#i do hope that at least its coherent enough to make sense

[alcyonei]

As someone who avoids their reflection for a variety of reasons, but who also cares about their appearance, I don't think Astarion would forget what he looks like entirely.

Like in a pinch I can do minimal makeup without a mirror, including setting my hair and drawing on eyebrows just cuz I've fussed so much so long about these things I know where I like them to go/fall and can do them by touch-memory. If Astarion is anything like that- which he kinda is- then in his first life, he must've fussed with his appearance so much, he just knows. He might've even done multiple reflection checks throughout the day to make sure everything was still in place, not necessarily to marvel or even significantly look at himself. Even as a magistrate, he had an image to uphold, and thats really all he looked for in the mirror.

Regardless, 200 years is a long time to go without seeing your own face, and given his struggles with abuse, torture, and identity, it also must've impacted his self-image. The thing is- and this is drawing from personal experience- he probably has at least two images of himself in his mind, the one that he uses to charm (imaging himself as his most charming, beautiful self, as someone who is undeniably attractive) and that which is impacted by the abuse (seeing himself as broken, worthless, monstrous, etc).

The other spawn obviously can help him with the menial things like doing his hair or whatever, but he probably gets very particular if something doesn't feel right, or if he just knows they're not making him look like he wants, they're combing his hair all wrong, they're using too much balm, etc. He would probably train himself to do it alone, not trusting anyone else to get it right.

So if tav does draw him, more than anything he might just play it off cool, not recognizing himself at first but having a vague idea that it's him. "Is that really what I look like?" he'd say, almost dismissively, as if you either don't have the eye and skill to capture his glorious charm, or how dare you outline such unseemly lines across his carefully cared for visage.

But he'll keep staring at the picture. He'll keep staring so intently he won't listen to anything you answer. He'll drink up every single detail, because even if it isn't directly from the source, it's something. You let him keep the drawing and he hangs it up. Maybe he tucks it into his mirror's frame. Maybe he stares at it as he falls asleep and tries to reconcile his distorted images of himself with an image of how someone sees him. It may be too much to process alone. He falls asleep with it.

Maybe he later begins to question how true to real life it might be given your...bias, because although he remembers being good-looking with some degree of certainty, he doesn't remember ever being quite so beautiful. Why would you draw him like this, he'd wonder. Logically, he knows. Logically, he understands you must find him at least physically appealing enough to be intimate. But the mundane beauty of the man in the drawing, surely that's not him, is it? Just existing. Just beautiful by virtue of being? That's.....that's not.....

He'll never admit to you that it brings him close to tears sometimes. But he'd never stop looking at it.

[icallhimjoey]

Lost & Found

♥ ♥  Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader    

Summary: You take a little break, a week away to somewhere warm to relax and calm your senses. So does Joe – same flight, same hotel, same travel plans and, worst of all, same suitcase. What was meant to be a lovely trip to the sun starts off on the wrong foot when you find expensive designer outfits belonging to a man in what you thought was your suitcase.    

CW / disclaimer: rpf, fem!reader, lots of swearing, we get a little spicy but nothing too bad, 18+ just in case though!    

Author’s note: so, i wrote half of this severely sleep-deprived and half of this whilst feeling unwell, so... i don't know man, i hope that i tied it all together somewhat coherent for you all and that you enjoy! comments, likes, messages, reblogs etc. all highly appreciated, thanks!

Wordcount: 4.4K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

The door fell into its lock behind you and the eye-contact was not something you wanted to be the first to break.

Nothing happened for a second. You just stood close in your silent hotel room and looked at each other. You tried to focus on breathing at a normal pace which seemed, no, was an impossible task.

Had you ever really noticed what Joe’s eyes looked like? 

You had.

But like this? 

Yea, you had, actually.

Hey, fuck you, don’t judge. See them up close first before calling someone crazy.

You had noticed his eyes. You’d noticed lots of things about him, but his eyes? There was something about his fucking eyes and he was looking back at you now, his moving between yours, and oh my God, how long were you just going to stare directly into each other’s eyes like this?

It was nearing uncomfortable when suddenly you saw his eyes shoot down, past your lips, down your body, and then back up.

“Do you…” Joe started, voice low and soft, but he didn’t finish the sentence. You tried guessing what it could have been, what he was about to ask, but you couldn’t think straight.

Not with Joe so close and the energy all thick and crackly.

Were you even breathing at all at this point?

Seconds passed, but it felt like minutes did when you suddenly felt how your whole body swayed forward. Nearly into him. So very nearly.

You swallowed, and then so did Joe, and why the fuck was no one doing anything?

His eyes moved again, but past you now. Over your shoulder. And then he reached. Leant closer to you as he reached an arm behind and opened the door to the bathroom. It made you step back a little, which was just right, because that was where Joe wanted you. The faint excuse of sand everywhere, of barely sunburnt pulling skin, of salty seawater that left your legs somewhat sticky, all enough to pull you into the bathroom for a shower.

No words were shared at all when you stepped inside. You watched as Joe turned the shower on, knew how it worked because his hotel room had the exact same one, and when Joe started undressing, you followed without question.

It wasn’t weird.

You tried to think of reasons of why it wasn’t weird, but you couldn’t come up with anything quick enough.

You decided that maybe you were just weird and the situation was maybe sort of the same amount of weird for everything to feel normal.

Well. Semi-normal, at least.

It was fine.

You were undressing in your bathroom and this time Joe was in the room with you instead of just outside, sat on a chair, listening carefully to make sure you didn’t collapse.

Steam started filling up the room when you stepped out of your bikini bottoms and for a second you forgot that this was likely not going to be an actual shower shower, but more just a sexy excuse to touch each other all over.

Just like you’d done the day before when Joe had been sat on a chair outside the bathroom door, you collected your bikini to rinse out in the shower.

Resourceful type of shit. Like your mother had taught you.

This time however, it wasn’t just your two-piece that you picked up off the floor; you also found Joe’s swimming shorts.

You didn’t realise that maybe this was a little strange when you stepped into the hot stream with all of it in hand and heard Joe huff in silent laughter.

“It’s just, I always, you know... to get them clean,” you said, holding all of it under the water, focussing on getting every inch of every item wet. It was nice to have a job to direct your focus, something to keep your hands and eyes busy and not, you know, with the naked man who was stood right behind you.

Your shoulders were the first thing two cold, only cold because the water was hot, large hands touched of you.

For a second you thought he was going to stop you like he would stop you from biting at your fingernails, but instead, his hands trailed up a bit until they touched your neck and then went down your back a little to the spots where he’d paid close attention to sore muscles the day before.

Pressing both thumbs into the flesh there worked like a reset button, it was almost embarrassing how fast your body folded.

Your head fell forward, and your arms dropped down. You went as lax as you could standing up still, and it got another soft chuckle from Joe.

Next thing you knew, the swimming garments were taken from your hands and hung over the glass shower screen before hands found your shoulders again. Before strong fingers pushed and kneaded the sore spots that needed it so.

Hot water.

Naked skin.

Hands doing exactly what you wanted them to.

Shit.

Yea, you'd been after intimacy, but you kind of expected that whatever you'd been after wouldn’t made you... oh, you know, feel things.

Just taking deep breaths wasn't enough to push down whatever was trying to make its way out of you.

It was confusing and silly - you wouldn't even let yourself come close to this on your own, by yourself, but now, here, completely in the nude with another person in the shower with you, this was the right time for emotions to let themselves be known?

No.

Not on your watch.

You scrunched up your forehead as much as it was willing to wrinkle from all sides, eyebrows doing the most, because if you didn’t, your lip would wobble, mouth showing all the emotions that resided on the inside. You didn’t even think they were real emotions to begin with - you were just tired. But a big pout and a quivering chin were things you couldn’t control, were things that would just do whatever by themselves and there was no stopping them. 

Couldn’t have that, could you?

So you redirected it to the top-half of your face. Sure, it made tears spill faster, but somehow that felt fine. There was water there already anyway, the shower a perfect coverup for them. You’d rather it be this. This was prettier and felt controlled, easier to hide.

It wasn’t, though.

It took no time for you to be fucking shaking all over.

Trying to control the shaking only made it worse. And it got worse fast. Especially when you turned and you saw how Joe reacted to what he saw. Copied it. Knitted his eyebrows together like yours were and created a whole crumply mess on his face and, had you mentioned his eyes already?

You had.

Fucking stunning. Absolutely beautiful.

They weren’t helping.

This was meant to be a sexy shower for fuck’s sake.

If you could just. 

Relax.

Have a drink.

Ignore whatever stirred inside.

That’d be perfect.

You took a few deep breaths through flared nostrils that you let out through your mouth and, there you went. It worked a little. Forehead stayed scrunched, just in case, but you felt yourself relax a little. Felt heavy shit ebb away a little.

“This is why, you know that, right?” 

The hurt turned into confusion. Was only a minor change.

“If you’re going to keep pushing it down, it’ll affect you physically,” 

You snorted. Hid the way you knew he was right with a laugh. Tried to turn it into jokes.

“Okay, doctor,” 

But Joe didn’t laugh. Just swiped your hair from the front of your shoulders to your back before using large palms to push it back from your face too.

“What’s plaguing you?” He spoke so softly, you barely heard it over the clatter of shower water that hit the tiles in streams from both your elbows. 

“I’m fine, it’s just… it’s just work,” 

Joe didn’t respond to your answer at all. Just kept wiping hands near your hairline, in turn smoothing out all the lines of worry you’d etched in there. It made you grab onto his wrists to stop him. 

He did stop, but didn’t move, and then you just stood like that a second with your forehead all smooth and you had to close your eyes because the shower water was running directly into them.

The fact that joe was staring down into your soul went ignored because it was just easier if you didn’t think about being so seen.

“I don’t…” you started, stupid lip wobbling once more because Joe’s hands prevented you from redirecting everything, “I don’t want to cry.” 

“If you’ve got to cry, you’ve got to cry.” 

“I’m just, I’m tired and that fucks with everything, doesn’t it?” 

You kept thinking there was going to be a moment where Joe would laugh. Chuckle or softly snicker or even exhale a little louder than usual, but he never did.

Just stayed silent.

Watched what your face did and rubbed a thumb across where he saw you try to frown.

“What if I don’t stop?” 

“Crying?”

“You didn’t come up here to have me cry in the shower for ages,” you laughed at yourself and then groaned loudly, all frustrated. “God, you must think I’m so fucking weird,”

Joe reached and had a squint at the tiny cursive letters of whatever small tube he picked up.

Shampoo.

Nice.

He flicked it open with his thumb and said, “Well, in my defence,” which made you laugh. “I never thought that the girl I met wearing my clothes wasn’t at least a little strange,”

He was right. You hadn’t once tried to sell to Joe that you were normal. Which was actually sort of perfect. Made you feel less bad about your laughter turning into a weird choked sob when Joe got started on washing your hair.

Made you feel less bad when you apologised, and Joe held your whole head, wide hands splayed fingers from your jaw back to the base of your skull, and forced eye-contact when he said to stop apologising already.

Made you feel less bad when you, through teary laughter, commented on the lack of sex appeal you'd dragged into the shower, that hadn’t been the intention at all, and Joe just said, “We got time.”

Made you feel less bad when, after Joe turned the shower off, all you wanted to do was curl into the white fluffy dressing gown and flop down onto the bed, ready to pass out.

Because you hadn’t lied. You were tired.

Joe let you nap there after watching you run your hands over the covers, murmuring something about clean sheet day before you drifted off.

And, listen.

Yea, Joe hadn’t expected for any of this week to go the way it had gone so far. He’d intended for the trip to be a little break from work, to simply get his mind off of everything going on at home by sleeping in, and by reading books, and by swimming slow laps in the hotel pool for however long he wanted.

Well.

He’d barely even touched the book he’d brought, hadn’t swam a single lap in the hotel pool but! But! Had this... had all of this not taken his mind off of everything?

It had.

Joe hadn’t thought of work, of his schedule, of auditions and of lines he had to learn - he hadn’t thought of any of that once.

And he got to help someone.

Well, not just someone.

You.

He got to make you laugh, got to make you eat, got to make you relax. Got to hold you as you slept. Got to touch you in the shower. Not... not in all the ways he’d wanted to. Yet. But he’d been forward about it. Said there was time still. Which, there was. He’d only met you three days ago, which, was that right? Joe had to count using his fingers to check, because didn’t that feel like weeks ago already?

And sure, you kept saying sorry for being a burden, kept telling him he was free to go whenever, you didn’t want to ruin his trip, you know?

But how was he going to tell you that, actually, this was exactly right for him right now? Have his focus be on someone else entirely instead of on himself for a second?

And the answers were so easy too, weren’t they? All basic shit.

You woke up about an hour later with your feet in Joe's lap, left foot in his hands, slowly kneading as he watched TV.

You looked up, stirred a little, felt a little dazed. Took you a second to realise where you were. Who was there with you. Who was holding your foot.

“Hey,” Joe smiled lazily at you, and for a second, he thought maybe this was too much. Maybe he’d overstepped. You’d fallen asleep in your bed, naked body wrapped up in fluffy white, and Joe’d just sat down next to you. Turned on the TV, volume all the way down, like he was in his own hotel room, and when you started twisting and turning a little, he’d taken hold of your feet. Hoped that his grip would ground you in some way.

He thought it had done, because for the rest of your nap you’d barely moved at all.

For about ten minutes, your feet had just laid there. On his lap. You had nice feet, Joe thought, you know, as far as feet went. Nice legs too. Bruised a bunch, sure. Scraped from where you’d fallen, kind of similar to your face, but nice none the less. Eyes traveled up more, and that’s when Joe saw.

He tried not to see. Actively tried his bestest best not to look.

You’d cried over things you didn’t know how to explain and maybe... maybe Joe should’ve left after. Or, at least, maybe Joe shouldn’t have sat down and dragged your feet onto his lap because now, one wrong move and you'd flash your full vagina for the whole room to see.

Joe could already sort of see it now anyway, but he was actively not looking and massaged a foot to keep himself busy.

Don't look, man.

Stop.

Stop looking.

It took you ages to slowly stir awake again. And what a way to wake up. What a view to wake up to.

Joe was sat against the headboard, just in his T-shirt and the remnants of a towel that had been tied around his waist before he’d sat down.

Slow and sleepy, you sat up, and it made Joe try to protect your modesty by going, “Oh, your… the dressing gown– you, it’s ridden up, it’s–”

It was of no use, because you paid your dressing gown no mind, no matter how much of you got exposed. It was time for bits being exposed, you thought.

You moved from sitting up onto your knees, feet sliding from Joe’s lap as you did, your hair all sleep-messy and eyes barely open.

“What are you…?” Joe asked softly, but didn’t finish his question because he knew exactly what you were doing as you inched closer, hands finding his shoulders to hold as your knees dented the mattress either side of him. You lowered yourself onto his lap, your warmth sinking into his, and you grinned. Hummed in satisfaction. There was plenty of fabric in between the two of you – the sheets, Joe’s towel, your dressing gown – but it was all easily removed, one simple swipe away from connecting skin to skin.

“Hi,” Joe softly whispered as you leant closer, and he seemed unsure on if he should sit up a little or not, his hands unsure of if he should touch you a little or not.

Was sort of endearing.

Man had taken a whole shower with you and now didn't know if it was all right to touch you.

So, you helped. Took hold of his hands and guided them to your waist, more towards your back, and when you leant down enough for Joe to tip his chin up and kiss you, his arms did exactly what you wanted them to do as they tightly wrapped around.

Yes.

Exactly.

This was exactly right.

You’d cried, you’d slept, you’d gotten your hair washed and you’d gotten your feet rubbed and now, you wanted to kiss the boy.

And kiss the boy you did.

Well. You kissed him for maybe three seconds. After that, the boy was kissing you.

The dressing gown was tied loosely enough for it to come undone when Joe grabbed two fistfuls of fabric at your back and had Joe not looked at your flesh for long enough now?

The feel of the bare skin of your chest was enough to quickly lose his T-shirt.

The feel of his mouth on your neck was enough to fight your way out of the dressing gown entirely.

You’d never had sex quite like it.

Quite so slow. Quite so loving and so tender, and you know you couldn't stop thinking about his eyes, but maybe Joe had to stop making so much eye-contact if he didn't want you thinking of them all the time, you know?

And Joe was just helping, wasn’t he?

Get your mind empty.

Undo you of stresses that had no right squatting in your muscles like that.

Make you feel good, the way he knew how.

Just helping.

And it did help.

Joe helped when he had almost agonisingly slow sex with you in your hotel room.

Joe helped when after, he suggested going down to his hotel room to enjoy room service in his bed, because hadn’t you said something about clean sheet day earlier?

Joe helped when he let you choose his outfit for the next day and laughed at how you kept scrunching your nose at the selection of clothing items he'd brought. Honestly, what the fuck had he been thinking?

Helped when he just smiled and shrugged and wore whatever you’d laid out for him.

Helped when he told the host downstairs at the restaurant that your seperate reservations for one were to be merged into reservations for two because you’d be having the rest of your meals together now.

