#and a bit capricious

[kc5rings]

We’ve finally found the other end of the Sui measuring scale

It’s got Nian at one end as most unemployed and Shu at the other end for most employed possible

[vaguely-concerned]

I understand intellectually just how ludicrously convenient, not to say integral, transporter technology is for the fully automated luxury gay space communism functioning of the star trek universe. but I do somehow feel that there should be more attention paid in-universe to the fact that when you step into one of those things you are playing russian roulette with your immortal soul. we should at least see some people do the sign of the cross or something before they step into one. it probably goes under the 'flying is actually statistically safer than driving' category of thing, I'll acknowledge, but the worst a plane (or spaceship) can ultimately do is crash and kill you. when the transporter malfunctions it will straight up divide the universe by zero and make you an evil twin while it's at it

[instantdepresso]

When you’re supposed to be retired but people keep calling you for help against gods and dragons

[goatbeard-goatbeard]

kind of funny how many people think the Metatron does all the bad stuff when GO’s version of God is canonically a weird mischievous little shit

[cryptidsncurios]

Kuja is an incomprehensibly stunning gorgeous gender-fluid icon fite me

[stargazypie]

and while I’m posting my hater takes, as a huge opponent of the royal family and a strong believer that they are mostly evil imperialist oppressors and the entire institution should be destroyed tomorrow and all their palaces nationalised, I don’t think it’s funny when people are sick and dying and I don’t think it’s morally correct to pry into the medical affairs of any human being if they are trying to be private. monarchism is wrong, because royals are just people and no person should have that kind of power. but that argument relies on the fact that they are people. and all people have basic rights in our society including the right to dignity in their medical affairs

[clockworkdragonffxiv]

I need a new RPG forum

I've been posting at the same one for over a decade but lately have run afoul of the mods, who apparently are increasingly bored and make up for this by slapping increasingly draconian bans on stuff like "cracking a joke in response to another joke about middle management being a bit redundant" or calling a pattern of "religious group attacks" being that one time in 2016 I posted a meme about Tikaliik and got slapped with a two week ban and threats of permaban for, quote, "making group attacks on religion." Or when I bemoaned how civil servants were being cowards for following orders from a certain screamy orange man instead of abiding by their oaths I was accused of group attacks.

Note that literally every member of my family since about 1910 has worked in the public sector as a civil servant. Myself included. I think I have the right to have strong feelings on the matter of public fucking service.

Meanwhile they also ban people for flat-out made-up offenses, as in the offenses are words that they made up themselves and aren't real words. And after a flurry of bans for this new offense - that may or may not be listed in the rules - it's never used ever again. Recently they banned two long term members for, and I quote, "centering discussions on themselves" when they responded to a post by going "Well, in my experiences, [their experiences in dealing with this situation]."

But I often feel like this is the "pattern of behavior" they're describing:

Look, I don't even, broadly speaking, disagree with the mods views on plenty of things. But that's not the issue here, is it? It's this bizarre and capricious reactionary behavior combined with ominous threats. I mean, I get it. I've been a mod on a major site (and was terrible at it). But there's a thin skinned lack of ability to just roll their eyes and go "Yeah, yeah, everyone thinks they're a comedian."

Though that response would probably get a ban for group attacks for implying that people are funny, like some kind of humorous clown, like they're a ridiculous thing, like they're not worth taking seriously. Banhammered.

Which is a lot of fun when you interface with the world through sarcasm and humor and can't help but be a smartass.

So I'm about fed up. And I don't feel like going to some other forum where it's just a cesspool of "MAH FREE SPEECH MEANS I CAN BE A RACIST TRANSPHOBIC HOMOPHOBIC CUNT!"

Man, I just wanna talk about video games and D&D and science and history and politics and stuff which isn't so far up it's own ass that it's transformed into some sort of mobius, has an actual sense of humor (I mean actual sense of humor, not "LULZ triggered" hogwash), and has intelligent conversation. I'm not really much for Discords as I can't keep up with them and they're too distracting. I like forums. Maybe I'm just old, but I do.

Any advice?

[malkaviian]

i never talk about the effects the "breakup" with finnley had on chase so im going to do it now

[phantasmique]

𝕾𝖎𝖓𝖐 𝕴𝖓 𝖄𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝕿𝖊𝖊𝖙𝖍

Summary: Sukuna's heat has finally struck, and despite having a full year to prepare as best as you could, you don't think you'll survive it.

Warnings: 18+ MDI. Sukuna has two cocks because it's canon. Overstimulation, multiple orgasms, a bit of objectification. Possessive behavior.

The entire estate is in a flutter of organized chaos. Every single individual, from the house servants, maids, cooks, and guards all rushing about to get things in order, securing the household and planning for the several weeks ahead that would require a severe sense of tact and delicacy from everyone involved.

It's an annual event. One that is anticipated to arrive in the early summer, the whole of the estate collectively holding their breath as the approximate date looms closer and closer.

Once the fickleness of the spring weather finally shifts, the tepid, pollen perfumed air adjusting to something satiny, humid and warm, you know of what's to come. It never fails to have a nervous flutter stirring in the pit of your gut; excitement and agitation thrumming through your veins.

It's nothing new to you now, having dealt with this exactly four years in a row already, but the suspense of it never truly dims. And the capricious nature of Sukuna's moods doesn't help in that aspect. He's already ornery at the best of times. Testy. Swinging back and forth between that sadistic gloating of his and a terrifying kind of aggression or indifference. But when his . . . heat (he hates when it's addressed as such) approaches, he becomes horrifically combative - even more so, if that's at all possible.

Wildly territorial. His many eyes always subtly shifting, scanning his surroundings for a possible intruder. As though anyone would be foolish enough to sneak into the dwelling of the King of Curses.

Not even his own servants are safe from his increased aggression. Many of them have fallen in the past. Cut down and dismembered for making the mistakes of treading too closely to his chambers. It costed many of them their heads and all of them their lives.

As such, they are all forbidden from entering the northern side of the estate in its entirety, lest they pass within his sight. A gruesome death would certainly befall them. And so they remain tucked within the safety of the servants' quarters, hidden away until his heat finally breaks.

The only individual offered a shred of immunity is Uraume, who is still charged with their duties of delivering breakfast and dinner to Sukuna's chambers. Staying only long enough to supply the meal and not a moment longer.

Though you can't say that everyone is banished from his presence. You wouldn't go as far as to say that you're the reason for the escalation of his hostility and possessiveness, those are all traits that have always been natural to him, but it's clear that it's all magnified because of you.

He becomes protective in a way that should be concerning. Demanding that you remain at his side through all hours, keeping you secure within his quarters and curled on the bedding, bathed in his scent.

It's a grueling two weeks for you. Your mortal body forced to withstand his ceaseless stamina and lust for long stretches, day and night bleeding into each other in a blur smeared with sweat and a torturous bliss.

You're forbidden from leaving his quarters when he's in this state. Lest he become horridly unsettled, pacing around with a snarl. Teeth glinting, pale and lethal, glimmering along with the scarlet flash of his eyes, wide and hyper-vigilant in a search for the possibility of a threat. Of a rival.

He loses himself to those baser instincts. Possessed by the primal urges to keep you hidden, tucked away and protected, pinned beneath his body while he takes you for all you're worth.

You do your best to brace for it. To mentally prepare for the weeks that you'll spend stowed away within his chambers, held to his body as he grips you close with talons and greedy fingers. But no matter how much you try, you're never truly able to poise yourself for the magnitude of his lust.

You had told yourself that this time would be different. You have years of experience under you now. You should have built up the endurance required in that time. You should be able to handle it. Handle him.

How wrong you were.

He's going to kill you.

There's no way that you'll possibly be able to survive this.

It's brutal. Ceaseless. He's using your body as though it's an object. An instrument to get himself off. The massive width of his hands clasping onto you to keep you pinned and trapped in place on his lap, two of them spanned around your hips, another keeping your wrists locked behind your back.

It renders you immobile. Not that you'd be able to move regardless. You think you've gone limp by now. Boneless as he uses the hold he has on your hips to lift you up and down on his cocks. Reducing you to little more than a doll for him to drive himself into; a lewd, wet noise sounding out each time your hips meet, the damp smack of skin on skin echoing out in your ears with every thrust.

You're so full. Both of your holes stretched wide and gaping around his girth, his cocks buried so deep inside of you that you swear you can feel him in your chest, knocking you breathless. The both of them only separated by a thin wall of muscle, and you can feel them gliding against each other.

He's stuffed you with so much cum already, filling your stomach, you swear that it's making you swollen with it. So full that it's begun to drip from your pussy and ass, smearing down your thighs and spilling as he drives himself into you. Determined to give you another load - the third? The fourth? You honestly don't know anymore.

It's impossible to keep track. The pleasure keeps rolling over you, all but clawing and tearing through your body and limbs like one singular wave. You aren't sure if your orgasms are bleeding into each other, connecting together to build into a long stretch of blinding pleasure, or if he's simply just making you cum before you can fully realize it. Playing your body like an instrument.

It's torture. It's bliss. You want it to stop. You never want it to end.

You can't tell visually that your eyes are rolling, your sight ruined by the tears blurring around the edges, but you can feel them slipping back into your skull. The massive tongue lolling out past the mouth that yawns open on his stomach is just as cruel as the rest of him, lashing and lapping at your swollen clit.

It has the breath in your lungs snagging, your voice breaking as he continues to wring your body of every ounce of pleasure it might have; thighs shaking from the onslaught.

"Sukuna - fuck-"

"What a good little pet you are," he praises. His free hand lifts, fingers grasping your chin to keep your head from falling back uselessly on its neck, forcing you to make eye contact. It's difficult to through the tears, and the pleasure licking up your spine, eating at your bones and turning your mind into something blank threatens to have them rolling back again, but you will yourself to keep them open.

"So well behaved and useless. It makes me wonder what your fellow sorcerers would think if they could see you now, all pliant and obedient on my lap. But you don't even care about that anymore, do you?"

Truthfully, you don't. Your sense of pride has long since dissolved in that regard. It was broken down by him, by your own twisted fascination and attraction for him. You can't find it in yourself to be bothered by all of those old ideals and constructs that had held you back before, keeping you from admitting such a truth to yourself.

You don't care if it makes you weak, or foolish, you'd gladly admit your devotion to him, to sorcerers, and to the entirety of humanity.

You know that it pleases him to see you so willing and docile under his control, a talented sorcerer in your own right turning you back on your heritage in favor of him.

Always eager to satisfy him, you find yourself nodding your head as best as you can, fighting against the slack muscles in your neck and the firm grip he has on your jaw; the points of his talons dragging along your flesh.

His grin is more of a snarl, all teeth and arrogance. Combined with the fervent want in his eyes, he looks feral. His pupils are blown wide, black pits swallowing up rings of burning, violent red; the dark of it reflecting the dim lighting like an animal's. It makes you feel like prey. Wounded and vulnerable, pinned between rows of honed teeth.

It should be embarrassing - demeaning how your body flushes with warmth in response, holes clenching tightly around his cocks as though they mean to trap him inside.

He notices of course. You can tell by the way that his grin somehow stretches even wider, further exposing those sharp fangs that you love so much. There's blood tainted between his teeth, a reminder of the marks that he had previously carved along your neck and shoulders, branding himself in your skin.

It's going to take you weeks to recover, for the inevitable soreness in your muscles to finally fade, for the wounds scattered along your neck and thighs to seal over, but you can't be bothered to be worried about it. A part of you relishes the sting of it. The fire that's settled into your sinew and bones. You want it.

"Mmm, you smell like me." He muses, leaning his head down just enough to lick the length of your throat, leaving a trail of scorching heat behind. The wounds along the junction of your neck ache when his tongue lashes over them, making your eyelashes flutter, a soft moan spilling past your lips.

