nothing to do with you. Your job there was done. And once General Gorou left, you’d finally be free. You’d finally be able to live your life the way you wanted to. You would be able to leave the monastery behind, jump on a ship to a land far away, and restart your life there. And–

You froze when you heard the sound of hooves accompanied with a familiar voice. 

“Woah there! Jeez, I know you’re happy to go running again, but this won’t be for fun, boy.”

General Gorou? Was he leaving already?

Your heart caught in your throat as you tossed everything to the side and dashed toward the front doors. Throwing them open, you froze upon seeing the general securing the last of his luggage to his trusted steed. And when his eyes fell upon you, he froze in return. Was he at a loss of what to say just like you? But by the steely expression that soon overtook his face, it seemed he found his words first.

“I’ll return safely to you, I promise.”

You wanted to laugh in response. He’ll return safely? How could he promise such a thing so easily? The Shogun’s army was mighty and the Sangonomiya Kingdom was so small. Sure, he was a mighty warrior. Sure, he proved himself in battle many times over, but that didn’t mean–

He took your hands and squeezed them tightly.

“I’ll come back to you safely. I promise. So…” He then cupped your cheek and smiled that adorable smile of his. “Don’t worry too much, okay? Make sure to eat your vegetables. And don’t get into fights with the priest. Oh! And the children adore you, so I’ll check to see you set a good example for them when I return.”

Disbelief exploded from your chest in the form of a bark of laughter. 

“Don’t scold me right before you march to your death! Don’t worry about me! Just…” You turned away as tears filled your eyes. “Just come back alive.”

--

Itto - My Seventh Round of Life

You lived six lives before this one, each ending in failure. Murder, sickness, betrayal—the list goes on. You did everything right. You fulfilled all the duties of each life, and still each time ended in your early demise. So when you woke up for the seventh time, you decided you had enough. You’ll give life one last chance. This time you’ll make your own decisions! Although… getting caught by a gang of bandits certainly was not one of them!!!

“You can’t just… do this!!! They’re not going to allow it!” You exclaimed as you tried to pull the big burly oni back. 

You had no clue what in the world made him think it was okay to simply set up a stage in the middle of such an illustrious city, but here was this big dope doing so! Didn’t he know what could happen? What if permits were needed? What if everybody was arrested for the fifth time this month!? But much to your dismay, Itto erupted in a big belly laughter at your despair.

“C’mon, First! Why are you getting your obi all tied in a knot? It’s not a big deal. We've done this maaaany times and it always turned out fine. Just trust me! It’s gonna be a riot!”

You wanted to scream. Of course, he wouldn’t see anything wrong with this. Didn’t this guy have any sense of self-preservation? But when you turned to Shinobu for assistance, there she was supervising the setup of the stage. Was literally everyone in this accursed gang insane?

Upon noticing your distressed expression, Itto let out a sigh. Soon you were wincing as a huge hand ruffled your carefully styled hair. 

“Don’t worry, I get it! You’re standing here brought to tears over worrying about your great boss. It’ll be fine!” But when your expression didn’t change, his turned stern. “Look, if you spend all your time racking your brain over hows-its and whats-its, you’ll get all old and pruney before you know it. You only live once. Might as well make it worth it, right?”

You wanted to laugh. If only he knew this was your seventh life. You got killed for less. But… unlike your previous lives, it wasn’t as if the Arataki Gang was involved in anything illegal. Their antics only incurred, not the threat of bows and spears, but the rolling of eyes. You left your old life away too. They didn’t want you anymore. So… perhaps… Perhaps it couldn’t be that bad?

Your shoulders dropped.

“Fine.”

So when he jumped in front of the crowd with fireflies strapped to his horns and the rest of the gang jumping and dancing around him, the audience hooted and hollered with glee. With the music twanging high in the air and the children of the city rushing around you, somewhere along the line you found yourself laughing along too. It felt odd. Weird. Like there was a lightness in your chest you never felt before. 

Was this what it felt like to live?

--

Zhongli - I Didn’t Mean to Sleep With the Celestial Emperor

Every century, the celestial emperor came down to the Kingdom of Liyue to grace his people with the divine knowledge needed to flourish until his return. After enjoying the week-long festival in the harbor to your heart’s content, you were excited for the main event. But as the celestial emperor descended from the heavens, what filled your chest was not awe, but confusion. Wasn’t he the guy you slept with last night?

“It has been said that while the Harbor represents the will of Liyue, Qingce Village represents its heart. It is a joy to see that it has remained just as I remembered.” 

��O-Oh, is that so?” You asked as the corner of your smile twitched slightly.

You didn’t know how it came to this, bringing the celestial emperor around Liyue, that is. When you first saw his face, you nervously assumed you were mistaken. You clearly saw him descend from the heavens, after all. The man you spent a passionate evening with the night before certainly could not be him. But when he locked eyes with you from the parapet, dread filled your stomach. 

You tried. You really did. The moment the procession was over, you upped and headed straight to the inn to pack your belongings to leave and leave to anywhere out of Liyue Harbor. But that would’ve been too easy. No, the moment you rushed downstairs and paid your bill, you turned to run straight into a young adeptus and was therefore whisked over to the man himself. 

Though it would have been weird, you would have been fine if he simply wished to thank you for the evening, but things were never that simple, were they? No, when you were brought before him, he said that you promised to show him the delights of Liyue. You said he could take it as a verbal contract between you both and he wished to cash in on it.

Now, let it be said that you didn’t mean it. After having had a few drinks last night, you were in the mood to flirt and really, could you be held accountable for what came out of your mouth? You didn’t think he’d hold you to it! But at the same time, how could you refuse!? Only a fool would invalidate a contract made with the very being of contracts! 

So here you were bringing the celestial emperor around as if he were some random normal traveler from a foreign land trying to hide from the common folk the divinity that oozed off of him in waves. It certainly did not help that he was handsome to boot and could steal hearts with a simple smile. And when he directed all that at you…?

“To be able to share this view with you…” His amber eyes glowed with warmth. “Your presence makes this trip even more of a delight.”

You couldn’t think straight.