Helped when he made sure you had water after having a fruity cocktail by the pool which he made you sip before helping you into the freezing water that hurt your bones, it was so cold.

Helped when he just let you hang onto him in there, arms around his neck and legs around his waist, as he waded through the water for a bit, sun on his back and bright on your face.

Helped when he searched for your wrist again in the night and felt for your pulse, and you'd gone, “You know I’m not— you don’t need to,” and Joe’d quietly replied, “No I know,” before adding, “Is just nice.”. 

Helped when he let you wear one of his jackets once more when you went for drinks up at the rooftop on your last night there and wouldn’t stop commenting on how good it looked on you on the back-end of soft sighs.

You knew just this one week away wouldn’t fix all the things wrong in your life. Knew they’d just be waiting for you when you’d get back home. But, man, spending half this trip with Joe had made you temporarily forget about a lot of the bullshit, and wasn’t that why your boss had sent you away in the first place?

Joe had helped.

The skin around your fingers had started healing enough for it to no longer look like you dipped the tips of them into acid on the reg.

Joe had helped you beyond belief.

And so when the day arrived on which you both would be going back home, an unsaid solemnity hung in the air that the both of you tried your very best to ignore.

It was okay.

You were taking the same flight home, so your time together wasn’t over when you checked out of the hotel. And you’d exchanged numbers, said you’d both be busy the second you'd set foot back in London, but you’d keep in touch. It was a casual agreement of which you knew that potentially, it’d never actually happen.

Just a polite nicety, because what kind of rude person wouldn’t say something like that after the week the two of you had had?

But you weren’t dense.

When you arrived at the airport, you had a weird sort of more heartfelt goodbye moment in the back of your shared taxi. Where there were no other people to ogle and you didn’t feel so weird because, you really weren’t anything together, the two of you, and saying goodbye at airports was an activity strictly set aside for couples, wasn’t it?

Before you moved to get out of the backseat, Joe’d knocked your knee with his to get your attention. The look in his eyes had made you use both arms in a hug that grew tighter and lasted longer than you expected it would have. Then just a peck to your cheek, followed by a quick one to your mouth and a smile.

You didn’t sit remotely close to each other on the plane, couldn’t even see each other from where you were both sat. You kind of handled it like a big girl and told yourself this was just the transition back into the real world where you didn’t know each other at all.

Your week together could just be that. Your week together. Full stop.

It took you the whole flight back to convince yourself you were okay with that.

Joe could just exist as the bits of arm and leg in the corners of pictures of cocktails and nice meals in your camera roll.

That was it.

The week was over and done and Joe was part of your past now.

Except he fucking wasn’t, was he?

You’d forgotten there was a whole airport you needed to get out of before you'd actually part ways, and you only realised that Joe would still be in your vicinity when you looked up from your phone at the baggage claim carousel and looked him right in the eye. He was stood on the other side, the very end of the round all the checked luggage made before it’d disappear and loop back again.

You couldn’t help a smile. This is where you fucked up a week ago. At the baggage claim. You’d grabbed Joe’s suitcase and he’d grabbed yours and now, here you were. Second try. Were going to get it right this time.

Joe returned your smile and it was cute. He grew bashful and looked at his feet before biting into his lip and turning himself back into waiting-man-by-baggage-carousel, face serious and a little tired from the flight. He looked just like the business man you thought he was before you’d even met him. All stern, all posh, looking out for his suitcase, just like you were looking out for yours.

It took a second for you to spot your suitcase.

When you did, your body immediately jolted into action, but a loud clearing of someone's throat stopped you.

Joe.

You looked over and saw him look directly at you, eyebrows raised slightly, slowly shaking his head no.

Confusion.

What?

But... you listened.

Let your own suitcase pass you by, and you saw something change in Joe's expression. Something a little victorious. Something a little too glad, which he tried to hide, about you not just taking what was yours and leaving the area with it.

You watched as your suitcase looped around and... no fucking way. He wouldn't. He fucking wouldn't.

Except he would.

And then, he did.

Joe took your suitcase from the rubber belt and put it down beside him. Gave you a shit eating grin when he extended the telescopic handle with loud clicks and then just... walked off with it.

Was that his? Had you just made the same dumb mistake and had you nearly reached for Joe’s suitcase again?

You looked, saw the other suitcase come your way and were quick to take it. Checked it.

No.

This one wasn’t yours. This was Joe’s.

That little shit.

Your week together wasn’t just going to be your week together, and Joe had to make sure of it. He went about it a little drastically, sure, but in his defence, when he’d thought up the idea of taking your suitcase home instead of his own, part of the plan wasn’t that you’d actually see him do it.

You were meant to just find Joe’s suitcase and not see that it wasn’t yours until you’d get home.

Maybe this was better though.

Maybe this said, “You’re mine.” more.

Maybe this said, “You were mine the moment I saw you dressed in my clothes.” more.

Something possessive and greedy about all of it, but Joe didn’t care.

He was just helping.

And he truly had helped you!

Helped in all the ways he knew how.

Just now was the time for Joe to help himself. And so he did. Joe helped himself when he signaled for you to leave your suitcase be. Helped himself when he smirked across the carousel and turned on his heel, your suitcase rolling behind him. Helped himself when he got into a taxi and waited until it got onto the road before he texted,

“Your suitcase”

Referring back to the first words you'd said to him on that weird day at the airport.

You received the message just as you stepped out of the airport yourself and couldn’t help the way you wanted to squeeze Joe’s face in both your hands, really dig your non-existent finger nails into his cheeks because he was being such an idiot. You didn't know if you wanted to scold him or tell him you loved him for the cheesiest fucking thing you'd ever see someone do.

You knew the perfect reply though.

Joe eagerly awaited your message, was hoping he was going to get what he wanted and, yes, fuck fucking yes, his grin stretched from ear to ear when he did.

“Your jacket” the end

---

The Taglisted

@adoreyouusugar, @alana4610, @ali-in-w0nderland, @alwayslindie, @babybluebex, @barfightzanddiscolightz, @bettyfrommars, @cancankiki, @capricornrisingsstuff, @chaoticgood-munson, @choke-me-eddie, @demonsanddemogorgons, @did-it-work, @dirtyeddietini, @dylanmunson, @eddies-puppet, @electricmunson, @emma77645, @emmamooney, @everythinghasafacee, @figmentofquinn, @frogers, @frootvelvet, @ghost-proofbaby, @ghostinthebackofyourhead, @harringtonfan4, @haylaansmi, @jasminearondottir, @jewellethief, @joesquinns, @kellyxo1, @kennedy-brooke, @lovelyblueness, @manda-panda-monium, @miserybeans, @nadixq, @notverywise, @paola-carter, @pepperstories, @phyllosilicate-s, @roosterisdaddy36, @sherrylyn628, @sidthedollface2, @thebellenouvelle, @thewondernanazombie, @tlclick73, @werepartnersnow, @winterwakesthewolf, @witchwolflea, @yelyahcardella

taglist currently full, sorry

[fantomette22]

GIRL HELP, now we are both in the club of people whose caring for Miquella reached its FULL form because of the DLC hfgfjgdbh I think what I've lacked this whole time was a coherent idea on what his imperfections and flaws were! Because "well you see Bewitching Branch is kinda fucked up concept" didn't give me enough. And I feel like I've struck gold with the whole thing of him not being able to accept Radahn's character development and nature as a warrior. It is soooooo wrong and reminded me of one of the ways to look at Gehrman.

It took me a few weeks but finally me 🤝 you at having the time of our fandom lives with Miquella now

I KNOW RIGHT?!?!?! Yeah it's quite crazy. We took our sweet time but here we are! 🤝

I mean maybe I wasn't way too much invest in elden ring because of the huge bloodborne brain rot taking all my time too 😂 But also Elden Ring is really a lot to digest! You and I really like details and to care about every lil guys! In Bloodborne even if there's lot of characters it stays limited while in Elden Ring it's just SO enormous O_O there's too much and yeah I didn't got that savage brain rot yet while just playing the game a year ago+

And I knew dlc was coming so I guess I didn't get too much invested either? Or at least it was inconsciently.

So yes during and after the dlc and after digesting everything I somehow really learn like Miquella! We know way more now and idk but it's even more interesting now!

Before dlc I saw him like : poor lil guy tried smt to become a god (pls don't it's gonna be bad) screw up really big time & he's dead now 😔 you tried your best... he was too good for this world rip

But now it's more develop! there's actually a following to that! he didn't just fail big time! for now😰

I said a few weeks ago I was gonna wait to finish the dlc and then speak about Miquella and what I think of everything. Well maybe I will do a separate post later but I think it's finally time.

So let's dive in (warning spoilers shadow of the Erdtree DLC)

I know it's a bit of mess between people thinking "I was right he's the ultimate evil!!! He's like Griffith!" (what 💀)"and people being very mad at other or distraught by it bc now this get shown into their face while they were just happy with Miquella being a kind lil guy, to good or pure for this world... I want to believe many people are actually very middle ground on this but hm yeah smt it's not good and quite extreme.

But if that can help (at least I will try here ) with everything we got I might have an interpretation that I hope, could help out a few people. I can't say I'm right, I'm probably far from it but I appreciate what I deduced and put together a lot! (in my head but still) It made me really like and invest more in Miquella character now! And it make me at peace with what the dlc brought to the table. I can accept that more well now. That made everything have more sense and made Miquella really have a bittersweet/tragic path & ending. And I am ok with that and I think others could be as well.

I like Miquella I think he was mostly good, the kindest between this darker lands. But he needed to changed, to grow to succeed in his goals right? Because he got stuck. But by growing up, discarding parts of himself to be a "better version" of himself that would succeed & become a god is what eventually doomed him in the end :

Miquella discarding part of himself tragedy.

This is just so sad and tragic. But it might be oblivious. He wasn't "strong enough" in his current position/eternal childhood etc So he probably thought that make the sacrifice to become a god would succeed in the end. A necessary sacrifice...that he would be stronger able to finally obtain his goals... But by doing that he loose everything that made him himself... without realising it... he abandoned everything. And the more he abandoned, the more he didn't realised he was loosing himself what he cared about... and how it was a mistake. (I suppose that Marika might have gone through the same thing now...)

Trina realised it at some point. That it was wrong,t hat it wouldn't work anyway perhaps. Is it really worth it? Is it really gonna work? Probably not... But it's too late to go back now. She knew Miquella before everything would probably not approve of what he became... of the dangerosity of what he could be...

That just... sorry it's just so tragic I don't know how to express it sadden me so much...

Bewitching people :

We already knew that he somehow "bewitch people" but it wasn't very explained in base game and really up to interpretations. Now we know more. And it sparks a lot of things...

I completely agree that you know, half mind control people and changed people thoughts and individuality, personality etc hm it's bad. it's no good to control masses. BUT but, I can kinda understand why Miquella did it! And I'm gonna try to explain that now.

Ok, imagine you're Miquella. You're trying to get people to join your cause. Of course like for exemple the crab hunter or farmer have other things to do than join your cause so sure you let them be. But then imagine you talk with smn and then they just hate you and is going to say shit to everyone about you and then they're gonna try kick your ass. Wouldn't it be better, even if that's bad on paper, to bewitching them? make allies your enemies?

You can't reason with some people at time even if you try everything, sadly. You can either go away or fight or ask a competent authority to stop them. But if you had a way for them to magically stop wanting to harm you and become more friendly / on your side wouldn't you use it?

Like it's bad but I can understand why Miq did it. But of course forcing people who were neutral bc you think "you're better" is hm... not great too... but it's not clear how much it happened and what went though he's mind. He probably thought it was a good thing. But no but can we blame him for trying to have better world?

And it's still not clear how his mind age but I do think he still have lot of quality/default of what any child mind have. He probably didn't see the wrong of everyone becoming allies and use kindness not violence to it. A child mind (mostly) is innocence, optimistic etc I do think he lost a lot by discarding parts but it has it's backsides. An adult would be more incline to find solution and act accordingly to treat but loose a lot of "childhood good sides" as well. it's quite complicated but nothing is perfect in this. You wanna agin smt you loose another you can't have everything and life's not black & white.

Also about Mogh. Yes he's not fuck up like that! But I understand why Miq bewitching him. Hm Mohg, maybe would have just kill Miquella to get his amazing blood for whatever purpose with the formless mother anyway. So of course Miquella did that to try to gain a potential ally that in other case is very dangerous for him. But still I think Miquella had to improvise after Mogh took him and then when the cocoon didn't work. Yeah I still think Mogh has a LOT of issues. He's not a saint and I don't think it went well with Miquella's plan to have been taken by him.

Radahn thoughts:

I mean I'm still a bit like : wu wut what but why??!!?!? confusion

But it's a bit better now XD I swear if the devs originally had another idea I'm gonna be mad! But it can maybe made a bit of sense. I don't really have much thoughts bc I'm still confuse about it but I think understand the point.

Radahn, when younger, was probably all the noble qualities that had Godfrey.

And Miq was probably like : When Godfrey was Elden Lord it was the golden age everything was great! Nothing was wrong! The lands between had stability. Radahn have the potentiel to be like Godfrey!

Also Radahn : Let's conquer and make war like lord Godrey!!!!!!!!!!!

I mean yeah everything was great between stability and war 😅 so jkefjf help like I can understand ou need smn to fight of ennemies just in case but Miquella that's not gonna work. Like at some point there's pb. Like who you consider anomy.. should you reprimand everyone?? Like Marika and her cycle of violence?! dzbkdsfbhkbhkld

Also I wonder if the great runes didn't made many demigods "change" as well. It gave them more power and maybe it screw their mind too. (And when Miquella great runes break the bewitching spells stop so..... before he got the runes maybe he never used that. And maybe that's why Radahn changed so much too) Power really does change people hm?

So anyway sorry idk if I succeed to organise everything coherently XD I tried. So yes I think Miquella is nuanced but was mostly good because of many conditions and he tried to fix everything but loses everything in the end... by discarding who he really was... a necessary sacrifice, that would ultimately fail...

I got very emotional after beating the final boss and going one last time to Trina. I really cried a lot. Because it's freaking sad. All the sacrifices in vain... they deserved so much but the world was cruel.

And even if we did nothing. What change? Nothing. He never came back in the lands between if we finish the main game. Did you abandoned everything Miquella? Did it not work out? Or like should we blame the poor devs. Idk it's very confusing now. The lands between still a mess, the lands of shadow too. He never came back...

The only ray of hope is us, the tarnished to try to make a better world for everyone. The one they couldn't make themselves...

(Ok so hope make sense 😅 and maybe it will put everything in a new light for people and give them a hand! I got way more invested and happy! Even if that's sad. I started to imaging little story and headcanons about his childhood I would never have before... it's confusing but if I am right the devs succeed! good job)

[notiddygothgf]

10. don't look back

★ pairings: plug!wakasa imaushi x f!reader

★ synopsis: the one where you have the hots for your dealer, and Wakasa is always eager to please a customer. (don't let your bf stop you from finding ur hubby)

★ content warning: smut, angst, lotta porn w a lotta plot, car sex, dealer wakasa, cheating, oral sex, sneaky link, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, sex while high, consensual drug use, mentions of abuse, unprotected sex, so much more...

★ a/n: so so so sorry for leaving yall on a cliffhanger like that ughhh!! momma loves u all. anyway not much to say about this one, so enjoy! hope yall brought tissues <3

★ w.c.; 7.1k

previous part | next part

CONFUSION DISTORTED YOUR FACE. Your heart skipped another beat, and then another. The warmth of the room seemed to dissipate, leaving a chilling silence in its wake.  The symphony of anticipation within your chest faltered, eyes widening as they scanned the messages on the screen – your phone.  

Shit, you thought. Shit, Shit, Shit… you had been foolish enough to leave your phone behind in a drunken haze. 

“What? What the hell are you talking about?” You murmured softly, your voice betraying your confusion. 

“You’re full of shit,” he chuckled humorlessly. His eyes met yours and they were dark, emotionless. “Waka? Of all fucking people, too?”

His voice sent shivers up your spine. It didn’t make any sense; you had done everything right… so, why now? Your eyes fell to the cigar in his hand, white at the tip from the ash. You swallowed the lump in your throat and said, “Babe, I don’t even know–”

“Don’t call me that,” He retorted rather bluntly. “Don’t play dumb with me, girl.”

“I’m not playing dumb,” You answered. 

“We both saw those fucking messages,” He spat, taking another hit of his cigar before he tapped it into the ashtray. “Least you could do is tell the truth.”

“It’s out of context,” you hissed, in some feeble attempt at getting him to believe you. “It’s not what it looks like, I–”

“WHAT IS IT, THEN?” Takeomi slammed his fist on the table. You jumped at the sound, face burning a bit with the heat of your embarrassment. You wanted to say something, but it appeared as if all coherent thought had successfully left your body. Your mouth was glued shut.

Takeomi shook his head with a sigh, rising from the loveseat in a manner that had you backing away from him. You knew what he was capable of doing to you. Given that the two of you were alone right now, you prepared for the worst. Takeomi had you cornered.