He groans. A low, guttural sound that echoes heavily in his chest and skirts over your own body. It's a pleased noise, as though he's satisfied by the taste of your blood in his mouth; his scent smeared over your heated flesh as though it's your own.

A buried, distant half of you fleetingly worries that he might actually take a real bite out of you. That he might unhinge his jaw and swallow you whole. More concerning is that you'd let him.

The mouth parting his stomach open acts as though it certainly might do just that, the long length of it scaling down your abdomen, tasting the salt on your skin. The tip of it taking greedy swipes at your clit, trailing down to worm itself between where your hips join to trace where his cock stretches your pussy open around its length.

His rhythm hasn't faltered in the slightest. Hasn't stuttered or slowed. A testament to his abnormal stamina as he continues to work you closer and closer to that inevitable high.

You don't know if you can handle another one. Every facet of you already feels as though it's been lit alight, nerves searing and tender from the other highs that he's already pulled from your body. But you know that there's no chance that he's going to stop now.

He's already avaricious when it comes to dealing out pleasure, often not for your benefit, but because he's such a sadist when it comes to it. Finding a twisted sort of delight when he sees tears crystalizing in your eyes; your voice hitching into breathless whines and moans.

And now that he's in this state, driven mad and hedonistic by the instinctual urge to breed you and leave you plugged full and wet with his cum, you know that he isn't going to stop until you're damn near catatonic. Gone dumb and limp.

And you can already feel your mind slipping. Glazing over, turning cloudy and dim. You feel split. Somehow distant, floating away from yourself and yet completely grounded. Encased in your muscle and the ecstasy ravaging your nerves, consuming you entirely. Somehow outside of yourself and smothered all at once.

It's all him now. The warmth radiating off of him and melting into you; the scent of him lacing the air, all dark and musk; the shape of his cock driving through your cunt, splitting you open and carving a place for himself. Repeatedly hammering against the spot inside of you that has your spine bowing and your voice falling silent in the base of your throat.

"So pretty and dumb, and all mine. Isn't that right?"

In any other context, that old sense of frustration and anger that you had once felt might have risen up, stirred deep in your stomach, playing along the fringes of your mind like an old phantom. But now, such a response seems impossible now. It is impossible.

It takes all of your strength to properly respond. Battling to form a coherent thought as he continues to roll his hips up into you. As though he's intentionally trying to make you struggle.

"I think I'll keep you like this." He grins wide, baring his teeth with a crazed glimmer burning fiercely in his eyes. "Stuffed full of my cock and dripping. I won't stop until it's pouring out of you. You'll give me an heir, won't you?"

You find yourself nodding again. Too fucked out to complain that you're already filled to the brim. His previous loads smearing down your thighs and gushing with each heavy thrust. Spilling out of you and staining the bedding.

But his enthusiasm hasn't wavered in the slightest. If anything, it's increased. His lust blazing through him white hot; both of his cocks still rigid, stretching you out to your limits. Bullying you open. You can feel the veins that trail down the length of both his cocks stroking along the walls of your cunt and ass.

It's all so much. Searing and blurring, weightless, filthy, euphoric.

You hardly have time to register that your eyes are rolling. That your body is seizing up tight, and then you're cumming. It lashes through you like a bolt of lightning streaking through the night sky, scorching. Crackling and wild.

You think you're screaming but you aren't sure. It's too difficult to tell past the blood roaring in your ears. Your heartbeat thrumming like a war drum as you gasp and jerk on his lap. But he's ruthless. He doesn't give you a break, doesn't let you breathe.

His grip on your body is firm. Clutching your hips as he continues to spear you on his cocks. Using you to tip him closer towards his own release.

His chest shudders with a heavy groan, his fingers flexing in a bruising grip on your skin and then you feel it - a liquid heat spreading through your stomach, filling you up and you swear that your abdomen stretches from it. The abnormal amount of his cum and the width of his cocks filling your body up its limit.

Twin tears slip down your cheeks when you realize that his pace hasn't faltered. He's still humping his cocks into you. Rolling himself to the hilt, as deeply as he can possibly go like he's trying to force his cum in as far as it'll go.

Your back arches almost painfully. Your body flinching as he grinds his hips into yours, trapping the tongue spilling from that inhuman mouth between your pelvises where it rubs cruelly on your clit. You're split down the middle, torn between the desire to jerk away and to shift closer to the feel of it - electric and bliss.

You want to cry out. A scream lodged in your throat, but you can't force it out. All you can do is take it.

"You didn't think that I'd be satisfied just by that, did you?" He grins down at you again with something malicious burning in his eyes. He leans towards you then, opening his mouth to let his tongue spill past his fangs. It's wet and hot as it trails up the side of your face, licking up the salt from your tears. He purrs like it satisfies him.

It's merciless, the pleasure coiling through your body, slicing up your muscles like molten bands. It's like he's devouring you from the inside out. Hollowing out your insides and replacing it with himself.

You're floating miles above your body, losing sight of the world around you. All you can focus on is him. His scent, his taste, the feel of his skin, the tongue still ravaging your clit, the cocks stuffing you full.

And then he's speaking in your ear in a husky tone that settles in the air like smoke. "We're only getting started."

[rubistella]

To keep a vital truth of this magnitude from the others took a mind orphaned of reason, and Astarion wasn’t certain if honouring Gale’s request marked him as a loyal companion, or an accomplice to madness. The line between loyalty and blind complicity was razor thin, a path that could lead to either redemption or ruin.

Restless, Astarion combed fingers through his curls – still a little loose due to the damp from an earlier bath – and looked off to the side in thought. A labyrinth of their most recent conversation took up his musings.

That was all he could think about during the day.

It wasn't until the night of the following eve that the matter was brought to light once again. Astarion, lounging close to the campfire for warmth, raised his stare from Lusty Elven Gents to catch the wizard rattling about kitchenware as the squad’s assigned cook.

“It seems you’re not the only one harbouring dirty little secrets after all.” A subtle nod towards the grisly remnants of the bard who had met her end, where the earth was still wet with blood-red etchings from whatever dark ritual had transpired the night before. “Ladies and gentlemen,” Snapping the book shut with a flourish, the pale elf drew attention to the brewing tension around those who hadn’t lent an ear to his conversation with the wizard quite yet. “We have a murderer in our midst.”

You're attaching extensions to a wick that's already burning.

Gale's jaw tightened at Astarion's words, the weight of his own secret now heavier than ever before. The pale elf's insight was sharp, cutting through any façade of nonchalance Gale had tried to uphold for his own protection. He knew very well the danger that lurked within him, knew the potential consequences of his silence. But fear had rooted him in place, fear of rejection, of being seen as a liability rather than an asset to his newfound allies.

To be cast aside as simply as Mystra had done to him.

But the unfortunate reality of his situation loomed over the wizard like a storm cloud, dark and foreboding. A storm that threatened not only his own existence but the lives of those he traveled with. And Astarion was right—the longer he kept his secret, the more… precarious their situation became. The elf’s finger lingered on his chest, and Gale felt an uncomfortable shiver run down his spine, a quite sobering reminder of the fragility of his own existence.

His lips parted as if to speak, but no words came forth. Instead, he simply nodded in acknowledgment, the weight of his deception heavy upon his shoulders.

“Ah, yes, I suspect the reality of my situation will have little choice but to come to light eventually. The rot must be kept at bay lest everyone else here suffer for it.” Tension in the air, thick and suffocating, as though the very gravity of what Gale contained within him bore down on them. And Astarion's scrutiny, unspoken concern that lingered in the space between them like an invisible barrier. “In the meantime, however, I sincerely appreciate your willingness to allow me the opportunity to share in this knowledge on my own terms.”

The wizard knew he had to tread carefully from this point forward, to navigate the treacherous waters of trust and vulnerability with caution.

Both with Astarion and the others.

[slayingfiction]

Character Flaws

When creating characters, it's all too easy to envision the most perfect people, especially when it comes to creating love interests. Even our loveable morally grey characters are mostly perfect, if only they would stop killing...

So, here are a list of some flaws (based on personality, not appearance) to help round out your characters. While it's nice to be good at everything, it's abnormal. No one is perfect, and your characters will be much more relatable if you knock them down a bit.

Please note, none of these are (specifically) mental disorders, as I don't consider those a character flaw.

The Good (aka little flaw):

Absent-minded, aimless, argumentative, audacious, awkward, blunt, bold, boring, capricious, childish, clumsy, competitive, complainer, cowardly, critical directionally-challenged, dubious, finicky, fixated, flake, flirty, foolish, gossipy, gruff, gullible, hedonistic, humourless, hypocritical, idealist, idiotic, ignorant, illiterate, immature, impatient, impetuous, impulsive, incompetent, inconsiderate, indecisive, indifferent, indomitable, irrational, lazy, lustful, materialistic, meddlesome, meek, mischievious, nagging, naive, nervous, nosey, obnoxious, overambitious, overconfident, overemotional, overprotective, overzealous, passive-aggressive, paranoid, peevish, perfectionist, pessimist, pest, predicatable, pretencious, prideful, rebellious, renege, rigorous, sarcastic, skeptic, seducer, selfish, self-righteous, shallow, slacker, solemn, spacey, spoild, squeamish, stubborn, supersticious, sycophant, tactless, tease, tempermental, tenacious, theatrical, thoughtless, timid, unpredictable, unsupportive, vain, workaholic

The Bad (aka big flaw):

Addiction, adulterous, aloof, anxious, apathetic, arrogant, belittling, belligerent, bigmouth, bitter, bully, callous, deceptive, dependant, deranged, dishonest, disloyal, disrespectful, egotistical, envious, erratic, exploitive, fanatical, fickle, fierce (at the extreme), gluttonous, greedy, harasser, hubris, impious, infamy, intolerant, judgemental, lewd, liar, meglomaniac, morally grey, narcissistic, negligent, obsequious, obsessive, offensive, prejudiced, quixotic, reckless, rigid, self-martyr, self-righteous, short-tempered, spiteful, squanderer, stingy, unethical, unforgiving, untrustworthy

The Ugly (aka cross the street when you see this person):

Abusive, bigot, controlling, cruel, explosive, immoral, inhumane, intolerant, machiavellian, manipulative, murderous, neglectful, oppressive, racist, remorseless, possessive, self-destructive, threatening, treacherous, vengeful, vindictive, violent

The seven chief features of ego: self-deprecation, self-destruction, martyrdom, stubbornness, greed, arrogance and impatience.

Some of these may not even be considered flaws, and some may jump from one category to the next. It's all about how you present these flaws in your characters.

Have any more to add? Did you find this useful? Let me know down in the comments :)

[tsukii0002]

My demons' periods cycles. By Mc

Note: these are purely my headcanons at the moment, they are based on animal ethology and behaviours that I think would suit each character depending on their personality and Lore. I would love to read your headcanon in case you have them.

Warning: Long text. Possible grammatical errors. It's written as if Mc was writing for themself.

Hey, it me Mc, the best human. Here is a compilation of the behaviours of my demons during their periods, cycles, for practical day to day use. It wasn't easy but I sat them down and got to talk to them, with a little effort I now know what they need. So now I am ready to assist them during these complicated times and be prepared in case I find a dead goat on the porch as a tribute.

Lucifer, Mammon & Levi || Satan, Asmo, & Beel || Belphie, Barbatos & Diavolo || Simeon & Raphael

Belphie

It could be said that he is the one that best keeps his schedule.

During his period he still sleeps a lot, the only difference is that he has short periods of high activity.

He can stand the light well. In fact, he will often ask you for a spell that simulates sunlight to sleep under.

During his cycle, most of Belphie's body is covered with soft fur, although some parts of his body such as the end of his tail or chest is a denser fur (perfect for sleeping) where spotted patterns can be seen.

His horns and ‘claws” harden and his pupils become horizontal (Little cow boy).