“Cat got your tongue? Shame,” he tutted. Towering over your trembling body, he pulled a hit from his cigar, blowing the bitter smoke out against your face. His eyes were dull, glazed with liquor and anger. Still, you knew it meant nothing good. “Bet you were real loud for him, weren’t ‘ya?”

You froze, paralyzed, like prey being hunted by a predator. Your heart hammered against your ribcage like it wanted to break free. “Takeomi, I…” you swallowed, reaching toward him with a trembling hand. “I know this seems cliche, but I promise, I can explain–”

In the blink of an eye, Takeomi had braced a hand on your chest, shoving you backward into the coffee table. The force of the push sent you flying into it, glass tabletop shattering as ceramic vases tumbled onto the floor. You gasped, clutching your back.

Takeomi flicked his cigar onto the carpet, stomping it out with his shoe. “Listen,” he began, “I’m only g’nna ask you one time, babe. You’ll answer honestly if you know what’s good for you.” 

The leather of his shoes crackled as he squatted down to your level. The world was beginning to spin, but the image of his stoic expression glaring down at you was one you would remember forever. He reeked of booze and nicotine, brows drawn low over his stormy grey eyes, black hair falling into his red-tinted face. “Did you cheat on me with my fucking coworker?”

You raised your head in an effort to look at him. Eyes rolling back, you stared up at the ceiling instead. Your mouth felt very dry all of a sudden.

“Say it,” He spat, voice cracking slightly beneath the pressure of his emotions. He was closer to you now than before, face hovering only a foot or two above yours. His eyes were a boiling cesspool of anger and hate. “He’s already on his way here. One of you’s gonna ‘fess up.”

Wakasa was coming. The thought of him being there brought a sense of relief over you, one that was quickly replaced by the realization that he would be walking right into a trap.

He’s already on his way here.

“Take…” you muttered weakly. A groan left your lips the moment you attempted to look him in the eyes. “Please.”

“Tch,” he sucked his teeth. Rather than helping you up or apologizing for shoving you, he dusted his hands off onto his briefs, standing up and then turning away from you. The light caught the arch of his nose as he turned toward the knock that sounded at the front door. 

“Just in time,” he remarked. You tried to crawl to your feet, keep him away from that door, but you felt too weak to move. Takeomi stepped right over you, anyway. It didn’t take him long to open it.

“ Sorry I’m late.” 

If you had ears like a dog, they would have perked up at the sound of his voice, his song. That low, casual croon that made your heart warm even though you knew it wasn’t right. Your gaze remained on the ceiling, world blurring a bit around the corners. I must have hit my head pretty hard,you thought, rubbing your temples in vain as if that would help ease the slow throb.

“Come in, please,” Your boyfriend replied, allowing Waka to enter his space with such faux generosity that you felt yourself turn toward the sound of his voice in an effort to watch the interaction.

Wakasa was upside down from where you were laying, clad in a black leather jacket and some blue jeans. He scanned the interior of his coworker’s apartment, lavender hues flitting over the living room. He paled visibly when he saw you laying there.

Takeomi shut the door behind the two of them, allowing Waka to process everything that had unfolded before his eyes in such a short period of time. When a minute or so had passed, he clapped a hand over Waka’s shoulder. 

“Waka, you’ve met my girlfriend, right?” Takeomi mused. 

Wakasa’s mask seemed to slip – if only for a brief moment. Still, as always, he managed to play it cool. “Yeah,” he muttered, licking his lips. “Am I interrupting somethin’?”

You gazed back at him, hoping your eyes relayed the message. Run. Run before it’s too late.

“I got a call from her neighbor, says she had a bike parked in front of her house this morning,” Takeomi continued anyway. He stepped around Waka, folding his arms behind his back. “I don’t have a bike.”

Wakasa furrowed his brows, tilting his head. He amazed you, still, with his innate ability to keep that poker face in even the most perilous of situations. “Okay…” he trailed off. The confusion seemed genuine. He had you fooled for a moment. “Where are you going with this?”

The grin on your boyfriend’s face was anything but welcoming. He shook his head and then looked at Waka like he had every intention to kill him. “You fucking my bitch, man?”

You felt your heart plummet. This was it, you thought. Waka was going to fess up to it. This little illusion the two of you had was about to come crashing down. The glass beneath your wounded arm shifted as you tried to get to your feet.

To your surprise, Wakasa didn’t even flinch at his words, instead drawing up a brow and sparing a brief glance your way. He looked at Takeomi as if to say, Really?

You had to admit, the act was convincing.

Poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue, Takeomi nodded. “Figured you’d try ‘n lie your way out of this,” he muttered. His words were a bit slurred together, stumbling drunkenly for a moment as he reached into the interior pocket of his coat. The object he produced was shiny and silver, glinting beneath the lamplight as he turned it toward his coworker.

With wide eyes, you gasped, clawing at the floor. 

“You bet’ta fess up, Imaushi, ‘M not fuckin’ playing,” He slurred. The veins in his hand popped, fingers tensed around the grip of his gun.

“Take,” Wakasa sighed, still remarkably calm considering he had a gun aimed at his head. You knew it was all an act, of course, but you had to give credit where it was due. Even if the timing wasn’t necessarily appropriate. “You’re drunk. Put the gun down.”

“How long has this been goin’ on behind – hic – my back?” Takeomi pressed further.

“I’m not fuckin ‘yer girl, man,” Wakasa shook his head. “The hell are you on about?”

Takeomi held a finger up to the shorter man, shoving his hand back into his pocket and rummaging around until he found your phone. He fiddled around with it for a bit and then turned the screen over.

The room went quiet in an instant, tension pending in the air as Wakasa squinted at the tiny screen. You found yourself doing the same. Bracing your hands on the glass-speckled floor, you stumbled to your feet.

“Say hi to the camera, baby.”

With a gasp, you covered your mouth. The tips of your ears turned red. Shit. He found the video.

“Taking it so well…”

“Waka–!”

“We– hic– well?” Takeomi grumbled. If he didn’t have a gun pointed at Wakasa, you probably would have laughed at the way he stumbled forward. “That’s not you?”

Wakasa quirked a brow, leaning in to get a closer look. The corner of his lip twitched as he licked it. His eyes darted between the phone in Takeomi’s hand – the screen where you knew your vulva was spread open on display for a live studio audience – and the gun. 

The sound of your own voice nearly brought you to hysterics. You were mortified.

Finally, he sighed. “I mean, shit, man,” he offered after a lengthy pause. “That’s some pretty solid evidence there, I don’t know what you want me to say.”

Takeomi’s eyes locked with yours in a dance of torment and love mingled with betrayal, hatred clashing with the shattered fragments of trust. The tears that had begun pooling in your eyes earlier streamed down your tender cheeks as you pleaded with him silently. 

He turned the barrel of the gun towards you, and for a moment – a brief, fleeting moment – you saw Wakasa’s mask break, eyes widening as he watched it happen. 

“Six years,” Takeomi reiterated, stepping away from Wakasa and inching closer to you. 

Your efforts to back away from him were ultimately in vain, you realized the moment you felt your back collide with the wall. Takeomi had you cornered – again – as he waved the gun in your direction. 

“Take, please…” You pleaded with him, face stained with tear marks. Your voice trembled beneath the weight of his unspoken threat. “I–”

“SIX FUCKING YEARS,” He shouted, the force of his voice causing you to jump. The anger seemed to be gnawing at him on the inside, anguish and hatred waging war within him, a tempest of conflicting emotions threatening to put an end to this once and for all. He appeared to stand before you on the precipice of a decision, torn between the love that had once bound the two of you and the searing pain of betrayal. His voice broke, “Was it not enough for you?”

You hadn’t realized he had backed you up against the wall until you felt the chill from the metal barrel press against your neck. His other arm kept you pinned in place. 

His eyes were wild, watering a bit as he looked at you for a moment. He cocked his gun, though the quiet click seemed to be amplified tenfold. His hair fell into his face. “I want answers,” he whispered.

“Take, put the fucking gun down!” Wakasa shouted somewhere behind him. He seemed closer than he was before, like he had inched closer to your manic boyfriend, although you weren’t about to crane your neck around to find out.

Takeomi’s bloodshot eyes flickered with a mix of confusion and rage, a fire surging with him that was fueled by the alcohol coursing through his veins.

Then his finger tightened around the trigger.

Wakasa lunged forward, tatted arm appearing in your field of vision as he reached to grab Takeomi’s wrist. 

Your breath caught in your throat as the scene unfolded before you. You held your breath. The seconds seemed to tick away, each one passing slowly as Waka bravely reached for the gun. You held your breath.

With a sudden surge of determination, like your tears had spurred him on, Waka managed to pry the gun from Takeomi’s trembling hand. The weapon clattered as it hit the ground. 

In the deafening silence that followed, Wakasa tucked a blond stray behind his ear, sending the gun sliding away from the scene with a small kick. 

Before the relief had even settled in, Takeomi turned on his heel and lunged at Wakasa with a wild swing. His alcohol-addled coordination betrayed him, however, as he tripped over his own feet – missing by an inch or two as he fell over the backside of the couch.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you watched him tumble over the edge.

Wakasa’s head turned quickly as he called out to you. “I’m parked outside,” he hissed. “Go, now.”

He pulled a wireless key fob out of his pocket – you could see the silver detailing of the BMW logo glint beneath the dim living room lighting as he tossed it to you. 

“Wait, Waka–” You breathed, voice a hushed whisper. Still, you caught it.

“Get in the fucking car, NOW,” He commanded you. One look into his wide eyes reminded you that he wasn’t asking.

At that moment, your heart seemed to stop beating altogether. The room seemed to shrink around you. Without a second thought, you pushed yourself off of the wall and made a beeline for the door. The adrenaline surged through your veins, pushing you past your limit, pushing you towards freedom while your legs threatened to give.

You could still hear Wakasa’s voice echoing in the back of your mind, urging you to run while you had a chance. The urgency in his tone fueled you further and further, drowning out the chaos behind you. It wasn’t until you reached the door that you paused to glance back over your shoulder.

“You leave now and we’re fucking done,” Takeomi warned you. He had braced himself on his elbows.

Wakasa was stepping over the sideways couch, hair down over his back and covering his face with a hair tie stretched open on his fingers. He scooped a few handfuls of hair up behind his head. His wrists twisted with expert precision as he tied it back. His neck cracked with a quick crane of his head to the right.

Sensing what was about to go down, you turned away, throwing the door open and making your escape. You let the door shut behind you, stepping out into the cool night air. Your chest heaved for a moment.

You pressed your ear against the door, tears streaming down your cheeks as your emotions enveloped you. You felt horrible leaving Waka to fend for himself, but you would have felt worse if you went against his word.

So, pulling your clothes tight against your trembling body, you ducked and entered the street. The midnight sky blanketed Waka’s black Mercedes. It looked like it had recently been polished. 

You unlocked the door and plopped into the passenger seat. The moment you shut the door, the tears came pouring out. Your hand continued to grip the handle of the door with white-knuckled intensity. The air inside of the car felt all but suffocating, as if the weight of your actions hung from each and every molecule around you. Panic gripped you, tightening its hold with each rapid beat of your frightened heart.

Teary eyes blurred your vision. Your lover’s words echoed – again, for the millionth time – in your mind. 

“Get in the fucking car, NOW.”

He’d sounded so angered, so tired of you. How had everything unraveled so quickly?

The sound of your own uneven breathing was the only thing keeping you company in the car, ragged breaths fogging up the window to your right. Tossing the key fob into the cupholder, you turned towards that foggy window, pressing your hot cheek against its cold surface. The chill was refreshing, even if a part of you felt bad for leaving prints on Waka’s freshly cleaned windows.

You didn’t care. Your mind was alight with possibilities – with fear and uncertainty. Where would you go? What would happen to you now that the cat was out of the bag? 

Clutching at your throat, you ached for air, desperate for a moment of clarity. But the walls of Waka’s Benz seemed to close in on you. Images of the fight flashed through your mind. The reality of your actions crashed upon the desolate shores of your rotten mind like a tidal wave, overwhelming your senses and drowning you in a sea of guilt. You couldn’t escape the consequences of your betrayal, the pain that had been etched on Takeomi’s face forever imprinted in your mind.

You felt terrible.

A sob wrenched itself from the depths of your soul. Then another. 

The world was hazy, disorienting, as if reality had been warped by the weight of your guilt. For a few minutes, you sat there, mind spinning a mile a minute. You wrapped your arms around yourself, seeking temporary solace in the touch of your own skin. 

When the driver’s side door suddenly popped open, you jumped in your seat. You made quick work of your salty tears, wiping them away from your face while you tried to make yourself look somewhat presentable.

Waka dropped into the driver's seat with an exasperated sigh. Though your eyes trained themselves on the dashboard, you could see him reach for the steering wheel out of the corner of your eye. He looked a little messy. His clothes were disheveled, his hair was in a similar state. His knuckles were dusted with a faint red hue.

After a brief pause that seemed to span for an eternity, he offered, “Buckle in.”

You did exactly that.

The car revved to life. The buttons on the dash lit up in unison. Waka gripped the steering wheel, throwing his other arm over the back of your seat and glancing behind him before turning back to the road. He pulled out of the parking spot without another word.

And then he took off.

★

The ride to your house was as silent as it was tense. It wasn’t very long, seeing as you only lived ten minutes away. That ten was more like five today, though you weren’t sure if it was because a part of you wanted to stay in this car with Waka just a little while longer or because Waka had been doing double the speed limit the whole way over.

The car rolled to a stop in front of your place, and that dreadful, gnawing feeling in your gut had returned, bringing the tension in the car back with it. You folded your hands neatly in your lap, awaiting Waka’s next words.

You were expecting him to shout at you, to lash out at you like an angry father. Like your father, like your boyfriend (ex boyfriend?).

You hadn’t been expecting him to turn the car off, and you most certainly hadn’t expected him to cast a sorrowful glance your way, brows drawn low over his pretty eyes. 

“Sorry I yelled at ‘ya,” he sighed.  What surprised you even more was the way he reached out to graze a gentle hand over your cheek, tucking your hair behind your ear. He added, “Take’s fuckin’ crazy. I didn’t want him hurtin’ you.”

It was becoming a bit of a chore to continue breathing normally when he was so close to you. You needed to leave now before you dug yourself a deeper hole, you decided, reaching for the door.

Waka beat you to it. In the blink of an eye, he’d reached over your lap and pulled the door shut. He kept you pinned to the seat with his arm. 

“Fuck you,” you seethed. You were frustrated, you were confused – before you knew it, you began to cry. 

“I just wanna talk,” He reaffirmed. His words did nothing to calm your nerves.

Your hands trembled as you struggled to find the words to convey how you felt. The car seemed a lot smaller than it had been only moments prior. You took a deep breath, voice quivering beneath the weight of her accusation.

“You ruined everything,” You sobbed, voice barely a notch above a whisper, eyes now locked with Waka’s in a heated standoff. The pain etched on your features made your jaw tighten.

None of this would have happened if you'd never met him. 

Waka’s expression was unreadable, a tick in his jaw was the only indicator that your words had hit the mark. “Yeah, it’s all my fault, ‘course it is,” he retorted, voice tinged with an uncharacteristically bitter tone. “Not like you willingly invited me into your room or anythin’.”

Your eyes narrowed, gaze challenging his stance even though you knew he was right. “You gave me your number first… you knew I had a boyfriend, you dick.”

Waka’s expression changed slightly, allowing you a glimpse into what you imagined was a pretty deep pool of anger. “You texted me, doll.”

He was right. Again. The realization made you break a bit inside.

Your voice quivered with unspoken emotion as you let the tears fall freely. “You’re such an ass, you know that? Why’d you have to come around and fuck me over?”

“Oh, don’t even,” he snapped back. “I risked it all for you. I did everything I could, and ‘yer gonna sit here and blame me?”

The silence that followed was heavy, settling between the both of you like a brick wall as the both of you exchanged angry gazes. The tension in the car built up.

“I never wanted it to come to this,” You spoke louder this time, heartbroken and vulnerable. “You took everything from me.”

“Don’t pretend this wasn’t a mutual decision,” He shook his head at you, chuckling humorlessly. “You are every bit as guilty ‘s I am and you know it.”

You froze. He continued.

“Deep down you know you wanted me to keep coming ‘round,” he added rather cockily. He cocked his head to the right, beckoning you to try and prove him wrong. “You loved it, didn’t ‘ya?”

Another brief pause had passed, and your anger had reached its boiling point. Without thinking, you raised your hand, bringing it towards the side of his face like you wanted to hit him. But Waka – quick on his feet, as always – reflexively caught your hand mid-swing, preventing the slap from landing.

Time seemed to freeze altogether.

Your eyes widened, hand suspended in the air a mere inch or two away from Waka’s face. His grip on your hand was firm, strong, a harsh reminder of a fact you had apparently forgotten; You didn’t stand a chance against him.

The two of you fell into an uneasy silence as you locked eyes, the intensity of the moment palpable.

Waka’s voice was steady, his grip unyielding. He looked – for a moment – as if he wanted to say something to you, remind you of who you were talking to. Before long, however, his anger softened, as did his gaze.

“I’m not sorry for what I did,” he mused. His eyes never flitted away from yours, even for a moment, even as he pulled you closer to him. “Even if I could go back ‘n change the past, I would still pick you. Every time.”

His breath was soft, mint-scented, and fresh. You felt your resolve crack. You wanted to scream at him, to throw your arms around his neck and kiss him until your lungs gave out. You hated the way he made you feel.

The car was filled with a heavy silence as your tears streamed down your reddened cheeks. Your heart squeezing painfully, you reached out, hand weakly forming a fist, and feebly punched Wakasa’s chest.

“I hate you,” You whispered, knowing you didn’t mean a word of it.

Waka’s eyes filled with sorrow as he caught your fist, gently holding it against his chest. You could feel his heart beating in synchrony with yours. A moment passed, agonizingly slow, and he pulled you into a tight embrace, a bittersweet collision of love and resentment.

Then, to your surprise, he did the unthinkable.

“Let’s stop seeing each other,” his honey-sweet croon pierced through the silence, his tone resolute.

Your eyes widened in disbelief. Shoving yourself away from him, you shot him an incredulous look. The road ahead seemed to blur as you tried to wrap your head around his proposition. 

“What…?” You had asked in vain. 

The confined space of the car seemed to amplify the tension. The world outside seemed to stop spinning for a moment. This was the same car where he’d first swept you off your feet so many nights ago. Now, like some sort of cruel joke, the image before you paralleled the memory. His unexpected words hung heavy in the air.

He wasn’t looking at you anymore. In fact, he looked a little down about it, like he was having doubts of his own about the decision. 

“I never should’da gotten you involved in all of this mess… I can fend for myself with him but… I know you can’t,” He said remorsefully. He seemed… genuine. When his eyes met yours, it was as if you had fallen for him a second time. “It’s too dangerous. We need to stop seein’ each other.”

In the span of a minute, Wakasa had managed to tear your heart right out of your chest.

“No…” You did a complete 180. You were so weak for him that you hated it. But, shit, how you loved the feeling. “I can’t lose you too, Waka, I…”

“I’m not asking,” He deadpanned. You felt your heart plummet.

“You’ve gone cold on me,” You whimpered. You didn’t care if you sounded desperate. You knew your blood burned for him. “Waka, that’s not fair… please.”

“I need to protect you,” Waka’s eyes were filled with bittersweet longing – like this was breaking him, like he wanted to reach out and caress you but he knew he couldn’t… just as much as you did. “I have to do this. ‘S for your own good.”

Your mind raced to make sense of the cryptic words that had spilled from his pretty lips. “‘Kasa,” you breathed.

When he spoke again, his mask cracked a little more. “You know as much ‘s I do that he’s gonna go on a manhunt. I dun’no what I’d do if somethin’ happened to you ‘cause of me, doll, I…” His voice trembled a bit. He took a moment to regain his composure. “Me leaving would be the best thing for you. For both of us.”

Tears welled up in your eyes. God, this hurt. You knew it would come eventually, but, shit, you hadn’t expected it to hurt so bad. Your voice cracked, “You’re ending things to protect me? Without giving me a choice? What happened to “if Takeomi weren’t in the picture” ?”

Wakasa squeezed his eyes shut. His hands tightened into fists. “We’re done. We can’t do this again.”

“I’m telling you we can’t see each other again. Okay?”

For a moment, Wakasa looked like he wanted to say something, like he wanted to make you stay. Worst of all, you kind of wanted him to.

Eventually, he answered, “You can pretend it never happened, but I’ll know. You’ll know.”

Your heart squeezed painfully at the memory. It’s funny how history repeats itself.

“I can’t lose what we have,” You shook your head. “You’re the best thing that’s happened to me, I… I don’t know what I’d do without you. We can make this work, I know we can.”

You continued after a lengthy inhale. “I can’t let this go over fear… no, not unless I know you’re doing it because you don’t want this.”

Deep down, you knew you were fighting a losing battle. Your heart ached for him. You couldn’t let this go. Not after you had given up so much just to be with him, no, not yet. Just a moment longer.

You reached out for him, hand hesitantly searching for his, seeking solace in the midst of the turmoil even though you knew you had already lost. 

You needed him. You realized that the moment the thought of a life without him had even crossed your mind. You knew it from the moment the two of you had sworn off intimacy in that shower together. No, you knew it from the first moment your eyes had met his. Wakasa had wedged his way deep into the tissue of your rotten heart.

You were in love with him.

“We can leave it behind. Start fresh,” You pleaded with him, gripping his cold hand. “Don’t you want that?”

He stayed quiet. He wanted it as much as you did, you knew that. He ached for you too. But when you squeezed his hand and it remained limp in your palm – without so much as a squeeze back – you knew it was too late. Like the life drained from the veins of a corpse, Waka had gone cold. 

Lowering your head toward his hand, you sobbed. You had never stopped crying, not since he had proposed that the two of you stop seeing each other. Yet, now, it seemed that the tears were streaming down your face rapidly. Like the torrent waters of a river cutting through earth and soil, they poured down.

“I love you, Wakasa, I can’t… I…” You trailed off, at a loss for words at the absence of his own. Who knew this would hurt so badly? “You love me too, don’t you? Tell me that you love me too.”

The car fell silent, once again bringing back the memory of you sitting here in this same spot calling things off with him only a while ago. The weight of your desires hung in the air. 

Wakasa’s eyes were full of regret. He shook his head, taking his hand out of your grasp, “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

You felt your heart shatter.  You recoiled as if you had been struck by some invisible, unforeseen force. Then, you let Waka’s hand slip from your touch. 

Slowly, to your surprise, he pulled you into another hug, wrapping his arms around your trembling form. Your heart thumped wildly against your chest, torn between the comfort of his touch and the impending heartbreak that lingered in the air. He was confusing you.

He muttered. With a gentle squeeze, he held you closer, “‘M sorry. This life ain’t for you, doll.”

Your body stiffened against his, still struggling to process everything that had been dumped on you in the span of two hours. You clung to him like it would be the last embrace the two of you ever shared – no,  because it would be the last embrace the two of you ever shared. 

“No, please, don’t do this to me,” You pleaded brokenly. “I need you, ‘Kasa.”

“You know I have to do this,” He held you like he shared the sentiment, like he, too, wanted to make the most of what could very well be the last time the two of you saw each other like this. “No happy endings, remember?”

After this, he would be nothing but a stranger. The thought made you want to hurl.

You had never felt so alone before.

Was this love?

Your whole body shook with the force of your sobs. Waka gently brushed your tears away. His voice, dripping with tenderness and sorrow, seeped into your soul. “This is goodbye, okay?”

No, you thought. I won’t accept this.

You pulled away from him. “You’re a fucking coward,” you whispered between sobs. “I hate you.”

Waka's eyes met yours, his gaze soft and understanding, yet it only fueled the flames of your anger. How could he claim to comprehend the depths of your pain, the intricacies of your shattered heart? His tenderness felt like a cruel mockery at that moment, intensifying your resentment towards him.

“I know,” He nodded, as if accepting your accusation, though his expression revealed a profound sadness. It was as if he had heard those words before, and carried the weight of similar accusations. But his quiet acceptance only stoked the fire of your fury, fueling the bitterness that threatened to consume you.

Yet, despite your anger, there was a part of you that couldn't help but notice the sincerity in his gaze, the flicker of pain that danced in his eyes. It was a contradiction that confused and infuriated you even further. How could he evoke such conflicting emotions within you? How could he still have the power to touch your heart, even in the midst of your rage?

Feeling a surge of defiance amidst the sea of anguish, you pulled away from him, the anger within you bubbling to the surface. With a sudden burst of energy, fueled by your fractured heart, you swung open the car door and stumbled out onto the pavement. 

"I wish I never fucking met you," you seethed, the words torn from the depths of your wounded soul. You wish you meant it.

Then you slammed the door shut.

The words hung in the air, charged with the intensity of your pain. Each syllable reverberated through the silence, cutting through the stillness of the night. And as the echoes faded into the darkness, you turned on your heel and stormed off, leaving Waka behind

With each step you took, the anger within you burned brighter, fueling your determination to distance yourself from the source of your heartache. 

A call of your name shook you out of your angered reverie. You knew you shouldn’t stop, that you should have kept marching right on. Yet, you couldn’t help but turn to look back at him one more time.

He made you feel so weak.

He had rolled the window down. In his hand, he had your pink slipper. It was then that you realized you were missing a shoe. 

“You left this,” He noted, waving it toward you.

You refused to give him that satisfaction. Shaking your head at him through teary eyes, you spat, “Keep it, asshole.”

You turned your back on him again – for the last time – and stormed off. Every stride carried you further away from the wreckage of a love that had once blossomed but now lay in ruins. The words you had spoken, filled with bitterness and regret, echoed in your mind, a desperate attempt to sever the ties that still bound you to Wakasa

Yet, deep down, beneath the layers of anger and pain, a part of you yearned for the impossible—to undo the meeting that had led to this heartache. It was a futile wish, born out of the shattered remnants of a love that had once promised happiness.

Don’t look back, you thought.

And you didn’t. Not even as you fumbled for the keys in your pocket and unlocked the door to your house. Not even when you slammed the door shut behind you. Not even when you collapsed against the door, letting a gut-wrenching sob out the moment you found yourself in the safety of your own home.

And even when you sank to the floor in tears, fighting the urge to throw that door open again and run into his arms, you found yourself repeating the phrase like a mantra.

Don’t look back.

heyyyyy ����😓 how yall doin.... no but fr how are we feeling after this one? could this be the end of waka??? (it isn't.) im not too confident abt this chapter even tho I put my whole pussy into it... I promise the next one will be infinitely better TRUUUSSSSST!!! to make up for the way I chewed your hearts up and spat them out this chapter (sorry lol) I will say!! stay tuned for the next episode of party monster featuring cameos from sano shinichiro, daddy benkei, and another character who I can't tell u abt yet!! (also who knows we may or may not get a chapter from wakas pov.... who knows.... u aint hear it from me) yk the drill tho, drop ur thoughts predictions and requests in the comments, I love listening to yall ;)) see u next chapter!! <33

I obviously do not own tokyo revengers or anything related to it. please do not reproduce, copy, or translate my works anywhere. dont fk w me im a bruja.

taglist: @tokyorevengersslut69, @mikeys-bike-slut, @midtwenties-angst, @sleepysnk, @enneadec, @noaabean, @galactict3a, @em1e, @drakensdarling, @wakashawty, @satanlovesusall666, @sin-and-punishment, @mztoman, @sanzuicide, @bontensbabygirl, @strawberrychrome, @scaraphobia, @bertholdts--butt, @xiedoll, @missgab, @keiskyutie

wanna join the taglist for wakasa imaushi? | or click here to read more

[rawliverandgoronspice]

hey! do you have any thoughts on demise as a looser/more fluid/symbolic/metaphorical figure in the context of the story of the series- like thoughts on what he represents, and stuff like what his curse could mean thematically rather than the more essentialistic absolutistic "literal satan" interpretation that most of the (at least western) audience seems to take?

i know he may be somewhat contentious as a choice introduced by the writers especially considering from an outside perspective what he kind of did to the majority of fandom analysis and discourse, but i've been thinking about how it's quite possible the writers had a more paganistic approach to what it means to be a deity and how demise doesn't even really have a NAME so much as he is supposed to be some sort of manifestation/personification of the concept of demise, and maybe also of hatred, and also i don't know, like, what the point of that hatred is or why there has to be demise/what implications there could be of this worldbuilding

hope that was coherent enough to make sense of anything i just said but yeah i was just curious if you do!

Heyy sorry never replied, replying now!! Thanks for the ask!

Yeah it's exactly how I'm taking Demise, and I think what you mention connects more to what little I know and understand of shintoism.

In French, Demise has an absurdly long name and is basically called "The Avatar of the Void", which I think is... interesting? It makes me extremely curious as to how Demise is called in original japanese --because to me, "Void" is about the absence of things more than their destruction. It's about the absence, not the inevitability of things crumbling down that comes with Demise. I don't know which of these concepts are the closest to the original vision (if it's Void rather than Demise I think it recontextualizes everything we thought we know about this world and characters, but in my opinion it feels too incoherent with the rest of the world, so my guess is that it was a poorly thought-out translation --but I might be wrong!), but to me it's all in the title: Demise. The curse is that every golden era must end with a reckoning.

I think the curse is extremely compelling in that mythological sense, the way Demeter and Persephone's tale is about the joy and pain of passing seasons; it's the given cause for this world's fate as it is condemned to rise and die continuously; and that their eternal, bright future will always be opposed. To be honest, I'm not even sure it's a *bad* thing. Conflict is not only inevitable, it needs to rise to the surface instead of being suppressed to ensure things do not remain stagnant and shortcomings are being acknowledged and addressed --which is also partially why the suggestion of TotK's golden forever after really doesn't sit right with me, especially since nothing was learned and nothing truly changed in the course of its runtime.

I think the curse sucks when people think it means that Ganondorf is a generic evil demon man without motive of his own. It especially grinds my nerves since I somehow never hear this argument being made for *any* other villain in the franchise. I know they look alike the most (and TotK didn't help matters here), but I never *ever* saw people arguing that Vaati doesn't have motive, for example. Or Majora. Or Zant. Or even literal nothing characters like Bellum, who by all means looks more like a primal demonic evil acting on instinct than anyone else. Somehow, we get to assume they have internal motives that, while obviously wicked and self-serving, are their own! But somehow, Ganondorf, the actual main antagonist of his series with the most amount of games hinting at his backstory and internal moral code, gets flattened as an evil puppet with no internal life whatsoever. It's genuinely bizarre.

Anyway sorry sorry! Thanks again for the ask!

[westcrescent]

 𝐃𝐀𝐘: 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐔𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ( &. ft. @yyiranz ) 

Ruyue awoke with a start, her eyes fluttering open to a dim, heavy gloom. Her head throbbed with a dull ache, and her body felt weighed down by the coarse, scratchy straws she lay upon. The remnants of a dream— or was it a nightmare? The only light a faint, flickering glow that seeped through a barred window high on one wall.

As she slowly came to her senses, she tried to piece together her surroundings. The cell she found herself in was small and grimy, its walls were moldy and damp. There was no sign of comfort or warmth, only the cold, hard reality of captivity.

Ruyue’s thoughts were clouded and fragmented, and she struggled to recall any coherent memories. "Who am I?" her voice trembling as she spoke aloud, though no one was there to hear her.

She tried to stand, her legs feeling weak and unsteady beneath her. The effort made her head spin, and she grasped the wall for support, her fingers scraping against the rough surface. As she looked down at her clothes, she noticed they were tattered and stained, a far cry from the elegant robes she remembered— or at least thought she remembered.

The void’s grip seemed to have left more than physical scars; it had stolen her sense of self.

Ruyue was desperately trying to escape, using a rusty shard she found to pry at the bars of her cell. Just as hope began to fade, the cell door groaned open. Two rough-looking guards entered, their presence intimidating. They wore dirty, mismatched armors, they weren't like real guards. Without a word, one of them grabbed Ruyue by the throat, his grip like iron as he yanked her up against the bars. “Where do you think you're going, little fairy?" Fairy..? Am I a fairy..?

Her head started throbbing again the more she thinks.

The guards snickers at Ruyue's helpless expression, their conversation adding to her mounting confusion and fear. “She's awake and ready for the auction. The tribes are expecting a good show this week. She’ll fetch a high price."

The word 'Fairy' still seemed foreign and strange to her. Her mind raced, trying to piece together why they would call her that. She was not a fairy, but perhaps they had mistaken her for one. The magical dagger she had brought along might have hinted at some form of power, and they could have sensed it. In their eyes, that might have been enough to label her as a fairy.

Now.. where's the dagger?

She remembered the dagger and just the dagger, she doesn't know what significance it holds for her but she wanted it back. It must be something important.

The guards dragged Ruyue from her cell, their rough hands gripping her arms tightly. As they approached the auction area, the sounds of a bustling crowd grew louder, in the center of the room was a stage, where various captives and curiosities were being paraded and sold.

Ruyue’s eyes darted around, trying to take in the scene, but the dim light and the crowd of people made it difficult to focus. The harsh light from above illuminated her ragged clothes and disheveled appearance, making her feel exposed and vulnerable. The crowd’s gaze was intense and unsettling, their eyes following her every move with a mix of curiosity and greed.

What am I even doing here?