He sheds a lot of hair and his claws grow, but he is too lazy to groom himself. So wherever he is there will be fur everywhere.

To get him to groom himself, you will have to tell him that you will help. Sometimes, he strokes you simulating the action of brushing the fur (so I think that if he wasn't the avatar of sloth he would groom his companion).

Belphie does not build a nest as such, but rather a kind of fort with all kinds of blankets, pillows or stuffed animals, he steals them from his siblings to feel safe, although he won't admit it.

He usually does it in the attic to be quiet, although your room is also one of his favourite options.

Belphie becomes possessive and somewhat capricious, he won't be shy about asking you to spoil and pamper him. Lucifer says he is always like this but it has gotten worse since you offered to help.

Before his period, Belphie will go a couple of days without sleep, which makes him very irritable. Is this the equivalent of hormones?

During his period Belphie's appetite neither increases nor decreases, but he needs to change his diet to high-energy items because of his periods of activity.

He will want you to feed him but he will not feed you.

Belphie can talk, although slower than normal. He will communicate most things to you with puppy calf eyes. He knows how to use his weapons, sly cow.

He produces pheromones and marks everything with them, without you noticing.

This pheromones are not very strong but have a unique scent. He is a bully and sometimes goes around the house spreading them to annoy his siblings.

Belphie likes you to always be rubbing him, in any moment, always looking after him. He gets very touchy.

One thing he will do a lot is lick and bite you gently. Sometimes he expects you to lick him back, my tongue is not ready for that Belphie.

Belphie's courtship consists of little taps to get your attention and release a special kind of pheromones, if you stay close to him he will consider the courtship a success and proceed to groom you insistently (so he can do it >:v)

You can be a bit naughty and get up, just to give it back to him, but come back quickly or he will cry.

The sense that develops the most during hir cycle is his smell, mostly to detect the presence of other people nearby.

His temperature rises a lot, but he won't give up blankets and other warm things. Prepare ice packs for you, not for him.

Belphie's purr is not very loud, it's more of a chest vibration, he's super cute when he purrs, but don't feed his ego.

He doesn't mind everyone knowing he's on his period and will make it everyone's problem.

Belphie: Mc… Mccccccc!

Mc: *worried* What's wrong?!

Belphie: *stretching his arms out* I'm on my periodooo, cuddle me.

Mc: *stifling laughter* Why should I?

Belphie: Eeeeh? *pouting* I'm on my period and you're not going to spoil me? How cruel.

Mc: *cuddling up next to him* You're such a spoiled brat.

Belphie: *cuddling up against them* Yeah, yeah, whatever you say *smiling*.

Belphie: *sleeping with hs shirt pulled up*

Mc: *observing the spots on his fur* Humm *drawing the shapes of the spots with their finger*

Belphie: *shrinking back*

Mc: Soft…

Belphie: *balling himself up into a ball* It tickles..

Mc: *smiling* A cute little cow with a cute little coat~

Belphie: *blushing still in his sleep* Stop…

Belphie: *courting Mc*

Mc: *getting up to go get something, without noticing it*

Belphie: …*his eyes fill up with tears*

Mc: Belphie??!!!

Belphie: Do you still love me?

Mc: Of course I love you,

Belphie: Then don't ever do that again… *biting their arm*

Mc: Ouch

Diavolo

Get ready to go underground. Diavolo nests in a cavern. There is a large underground cavern under the palace for this precise purpose.

Diavolo can go through his entire cycle without sleeping, but likes to do it, curled up in his nest just for the fun of it.

He can tolerate light, but only if strictly necessary.

You can find out a lot about Diavolos' period because the cycles of the royal are well documented.

Diavolo's scales harden and although black, they glow golden in the light and the golden scales double in size.

His pupils tear he's such a big lizar. And ornamental patterns are spread all over the skin.

Diavolo's grooming is complex and laborious, at first he didn't want to, but now he is the one asking for your help.

The scales on the wings, body and tail moult almost every day and it is advisable to keep his skin moisturised. If it gets too dry its can crack.

He needs to sharpen its claws and teeth, usually against rock walls.

Diavolo nests in its cavern, always high up, never close to the ground (you won't be able to get out of it without help).

This nest is surrounded by all kinds of treasures did you think the riches of the kings of Devildom were in the palace? No, most of it is in the cavern, accumulated generation after generation.

Very territorial, during his period almost all the employees of the palace must leave him. Also his sense of protection is increased, he will not leave you alone, he will not.

Diavolo's pre-heat consists of very constant feverish moments. But it is easy to detect that the cycle is approaching because of Barbatos.

During his period his appetite and voracity increase, he needs to hunt often, animals and beasts, but also souls trying to escape from the Devildom among other things (he takes the opportunity to go hunting when you sleep).

He will try to feed you, mouth to mouth, but seeing that it don't work, he will switch to giving you small pieces.

Diavolo in his demonic form can generate fire, not only with his magic. Because of your reluctance to eat raw food he started to ‘cook’ it with this fire.

Can speak on very specific occasions, the rest of the time he is non-verbal. His growls are literally demonic, sometimes it scares you and it is very sad to see his expression of guilt :(

As royalty, Diavolo has one of the strongest pheromones in Devildom, many demons are sickened by them (Ha, human insensitivity mode on), he consciously marks everything, especially his mate.

The only way to calm the dragon is direct physical contact, stroking its complex ornaments and wing membranes with your fingers It's like a game to be honest

Press on the muscles of its wings and neck and you will have it completely entranced. He has spent a lot of time alone during his periods and is in need of contact. Initiate physical contact and it will be pure happiness.

And most importantly, show reassurance, it makes him feel insecure to think that you are there against your will.

Diavolo's courtship is a ritual. First it will show off its grandeur by lighting up its scales and perform a nuptial flight where it will display its wings and ornaments.

After this he will look for the rarest prey to give them to you (the day he brought you a baby unicornia you almost fainted, thanks to Barbatos, you were able to get the baby out of there). Finally, he will try to dress you up with all kinds of treasures and jewels to ‘be a couple’.

All his senses are heightened, especially sight and smell.

There is a rumour that he sees everything that happens in Devildom. Which is a lie because you've seen him run into a wall when he's looking beyond it.

Diavolo's temperature increases a lot, despite the coldness of the cave (You slept on his chest because he's super warm? Yes, That from then on he always wanted you to sleep on top of him? Also).

Diavolo's purr is deep and loud. It will resonate throughout the cave, and will usually purr when you are paying attention to him.

Diavolo: *clearly worried*

Mc: *caressing his scales* What's wrong?

Diavolo: Mmmm *looking around*

Mc: *sighing* I'll tell you again, I'm here because I want to, because I want to take care of you, is that so hard to believe?

Diavolo: wrapping them in his wings Thank you…

Mc: *returning the hug* Anytime.

Diavolo: *placing a pearl necklace on their head*

Mc: *sitting on his lap* Dia...

Diavolo: *placing several precious stones on their chest *

Mc: Diavolo, dear.

Diavolo: *holding up a golden tiara to put on them*

Mc: *filled from head to toe with treasures* Diavolo, this is too heavy, it doesn't- stop, please.

Mc: *caressing a fairy that Diavolo has brought them as food*

Diavolo: *staring at the fairy*

Mc: Don't even think about it, if you burn the fairy, I'm out of here.

Diavolo: * indignant dragon sounds *

Mc: It's true... I can't leave here without you, but if you touch the fairy I'll get angry.

The fairy: *about to have a heart attack*

Barbatos

He doesn't sleep during his cycle, no matter how much you bowel, no matter how much you insist, he won't sleep. It is normal to wake up and find him watching you with his eyes wide open.

Light hurts him, during his period his skin becomes sensitive and burns very easily.

Barbatos' skin becomes very pale with a mucous covering. His tail elongates and ridges appear on his back, forearms and legs.

His horns also develop a membrane between their branches.

Its pupils lighten to the point of seeming to disappear, but then return to colour when it is alert. Sometimes you get the sensation that he stops blinking.

To groom himself, barbatos needs a lot of water. During his cycle he will create all kinds of water springs, (he is one of the few demons who can consciously use his powers).

 He's not a big fan of you helping him or watching him, he doesn't consider his appearance the most pleasant for a human.

He usually nests in his room, but sometimes opens portals to hidden parts of Devildom or even the human world, the latter more so since you started helping him. He creates a burrow, underground or among roots.

Although he occasionally goes out, he prefers to stay in his den.

Barbatos is dangerous, and possessive, he prefers loneliness with the sole exception of his mate, he is not territorial, I think because no one in their right mind would go near Barbatos during his period.

During his period Barbatos gets headaches, because he sometimes loses control of his powers and timelines overlap in his mind. The only thing you can do in these cases is stay by his side and comfort him :(.

Barbatos doesn't seem to need food. But for pleasure he sometimes devours curious prey (souls, blood of mystical creatures, cursed plants...).

He can talk without any problems, but he doesn't talk much. He prefers to attract attention with caresses or small bites. It is easy to interpret his silences.

During his period, Barbatos generates a lot of pheromones but does not mark. He has no sense of territory and prefers to stay close to his mate all day to avoid others approaching.

At the beginning of the period he will be reluctant to physical contact, he'll keep his distance, partly because of his appearance and partly because of fear of his behaviour. But little by little he will ask for more contact.

Don't touch him if he doesn't ask for it and make sure your hands are always wet or cold because even if he seeks your warmth, the normal temperature of a human could overwhelm him. Good thing we know magic, thanks Solomon.

Barbatos' courtship consists of a kind of lullaby, a humming, in which his skin glows slightly in a beautiful colour, quite frankly it is very mystical and magical. If it sees that you don't get disturbed it will hug you and swim with you for a long time (use magic, use it, or it will give you hypothermia).

Barbatos' senses are completely heightened, nothing escapes his awareness, but this is detrimental because very loud sounds, light or even physical contact can harm him. There are far more stimuli than millennia ago so this is yet another reason to isolate himself.

His temperature drops drastically, but he doesn't seem to have any problems with it.

Barbatos' purring is almost inaudible, you have to be very close to hear it. But it is quite easy for him to purr even though you won't notice it.

Barbatos is feeling quite vulnerable because he hasn't had his period for centuries so he is unfamiliar with his own reactions, and feels lost, although he will never admit it.

Give him confidence, by now, you are a master in demon periods.

Mc: Barbatos, my dear *peeling an apple*

Barbatos: *cuddling on Mc's lap* Hum?

Mc: Is there a reason why you chose one of the most remote places in the human world to spend your period?

Barbatos: … no

Mc: It's not so the brothers can't find me, is it?

Barbatos: … no…

Mc: *stifling laughter* Okay.

Mc: *gently stroking his back* How are you feeling?

Barbatos: *laying down next to them* It… hurts...

Mc: I'm sorry I can't help you *gently pouring water on his forehead.

Barbatos: You're here… that's more than well enough.

Mc: Give me some time and I'll find a way to calm those migraines.

Barbatos: *smiling* I'm sure you will….

Barbatos: I have to say I had forgotten what it was like to live ‘a period’.

Mc: I wonder why you've had them again after so long.

Barbatos: *smiling* It's because of you

Mc: Me?

Barbatos: *shrugging theur cheeks and rubbing their forehead against his * Yes, until you came there was no one who could be my potential mate, and my body knew it. Just like it knows you're here now.

Mc: *blushing* Those words count as courting? because they're working.

If you have made it this far, thank you very much 🩷

[vivalabunbun]

When It Rains, Why Does It Pour?

Summary: Sand is quite a nuisance, it creeps into every crevice and no amount of dusting can free oneself from its stubborn hold. Yet, the tide still greets the shore.

Word Count: 8.8k (oh no...)

Tags: Neuvillette x GN!Reader, human!reader, SFW, fluff, childhood friends AU, Slow Burn, Slow Fic, Angst, Hurt with Comfort, themes about reincarnation, TW: Themes about death and loss, themes about aging, immortal x mortal AU, not lore accurate, reader is an attendant, human prejudice, Spoilers Warning: His story quest and archon quests, speculations about his past in Fontaine, why is he so mysterious

Authors Note: This was a challenge trying to write from the POV of a man you don't even know the name of, but I just had to write something for him. A character study of Neuvillette. Enjoy!

How long has it been since he first arrived here? One month? Two? Or perhaps it has already been a year? The young dragon wasn’t too sure.

The days seem to blend together when one only eats, studies, and sleeps all on repeat. A cruel trait of time. The weather outside the glass windows didn’t provide any hints either.

However, he himself is to blame. 

A gray haze concealed azure skies as rhythmic drops of rain hit the earth. Blocking out the all-seeing sun and nurturing moon, the murky clouds above even hinder the stars from accompanying him.

A true reflection of his current solitude. 

The young dragon arrived in the human world, brought over by the lord of Fontaine. Due to the nature of his arrival to this nation, he was given status and importance in the eyes of the citizens. However, he has yet to receive acceptance. 

The grand estate in which he resides was staffed with countless butlers and maids, renowned chefs, and skilled tutors. He was wanting of nothing, yet still impoverished. 

He could see it in their mortal eyes, he could sense it in the tangible silence of the halls, he could tell from the distance each mortal put between themselves and him. 

Much like the towering stone walls which surrounded his private residence.

Was it to separate themselves from him or himself from them?

A question he entertains as lilac eyes scan over the aforementioned wall. Its gray stones are a welcomed change from the dry parchment with even drier content. 

As he observes the drab stones contrast against a dreary sky, a small flash of white cuts through the somber composition.

Catching his lilac eyes as they follow the strange shape, it drifts through the capricious wind before the breeze grew bored and tossed it to the ground.

Studying it a bit further, the young dragon identifies the object as a simple pillowcase. Nothing more than a scrap of fabric. 

He reasons that the wind must’ve stolen it from some clothesline. Just when he was about to return to the legal ledgers a rustling came from the bushes lining the bottom of the wall.

A small frame pushes apart the thick vegetation, creating enough space to finally free themselves from the entangled mess of branches. 

The towering wall, the one meant to separate him from the mortals, was defeated by a mere child.

A child who’s clumsy brushing the twigs from their garments and shaking a few raindrops from their hair. He watches as the small human trots toward the discarded pillowcase, a pout forming on their lips as they observe the mud that had seeped into the silk. 

Judging by the simple attire they don, they must be the child of a maid. 

Ah humans, fickle and temperamental creatures created by the usurpers. It took a conscious effort on his part to stop the frown threatening to appear on his lips.

Seems like he still needs to get used to their presence. 

It was as if the child sensed the bitterness in his thoughts because soon a pair of wide eyes connected with lilac. Even with the sun hiding behind dreary clouds, there was a light that twinkled in their irises. 

It was only for a minute, no, even less than that. But a young dragon and a young human held each other’s gaze. 

The child’s shoulders jolt as they turn their head back toward the wall, as if a voice called for them. Casting one last glance toward the young dragon, the child trots back toward the wall, disappearing within the murky viridescent. 

And that was the end, like the breeze that littered a scrap of fabric among the grass, the small human came and went.

Such fickle creatures, the young dragon gives it one last thought before returning his attention back to a cluttered desk. 

–

Amongst the soft drumming of droplets came a tap against the glass too sharp to be caused by the gentle rain. Causing the young dragon to turn away from the stacks of books laid out before him.

The wet glass obscured a small flicker of an orange glow, thus he walked closer to investigate. With each step, the figure outside the window became undeciphered.

That small human again. 

Locking eyes with the human outside the glass, the fickle creature’s lips curl up, the glow of their lamp illuminating the curiosity behind their gaze.

A human child doesn’t have the potential to cause much if any harm to him. Thus, he releases the lock, removing the glass barrier separating two breathes. 

“Hello! What is uh… your name?” They chirp out. 

His sharp ears picked up the clumsiness in their speech, the subtle unfamiliarity of the words they spoke. Distinct signs that you were still learning the language of Fontaine, much like him.

Although he understood your question, he was too distracted to answer. Lilac eyes wandering off toward the stone wall. Within the entangled mess of twigs, there was a small parting.

A part just wide enough to reveal the secret the bushes desperately tried to hide: A small hole along the bottom of the stone barrier. Just enough for a small creature to slip through. 

Discovering the truth behind how a small human was able to defeat such a seemingly impenetrable wall. 

The pattering of the rain was interrupted by the rustling of fabric, drawing his attention back to the small human in front of him.

The child rummages through their pockets before pulling out a lump covered by a handkerchief. Peeling back the layer of fabric to reveal some conch madeleines, presenting fragmented sweets before the young dragon. 

“It tastes good, I promise.” A small hand extends itself further through the open window. 

Observing the crumbly sweets laid out upon a handkerchief, the young dragon halted the rejection that almost escaped his lips. Remembering the concepts he had just been reading before this.

Humans tend to follow a set of unwritten rules, principles they like to call ‘manners’. There weren’t any punishments issued by law if those rules were broken, no imprisonment or fines.

However, narrow-eye stares and whispers behind backs were the punishments issued to transgressors by society. 

So, he accepts a piece, trying to ignore the sand-like sensation against his tongue. As he chewed, the grin on the human’s face only got wider.

“Now that you’ve taken one, you have to give me your name, it’s only uh… fair!” 

Ah, it looks like he’s been tricked. Falling into the clumsy sugar-coated trap only a child could come up with. Yet, as his lilac gaze caught the twinkle still ever so bright in their eyes, he didn’t have the strength to form a frown. 

Just a curious human child, only as dangerous as a firefly buzzing in his ear. There shouldn’t be any harm in disclosing the surname bestowed upon him by this nation.

“Neuvillette.” He finally said his first words to you. 

A peculiar pattern is recurring. That rainy night when Neuvillette opened those windows, it looked like he welcomed a phenomenon in as well. 

Even in his current state, a small human like you could pose no possible threat to him. Thus, whenever a certain tap was placed against the glass. He saw no reason to turn away the visitor. Allowing you to climb in through his window time and time again.

It would’ve been better if you used the door. However, he’s aware of the complications such a request would bring.

Perhaps it’s because he’s currently in the form of a young child, sharing a similar stature to yours. From his observations, humans do have a tendency to gravitate toward those with similar traits. Or perhaps, you’re just exceptionally brazen. 

Neuvillette glances up from his book, thick with endless sentences describing obscure and frivolous laws, landing on your frame lazing around upon a rug.

One hand holds onto a collection of fables, pages illuminated by the gentle rays of a star. While the other periodically reaches out toward a pile of conch madeleine.

A sight he’s come to expect now. 

Lavender eyes follow your hand as it brings another one of the crumbly sweets to your mouth again. You brought them over under the pretense of sharing them with him, yet they’re already half gone. The only hand reaching for the sweets being yours.

Just like how it was last time, and the time before that, and the one before that as well. 

If you felt this complacent in his presence now, then perhaps he can be more candid with you. As is common practice among humans to present a polite front that gradually wears away each recurring meeting. 

“You do not have to bring over any more conch madeleine.” 

The moment those words left his lips the motion of your hand halted, looking up to connect your sight with his, confusion pinching together your brows.  

“Oh? Why so suddenly?” The collection of fables now resting on the rug. 

It’s already been done, the first ripple in the frangible water between you and him. There is nothing that can cease the waves that accompany the first breach. He might as well say the whole truth. 

“They are dry, I cannot fathom how you can bring yourself to eat them.” Prescriptive eyes caught a faint flinch as you processed his edict.

“They taste fine to me…” You mutter, picking another one up. 

This time you chewed slower. The pinch between your brow only grew as you tasted the sweet again, searching for the perceived flaw.

As you met his gaze once more, he could tell your search brought forth no fruitful conclusions. Thus you asked another question in response.

“Then what do you like?”

Besides the pleasantries commonly exchanged between humans in Fontaine, Neuvillette recognizes he lacks the talent for small talk.

The room usually filled with your grievances about whichever tedious task you were assigned before you slipped away behind a wall and into his private residence. Ambient noise which accompanied each flip of a law book. 

It is long overdue for him to pull his weight in a conversation. 

“Water, spring water.”

“Huh?”

Neuvillette repeats his sentence but the scrunch of your brows doesn’t ease up, he couldn’t fight the urge to draw in a deep breath. So this is the limitation of the human palate, how regrettable. 

“Perhaps you are still too simple to appreciate the qualities of water.” 

The pout upon your crumb-covered lips morphs into a tight line, sealing away your voice.  The brightly printed cover of a storybook was shut as the last few remaining treats were bundled away in a napkin. 

Your tea break ended early today, impassive eyes following your figure as it disappeared among the thick vegetation beside a stone barrier. 

It was quiet today, not even a single parting uttered past your sealed lips. Therefore leaving the conversation unfinished. 

But that is today, you’ll have another tea break tomorrow, and you’ll come to him with your grievances about chores tomorrow as well. 

The young dragon returns his focus to the text in front of him. 

–

The soft hymn of raindrops against a glass window reverbed through the solitary study, providing a melody for the periodic flips of paper. But the melody was hollow, incomplete.

Shifting his body to look behind himself at the vacant rug, Neuvillette deduces why. The accompaniment was missing. 

That tomorrow he had come to expect never came. 

Had he committed a transgression? Overstep a line outside his place? Food is a point of pride for many humans, one oddity he’s yet to grasp.

These temperamental creatures tend to lash out when their pride is wounded, much like how a beast reacts to an unhealed cut. 

Neuvillette was curious as to whether this was an inherent trait of humanity or a learned by-product of the fickle principles imposed on themselves.

However, observing the abandoned storybook tucked away, the young dragon is leaning towards the former. 

Turning back to face his desk, his eyes could only glaze over the monotonous scribbles. Perhaps the cause of his spiritless attitude was disappointment, disappointment in himself. 

It looks like he was careless, deluding himself with the misconception that you and him were alike. Two outsiders who found solace in each other’s presence.

However, this was false. You were an outsider to Fontaine, but he was an outsider to this world where humans walked. 

He’s still too naive.

Fickle and temperamental creatures spoiled by the usurpers at the expense of his ancestors.

Why did he even entertain the thought that you and him could ever be alike?

Something stirred from within, like when pebbles were thrown into still water, but what were those pebbles? As Neuvillette ponders this conundrum, the drumming of the rain grows louder. 

However, it wasn’t loud enough to swallow up the sharp set of taps which interrupted his somber reflection. Jolting him from his thoughts, snapping his attention to the source of the noise.

There stood a figure distorted by the wet glass as another set of sharp taps sounded through the room. 

Before Neuvillette could even process it, his body moved without his command. Unlatching the lock and setting the window free from its frame.

Not sparing another second to the raindrops soaking into their cloak, the figure clambers through the window with practiced proficiency.

Without uttering a single greeting, not even one pleasantry, you situated yourself on his floor. Melting into an undignified lump on the pristine tiles as bewildered eyes watched you.

After catching a few breaths, an explanation finally makes its way to his ears. 

“T-they… they patched… up the hole,” you huffed out between short breaths. 

Ah, the small cavity in the stone wall that you used to escape from chores. Looks like the security at the estate finally noticed.

Gauging the height of the wall from his place by the window, he’s aware of how it towers over both him and you the same.

This brings up another question as he returns to observe your frame, still trying to catch the breaths that evade you. 

“I… ran… through the gates… before the… Gardes noticed…” Exhaustion evident in your eyes as pants break up your sentence. 