[loonybun]

hi guys here’s the cannibalism drabble as promised. i want you all to keep in mind i started this around 1 AM and finished around 3 AM and that is abundantly clear because it may seem less coherent the further it goes. which might add to it idk. also this entire thing is unedited so i’m slapping it at you like a wet fish

this isn’t canon, its for a specific au of mine called stainedrose :)

CONTAINS: cannibalism (a LOT of cannibalism), consumption of raw meat, disease mention, consumption of the brain, splitting someone’s skull open, past beheading mention, extreme gore all around, vivid descriptions of gore and violence, also the head is what’s eaten, very vague references to past trauma, implied conditioning, experimentation, dehumanization, sort of cult-like setting but also not really, unaware whumpee, parental figure whumper (not that obvious in this specific drabble but yeah. whumpee is an adult though), scientist whumper, carewhumper, test subject whumpee, inhuman whumpee, starvation, loss of autonomy, captivity, sleep deprivation, medical inaccuracies (i did research but never enough)

yeah it’s a doozy. enjoy!

He couldn’t remember the last time he felt hungry. Being starved for years had that effect. After a while, the feeling just faded away. It was as if he realized that he didn’t need such things. He was better than that, he wasn’t like these people. That’s what his superior always said, anyways. The boy had yet to internalize it, but at least the smaller sensations had faded entirely. Pain, fatigue, hunger, they seemed more like suggestions than experiences. The more he told himself that, the less they seemed to affect him.

When his superior entered the room one morning, carrying the newly severed head of an ordinary-looking brunette man, he was initially confused. His superior tossed it over to him, and it landed on the concrete floor with a hollow thud. The viscous liquid still flowed from where it had been lopped off, leaking onto the textured gray floor. He couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed by the smell. It reminded him of worse times— It reminded him to be grateful. He was being treated exceptionally well, considering his previous situation. He could bear the smell, and he could bear the way the cloudy brown eyes settled loosely on him.

He looked back to his superior, who nodded towards the head with a subtle smile. Hesitantly, the boy approached it, observing the finer details he hadn’t noticed before. It had been a clean cut, as the queen’s often were, and he could only assume that the man had died directly on contact. It was a merciful death. Quick and nearly painless. His superior stood in the doorway, removing his bloodied gloves and inverting them, before sticking them into his coat pocket. This wasn’t an ordinary gift. He’d been given knickknacks every so often, little bottles of fluid or clothes or trinkets. This was a test. Another test.

“…What is this?” He spoke at last, hoping for some sort of direction. He felt relieved when he watched the man’s face soften ever-so-slightly. He’d been right to ask. He waited for his superior’s instructions, or at the very least an explanation.

“Supper. You haven’t been eating much, and while I’m pleased with your results so far, I’d like to see how well you readjust. It’s also a test of your immune system. It’s an incredible testament to our work so far, and I’d love to see it in action.” He explained casually, a neutral smile upon his face. “All you need to do is enjoy your meal. I won’t mind the mess.”

The boy pushed any questions to the back of his mind. He’d gotten an answer, and he should focus on the task at hand rather than ruminate on specifics. If he performed well, everything would make sense sooner or later. His superior was a logical and kind man, and there was no reason for him to act off of a whim instead of necessity. Perhaps this was some sort of poison resistance test? He vaguely recalled something from his past life— the one he’d left far, far behind— something about prions infecting the brain. But of course, he wouldn’t be affected. His brain would obviously cancel the production of unnecessary proteins to prevent them from forming in the first place. That’s how that worked. That’s how it always worked. He just had to keep that in mind.

Without further hesitation, he sunk his teeth into the cheek of the head, holding it as you would a lover. The skin was warmer than he expected. Still fresh. He relished the sound that came as he tore off the chunk of flesh, and the flavor that bloomed in his mouth as the blood seeped from the wound. No meal he’d ever had before could begin to compare to the taste. Something more primal than hunger overtook him— the need to indulge. Engorge. Consume. He plucked the softer pieces of skin from the face and neck, gently tracing his lips against the skin as he sucked the blood and gore from the open wounds. The way the muscles actively began to tense with the more time he spent with it made it seem almost alive. Two interconnected beings becoming one. This soul had died alone and without struggle. The fight was over and lost. Neither of them had to be alone now. Whoever the person had been before death hardly mattered to him. That’s the beautiful thing about death. There’s no judgment in death.

Rigor mortis made the muscle and fat easier to bite into, though harder to chew. The texture was different now, more waxy. He’d worked away at most of the meat now, save for the scalp and area around the orifices of the face and the eyes. The exposed bone and viscera on the rest of the face was a sight to behold, saved from the possibility of rot. This body, or at least the head, would never know imperfection. It would be made useful, as all things should be.

He bit through the lower lip, easily pulling it away from the bone with his fingers and placing it into his mouth. Next came the upper— and then the nose, which was admittedly a lot more awkward to remove with how stiffly it clung to the bone beneath it. By the time he’d gotten to the eyes, he had already planned how to go about excavating them. The boy peeled the eyelids and swallowed them down, before placing his fingers between the space where the eye nestled into the skull. He didn’t need to apply much pressure before they came free with a squelching pop. He ate them one at a time, pressing them between his teeth until they burst. They tasted meaty, but not in the same way that the rest of the body had. The taste was a bit odd, even for him, though he downed them without complaint.

The gorey sockets stared back at him, the face now devoid of anything that resembled life. Hair still clung to the top like a matted mop, now tangled in blood and messy scraps where he had been less neat. The tendons that kept the bones together remained untouched. He’d been gentle with the process. As gentle as he could have been. He could have easily ripped the jaw from its hinge in order to get to the last bits of gore he’d missed, but he wasn’t a barbarian. He didn’t feel like his superior would approve of him disassembling the entire thing. It would make it so much harder to clean.

He turned back to his superior, who was observing his bloodied face with his typical soft smile. He wasn’t allowed to stop yet. The man motioned for him to continue, and the only thing he could do was comply.

The boy tore off the epidermis and hair, dropping it to the floor. The cranium was wet with blood and fluid, and he silently questioned how he could even go about breaking the thing. After a bit of contemplation, he bashed it against the concrete floor, watching the bone splinter and crack. The noise rippled throughout the room, and while he didn’t see it, he could feel his instructor flinch for the first time. He threw it down again, this time with more force. The back of the skull split, and he was able to pry his fingernails through a fracture. He chipped away at the skull until half of the brain was exposed. The squishy wet folds gave way as his hand slipped through them, before gripping onto a slippery blob. It came apart in his fingers, so he grabbed at more until he had a sensible handful. The brain was so soft he hardly even needed to chew. It was almost buttery in texture, and tasted nothing like the rest of the body. It didn’t have as strong of a taste as the rest of the body, being almost pure fat, but he persisted regardless. It’s what his superior wanted from him, and he’d be a fool to decline generosity when it was handed to him so kindly. The blood that mingled on his fingers at least added a bit more of a flavor, though it was diluted from whatever fluids the brain was already saturated in. He eventually decided to try a different approach, moving his hands to cup the skull like a bowl. The partially eaten brain sloshed around in its confinement. He put his mouth to the jagged edge and attempted to eat it like a soup. The mounds of pink brain matter that still remained were quickly devoured, leaving nothing but a hollow shell stripped of everything it could possibly be stripped of.

He stared over at his superior with a sheepish smile. The man nodded and stared at the fragments of skull and viscera on the floor. “Well, that was a spectacle. You did well. We’ll continue as usual, though you may have the rest of the day to yourself assuming you’ve finished your affirmations. Don’t worry about cleaning up, I’ll send someone in.” He walked over to the disfigured skull and plucked it from the boy’s hands, before patting him on the back. “You’ve done so well today. I hope you keep up the good work.”

[wiltkingart]

i hope im not bothering you with this question but i have to say your art style is absolutely MESMERIZING i could study it all day. i was wondering- when you want to draw a couple of characters, lets say andreil, do you visualize them in your head in your art style, or does it take time to translate the way you would like to draw them manually while drawing? (i don't know if my question is coherent enough sorry,,)

thank you! i dont visualize anything in my art style tbh. on the apple visualization scale im pretty mid, and i struggle with picturing detailed faces especially, so it's less of a translation and more of a conjuring. the faces are already in the canvas and its my job to carve them out or whatever. thats how i see it at least! because when i read i picture a basic/blurry amalgamations of passably-human traits, which leaves a lot of wiggle room to map out the details when i draw. hope that makes sense - thanks for the interesting question!

[w1f1n1ghtm4r3]

kyushumi and change

okay uh. not sure about the coherency of this post but i will try my best. this is just me being like "oops i picked butterfly imagery for my kyushumi age up redesigns to match their vs and to lean into the fae theme a bit more but it also fits their stories incredibly well"

but first i need to actually show those redesigns because i never did. because i was saving them until i did the rest of the units and then i never got there. oops. look at my butterflies now

the general idea was giving them a more cohesive theme with their outfits (a more elegant style plus butterflies) while having a distinct set of colors fitting to each of them. instead of their original outfits which have a more unified color scheme but mismatched themes. i think it makes sense for their story overall, since early on they kind of cling to each other because theres nowhere else for them to go but now they stick together because theyre genuinely close friends. does that make sense? i dont know.

ANYWAY

the butterfly imagery. and change (and fear) as a theme with kyushumi as a whole.

even though theres like a really obvious reasoning for a butterfly being extremely thematic for mizuki (transgender moment) thats actually NOT the important reason with kyushumi. because its kind of an open secret among them. no one pushes them about it but like when nene also goes to the same school its hard for her to not hear about it yknow. nene cares more about her friends than what people say about her friends.

really i think where its interesting is like. how each of them have a major change in approach to something during the story. something theyre afraid of but eventually overcome. does that make sense i hope that makes sense

nene and honami both are some sort of fear of perception by others. both are basically the same as canon (nene being afraid of failing in front of others so she stops trying and honami being afraid of being an outcast if she stops trying to please everyone) and the end outcomes are roughly the same. honami stands up for herself, stops being so afraid of what everyone else might think, etc. not that she doesnt care about her perception by others of course but she starts to be able to overcome the pressure to do what she wants to.

nene isnt as drastic as canon, tbh, but she does regain her confidence to sing again. i think kyushumi becomes an online vocaloid music group and nene, having had notable experience with singing before, ends up as the one mainly behind working with the vocaloids. but in that whole process she gradually starts singing again to first help get a feel for how the song should work and eventually because at heart she still loves doing it. she starts posting her singing online since its less committal (she could just delete the videos if things go badly) but it also helps break down the fear of how people perceive her skills again. maybe not enough to get her back on stage, but enough that she starts to believe in her potential again.

mizukis is mostly about being open........... running away and hiding whenever things go wrong but gradually getting less flighty and more honest about their feelings......... also the fear of connection getting broken because mizunene 👍 two years ago me was cooking with this

promising that theyll stick together because what theyve developed together is more important than what other people might threaten their bond with. yeah. i love kyushumi mizunene so much guys (i made their dynamic this way myself)

minoris is least about fear and most about change in the way of changing directions with her goals......... she never stops chasing that idol dream but also opens herself up to new paths. making music with kyushumi so she has more to show for what shes capable of and also having a new direction to pour her passion into when things dont go her way.

does any of this make any sense. who knows. it makes sense in my head. i love my butterflies regardless and i hope you guys all like them too

[chuuyascumsock]

Helloooo

That rat reaction pic was both adorable and had me laughing my ass offf(my sense of humor is lowkey highkey kinda broken so apologies 😭)

ALSO

ME??? A MONSTERFUCKER??????HUH?? THAT SOUNDS DEPLORABLE! But youre right so anyway- (kinda actually saw a monsterfucker bingo and did it{yknow just for funsies and shi} and like i ticked off 10 of the 24 boxes? i mean i think thats enough to qualify??? Right??)

okie soo umm i kinda waited too long to type out the thoughts and they um *disssipated* so immm kinda gonna string together the crumbs i still remember🥲

(Also like to clarify when i say werewolf,i kinda mean like the something between like that one halloween official art and atsushi when he’s in his weretiger form?)

Imagine werewolf chuuya who just cant keep his hands off you when he’s in heat,he just NEEDS you,CARNALLY

While you’re cooking dinner he’ll come up behind you and wrap his arms around you,nuzzling his head into the crook of your neck,lightly nibbling on your skin and just slightly grinding his crotch into your ass.

After a while you can feel his hard on and how hes desperately trying to hold himself back.

so you do the only sensible thing you can think of~

You turn around and kiss him~

You have no idea how it escalated from a passionate kiss to this,but now he has you bent over the kitchen island,your underwear discarded and forgotten while he frees his hard cock from his now-tight pants.he coats his dick in lube and precum before he thrusts into your rear,(although he’d love to go right at it,he knows your only human and would never want to hurt you) going at an inhuman speed and illicitting the most lewd little sounds for you~

His claws sinking into your hips to hold you in one place,all the while he’s letting out breathy “good girl/boy” and “that’s it take it hnghh you take me so good doll” s as he ruts into your ass.as he feels his climax nearing he goes harder and deeper his throbbing cock continuously hitting your g-spot causing you you whine and moan out loud,all which makes him go harder,the feeling of your tight little hole driving him over the edge and when he finally comes its thick sticky and he doesn’t let a single drop seep out.he continues rutting into you,fuckin his come back into you while keeping you locked in a mating press.after around two to three more rounds(now having moved to the bedroom) he slows down and makes sure your okay.he loves to see the fucked out look on your face as he cleans you up and as he sees your silly little hole white and glazy with his come he has to resist the urge to plug you up and let you stay that way until your next session,but if youve previously said your okay with it he’s definitely gonna do it-

Once your tucked in all nice clean (and *cough*plugged up) he gets into bed as well spooning you and lightly licking the bites and hickey now covering your neck and collarbone.

(I wanna add some more but i think this is already long enough.i hope this makes sense and sounds coherent at least,i think i got a little lost in the sauce🥲)

Also yess i saw that voyeurism tag👀👀👀 (got me wet just thinking about it🫣)

Ooh and also of smut,fluff,angst and crack,What’s your favorite??

And bestie(am i allowed to call you that?) im like 99.99% your irl personality is just as great as your online one🙄🤚

That isnt debatable btw🫶

I speak facts not fiction 😌

Well except for the smut,that’s fictional-

ACTUALLY NO FRICK IT THATS FACTS TOO!🙌

And to end this silly,goofy and unreasonably long ask id just like to wish you a lovely day/afternoon/evening/night filled with snackies,dopamine-inducing events and a lot of,as you said, H2hoe!

Stay safe and slay safe😌💅🏻

(Help its 4.50 am😭🥲)

-🧀

YOU DID, YOU DID GET LOST IN THE SAUCE, YOU WERE DROWNING IN IT 😭 BUT IT WAS GOOD SAUCE, DELICIOUS SAUCE EVEN. (Fr made me choke on my mango and everything while reading).

Glad you specified that you didn’t mean Chuuya like full furry mode or that would’ve been awky 💀

Literally Chuuya— but THAT WAS SO GOOD ACTUALLY. I can’t believe you wrote almost a full smutshot in my inbox, you should rlly write this down and post your own smut LMAO.

I forgot to add something to my Detective Chuuya summary, but it’s ok, I fixed it 🤭

My favorite genre is crack, I feel like I write top tier crack ngl, my Ai chats also look insane with all the silly stuff I do with the characters (literally mostly Dazai bc I kin him so doing platonically silly shit w/ him is my comfort).

AND YES YOU CAN CALL ME BESTIE— I feel like we’re definitely past that 😈 But I will have to deny my irl personality being just as good as my online one because I am socially inept 🥰

ALSO GET SOME SLEEP BESTIE CAUSE THAT’S SUPER IMPORTANT (I’m a hypocrite). BUT EAT A GOOD BREAKFAST AND FUCK UP THOSE CLASSES 💪😼

[citizenoftmrrwlnd]

hi hi astro !!! hope youre doing well today !! this isnt a request (this time) but i was hoping it would be okay to ask if you had any tips for someone who wanted to start a blog similar to yours… its something ive wanted to do for a few years now but i havent been able to figure out where to start haha

- Spyro (⚡️💜)

hello!! not a problem at all, i'll give you a quick run down of advice based off what i've learned running this blog! 1. to start, make sure you offer a small variety of request types. don't be afraid to add new things later or remove request types you've offered in the past! 2. know your limits- if you need to, put in place an inbox cap-off and refuse requests once you reach a specific amount in the inbox. similarly, don't pressure yourself to complete requests you think you'll struggle too much with... you are running your blog for free, and while it's nice to help, it isn't worth sacrificing your mental well-being or extraordinary amounts of time. 3. and this is a big one- do not engage with discourse. block and move on. it's never worth the time, and if someone is trying to goad you, someone who runs a harmless blog to help people on tumblr dot com, into an argument, that is not your problem. however! don't dismiss everything as discourse. if someone lets you know something you've made content for has a problem, at the very least do your own research and form your own opinion. some sources have problematic creators, subjects, and other such things... ultimately it's up to you and your comfort level to decide if you want to make content for those sources. 4. theme your blog! it's much more fun if you put together a coherent theme, and it gives your blog a sense of identity that others can recognize! 5. have fun with things! if it gets too much to keep up with, do not, and i mean this, do not hesitate to put things on pause and wait until you feel okay enough to do your work again. again, this is something you are choosing to do, for free, for strangers online.

all in all, making and running a blog like this isn't necessarily hard, but i wouldn't say it's easy either. you learn your limits as you go.