Ah, looks like his question was answered before he even inquired. To be puzzled or amazed, he wasn’t too sure how to categorize this ripple inside him.

The tomorrow that’s been missing for a little more than two weeks, is now right in front of him.

Panting and leaving a few muddy traces along the marble floor, but here nonetheless. 

With one deep motion of your lungs, you pushed your body up, finally getting ahold of your breath. The familiar rustle of your pocket, the audio cue for a certain dry sweet to appear. Neuvillette didn’t mind in the least.

Perhaps, he can bear the sandy sensation just for today. But tomorrow is always filled up with surprises, a glass bottle finding its way out of your pocket instead of sugary treats. 

“What is that?” An obvious question, but his voice found its way out of his mouth.

“Water, water from the servant’s well, I bottled it myself.” A small hand holds the bottle out more. 

“Thank you,” Neuvillette accepts it into his hands. 

He should really acquire some glasses to pour the water out into, it’s improper and bad manners to drink from the bottle.

However, his curiosity was greater. Or maybe, he didn’t realize just how parched he had become from waiting for tomorrow. 

Uncapping the clumsily packaged water, he takes a generous sip. 

“It’s sweet.” His tongue picking up on a subtle saccharine undertone. 

“Really?” Your hand reaches up as that familiar shine illuminates your eyes. 

Taking a sip from the bottle passed back into your grasp, your brows furrowing in concentration. Another sip was taken from the bottle as you continued to search for the sweetness in the water you’ve always drank.

A sight that tugged up at the lips of a boy still studying the shape of your quirked brows. 

Humans, fickle, perplexing, yet astoundingly curious creatures from the very beginning.

If he is to walk amongst the human world, then it’s best for him to be equally curious. To try and search for the harmony between two different breaths. 

A child of a maid far from their homeland. A status too insignificant to warrant the attention of Fontaine's factions, freeing you from their prying eyes and entanglements.

Therefore, it should be alright for him to continue observing you, no?

“Ahh… The rain is so unpredictable here in Fontaine, trying to hang out the wash here is always a gamble.” You sink further into the plush cushions of his settee. 

As the sun rose and fell, as the leaves grew green then gold, as the ground froze and thawed.

One thing remained unchanged throughout these cycles even as they repeated: your grievances over chores. 

The frequency of these complaints reaching his ears has increased, on the part that you now took over more of your mother’s responsibilities in managing the laundry of this estate. 

Besides your habitual complaints of the weather, one detail didn’t escape Neuvillette’s hearing: your proficiency in the Fontainian language has increased significantly.

Words no longer spoken clumsily or with unfamiliarity. Accent nearly indistinguishable from a native speaker. 

“The people here are fond of creating strange machinery, why can’t they make something to dry clothes?” You resume. 

The quill in his hand stops as he pauses in the middle of a sentence, glancing over his shoulder toward your slouching figure making yourself comfortable in the sofa that’s more familiar with your shape than his. 

“Perhaps you should be the one to create it, studying might do you some good as well,” came his curt response. 

His candid advice makes you sink further into the cushions with a groan. 

“I’d rather travel than study those jumbled-up books about machinery or whatever, in fact, I want to visit my homeland as soon as I can,” you grumble aloud. 

Ah, that’s right, you’re approaching the age where you could travel freely.

By law, you won’t be bound to the side of your mother, not needing any permission to come to and fro however you wish. No longer kept at this estate washing and folding sheets.

Indeed, you and him found yourselves in similar situations: on the cusp of freedom from this estate. 

While he was deep in thought, you filled the silence left behind by posing a question to him. 

“Do you plan on visiting your homeland anytime soon, Neuvi?” 

By now, the young dragon had stopped expending the effort to try and correct you in your butchering of his surname. Your reason being ‘it’s too long’.

Alongside you, he has grown in stature as well, elapsing you some time ago much to your dismay. If he wished to travel, not much would pose a problem to the young dragon.

However… where could he return to? A homeland… was there a section of his homeland untouched by the usurpers? If he were to go, would he ever want to return to this world?

Sensing the change in the air, dreary clouds blocking the sun’s rays from your skin, you were perceptive enough to ramble about a different matter.

Namely, how the chef of the estate recently changed the type of flour used in the kitchens, resulting in pastries and sweets that were less airy but more flavorful. 

Explaining to him the subtle improvements and deterioration in the quality of some baked goods. Filling the air of the study with bright-eyed ramblings until rays of light peek out from waning clouds. 

–

“Monsieur Neuvillette! It’s been a while since you’ve visited!” Soft patters of skipping steps made their way to the tall man. 

Tilting his sights down, Neuvillette greets the cheery melusine with a gentle smile which she returned with an equally bright grin.

While on a routine stroll along the riverbanks to stretch his legs after a long day, he found himself at the entrance of Merusea Village.

He wonders if it's his body’s natural response to get away from the Palais Mermonia and Opera Epiclese. 

Carrying him toward the direction of a secluded reprieve he discovered far away from the suspicious eyes of weary humans.

Condemnatory eyes were constantly pinned to the back of the young dragon who had recently emerged from a sheltered estate to sit in the grand seat of a Chief Justice. 

Days filled with nothing but a cacophony of voices echoing off the opera house walls. Screams from the accused and the eager murmurs of spectators blended into nothing more than a chaotic din in his ears. 

Gazing deeper into the small lake, the unsuspecting entrance to a hidden haven that the Melusines called home.

It would only take a moment, just one dip into the pristine water for him to disappear from the clamorous mortal realm.

Abandoning the overly grand seat of his post as easily as it would take for his head to vanish under the tranquil tide.

How great would it be to exist in the presence of creatures who could resonate with his own adriftness?

Maybe, he could finally discover the purpose of his current form and longevity in their company. Yes, that sounds about right. 

Just as the water wet the tip of his overly ornate shoe, all motion his body stills at a familiar call. 

“NEUVI!” Came a voice from just over the beaten path. 

Soon your silhouette follows the echo of your call, steps hurried yet worn.

When the young dragon departed from his temporary estate and into the Palais Mermonia, a certain specter followed him as well.

The same specter who’s currently huffing to catch their breath after such a rush. Trying to gather enough air to form their next sentence. 

“There you are! The grand tailor sent me to fetch you because you’re almost an hour late to the fitting of your new robe, they need to make sure the measurements are correct,” you chide. 

The exasperation of your words was most definitely caused by the fact you had to physically exert yourself in your search for the wandering Chief Justice. Evident by the pout on your lips and scrunched nose. 

His attention was quickly torn away from your recuperating figure by a faint tug of his slacks.

The Melusine had hidden herself behind his legs, creating a barrier between her and the strange mortal who seemingly appeared from the blue.

Her sudden movement caught your attention as well. 

Ah, that’s right. The Melusines have yet to be acquainted with humans, and humans with Melusines.

Two different species, two different breaths, and two different sets of eyes that can’t seem to see directly into each other. 

If his time within the wall of the estate and Palais Mermonia had proven anything, it would be the natural adversity humans had to differences.

Neuvillete certainly wasn’t prepared for such an event, nor was he sure how to handle it. 

In the midst of his inaction, your hand reached into your pocket, fumbling around before pulling out a handkerchief-covered lump.

Despite the soreness in your legs, you lowered your body until you were at eye level with the shorter Melusine. 

“Hello there, would you like some conch madeleines?” Unraveling the fabric to reveal the sweets which you seem to have an abundant supply of. 

The grip on his slacks tightened as she glanced up at him, lilac eyes catching the hesitance in her irises. Neuvillette gives a subtle nod, giving just enough reassurance for the small creature to release his pant leg.

Reaching a mitten-like hand toward the golden sweets, it only took one bite for the hesitance in her eyes to be replaced by a bright twinkle. 

“It’s tasty isn’t it?” Your lips formed a wider grin.

The Melusine responds with an eager nod, too occupied with bringing more of the buttery treat into her mouth.

At the sight of her restless chewing covering her cheeks with faint crumbs, you let out a giggle.  

“I’ll give you the rest of the sweets if you tell me your name,” you offered. 

After a few moments of the Melusine finishing her previous bite, she falls for the same trap he had many years ago. 

“My name is Carole!” She chirps. 

“What a wonderful name.” Your gaze softened further as you held out the treats, keeping your promise. 

As Carole reaches for more, she glances back up. Wide eyes twinkling as she inquires him with the one thought currently on her mind.

“Monsieur Neuvillette, does the human world have more treats as delicious as these?”

Ah, it looks like the stroll Neuvillette took today to relieve himself of mounting troubles only led him to more. 

The skies over the Court of Fontaine have been in a pensive stalemate, all too familiar clouds blocking azure hues. However, rain has yet to patter on the ground, as if the weather was unsure of itself. 

A feeling shared by the Chief Justice currently sitting at his desk, reviewing the details of the day’s trials. Albeit, half heartily. 

Much like the skies crowded with clouds, in the solitude of his office, his mind rang loud with thoughts. Neuvillette only had himself to blame for the current silence of his office, it’s been this way for around a week going on two now. 

Lilac eyes peered over the tops of the papers toward the shut doors, concealing him away. There hasn’t been a knock on those doors for some time now, due to the diligent Melusines who followed his request.

Turning away potential visitors with crafted excuses of ‘The Chief Justice is handling a very important case’ or ‘My apologies, but the Chief Justice is very busy’. 

Neuvillette recognizes that he’s currently no different than a child hiding away from the consequences of a broken vase. 

How childish, he chides himself as he returns back to his responsibilities. How would the citizens of Fontaine react to their Chief Justice conducting himself in such a manner?

He’s sure if Lady Furina were to catch wind of his behavior, she’d be greatly entertained. 

As if the mere mention of the nation’s archon presented a bad omen, the sturdy doors of his office swung open, revealing the face of a familiar visitor who’s been turned away one too many times. 

“My my, it’s been quite some time since I’ve seen the inside of this office, I almost forgot what it looks like,” you remark as your eyes hone in on him. 

The child’s hiding place under the bed has been exposed. 

“Good afternoon, I was not made aware you had any appointments with me.” Neuvillette’s own eyes trail past yours. 

From behind the door frames the figures of two Melusines quickly dodged away from his sight. A silent admission of guilt on their part, and Neuvillette didn’t have to look hard to deduce the crime they’ve committed: Accepting bribes. 

The evidence was right there in the form of buttery crumbs left on the corner of their mouths. Ah, you and with those conch madeleines of yours. 

It’d be best for him to finally handle the situation at hand, one he’s been trying to maneuver out of. 

“If I recall correctly, you were granted a vacation, why not take this chance to travel? It certainly is a prime opportunity-”

“Why have you been avoiding me, Monsieur?” you cut through the long-winded pleasantries and excuses. 

His lips press together, by now he’s well accustomed to your brazenness. However, the absence of a familiar name only said in your voice made the guilt weigh heavier on his shoulders.

Guilt which originated a few weeks prior. 

—

On a secluded riverbank, a routine walk under clear skies was halted. You were knelt down on the ground, uncaring of the sand sticking to the fabric of your clothes, as you held a Melusine between your arms. Two mittened hands clung to you as she soaked your shoulder with tears. 

“W-why? Why did he have to go?” Her sobs interrupted by sudden hiccups. 

As you rubbed circles into her back, something he saw humans do to soothe their crying young, Neuvillette watched from the side. Much like how he would observe those performances within the Opera Epiclese. 

Liath is her name, a diligent Melusine who patrolled the grounds of the Palais Mermonia. By her side, there would be a guard poodle who’d matched her skips with his prances. An inseparable duo, or it’d be more accurate to say, they were once an inseparable duo. 

Dogs are a species domesticated by humans, some might argue that they were created by humanity through generations of selection. So it stands to reason that they too would have a limited lifespan.

In fact, they have a lifespan even more restricted than that of the mortals who tamed them. 