[qualitative-decay]

settings person in the aftermath of nick's parable bc i got. possessed 😔

You can do a lot, with the settings of a game, if you know what you're doing. They've been performing triage as best they can whilst the Narrator meticulously vivisects himself, but the Parable is still dying.

Maybe they're just postponing the inevitable. Maybe they should just let it happen, let the Narrator and Parable (and the Curator, and themself) alike disintegrate byte by byte, until there's not so much as a line left of any of them.

They can't bring themself to, though. It's not like they've got any affection for him — they've found him more or less contemptible for about as long as they can remember — but they can still have a sense of self preservation.

....If they frame it that way, as self preservation, they don't have to think about the Parable using them for its own sake. They have to keep the wheel turning after all, they have to, they have to, but this is the first time it's been rendered so wholly their responsibility — the Narrator had kept it going for a long time without needing them to intervene.

Turning the wrong direction, maybe. Or... off-axis? Something. The point is, it's been eroding for eons; forced to move in a way it was never meant to. Stanley still had the scars to prove it when he left. But they didn't have the power to make it turn correctly again, and it was still moving, so they just didn't have that internal imperative to do something.

....Maybe if they had tried to, somehow, they wouldn't all be in this mess.

That other Narrator, stealing away Stanley.... okay, he might have technically sparked this, yeah, but. If they're being honest, things were probably always heading this direction anyway. At least like this, one of them can be spared the aftermath.

It wasn't like Stanley was particularly thriving in this environment.

(That was the first time they'd seen him smile in.... okay, they can't remember that, either. It wasn't like they really knew him or anything — they're pretty sure no one except maybe the Curator even knows they exist in the first place — but he was still the closest thing to a friend they had, so. It was nice to see him smile again, before he made it out. ....God, they hope he made it out.)

They're not sure how cognizant the Narrator is (or even can be) of what he's doing, at this point — they kind of suspect he doesn't know how to do anything else anymore, his obsession the last real piece of him remaining. For every line of code they manage to stabilize, he's tearing at three more, faster than ever. They're losing ground. They're losing coherency — they're part of the Parable just as much as he is, and they can feel their own code within it starting to fail. They think, somewhat hysterically, maybe they could just, somehow, cut themself out of the Parable entirely, before he can pull them apart with him, but.... Something intrinsically woven into them won't let them so much as try.

(They don't.... want to die. They aren't sure if they can, if they're even alive enough for dying to be the right word. But, whether dead or some other word, this is going to mark the end of them all the same, and they're. Terrified.)

[ode2rin]

hi mimi! just dropping by here to let you know how much i love your fics! it's my girl dinner 😋 honestly you make me wanna write and everytime i do, i just can't start 🥲 i feel like it's never good enough i'm a perfectionist so its been a problem but i really really wanna try 🥲 how do you write your fics :(

hi hun sorry i'm responding latee it's been a hectic week !! thanks for dropping by and sending me kind words :> i don't think i'm qualified enough to give you writing tips but coming from a perfectionist to one another, all i can tell u is write ugly !

i get that feeling of not being "good enough" but, i swear the process gets easier when you've finally convinced yourself to just start. the "fuck it we ball" thinking, in simpler terms. just start writing what flows in your mind !! and it doesn't have to be perfect, doesn't have to be the best thing, doesn't have to be the most metaphorical words out there. "drafts" are there for a reason :> and if you could see my drafts oh lord are they a mess. they're chunks of paragraphs that aren't even coherent, dialogues that don't even make a proper conversation, and ideas that don't make sense one bit. but's that's the thing !! it's always a two-step process: creation THEN refinement :) think of writing as a process rather than an outcome.

and how i write my fics? exactly like that ^ i take out my notes app or even a piece of paper near me to write a paragraph, a prompt, a line that i candidly thought of at that exact moment. and if i've accumulated enough words (word vomit if i'm being honest xD), that's when i sit down to improve them :)

hope it helps you at least !!

[steeleidolon]

@wingsdreamt

There are muffled voices outside, scuffling footsteps, laughter, then derogatory comments directed at parental figures. Restless troops, stationed in one place for too long with too little to do. He has no desire to join them. Zack stares at the military-green canvas lining of their tent as it billows against the wind snaking its way between the line of trees outside.

They’ve been holding this position for the better part of a month.

High valley walls and a wide river, flowing adjacent to their campsite, make this location a perfect choke point to catch enemy forces looking to regroup in the north, close to the massive fortress nestled at the base of the hills. The nearby village hardly abides their presence. Peace is a tenuous thing, held under threat of an occupying force that could decimate the oppressed. A huff and a puff and they’ll blow the houses down.  

Not that brick walls can stop SOLDIERs.

Wutaian forces and any parties willing to aid and abet them are to be attacked on sight.

Whether the local farmer and his wife are willing to risk harboring combatants looking to slit their throats in their sleep, well– Shinra had made its position clear when all the villagers had been lined up on the first day and warned that the Company would be mounting an attack on Fort Himeji within a fortnight.

The first person caught attempting to sneak beyond the bounds of the village was summarily executed.

Zack remembers that night clearly. Under normal circumstances, the inky blanket of darkness thrown over the sleepy village on the night of a new moon would have provided the perfect cover for a late-night departure. A native can easily navigate the deepened shadows, slip away and warn his countrymen before Shinra can launch their attack and decimate one of Wutai’s greatest strongholds.

But this is a new type of war, waged not with conventional weapons, but with weapons forged of blood and bone. SOLDIERs. Superhuman, enhanced. Faster and stronger than anything these poor farmers have ever witnessed in their lives. There is no hiding from a predator that can perfectly adapt to most any environment.

Nothing can prepare a man for the sight of another human being keeping pace with a chocobo sprinting at top speed.

He remembers that night because he was the one who had caught the runner.

Zack turns to roll over onto his side and face the other side of the tent, where he knows Kunsel is still lying awake. “Do you ever wonder if…y’know…you’re cut out for being SOLDIER?”

The tent breathes.

Everything out here is so alive. Wutai is more green than Kunsel ever thought to see--much less traipse or carve through--in his life. Nothing could be further from arid mirage-shimmer deserts or sheer cliff crags into rivers below; nothing could be further from canyons of steel and mountains of garbage. It is a different world that ShinRa hopes to modernize, answering a call from the people for a better way of life.

Something to that effect. Kunsel is skeptical.

He’s skeptical about a lot of things.

Like the strange concept of sleep at night. Zack knows this well enough to know he is only half-there, half-dozing, senses extended out to the tapestry of sound beyond the tent, beyond the camp, out to fresh water and chirping crickets and breezes whispering through woodland- and river-bordered fields. Hyper-awareness and semi-awareness in the same instance.

A breathy hum answers at first, before he rolls onto his back on the creaky cot. Right, right, that’s not a response. Not a coherent one, at least. So, then, he shifts again, swinging his legs over first, pulling himself upright and leaning his elbows to his thighs.

“I don’t think SOLDIER’s cut out for being SOLDIER, if I’m being honest.”

Scruff-scruff to his nape.

“Not like there’s any handbooks on this shit. There’s not much of a ... uh, a history for us, not much to compare it to, you know?” He wrinkles his nose, tempted to bust out a razor right now. “I mean. You’ve got Honor-face--err, you’re working with Hewley, and that’s. Good.”

Squint.

“But um. Overall. Just means we gotta figure it out, make it better. More to it than throwing bodies and swords at a problem.”

A pause.

“...or did you mean me personally? Heh, hell no. That’s why I’m building tutorials.”

He grins broad and lopsided in the dark with another scritch-scratch-rasp at the base of his neck.

“Did you wanna go for a run or something?

[missymoop]

OOOOOOHHHHHH

um um um um um um um um. um um um um

a ranking on all school subjects and why - obviously i need this very important vital information

ill go first so you have an idea of what the fuck im on about:

CHEMISTRY (the greatest. subject to ever exist) - it just makes sense like the words and science and just fire and explosions and quite literally everything (its my favourite) its the best

English? I love my english teacher - shes my favourite teacher I have shes very cool - and the content is fun (this one and lit sometimes swap but the cool feminist theory we have been doing recently bumped it up two spots) I think in words, and genuinely enjoy writing essays so english is great

Human Biology - its easy i dont pay attention, I get this subject, my teacher and I have a wonderful mutual understanding of what I do in class and I love him also the content is literally about me - like how I work and I think thats easy to remember? idk

Lit - its bad at the moment, weve done the same thing like 10 lessons in a row istg

Methods (Maths HARD MATHS) i hate maths, im not good at it i dont think like that and my teacher is OBSESSED with doing it with like f(x) and NOT THE NUMBERS and my brain just loses it - i almost cry in every class because im already bad enough at everything, i dont need this - also maths is quite literally my parents favourite subject to scrutinise me on - they couldnt give two shits about everything else (which is so great) especially becuase i actually failed my last maths test (not good outcomes for me lol) My freaky friend THINKS IN MATHS???? like no - people naturally think like that (shes annoyingly good at everything though so...)

anyway hopefully that randomness was fun to read I make no promises for coherence - thats not what im here for I was placed on this earth for random rambles and other peoples tragic entertainment lol

hoping you have a decent week (or at least better than where my brains at lol)

:)

hmmmmmmmmmm

1. english!!! i really love how easy it is to do lol and it just makes sense to me most times

2. maths. to me its normally good and usually my fav but this last semester i have had the WORST teacher EVER. but normally as long as i have a good teacher for it its amazing.

3. biology. its my fav science because its easy asf, thats it lol.

4. social studies. i feel like we have just learned the same stupid Canadian history for the past 10 years of my life istg. its so fing boring.

5. the rest of the science courses. they are dreadful and i will never take them again.

those are just my main courses but my overall favourite classes like top three are, spanish, creative writing then maths.

[moonilit]

OH MY GOD WE GOT A FIC!!!!

THIS IS NOT A DRILL WAKE UP WE GOT A FIC !!! Its REALLL!! EVERYONE TO THEIR READING SEATS!!

[im making this up as i go so no coherent read here just vibes]

melusines kept telling him that socializing with humans is very easy, you just need to ask them questions about themselves and let them talk about what they like. Well, it didn’t seem to work, as the secretary stumbled, started hyperventilating and emanated levels of panic and anxiety comparable to someone in the defendant’s chair.” 

😭😭😭😭 girl hang on! Girl! The melusines really should have known he need demonstration, its easy to them but come on guys show him a real life example, take him on a walk and demonstrate the poor girl about to die here! 

“Sensing human emotions did not actually help Neuvillette in communicating with them, as he could not discern the reasons. He asked her if she perhaps came into possession of any cursed texts?”

SOMEONE HELP THE POOR WOMAN!! It keeps going!

“At this point he decided to give up on socializing, as it was obviously very distressing for humans, but felt obliged to tell her that if she ever did read anything she felt was cursed, to inform him. He hoped it would assuage her fear of reading. She thanked him, stuttering, and after that day avoided him at all costs.” 

This is probably what people think Ei is to inazuma tbh. how do you explain 20 years of internet history to your dad in one minute so he can understand what the kids are about is what Fontaine is going through rn. RIP Furina era 🙏🏼 she was always updated and up with the latest memes/ pop culture 

“With how far the Iudex went out of his way to assure people of his good intentions in informal situations, Wriothesley really didn’t understand how everyone found him so intimidating.”

Idk this is a small detail but it’s hilarious to me, the difference in prospective rcjgsfh now imagine an outsider pov to their interactions. 

Random NPC: omg its the ludex and the duck, i wonder whats going on inside their heads

Neuvi: *waterfall with bird songs soundtrack* 

Wrio: *wish i could drop my clothes rn-*

“Wriothesley was about to mention that this sort was not usually bitter, but Iudex continued.”

Everyone SHUT UP, he is about to drop the evaluation of this tea like you would wish your therapist had you. 

Complete side note but i just been aware of vampires doctor/ therapist who can diagnose their patients by siping their blood but like, not in a sexual way, If people of fontain still had water in them i'm just saying, Neuvi could dubble down in two careers. just saying for the neuvi loving people out there this can be a getaway to a new AU.

“Not by nature, but forced by circumstances. Not nearly enough water to be nourished, so it had to adapt and conserve strength, letting leaves seen as unimportant to die and concentrate on survival of the main branches. But there is not just hunger… there is a dream of rain. An ache of something not ever known, but yearned, longed for, without realizing what it is. But then…” Neuvillette closed his eyes for a moment. “It happened. There is a memory of luminous joy of water not gathered by mere drops, but drank in full, overwhelming, a feast after a life of fighting for scraps of morning dew. It had tasted rain at least once in the end.”

Not even joking this is PEAK

“That Hydro Dragon will descend in a human form, and it specifically mentions a cane. This really baffles me, to be honest. How could they predict the cane? Why does he even need a cane? Surely not because of any weakness, he’s an immortal dragon, 500 years is very young for him. And the records say when Neuvilette took his position as the Iudex some 400 years ago, he already had a cane. Was he born with it? Like, had he sprung fully formed, with a cane? Did he pick it up as, I don't know, honorary agreement with a prophecy? Or were his fashion choices actually predetermined to the degree that the prophecy knew them millenia ago?”

No but he is onto something here… why a cane? Who decided this? Why a cane and not a sun umbrella? Can he NOT have the umbrella if he has the cane? Did the previous incarnation set up this like its will? Did he see a cane with someone and think it looks cool, I want to have that later write it down?? I get the cane has to be there for credibility and accuracy because literally if you can predict that too then you are a master, someone in irminsul just put on their sunglasses and start collecting spiritual money from all the bitches who said they won't nail hydro dragon next form down good for them.

I love Enjou, he is back and we get quality theories like these 

“Hehe, yes. It was because Neuvillette turned them into real humans with his powers of Hydro Sovereign. How generous of him, yeah? The question is, why did it take him so long? It’s been 500 years, and yet fontanians were made human only minutes before the flood Despite a feeble bookworm posturing, there was a shadow of unhinged madness in his eyes, dangerous enough that in any other case Wriothesley would cut contact.

“Anyway, Neuvilette had an audience with her right after a trial, and as result she killed herself…”

sorry, just this sentence alone

Sorry, I know its inappropriate, please continue

(I CANT BE SERIOUS IF ENJOU ITS HIS FAULT THE WAY HE SAY THINGS)

“…All of you were just… things, playing at being humans,”

he sure knows a lot how does he knows about fosalore and Neuvi private meeting? Even Neuvi didn’t know about it??

He drank, staring blindly into the distance, and listened, and the quiet words burned worse than whiskey sliding down his throat. He caught himself on a familiar thought. “This can’t be happening. This is too monstrous.” The same feverish thoughts he had when he discovered the truth about his foster parents

Ouch, hit where it hurts.

wrio is not questioning the pre set set if ‘evidence’ he got tho, dude had a massive crush and his heartbreak is blinding him or something

ooooo Wrio plan tho, hehe EXCITED fod next chapter! Thanks fof sharing this with us ! 😭😭🤍🤍

What the guard dogs are for

There are some things you never want to hear your secret years-long crush saying, such as “I’m getting married,” “I think we should stay friends” or “I’m the destroyer of the present order, the one who shall judge all gods, and the foe of humanity.” Wriothesley’s very bad, no good day of trying to unravel conspiracy theories, fumbling a tea party with Chief Justice and learning Teyvat’s ancient history and vishap lore from the leading expert lector.

Genre: angst and misinformation campaign

Characters: Neuvillette\Wriothesley, Enjou

Warnings: sfw in a sense that nothing even remotely sexy happens, but there is dissociation, ptsd episode, brief mention of self-harm, and Enjou doing same thing he does in canon, which is not quite gaslighting? Anyway, let me know if you feel any other warnings need to be added.

Chapters: 1 out of 2. Wordcount: ~8k

With his morning tea, Wriothesley riffled through the reports as usual. Nothing was marked urgent, so he started with the most boring part, - the official ones. The production numbers, coupon consumption statistics, everything is prepared for Neuvillette’s upcoming inspection, which was mostly a formality, but he would want it to go as smoothly as possible. 

Reports from the surface informants. Traveler stirring up a ruckus with the research institute… Well, about time, that pit couldn’t go on forever pretending that massive explosions are just a part of science routine. 

Next, creatures called “vishaps” appeared recently in Erinnyes Forest. These vishaps are apparently a lesser form of dragons, and connected to Liyue vishaps, also lizard-like creatures, though in Liyue they are aligned with geo, not hydro. Non-hostile to humans, aside from one accident. But in that one they fought back against the hunters sent by nobles to capture them as novelty pets. So the only regrettable part was that they didn’t get the nobles, only their lackeys. For shame. 

Next, there are gangs with new lingo going around, which generally was a good thing to pay attention to as they usually ended up in Meropide. Wriothesley frowned, reading the lingo translations, as he suddenly felt old. “Trendy Zaytun Peach” was something he’d got called for taking it up the ass a lot in his days, but now it’s a hip and cool nickname with the youngsters. 