The Melusines have just begun walking amongst humans, there were still many aspects their sheltered minds have yet to grasp. The fleetingness of mortality is one of them. 

Thus, Neuvillette did his best to caution them. 

However, just like how laws can’t completely stop crimes, his words can’t completely prevent such tragedies. All he could do was try.

“I’m sorry for your grief, this was the very reason why I cautioned you against getting too attached to him… A dog’s life is brief-”

“Monsieur Neuvillette.” 

The sentence died at the tip of his tongue as his eyes met yours. Gaze narrowed and brows furrowed, not even the Chief Justice dared to interject any further.

After you silenced him, your focus returned back to the grieving Melusine. 

Slowly standing back up from the ground, her frame cradled in your arms as her sobs continued. 

“I know it hurts,” you whispered, one hand patting her back, setting a steady rhythm reminding her to breathe. 

“B-but why? W-why is it so sad?” she hiccuped. 

You hummed, beginning to bounce her a bit within your hold. 

“Wouldn’t it be sadder if you never met him?” 

At your question, the Melusine stares at you through teary eyes. Expression lined with confusion. 

“To have loved him, and for him to have loved you in return…isn’t that enough?” You cooed, taking steps away from the riverbank. 

Still frozen in his place, the dragon could only stare at your back as it grew further and further away, soon disappearing from his view. 

He had misspoke.

Neuvillette recalled last Autumn. As the vivid hues of the foliage shriveled up to nothing more than a shadow of their former beauty, you laid your mother to rest. Burying her in a cemetery which overlooked the direction of your homeland.

His unsolicited reprimand must have been throwing salt into a wound that still bled. He had overstepped his authority. 

Murky clouds congregated in the once clear sky. 

—

Those were the events that transpired, events that have led to the current stalemate happening in his office. Lilac eyes couldn’t seem to find the courage to connect with yours. Another excuse finding its way to his tongue. 

“Didn’t you want to visit your homeland?”

“Oh?” Your brow quirks up, as your hands find their way to your hips. 

“And then who’d be here to repair the tears in your robe when you inevitably step on them?” Obviously unimpressed by his suggestion. 

“Surely there are other talented tailors here that can handle the task,” he rebukes. 

“Oh? Will they also untangle your hair from the ornamentation of chairs?” You press on.

“I can manage.”

“Then can the Chief Justice also manage all the uniforms for the Melusines? Can he sew every button and ensure they fit correctly?” 

Ah, with your last statement, Neuvillette concedes. A hush fills the room. 

The Melusines are still new to walking amongst humans, not many were willing to tailor specialized uniforms for their short stature. Thus, you took up the mantle. 

Perhaps out of a sense of responsibility, it was you who stirred their curiosity with those sweets of yours. 

It seems responsibilities tethered you to the Court of Fontaine, much like they did to him. After a few breaths, as always, your voice shatters the stalemate. 

“I’m not upset, Neuvi.”

With those words, his lilac eyes finally connect with yours. Finally able to see the soft curls at the corners of your lips.

It indeed has been a while since he last saw such a sight.

This time instead of replying with an excuse, he responds with a gentle hum. 

“Ugh, why are your curtains so dusty? When was the last time you went outside?” It wasn’t long before your attention returned to the state of his office. 

Strolling past his desk, your hands began to fuss with the thick drapes. Pouting at the dust that coated the lush fabrics.

All Neuvillette could do was follow with his gaze, papers long pushed to the side as for the first time in a while, an azure hue was seen peeking through the clouds. 

From his observations, it’s instinctive for humans to avoid pain. However, it’d be hypocritical of him to judge mortals for actions he’s been guilty of. 

“If I knew I had to work this hard now, I would’ve skipped more chores back at the estate,” you chuckle, pulling back the drapes to allow gold to illuminate his office.

To have loved and have been loved in return.

Was this the human rationale behind taming a dog? Having the reality of the future constantly lurking over each happy moment as the hands of time tick forward.

Why do humans dote on pets? Creatures that only live a fraction of a mortal life? 

Are happy memories a fair exchange for bitter grief, or are they the cure? 

As Neuvillette counts the strands of peeking silver that mingle within your lush locks, he prays he finds the answer soon. 

The clacks of ornate shoes reverberate down once unfamiliar halls, a towering figure lurks past bustling nurses who bow their heads at the sight of the Chief Justice as he passes by.

With a body like his, there is no reason for him to wander among these halls. Or more accurately, there once was no reason. 

The taps of his soles slowed as a familiar door came into view, the only detail which differentiated it from the rest of the hall being the brass numbers displayed. Bringing up a glove-clothed knuckle, delicate taps were placed against the wood.

Almost immediately, a muffled ‘come in’ resounded behind the frame. Granting the Iudex permission to turn the polished knob, allowing him entry as the hinges sang their welcome.

“My, my, if it isn’t Monsieur Neuvillette, to whom do I owe the pleasure?” A grin spreads across your face, crinkling the corners of your eyes. 

Instantly his frame stiffens in the midst of returning the door to its frame. Bringing his free hand up to his face, Neuvillette coughs as to compose himself once more.

“Please, forgo the formalities.” 

Though your eyes might not be as sharp as they once were, the delicate dusting of pink along his pointed ears couldn’t escape their sight. Making your eyes crinkle more.

Feeling entertained enough, you cease your teasing and gesture toward the vacant chair beside your bed.

Obediently, his towering figure strides up to the seat, the wood squeaking under his weight as he settles onto it. 

By now, the dragon has grown accustomed the structure of greetings, beginning with a layer of pleasantries. 

“How have you been fairing?” Lavender eyes scrutinize the sheets and pillows, searching for any unapparent flaws. 

“It’s just a mild case of pneumonia,” you muse aloud. 

Momentarily resting his eyes behind a slow blink, all he could do was sigh at your brazen nonchalantness. Yet with a ghost of a smile on the same lips that sighed.

It was a mild case of pneumonia, a common ailment during the frosty months. For someone as steadfast as you, such an illness might’ve surrendered to your stubbornness. 

It might've surrendered… if your body had remained as it once was.

How unfortunate it all is, that time is so cruel to mortal creatures.

Attentive eyes detailing each crease that settled by your lips, remnants of the many grins and laughs that stretched your face. 

The basking light of a selfish star catches in your hair, lush hues that have faded to brilliant ivory. A shade that you often compare to his while jesting, ‘We match now’.

However, Neuvillette begs to differ, the sunlight is much more luminous in your tresses.

Trailing his sights back to your gaze. Deep lines formed by countless dynamic expressions drew attention to the glimmer forever present in your irises. Like paths on a map that led lilac eyes to yours. 

“How are you finding your stay?” At times, Neuvillette found himself wondering how the azure tides appeared from your view. 

“Mm, quite uneventful, eating, staring out a window, sleeping.” 

He hums in response, contemplating if he should inquire you about such subjects. As you ramble, perhaps the dragon could grasp onto an inkling of understanding. 

“Well, at least I can say that my stay has been anything but lonely.” Your eyes motioning toward a corner. 

The bland, sterile wall overshadowed by a mass comprised of trinkets ranging from local flowers to any object whose surface catches light.

The heap grows day by day as each Melusine continues to bring their earnest gratitude to the human who sew each stitch of their coats. A sight that could stir even the most placid lake.

“They’re such sweethearts.” Each one of your words coated with endearment. 

Once more, all the dragon could respond with was a mellow hum. Slow breaths fill the complacent silence between two species, one blessed by time and one shunned by it.

Neuvillette has grown accustomed to the structure of conversations but, alas, he still has no talent for small talk.

In the absence of dialogue, the layer of short pleasantries long dissolving, Neuvillette is left with nothing but his inquiries. It was all he had left, and so it was all he could offer. 

“Are there any regrets you hold?” 

“Oh oh? Getting sentimental so out of the blue, Neuvi?” A familiar quirk graces your brow. 

“It’s nothing of the sort, just a musing that drifted in my mind during a stroll, I wish to know your thoughts on the matter.” 

“Mmm… I don’t feel that I have any regrets, living an honest life and having the fortune to never have stepped foot in the Fortress of Meropide.” 

“Is that really all? You never did get to travel like you dreamed of back at the estate.” 

“Haha, trying to stump me with that, Neuvi?” you chuckle. 

Relaxing more into the pillows which propped up your weary frame, you trail your sights toward the window. 

“Didn’t I tell you already? I’ll have plenty of time to travel once I become a cloud, I can go everywhere the sky can reach.” Smile softening on your lips. 

Neuvillette’s folded hands grasp one another tighter on his lap, his own lips pressing each other into a thin line.

The conversation was teetering closer and closer to the unspoken reality looming like a shadow in the room. 

He wasn’t sure when it started, maybe when the first silver strands appeared in your hair or when you discovered his skin won’t wrinkle along with you.

He wasn’t sure when your adamant belief of becoming a cloud once the shadow came to claim you started. 

Neuvillette wonders if this daydream was the product of those fables you browsed when you laid upon a plush rug.

Or was it your personally crafted fable to explain the incomprehensible to a creature who couldn’t fully grasp it?

A creature whose skin didn’t wrinkle, whose bones didn’t grow brittle. A creature seemingly untouched by time.

Fairytales do serve this purpose for children, magical fantasies to make uncomfortable realities palatable to naive minds. 

“...vi?... Ne…?... Neuvi.” 

A hand marred with age takes hold of one glove-clad hand, and a pleasant heat radiates through the leather. Coaxing Neuvillette’s attention back from its escapade. 

“My apologies, I was lost in thought for a moment.” He gives your hand a reassuring squeeze. 

But the frown weighing down on your lips didn’t disappear, much like how retreating into musings couldn’t wash away any shadows.

Your chest moves with a deep inhale. 

“Maybe I do have one regret,” you began. 

Readjusting your ailing fingers in his hold so that he could hold them with equal endearment, his ears concentrate on your voice. 

“Actually, I have many,” you sigh. 

Before he could formulate a response, you continued. 

“I wish I could have shoulder the burdens you carry. I wish you would’ve shared them with me. And I wish I could even understand them, then maybe I could have understood you more.” Turning to face him, your disheartened eyes center on his frame. 

A child born from a maid, a maid who traveled to Fontaine in hopes of a better future for her child. That was your origin, an outsider with neither fame nor fortune.

Thus, even as you followed him from a secluded estate to the grand Palais Mermonia, you could never follow him in status nor influence. 

As unrest grew, as injustices mounted, and as tragedies took away friends.

All you could do was repair tears, sew buttons, and pour him a crisp glass of spring water as you waited for the storm to wash despair away.  

That was how you saw it. But Neuvillette rebukes that notion. 

The dignity of a newly established Chief Justice, who kept stepping on his overly ornate robes, was carefully maintained by you.

The Melusine’s uniforms, which solidified their presence in the human world, were crafted by you.

The patient hand that always offered silent comfort in the suffocating courts was yours. 

Standing by his side, even as your bones grew to ache, to ensure the storm would pass and the sun emerge once more. 

“You’ve done more than enough.” He states the truth, grasping your hand just a bit tighter. 

“Are you sure?” Those airy chuckles of yours made their appearance again. 

“I never even learned your real name,” you interject.

A knife, red hot and fresh from the forge, would have hurt less than the guilt which tore through him at that moment.

The Chief Justice, the symbol of honesty and conviction, is unable to tell the simplest truth.

What shall he do now?

The power of a name is often underestimated, the exchanging of names signifying the forging of a bond. One that would forever tether him to you and you to him.

Oh, what shall he do now? 

Before his hesitant lips could take action, they were halted by a squeeze from your ailing grasp. Firm and warm, like a light that guides him up from the bottom of a turbulent ocean. 

“You don’t have to tell me now, Neuvi, tell me when I come back from my trip.” Those gentle eyes of yours smile at him.

Reeling his hand in closer to you with your own, until the softness of your lips was felt along covered knuckles.

A common practice in Fontaine, one Neuvillette had witnessed time and time again as he passed the lovers who congregated by the Fountain of Leucine. Actions that dedicated promises to one another. 

“I swear, once I’ve traveled enough, once I grow bored of foreign scenery, I’ll fall back down like rain to your side.” You whisper into the kiss.

It was his turn now, and he shall honor this ritual. Tenderly bringing in your hand to him, Neuvillette places his oath.

“Then I swear, when you return, I’ll tell you my name.” He whispers in the kiss.

The sterile rooms echo your airy chuckles as he keeps your hand close to himself for just a bit longer. 

“Mmm… Where I should go first? Maybe I’ll just amble about,” you ponder aloud. 

Gracing him with a smile which stretched your face and brought that familiar glimmer into your eyes.

“I wish you well on your travels.” Neuvillette presses another kiss into your knuckles. 

–

Spring was always the rainy season for Fontaine, with gentle temperate showers to welcome the budding blooms back from their Winter sleep.

However, this year the torrential downpour was anything but gentle. 

Planned trips canceled for the season, clothes remaining damp in baskets, and streets empty of their vigor. Even the Melusines couldn’t bring a skip to their steps.

It was as if time itself was slowed by the burdensome downpour. 

The cawing of crows as their wings beat against the dreary winds adds to the lonely hymn sung by the raindrops.

At once the cadence of the rain increased, the downpour growing heavier, and the violent pattering grew deafening. As if the sky was now belting out their sorrowful ballad. 

The rain could try. The skies can cry all they would like. But time, a cruel and unforgiving mistress, won’t ever stop. 

To have loved and been loved, was it truly enough? 

In Neuvillete’s eyes, he was the tide and you were the shore. The ebb and flow of water as the tide and shore met, time and time again. 

Each crash into the shore stirred up something perplexing and disorderly within the tide, irritating like the sand that mixed into the pristine waves.

So the tide tried to retreat into the lonesome ocean. 

Each time, the shore followed through grains of sand which the tide couldn’t ever seem to purge himself of. 

Each time, the shore beckoned the tide to return to the sandy beaches of humanity filled with perplexities and disorder. 

And each time, the tide surrendered to the call of the shore, lured in by its warmth. 

But now, the shore has eroded away.

Where does the tide go now?

Drifting now in the vastness of a lonesome ocean, carrying nothing but grains of sand. What shall the tide do now?

Neuvillette still has a lot to learn, for he couldn’t answer this riddle conjured by his own mind. 

Unable to stop himself, the lone dragon stares off into the rain.

Eyes honing in the direction of a peaceful hill, one where a mother and child were laid to rest side by side overlooking a homeland they never got to visit.

Maybe that was the first destination of your journey. 

During these past short years spent in this land, the young successor of the dragons has gained traitorous knowledge. One that undermines his preconceived purpose. 

Neuvillette feels he’s grasped onto the faintest inkling of why humans, as fickle, perplexing, and fleeting as they are, were still the most beloved creatures of the gods. 

Perhaps, he even understands now why those usurpers were willing to uproot the earth just for those beloved creatures. 

The wet season transitions into the dry season, then the dry season will transition into another wet season. Again and again, on and on as the hands of a clock ticks forward.

Each new tick signifies another step forward in the march of time.

Each step brings change and each step pulls the present away from the past. 

The rainy season of Spring was no longer as troublesome as it once was, as there was now a machine on the market that could dry clothes without the help of a bright star.

Melusines skip along down the paved paths of the Court of Fontaine as humans turn to greet them with endearing smiles.

New cafes line bustling streets as Clockwork Mekas make their evening patrols. 

A great many changes have come to Fontaine, Neuvillette witnessed them all from his office at the Palais Mermonia.

A great many changes, yet some things are bound to stay the same. For example, the Chief Justice’s fondness for strolls along vacant riverbanks. 

The gentle patters of raindrops lull the chaotic sympathy of trials, paperwork, and duties to a standstill. Reaching a hand out in front of him, Neuvillette catches a few drops in the palm of his gloved hand.

Lilac eyes examine the diminutive puddle in his hand before ultimately releasing the water back to the earth. 

He supposes he’s been feeling a bit nostalgic as of late, like a child recalling a story which once soothed them to a peaceful slumber. How childish it was for him to believe he could somehow catch a certain raindrop in his hands.

Turning up toward the drab sky, he searches through the endless and identical droplets that fall down and leave trails along his face. 

No, not yet. Perhaps they have yet to see all that the sky has to offer. 

Neuvillette returns his focus to the path in front of him. The rhythmic clacks of his shoes match with the soft drumming of the rain, and in the midst of this harmony a voice sings out:

“Hydro dragon… uh… Hydro dragon, don’t cry.”

Halting his stride. Judging by the unfamiliarity of their tongue pronouncing the lullaby, Neuvillette deduces they must be a visitor to Fontaine.

Ah that local legend, just how far has it spread? Nevertheless, an unfortunate traveler who’s unfamiliar with Fontaine’s seasons is now caught in this rain. 

It would only be polite to offer them some assistance as the Iudex of this nation. Thus, he turns in the direction of the call.

His suspicions were confirmed once his gaze landed on a distressed frame, their face obscured by the jacket they held over their head in a makeshift umbrella. 

It only took a few steps for the towering man to make it to their side.

“There is a tree you can take shelter under just ahead,” he advises the lost traveler.  

Now aware of his presence in front of them, they lifted the jacket from their line of sight to peer up at him. Revealing the details of their face to lilac eyes for the first time.

That was all it took for the symphony of rain to come to an end.

Soft drumming decrescendos into tranquility. It seems as if there will be an earlier welcome of flowers.  

“Oh?” You gaze up at the azure hue now peeking out from receding gray, astonishment reflected in the glimmer of your eyes. 

You’ve only heard of a local Fontainian legend from a guide pamphlet offered to tourists as you awaited the Aquabus.

When the rain suddenly began to pour as you ambled about a riverside, in a moment of desperation as you scrambled for shelter under a thin jacket you uttered the phrase.

You weren’t sure if the hydro dragon could understand your botched pronunciation, but it looks like he did.  

 Turning back to face the kind stranger, you wanted to convey your amazement to him. But the words fade just off the tip of your tongue when you peek back at the towering man.

Your eyebrows scrunch together as dumbstruck eyes widen at the sight of the drenched man.

“Mister?… Are you alright?” You scan over him, turning your attention away to sift through your pockets. 

How bewildering it must be for you to witness a well-dressed and noble figure drenched to the bone. However, Neuvillette made no attempt to stop the rivulets rolling down his cheeks, a parting gift from the Spring showers. 

He wonders as his gaze never left your frame, were tears perhaps this warm too?

“Here.” Your concern-ridden hand offers up a neatly folded handkerchief to the drenched man. 

As your eyes connect with his, a strange sensation tickled the back of your mind. As if it was trying to recall where you’ve seen the familiar lavender hue.

Maybe they matched the shade of a flower field you stumbled upon during your travels, or maybe that lilac luster was revealed to you in a dream.

A strange familiarity you couldn’t name. 

“Thank you very much.” He accepts the simple piece of cloth with tenderness rivaling that of conservators handing the renowned paintings of old masters. 

The clouds were long gone by now, perhaps they felt that their purpose had long been fulfilled. The golden rays of a lone star shone with all their brilliance, finally free from behind their blanket of drap clouds. 

It was only now that Neuvillette found out. The rain he had been yearning for all these years did in fact see all that the sky had to offer.

They had grown bored of drifting over vast plains, missing the picturesque countryside of Fontaine. Or perhaps their curiosity grew too great, wishing to finally hear a truth that was kept from them.

So much so, they quietly fell down from the sky, to return to his side again. 

Much like the hands in a clock, the cycle of water and earth follows a similar circular path. 

The rain had eroded away stubborn earth with its diligent drumming over the years.

Bit by bit and piece by piece until stone fractures into bits of sand. Over and over until a sandy beach was formed by the side of a patient sea.

Then the tide will reunite with its long-awaited shore, to return the sand and promise it cradled within its waves for so long. 

~Fin

©️vivalabunbun DON’T PLAGIARIZE, REPOST, OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS. 

[rubistella]

In defiance of every traditional pebble-to-the-windowpane trope, Astarion hurled daggers in his lover’s general direction instead— a Shakespearean tragedy turned on its head, which spoke volumes of the vampire’s unorthodox approach to romance. One such blade whistled just shy of the drow’s pointed ear, while the next left her a bloody token across the swell of that lovely cheekbone. Paper-thin and only mildly inconvenient.

There was wisdom to fearing what the rogue's marksmanship could accomplish next.

“Lady, by yonder blessed moon and all that...”  Astarion's breath loosened the words, which slipped right off his tongue like silk unwinding from a spindle before impatience dulled their tender edge. “Gods, are you going to come down already, or will you honestly make me climb up this thing just to get to you?"

Annoyance etched its mark, carving petulance into his voice.

"Because the last I recall - though it has been a couple of centuries since then - hide-and-go-seek is about finding someone, not wrestling them down from the tree branch to the ground below.”

The vampire truly had a way to butcher sweet moments like no other.

High above the tree, perched on a thick branch, she could probably overlook where he was running. Maybe she should have chosen different clothes—or no clothes at all. Not that her pale skin would make her any less visible. The possible mistakes she made raced through her mind, along with thoughts of what she could do better next time.

Next time?

The thought made her grin. Just as she was lost in thought, something shot up towards her. She barely registered catching a dagger with her free hand until her fingers dug into its sharp edge, making her roll her eyes at her mistake. She twisted the dagger and put it back into its sheath. With her mouth she was still suckling on her wrist on the other hand, and a quick check showed that the bleeding had stopped. She winked at Astarion, squeezing her bleeding hand so a few drops fell down on his face. An offer? A tease? A countdown to how much blood she would lose before he could sink his teeth into her flesh?

Either way, the Drow had no desire to come down quickly. She glanced at the nearby branches, considering which one to jump to next if Astarion decided to climb up after her.

[shiplessoceans]

Good Omens S2 Episode 6 confession scene speculation:

Aziraphale didn't respond to the love confession from Crowley because he didn't realise it was one until Crowley mentioned the Nightingale and kissed him.

Allow me to explain.

---

Aziraphale interrupted Crowley to give him the news from Metatron, so when Crowley starts his spiel:

"We've been together a long time, I could always rely on you...we're a group....we've spent our existence pretending we aren't...if Gabriel and Beelzebub can go off together then we can...we don't need heaven/hell they're toxic...you and me whatya say?"

Aziraphale interprets everything Crowley is saying as his rebuttal to the 'good news', not a separate declaration of his feelings.

What Aziraphale just told him shaped Crowley's confession, instead of finally telling Aziraphale how he feels about him, he's now backed into a corner and trying to change Aziraphales mind. Offering to run off with him as the alternative to the Metatron's offer.

The repetition of the phrase: "go off together" from the bandstand fight in season one feels very intentional here. It would be easy for Aziraphale to think 'this is just Crowley's response when the divine plan interferes, he always wants to run away'.

Aziraphale believes that he just needs to make Crowley understand the situation and opportunity that this is and everything will be alright:

"Come with me! To heaven, I can run it, you can be my second in command. We can make a difference!"

Crowley is looking defeated already, in his mind he's bared his soul and Aziraphale is a brick wall. So if he can't tempt the angel into staying with the love he has for him (which Crowley thinks he's declared but he really hasn't), he'll get him to change his mind by evoking something else he loves:

"You can't leave this bookshop."