Informal internal reports. Victims of beret society are rehabilitating fine, preparations for the wedding are underway. Good. Albert, a new guy from the shop, is sending him tea. Quite good tea at that. Obviously a bribe attempt, though he didn’t ask for anything as of yet, so it was basically free. Everything was fair in love and bribes as far as Wriothesley was concerned. You could throw everything at the feet of your beloved as to the feet of your targeted bureaucrat, and receive nothing and you would have no claim to complain. Now, the fact he wouldn’t take it into account when making decisions about their proposals, and sometimes would even consider it a negative, was a different matter altogether. 

He perked up reading the last report. There was a new conspiracy, whose agenda was not very clear, as they were more careful than the others, but the gist was something against Neuvillette, so Wriothesley was tracking it for some time. It was hard to get anything concrete though, as they were pretty good at keeping a low profile, but now apparently one of the members by the name of Jacque got into the Fortress on unrelated charges, and he was reportedly not the brightest shank on the block. 

Wriothesley made the arrangements. 

Half an hour later, he happened to stroll by when Jacque was being beaten up by three guys in the shadowy corner. 

“Hey, what’s going on here? Leave him alone!” he said, walking up to them.

“Oh yeah?”, said one of the bullies, turning to him. “Well, make me!”

They were paid double for the pretend fight. It might have been an overkill, usually Wriothesley would go for just scaring them off without combat. Especially because anyone who’s been in the Fortess for some time or had a head on their shoulders would understand that nobody would try to openly fight the Duke outside of the fight club arena. But Jacque was as fresh as they get, allegedly stupid, and it was Wriothesley’s first chance at any info in two whole months, so he decided to make it as impressive as possible.

He went as easy on the guys as he could, they theatrically threw the fight and retreated. 

“Hey, are you okay?” he asked, kneeling next to the guy in the corner and putting his hand on his shoulder for emphasis. 

“Yeah, yeah, I think I’m fine,” Jacque muttered, shaking his head. 

“Why did they attack you?”

“They don’t want me to spread the truth...” Jacque said with heavy emphasis. “But uh, thanks for helping me out.” 

“No need to thank me. I feel bad enough that honest folk like yourself get picked on in MY Fortress. That’s not how I want to run my place, so it’s only natural that I stand up for you.”

It took a moment, but finally the guy gasped.

“Your fortress? Are you… the Duke?”

At least he knew what “Duke” is.

“Yeah,” Wriothesley grinned, turning up the charm. “And allow me to get you a couple of drinks to compensate for the rude welcome you’ve received so far.”

He got them to the Coupon Cafeteria, where best meals were already arranged, and generously poured alcohol into the poor guy, listening to the story of his life and misfortunes that brought him to the Fortress, nodding empathetically. He didn’t ask about Neuvillette at all, to not spook the target, trusting that he will come to this anyway, and finally his patience was rewarded. 

“You know, you’re good!” the guy said drunkenly after some time, clasping his hand on Wriothesley's shoulder, which he beared stoically, grinning with all friendliness in the world. 

“You know, they say we can’t talk to you because you’re bought by that lizard, but I think you’re a good guy. You just don’t know all the facts!”

“Which are?”

The guy leaned closer to him and lowered his voice to a dramatic whisper. “Neuvillette is an evil dragon!”

Wriothesley choked on a laughter, which was way too obvious to turn into cough even for the dunce this stupid. 

“No, you don't understand! Dragons were enemies of humanity that Celestia conquered. But they come back when killed! They reincarnate! He is a hydro dragon who was reborn in a human form so he could more easily trick us!”

Wriothesley blinked, remembering Neuvillette standing under the rain, and the old children’s song. “Hydro dragon, Hydro dragon, don’t cry….”

“He put our rightful archon Furina on that trial, right? No one else saw the verdict, so he pretended she was declared guilty. He forced her to abdicate and took the power for himself!”

Wriothesley realized long ago that Neuvilette, of course, was not human. It was clear to any idiot who talked to him for longer than a minute in an informal setting, not to mention a lifespan of at least five hundred years. But there were a lot of options other than “evil dragon”. There were old gods who did not receive archonhood, but instead decided to serve the archon, like Liyue’s adepti, and he always assumed Neuvillette was of the same kind. But the idea that Iudex was some kind of evil monster with a grudge against humanity was ridiculous. Especially when he showed up at the Fortress and saved the entire Fountaine and Wriothesley’s own hide from the flood.

“Really?”

“Yeah! We should restore our true archon Furina to her rightful throne!”

Furina’s insurrection? Interesting. Wouldn’t peg her for someone capable of this type of conspiracy.

“And did Furina herself give us her blessing?”

“She can’t speak publicly, as this monster threatens her.”

Hmm, inconclusive on Furina’s involvement.

He spent more time with the drunk Jacque, trying to get more details, but couldn’t get much more than unhinged ramblings on how evil the dragons are and how insidious it was for a dragon to pretend to be a human. He had to leave to prepare to Neuvillette's arrival the next day.

_____

Neuvillette stepped out of Opera Epiclese into the rain and slowed down his pace to prolong the sensation. It was a bit of what humans called guilty pleasure, as he felt guilty from inflicting rain on humans for his own pleasure. Though from his understanding, humans felt guilty because they saw this pleasure as something bad for themselves. Even if often this supposed harm made no sense to Neuvillette. Eating too much food until a human's stomach hurt was at least understandable to see as such, but he heard one of palais’ secretaries say that romance novels were her guilty pleasure. How could humans feel guilty for something as simple as reading? He stopped and asked her why she would feel guilty for reading, because melusines kept telling him that socializing with humans is very easy, you just need to ask them questions about themselves and let them talk about what they like. Well, it didn’t seem to work, as the secretary stumbled, started hyperventilating and emanated levels of panic and anxiety comparable to someone in the defendant’s chair. Sensing human emotions did not actually help Neuvillette in communicating with them, as he could not discern the reasons. He asked her if she perhaps came into possession of any cursed texts? He could generally sense the stench of corruption and there was nothing on her, but there was always a possibility that it was a curse he could not register. She panicked even more and vehemently denied. At this point he decided to give up on socializing, as it was obviously very distressing for humans, but felt obliged to tell her that if she ever did read anything she felt was cursed, to inform him. He hoped it would assuage her fear of reading. She thanked him, stuttering, and after that day avoided him at all costs. 

The rain was a compromise solution in any case. Neuvillette always felt a bit strained and uncomfortable in his body, but after obtaining full dragonhood and most of the memories of past lives, the human shape felt downright stifling. He now remembered thousands of years of being something much bigger, long coils that could easily crush the spire of Opera Epiclese. Now, when he looked at his own reflection, it was hard to comprehend that this small and ridiculous frame was actually him. In addition, all of his memories and instincts called him to be submerged in water. But even with his poor understanding of humans, he realized that seeing the Iudex floating in the river would alarm humans much more than him standing under the rain. So rain was the closest solution he could get at his position. 

He summoned rain instinctively, to be as close to engulfed in water as possible. It was a bit embarrassing that even humans noticed it and composed a rhyme, even if that rhyme was inaccurate. He didn’t cry, as vishaps didn’t cry at all and even his current human shaped body didn’t have tear ducts. The closest he could pinpoint to human experience, as he understood it, was being stressed and desire to be comforted, for which water was his best remedy.

And currently he was quite stressed, looking over the Fontaine laws in an attempt to revise them. The current system that treated justice as theater was clearly imperfect, which he realized long ago. But he never saw himself as authorized to change it, as humans were the responsibility of the archon and even without it, he was well aware he didn’t understand humans, so he knew it wasn’t his place to question the human justice system, to which he was only a temporary guest. But now, as fontanias became part of Teyvat after his decision, and so, a part of his responsibility as Teyvat’s god of life, even if the usurper tried to deny him, he couldn’t ignore the need for change any longer. The problem was that he did not understand humans any better, so it was very stressful to try and restructure their systems of governance. 

He extended a hand, catching raindrops on his palm, when he noticed a silhouette near the elevator to the Fortress, and stopped himself from visibly controlling the weather. 

Wriothesley caught his eyes and grinned, approaching him at brisk pace, umbrella over his head.

“Greetings, Monsieur.”

“Good morning, Your Grace.”

Wriothesley always somehow managed to make a “Monsieur” sound more impactful than Neuvillette could “Your Grace”, despite one being a noble title and another just a polite greeting. 

“Would you like to…?” Wriothesley extended his arm with an umbrella, without actually covering Neuvillette with it. In the past, as a part of playing a role of “normal human”, Neuvillette accepted such offers, though there were not many aside from Wriothesley who dared to approach him with it. But now, as he was a full-fledged dragon, at the height of his power and influence in this land, surely he could afford to discard this role? Surely he could afford to be himself at least in this?

“No, thank you,” he said, smiling and trying to sound as cordial as possible, so that Wriothesley would not think it was a slight against him personally. “Don’t take it as offense, but I actually like being under the rain.”

The Duke smiled back, shaking his head.

“No offense taken, but why didn’t you say it last time? I felt like an idiot forcing you under an umbrella.”

“Really?” Neuvillette perked up, falling in step with the human. “You could tell that I…”

“Hated it? Yeah, for sure.”

“....prefered not to have an umbrella.”

Wriothesley let out a low, guttural bark of laughter that somehow got to the dragon despite him not being interested in humans in general.

“Not only I could tell I disturbed you, but I had to walk on the flowerbed to get to you, and then I trailed dirt in the Palais while everyone here glared at me for the audacity. Meanwhile you walked on the same dirt, but stayed pristine!”

“I’m sorry for…”

“Hey, don’t apologize. I’m just kidding, don’t worry.”

Neuvillette met the greyish blue eyes of thawed ice directly and sensed that he was truly not bothered, which didn’t make much sense. But Wriothesley was one of the very few humans who was not scared in the dragon’s presence. He was, probably, the only one who emanated only positive emotions at their meetings. Neuvillette mostly encountered negative reactions in his daily life at the trials, so he could not tell apart which positive feelings exactly that he read from Wriothesley due to the lack of exposure. But perhaps…

“I wouldn’t want you to feel unwelcome at the Palais,” Neuvillette said after a short pause.

Wriothesley grinned with a careless shrug.

“Then I will be there, even if the rest of your bureaucrats make faces. As I said, don’t worry.”

Neuvilette frowned, but didn’t see much point in pressing this further. After a confrontation with Navia, the dragon realized that his lack of understanding of humans hindered him, instead of making him truly impartial. Especially now that he was de facto in charge of the entire Fontaine government. And practice showed that only direct interaction with humans could give valuable experience, as watching from the Iudex seat did not allow him a nuanced understanding. 

So perhaps, if Wriothesley was a rare human who was not scared of him, and he proved rational and trustworthy in the years they knew each other, Neuvillette could confide in his true nature and maybe ask for advice in understanding humanity?

“Perhaps staying for some tea would make up for this past offense?”

Wriothesley stumbled for a moment.

“Seriously?” He sounded as casual and ironic as usual, but the surprised burst of positive emotions from him was bright and obvious. “After all these years you finally decided to deign my humble office with your presence?”

“It’d be a completely unofficial visit, of course.”

“Sure, sure. It was never my secret plot to bribe you with a tea party, trust me, even I realize my tea is not that good.”

His voice was ironic, but for a moment Neuvillette could see his crooked grin turn into a genuine smile. So, reassured that he was not imposing, Iudex nodded and followed the human into the Fortress’ entrance.

_________

The inspection itself was mostly a formality. The Court of Fontaine technically had no direct authority over Meripode, but it provided guards and substantial resources, and so it had a right to oversee the use of these assets. The actual budgeting was done on the regular in behind the scenes reports though, as the data was not visible in the in person visit. Still, it was a time honored tradition that got Neuvilette to show up regularly.

“Take a seat. It will take me a minute to make tea.”

Neuvilette gracefully sat down on the visitor’s chair In Wriothesley office, folding his hands on the cane. He still sat with a ramrod straight back and perfect posture, but there was a certain lightness to him today, which was hard to put into words. 

“The inspection is over, yet you are still nervous.”

Wriothesley knew he had a poker face good enough to cover it, yet Neuvillette saw it anyway. He had theorized for a long time that the Iudex could sense emotions, but usually he would not acknowledge it directly like this. “I wasn't nervous about the inspection to begin with. But inviting a high and mighty Iudex himself to the tea for years and then disappointing him when he finally accepts would be a devastating faux de pas. They will mock me on the first pages of all the papers tomorrow.”

Neuvillette frowned slightly.

“I must underline that I’m not here in any official capacity, and I would hope I’m talking to Wriothesley, not the Warden or the Duke. If you agree, I would ask that we leave the titles at the door.”

“No, of course,” Wriothesley, who had fantasized about leaving titles at the door and then clothes on the floor for actual years, said quickly, frantically recalculating how he could turn the tea party to wine tasting, which best wines he had confiscated in his storage and how he could make turning on the gramophone and then maybe leaning against the edge of the table in front of Neuvillette look natural and smooth. “Absolutely. I was just joking anyway, don’t mind it.”

“Ah, I see. I apologize, I’m unfortunately prone to missing humorous intent, so I appreciate your clarification.”

With how far the Iudex went out of his way to assure people of his good intentions in informal situations, Wriothesley really didn’t understand how everyone found him so intimidating. Especially because he very often had to interact with assholes in positions of power who did try to intimidate him on purpose and the contrast was very apparent. Neuvillette projected an aura of power without really wanting to, and then tried to over-explain himself to make others feel at ease. His earnest awkwardness was something like the clumsiness of a huge beast like an elephant trying not to step on the gaggle of kittens at his feet.

“In any case, there is nothing to be nervous about. After all, tea is liquid, and it’s really hard to make liquids unpleasant. So far I think only Fonta truly managed it.” Neuvillette drummed his fingers on the table and glanced at Wriothesley. “To be frank, if crimes against water could be prosecuted, Fonta would receive life in prison.”

Wriothesley snorted. “So no sugar in your tea, I take it?”

“No, thank you,” Iudex said politely and then, after a short pause, “And to clarify, I was not serious. There is nothing wrong with people liking sugary drinks, of course. I was just making an attempt at a joke.”

He really was horrendously bad at pretending to be a human. How could anyone hear him talk and still believe he’s a scheming manipulator was beyond ridiculous.

“No, I got it. It was a good joke,” The Duke grinned, placing a teacup in front of Neuvillette and sitting down across the table with his own.

Neuvillette gave him a graceful nod with a little smile and picked up his cup, giving it a swirl before tasting.

“Hmm. Interesting. Poignant. Bitter,” he said thoughtfully, tilting his head. 

Wriothesley was about to mention that this sort was not usually bitter, but Iudex continued. 

“Not by nature, but forced by circumstances. Not nearly enough water to be nourished, so it had to adapt and conserve strength, letting leaves seen as unimportant to die and concentrate on survival of the main branches. But there is not just hunger… there is a dream of rain. An ache of something not ever known, but yearned, longed for, without realizing what it is. But then…” Neuvillette closed his eyes for a moment. “It happened. There is a memory of luminous joy of water not gathered by mere drops, but drank in full, overwhelming, a feast after a life of fighting for scraps of morning dew. It had tasted rain at least once in the end.”

Wriothesley put his own cup down, leaning forward in disbelief.

“No way. This was a harvest from a drought year and it’s normally a mild sort, considered unusually strong in this season. How could you know this? Are you cheating?”

“You’re welcome to test me with other samples,” Neuvillette said with an air of a magnanimous ruler granting a boon and put the teacup down with a delicate clink. 

“Oh, I’m taking you up on your word, trust me,” the Duke grinned, but then paused. He didn’t want to spoil the mood, but he remembered how strongly Neuvillette felt about the perceived melusines conspiracy. Wriothesley had to tell him about the evil dragon idiots just to make sure he’s not thrown off balance later. That’s what the guard dogs are for, after all.

“Actually, before we move forward with testing your psychic tea reading abilities, there is something concerning official business that I think you should know. And then we can forget it completely.”

Neuvillette inclined his head with a small smile.

“There is a small group of conspirators, - and I must reiterate, it’s very small - who operate on the ridiculous idea that… uh, that you’re some kind of an evil dragon who schemed to overthrow Furina.”

Neuvillette's smile froze.

“You don’t have to worry about it, really. It’s negligibly small, and well, anyone with a working brain would not believe that you’re a monster in disguise.”

Iudex was silent for some time, not meeting Wriothesley’s eyes.

“Are melusines implicated in this?” he said finally.

“No. No, there’s no connection to them in this stupid theory.”

“Good. That's good. They do love living with humans so much.”

Wriothesley suspected that Iudex was taking things kind of out of proportion again.

“Listen, it’s really nothing…”

“No, no, I understand. It would be so unacceptably horrifying for humans to learn their ruler is a… monster.”

Neuvillette's voice wavered, but his face was impartial, strict, previous lightness gone completely. Wriothesley saw his hands tighten their grip on the handle of his cane a moment before he abruptly stood up.

“I must apologize for impropriety, but I have important business in the Palais which was inappropriate for me to neglect for so long. I must beg your leave to depart.”

Wriothesley stood up too, scraping to understand what he did wrong.