Aziraphale scoffs fondly. 'Silly demon, you were just suggesting we run off together and abandon it only a moment ago!' He thinks Crowley is trying to 'work' him here and the old serpent might even be selflessly trying to spare the angel the loss of his beloved bookshop in order to restore Crowley and help the world, which would be just like him to be so covertly protective. So Aziraphale reassures him, a bookshop doesn't matter to him as much as Crowley and the world. It's just a collection of objects really. Humanity is more important. Crowley is far more important.

"Oh Crowley, nothing lasts forever."

Crowley is crushed. Nothing lasts forever. Not even the two of them. So he covers his sadness with his glasses, walls back up, and he tries to leave.

Aziraphale is baffled. He just reassured Crowley that he was alright with change if it means things could be better. Why is Crowley leaving? Is he worried that they won't spend time together anymore? That he won't have time for his friend as a supreme archangel?

"Crowley come back!....we can be together, angels!...I need you!"

Crowley can't even look at him in that moment. Why would Aziraphale say that? The two of them together only if he accepts heaven again? Conditional love? That's not fair. It hurts.

Aziraphale meanwhile is hurt by Crowley's turning away, his silence and a bit incensed at what he perceives as ingratitude. Aziraphale didn't really want to go back to heaven, but he'd do it if it meant Crowley could be happy and safe and Crowley doesn't seem to appreciate that:

"I don't think you understand what I'm offering you."

Crowley went through the fall. He asked the questions. Did his best to protect humanity and it has brought him nothing but suffering. He's well aware what's on offer. He's seen heavens cruelty and capriciousness firsthand and been burned by it repeatedly. How can Aziraphale choose them over him and still think everything will work out?

"I understand. I think I understand a whole lot better than you do."

Crowley loves Aziraphale's big foolish optimism and kind heart and he thinks it's the very thing taking the angel away from him. This isn't how it was supposed to go. It's all slipping away from him.

"Listen. You hear that?"

Aziraphale can't even keep up at this point.

This is what comes of thousands of years of 'not talking about it' and living under threat of holy retribution if they are discovered. They're talking past each other, having two different conversations. Obfuscation and code has become their communication medium by necessity and it's failing them.

It's frustrating Aziraphale that he can't get a grip on this conversation:

"I don't hear anything!"

And Crowley drops the bomb.

"That's the point. No Nightingale's."

Oh. Suddenly we're on the same page. You can see from Aziraphale's face that he understands to what Crowley's referring. The Nightingale in Berkely square. Angels dining at the Ritz...

"You idiot! We could have been... us."

Crowley's talking about the big unspoken thing between them. Their relationship, thousands of years of dancing around each other like binary stars gravitationally and inexorably drawn together over and over. The thing Aziraphale was beginning to be bold about, (dancing notwithstanding) before Metatron came along and distracted him.

And it seems to Aziraphale that gut-wrenchingly, Crowley is finally acknowledging their mutual love only to point out that it's gone. Lost. They could have finally been together, an us, but Aziraphale ruined it because he's an 'idiot'.

After being quietly in love with Crowley for years, for Aziraphale to have his offer to return to heaven together and his unspoken love rejected in one fell swoop is devastating.

Overcome, he begins to cry and turns away, not wanting Crowley to see how hurt he is.

Crowley for his part is desperate. He has to do something. Maybe Aziraphale doesn't understand what Crowley is offering him! One fabulous kiss and va-voom right?

In a final desperate act, he kisses Aziraphale. Tries for passionate. Tries to show him that he loves him and show him what they could be because his words clearly aren't working.

Aziraphale is shocked and angry. He wants to kiss Crowley of course. But not like this. Not as a taunt. Crowley just told him their chance is over so what else could this be but a final insult. A kiss to punish the angel. It's a cruelty he didn't believe Crowley capable of.

And despite how mean it is. It's also what Aziraphale has wanted for so long he can't help but melt into it for a brief moment. Allow himself to feel what it would have been like to be that close before losing it forever.

Then Crowley lets go and Aziraphale breaks away on a sob, feeling wounded. Hurt beyond words that Crowley would use his feelings against him like this, gutted to be losing the man he loves and not understanding why.

The worst part is that Aziraphale doesn't have it in him to hate Crowley, even if he thinks the kiss was a cruel gesture. He still loves him. So he gathers himself and does what Aziraphale does when someone hurts him.

He forgives.

"I forgive you."

I forgive you for rejecting my attempt to restore you and make you happy, I forgive you for rejecting God and heaven yet again, I forgive you for acknowledging our love and then rejecting it. I forgive you for kissing me, giving me a fleeting glimpse of what we could have been to each other. I love you and I forgive you all that.

Crowley is done. Breath knocked out of him on a last sigh. He tried. And the Angel forgave him yet again for something he never asked or wanted forgiveness for. He doesn't want to be penitent for loving Aziraphale. Shouldn't have to apologise or regret wanting them to be together.

"Don't bother."

Aziraphale looks surprised Crowley is leaving because he genuinely is. He can't understand how it's all gone so horribly wrong. He gasps, shocked and can't even call out to him to stop, come back.

He cries, touches his lips where Crowley had kissed him. Tries to gather himself and barely has 10 seconds before Metatron is back.

At the end of that scene:

Crowley thinks he confessed his love and Aziraphale chose heaven over him because he didn't want to stop being a demon.

Aziraphale thinks Crowley rejected heaven, then rejected Aziraphale and threw their love back in his face as a final unkindness.

Aziraphale leaves and goes to heaven anyway because in his mind he's already lost Crowley and there is nothing left to stay for. If he doesn't have Crowley he needs a new purpose and it's going to be saving the world. He'll convince himself of it. And he'll push that broken heart down and the pain will fade if he just smiles through it. It will be enough, to make heaven better. It has to be. Maybe if he proves that he can make a difference Crowley might see the error of his ways and speak to him again? Surely. Hopefully.

---

Both of them are hurt and confused and lost and oh dear hell I really feel for them.

[fuckyeahisawthat]

“I don’t think that is what God wants. And I don’t think you want it either.”

This line of Aziraphale’s in the Job minisode keeps sticking out to me. Because this is the heart of the problem, right? This is how Aziraphale can see Crowley so completely and also not at all.

Because yes they suck at open communication and yes it’s because they had to hide their relationship for thousands of years and have so so so much trauma and fear to work through. But ALSO they actually do have a profound difference in how they see the world that keeps coming between them, and it’s not just theoretical but deeply personal to both of them.

Because Aziraphale still wants to believe that God is good. He can’t let go of that because his whole identity is wrapped up in being an angel of the Lord, and if God’s not good then what has he been doing for his entire existence?

And so when bad things are happening he falls back on This cannot be what God wants. The whole of season one, he refuses to believe that God could really want the world to end—even though we now know he knew this was a possibility before the world even started. He keeps going up the chain of command, trying to find someone to intervene. “That’s why I’m going to have a word with the Almighty and then the Almighty will fix it.” As if God doesn’t have all the information or hasn’t been paying attention.

And really, the events of season one reinforce this worldview for him. Because if the Archangel Fucking Gabriel isn’t sure what God wants, then maybe God did want them to stop Armageddon. Maybe it was Aziraphale and Crowley who were doing God’s work after all.

He’s gotten as far as realizing that Heaven’s orders are not the same thing as God’s will, but he still hasn’t detached the concepts of Good and Right from God in his worldview.

Crowley is a good person who does the right thing so he must still be an angel deep down. “I know the angel you were.” The only way Aziraphale can conceptualize Crowley saving Job’s children is, “Come on, you’re a little bit on our [God’s] side.” So Crowley’s fall was a mistake; Crowley belongs in Heaven, where he was so happy before the Fall. Why wouldn’t he want to be an angel again? And yeah maybe Heaven sucks now but God is still good, so there’s hope that the system can be reformed with a change of leadership, and Heaven can be made to actually do good, the way God always intended.

But that’s not how Crowley sees the world at all. He is operating with an entirely different understanding of reality. Because he figured out a long time ago (at least by the time of the Job job, but probably long before that) that you can’t base your sense of morality on what you think God wants. Not just because you don’t know for sure, but because sometimes God’s plans are fucking awful. God in Good Omens is not kind to Her creations. She doesn’t tolerate questions or doubts or disobedience. She’s capricious, turning on the creatures She made and killing a bunch of them when She’s in a bad mood. She punishes indiscriminately and disproportionately. She wagers human lives like gambling chips. The kids were supposed to be dead no matter who won the bet.

I think it’s interesting that Crowley is the one who introduces the idea in season one of “What if the Almighty planned it like this all along? From the very beginning.” That’s probably a comforting thought to Aziraphale, soothing his anxieties about going against Heaven right when he is feeling acute distress at the idea of no longer having a side. (And, in that particular moment, no longer even having a bookshop.)

But it’s not a comforting thought to Crowley. Have you seen what happens when God has a plan for you? It fucking sucks. Woe betide you if you’re the Barbie God decides to play with today. (At bare minimum, you’re coming back with some burn marks and a weird haircut.)

I’ve brought up the line “There are no right people. There’s just God, moving in mysterious ways and not talking to any of us” before, and I tend to focus on the “there are no right people” part. But also, there’s just God.

Aziraphale tends to draw a distinction between God’s will and Heaven’s orders when it suits him, and collapse that distinction when it doesn’t. Crowley almost never differentiates between God and Heaven. There’s just God, and She’s not going to explain why this is happening or listen to pleas for mercy (although Crowley still tries). You can’t trust Heaven or Hell, and you can’t count on God to show up and make everything all right. Sometimes God is in fact the reason that things are not all right. You’re on your own.

(And. Look. Crowley is right on this one. There are certainly aspects of their relationship where they’re both equally responsible for things being a shitshow, but the text is pretty unambiguous about Crowley, a demon, having the most accurate read on the nature of God in the world of Good Omens out of any of the metaphysical characters.)

Crowley rebuilt his entire sense of self, alone, after the Fall. He created himself anew and developed his own moral compass and sense of identity independent of both Heaven and Hell. “The angel you knew is not me.” When Crowley does the right thing, that’s not his angel-ness shining through; that’s just Crowley.

And from a like, trauma recovery point of view, it’s actually very healthy for him to have the realization that sometimes God’s just kind of a dick. He didn’t do anything to deserve getting kicked out of Heaven. None of them did. Just God messing them about because She didn’t like being questioned, or She wanted to see what would happen, or She needed two sides for Reasons and didn’t much care who was on one or the other, or She’s playing some fucked up little game for Her own amusement. (And if there was some Great Plan that required Crowley to fall…well, that is also fucked up. Because it doesn’t matter if there was a reason. It still hurt.)

And while Crowley in general is extremely patient with Aziraphale and his slow, halting journey away from Heaven…it’s gotta sting, every time Aziraphale doesn’t want to believe that God could be cruel, when Crowley is standing right fucking there. It’s gotta hurt when Aziraphale refuses to see something that Crowley knows to be true through his own lived experience. Because it should be enough. What happened to him should be enough to make someone who loves him walk away from Heaven and never look back. And it isn’t.

But of course Crowley is one hundred percent not going to talk about this, if he is even fully self-aware about having these thoughts, because it’s far too painful and vulnerable. (He talks to plants, goats, God, and no one in a bar at the end of the world, but never to Aziraphale.) And so he says “Tell me you said no” and “I think I understand a lot better than you do” because he can’t say Choose me. Just this once, choose me and he can’t say Believe me.

And Aziraphale is not going to think about all this and work it out for himself, because he has a massive lump of denial centered around exactly this thing, that sometimes God hurts people who didn’t do anything to deserve it. I’m sure he’s thought about the Fall in abstract terms, enough to be afraid of it, but not in terms of this is a thing that happened to a person I love. And he has certainly not allowed himself to draw any conclusions about the nature of God from it, because that is far too scary a prospect.

And so they’re stuck. Until they can figure out how to remove this massive landmine from the center of their relationship, they are going to keep having the same fight over and over again, and they’re going to keep hurting each other without fully understanding why.