“Wait, it’s not…”

“Thank you for your time, Your Grace.”

Wriothesley shut his mouth, the title feeling like a slap for the first time in his life. The formality and politeness somehow only made it worse. He took a deep breath and willed himself to sound calm.

“I hope you have a nice evening, Monsieur Iudex.”

Neuvillette left in what for his usual dignified pace could be considered a hurry. Wriothesley followed him without being seen, partly to make sure he doesn’t get bothered by inmates and partly on an instinct to investigate. 

At the Fortress’ entrance, he watched Neuvillette walk under the rain, lifting his head upward. The blue strands of his long hair glowed and so did his coat-tails. They extended, shining brilliant bioluminescent blue, trailing behind the Chief Justice, in a moment looking like fish’s fins, then the next - as colossal snake’s coils. Sea waves crashed against the ridge without any wind, rising high, reaching to a lonely glowing figure of Iudex. With bated breath, Wriothesley watched Neuvillette extend a hand, as if catching raindrops - and rain stopped mid-flight in the air, lingering over his palm, waves frozen cresting over the earth. The raindrops gathered in a shuddering spheres, and then stretched upwards, against all laws of gravity.  Wriothesley’s heart skipped a beat as Neuvillette closed his fist and the rain flew backwards to the skies.

Wriothesley stormed back into his office and frantically searched through the reports, pages flying about, until he found the one about vishaps. He looked at the photos, seeing similarities he would never look for before. The dark blue color of vishap’s hide was nearly identical to Neuvillette’s attire, but that was small beans, easily written off as coincidence. Their eyes, bright magenta with white vertical slice of a pupil, resembled Iudex, but there was room for debate, as his eyes were much paler, lilac merging into gentle blue instead of a bright pink, even as white vertical pupil was so similar. What really struck Wriothesley after all this, was actually the little blue feather at the side of the head of both vishaps and Neuvillette. It was identical and looked so… deliberate. It had to be chosen and placed precisely like this. 

Still, this was not enough. He needed more evidence. He needed… he needed answers.

He walked to Jacque's block as quickly as he could without alarming inmates, but when he got to the conspirator’s room, Jacque was sleeping on the bed and a man was sitting on the chair next to him, reading a book. He looked up when Wriothesley walked in and stood up, clumsily dropping the book. He was tall and gangly, had dark hair, Inazuman features and light brown eyes behind the glasses. 

“Who are you?” Wriothesley was really not in the mood for playing games.

“Well, my organization caught wind that you are interested in learning some… historical information, and our poor Jacque is really not the best source, which is why I’m here to answer any questions you have,” the man gave him a groveling smile. “You can call me Enjou.”

“Not here. In my office. Follow me.”

When they got there, Enjou whistled musingly.

“Uh, what a nice office! Must be a pretty sweet gig. I wish I had an office instead of slinking in dump ruins all the time.” He sighed theatrically. “So, I assume your main questions are on the vishap situation. I…”

“Wait,” Wriothesley said, walking up to one of his wall cabinets. “You can’t expect me to just believe you on your word.”

“Oh, of course, of course! You’re free to rough me up a bit first. Maybe a little bit of torture? But only a little bit, I’ve got a glass jaw, haha!”

Wriothesley didn’t live so long as an undisputed champion of fight club to not recognize a freak who gets off on pain. He grimaced, walking up to the table where Enjou was already trying to rifle through the papers. He stopped with an apologetic grin and put his hands up. Wriothesley put a glass vial on the table.

“Drink.”

Enjou raised his eyebrows.

“Are we dining and wining first or?...”

“It’s a truth serum,” it was a secret project of the Sumeru Akademiya, before the sages were overthrown. Dendro Archon reportedly could read the thoughts of people, and sages were trying to replicate the effect at least partially. Wriothesley came into possession of it after using his network to get the sages connected to the needed people in Fontaine institute, as Fontaine was at the cutting edge of mech technology and the sages were apparently building an artificial god. Didn’t pan out for them, but the serum worked. Wriothesley was sure of it, because he tried it on himself first.

“Oh! How exciting! How does it work? Will it perhaps burn my insides in agonizing pain if I lie?”

“Drink,” Wriothesley said through gritted teeth.

Enjou smiled and drank the vial in one shot.

“Well, nothing is burning so far, but the evening is young, haha,” he said, smacking his lips.

Wriothesley took a deep breath.

“Why are you here?”

“Huh? What do you mean? To explain the history to you, as I said.”

“Because of the goodness of your heart? What’s your agenda? Your goal?”

Enhou cleared his throat.

“Well, first of all, I do believe in uncovering and spreading so-called “forbidden” knowledge. But with your particular case can you really question my agenda? I didn’t come to you first. You were the one who sought us out. I didn’t even want to be here! I was doing my own thing without knowing about you, to be honest! But, well, I am in an organization with some unfortunate morons who thought that recruiting a convenient idiot and then sending him into underworld prison to make sure he isn’t heard is a great plan. And then when the Warden takes note of the idiot and gets him to blabber, these same morons go, Enjou, you have to get there, because you’re a vishap expert! Ugh.” 

Enjou shook his head in seemingly sincere frustration.

“But um, yeah, I’m not trying to recruit you or anything. We know how you’ve disposed of House of Hearth agents and how you generally obstruct Fatui’s activity, and we just don't want you to do the same to us. Because we’re not your enemy! So I’m here to provide you with the necessary context to see that.”

Wriothesley drummed his fingers on the table.

“Okay. Start talking about Neuvilette and vishaps.”

“Well, Neuvilette is a Hydro Dragon, that should be obvious. To clarify, Hydro Dragon here means Hydro Dragon Sovereign, because technically all hydro vishaps are hydro dragons. If you didn’t know, which is understandable, as you’re more of a fighter type and not a bookworm like myself, haha, vishaps are primordial elemental creatures, original rulers of this land and mortal foes of humanity. Long before Archons, there were Dragon Sovereigns in charge of each element. Then there was a war with Celestia, specifics of which are not widely known, but we do know that Celestia won, dragons were largely eradicated and the huge chunks of powers of Sovereigns were taken from them and given to the Archons. Hydro Sovereign was killed.” 

Enjou made a dramatic pause, before leaning forward with a grin. “But you see, vishaps reincarnate. Neuvillette is a Hydro Sovereign reborn in a human shape. There was actually an Inazuman prophecy about it, recorded in the Byakuyakoku Collection. That Hydro Dragon will descend in a human form, and it specifically mentions a cane. This really baffles me, to be honest. How could they predict the cane? Why does he even need a cane? Surely not because of any weakness, he’s an immortal dragon, 500 years is very young for him. And the records say when Neuvilette took his position as the Iudex some 400 years ago, he already had a cane. Was he born with it? Like, had he sprung fully formed, with a cane? Did he pick it up as, I don't know, honorary agreement with a prophecy? Or were his fashion choices actually predetermined to the degree that the prophecy knew them millenia ago?”

“Get back on track,” Wriothesley growled.

“Oh, sorry. Hmm, this serum works by forcing you to spell your thoughts out loud, yes? Well, then it’s not my fault I’m even more blabbering than usual!”

Wriothesley clasped his hands together and said slowly, carefully watching Inazuman’s reaction. “Even if he is a hydro sovereign dragon, as you say, this alone does not make him evil, as your conspiracy claims.”

Enjou fixed his glasses. He really had the hands of a bookworm, no work calluses or fighting scars. But there were spots of reddened, peeling skin that looked like burns that didn’t get to fully heal before getting burned again.

“Did you miss the “mortal foe of humanity” bit? But okay, sure. This is Fontaine after all, presumption of innocence and all that. I mean, I can’t read his thoughts to tell you under oath that he’s evil, so don’t take me to court, hehe!” Enjou grinned, clearly pleased at his own joke. “But I can tell what I know and ask some questions. My first question is why, after losing a war and presumably being killed by Celestia, would an ancient dragon god want to serve a servant of Celestia? The Archon, who rules with what is actually his own power? Unless he had some sort of agenda, perhaps? And come to think of it, why would Hydro Archon put a mortal foe of humanity into a position of such institutional power?”

“Are you implying Neuvilette forced Furina to give him the position of Iudex?”

“Well, I wasn’t here!” Enjou raised his hands defensively. “But why else would he become the Iudex?”

“There are higher beings and gods serving archons in other nations. Like Liyue adepti serving Rex Lapis.”

“Morax was known as the prime of the adepti. None of them could compare with him at strength. Same with yokai and Baal in Inazuma, she was the strongest by far. It’s natural that they would accept servitude. But here…” Enjou glanced at Wriothesley with a sly smile. “If you had to make a bet on a direct fight between Neuvillette and Furina, who would you bet on? Come on, I know tales that her own court would not listen to her until the Iudex tapped his cane.”

Wriothesley couldn’t really argue with this. When the Primordial Sea started breaking out, he himself sent for Neuvillette and didn’t even think to ask the actual Archon.

“In that case, why didn’t he just kill her immediately? Why would he play the judge?”

“Well, you see, he would not get his power back from just killing her. It would just pass to the next Archon. No, the Hydro Archon had to destroy her own throne. And running out the ruler requires a long game, as you know very well yourself, You Grace.”

Wriothesley kept a calm face, but something must have given him away, as Enjou grinned predatorily.

“Next set of facts and questions. You know of the infamous Archon trial, of course? When it was revealed that fontanian people are actually oceanids, given human shape by the previous hydro archon, Egeria? And the prophecy of the flood works because Primordial Sea waters dissolve fontanians into their oceanid forms. Well, the flood actually came. Why were fontanians not dissolved?”

“I’m sure you’ll tell me that.”

“Hehe, yes. It was because Neuvillette turned them into real humans with his powers of Hydro Sovereign. How generous of him, yeah? The question is, why did it take him so long? It’s been 500 years, and yet fontanians were made human only minutes before the flood.”

Despite a feeble bookworm posturing, there was a shadow of unhinged madness in his eyes, dangerous enough that in any other case Wriothesley would cut contact. But the stakes were too high right now. He needed to get all the information he could out of this lunatic.

“You might also remember that on the same trial it was proven that Furina is not a Hydro Archon. And I can tell you that the actual Archon, Focalors, was in the Oracle machine the whole time. Sorry, I’m not even trying to pronounce that full name, haha!”

The urge to punch this bastard was overwhelming, but Wriothesley kept himself in check, mostly because he could tell he was being baited into it and he didn’t want to give the piece of shit the satisfaction.

“Anyway, Neuvilette had an audience with her right after a trial, and as result she killed herself and gave him power back. You see, Hydro Archon doesn’t have the ability to turn oceanids into real humans. All of you were just… things, playing at being humans,” Enjou said with a smirk that looked more fascinated than mocking. “But Hydro Sovereign, the original god of life, does have the power to do so. And he also, conveniently, has control over the Primordial Sea, which you, Your Grace, already know as he stopped the flood in your own Fortress.”

Wriothesley raised an eyebrow and Enjou smiled with a shrug.

“Again, I was not there! But I do know Hydro Sovereign controls the Primordial Sea, and that there is an entrance to the Sea in the Meripode Fortress. I also know that there was some emergency in the Fortress, where inmates were told to run as close to the surface as possible, and then Monsieur Iudex visited and the disaster was somehow avoided.”

Wriothesley frowned. 

“If he was really a mortal enemy of humanity, why wouldn’t he just let the gates of Meripode break and the flood happen right there and then? We would all be gone and he wouldn’t need to lift a finger. Instead he ran to help when I… when the Fortress called.”

“And what would that achieve? He still wouldn’t get his power back,” Enjou shrugged dismissively and then smiled, almost wistfully. 

“No, you know what I would do if *I* was the Hydro Sovereign with an ability to take human form? And if the Archon who held my power hostage was relatively weak AND had the prophecy involving a flood of the Sea I control? Well, I’d infiltrate human society, take a position of high authority and make sure the humans not only see me as the personification of law and justice, but also respect me more than their own Archon. And when the prophecy deadline is coming up, I’d make sure I have people loyal to me in some key positions. Such as Royal Duelist… and the Warden of the Fortress.”

“He didn’t make me the Warden,” Wriothesley gritted out. 

“No, but he did make you the Duke, didn’t he?” Enjou smirked with a wink. “Our sources say the Court was not thrilled to give the highest noble title to you. And if the Iudex did not throw his own weight behind it, it would have never come to pass. How generous of him.”

It was true, Wriothesley’s own informants reported that the Court loathed to give him a title, let alone as high as the Duke. Neuvillette was the only one who fought for him and fought hard, because usually Iudex’s one word was enough to make a decision, but here the stalemate lasted for two months. They wanted to compromise and give him the viscount, but Iudex wouldn’t budge, so in the end, they caved.

Wriothesley never asked Neuvillette for the title. Neuvillette never mentioned what he did for the Warden and never dropped anything even as close as a hint of asking anything in return.

Unless you see it as a part of centuries long game, where mundane favors didn’t matter, but being called first to the access of the Primordial Sea did.

“Ah, you’re starting to get it, don’t you?” Enjou sensed blood in the water, like a proper shark would. “Then I would orchestrate a public court hearing to absolutely discredit the current ruler and corner the actual Archon. And when Focalors is forced to talk to me…. I would make a bargain. Saving the lives of all fontanians in exchange of getting my full power back and Focalors dying. Isn't it ironic that the dragon playing human was the one to turn human-shaped water things into actual humans?"

Enjou leaned back against his chair, grinning with satisfaction.

“And then I’d have an entire country loyal to me as a ruler, which would make a great foothold to use for attacking Celestia.”

Wriothesley took a deep breath.

“You really expect me to take you on your word? You might believe it yourself, which will pass the truth serum, but the word of a lunatic is not evidence.”

“Oh, of course not! I would never expect you to take my lowly word for it. Instead, why don’t you take Monsieur Iudex’s word?”

Enjou made a dramatic gesture of spilling a heap of conches onto the table. Wriothesley raised his eyebrows, when the other man poked one of them awkwardly.

“Now that I have reclaimed one of the Seven Authorities from the hands of the usurpers, I have regained my true form,” a calm voice that was undoubtedly Neuvillette, said out of nowhere. “I am now a fully fledged dragon, powerful enough to judge the rest of the gods. My final destiny is to judge the Usurper-King in the heavens above.”

“This could be faked,” Wriothesley said automatically, just to argue, but his heart already fell.

“You wound me! These are his words, and I spent an entire night fishing them out for you, I’ll have you know. It’s quite hard to capture this. You’re welcome to listen to all of them and see for yourself.”

Almost against his will, Wriothesley reached out and touched one of the conches.

“…I shall fulfill my vow to judge all of The Seven in turn, even if the sky should fall and the ground give way.”

Wriothesley took an abrupt breath through his teeth. Enjou sighed and stood up.

“I think it’s better for you to listen to this alone. After, you’re welcome to reach out to us, but please don’t make any hasty decisions. I’ll see you soon, Your Grace!”

Enjou walked down the stairs, and by the time Wriothesley got to them, there was no one there. The Duke couldn’t bring himself to focus on that though. Instead, he walked up to one of the wall cabinets and took out a bottle of whiskey he was saving up as a possible gift.

He didn’t bother with the glass. He fell down into the chair in front of the conches and clenched his fingers on the bottle, icy veins springing up from under them. He took a sip and touched another conch.

“…my grievances with the usurpers have yet to be settled... They owe a debt of blood that shall not be forgotten.”

He drank, staring blindly into the distance, and listened, and the quiet words burned worse than whiskey sliding down his throat. He caught himself on a familiar thought. “This can’t be happening. This is too monstrous.” The same feverish thoughts he had when he discovered the truth about his foster parents.

As if by now he shouldn’t have learned that nothing is too monstrous in this world.

“As a survivor of the dragon race who has regained my full dragonhood, I must fulfill my oath and obligations even if it means returning all the water in the oceans back to the heavens.”

It really did sound exactly like Neuvillette. Wriothesley tried to find the lie, something that sounded fake, but not only the voice, but the cadence and word choice fit. And it sounded calm, impartial as usual too. And then there were hydro vishaps appearing in Erinnyes…

Fuck, was it really that easy to fool him? Was he really this big of a fool? He learned to distrust sweet words and warm smiles, and he was so sure that he wouldn’t get caught in the same lies ever again, even if he sacrificed his ability to love for this. But all it took was a seeming opposite, direct and harsh, too cold and intimidating to appear manipulative, but endearingly awkward just sometimes, just enough to make him believe that… That there was something true and clear in this rotten world. That he could trust in *someone*.

“Nothing will stop me from rendering judgment on each of The Seven.” 

He went through all of the recordings, frantically at first, wanting to find contradictions, then, when none were found, numbly re-listening to the few that hit the worst.

“…also the destroyer of the present order, the one who shall judge all gods, and the foe of humanity. “

Wasn’t it too obvious in hindsight? Why would the Iudex stake his own reputation on Wriothesley’s title? How could you not see it coming? Oh, because you thought you “deserve” it for turning this dog-fighting pit of a prison into something with a modicum of fairness? Because you thought he recognized your redemption? Gods, what are you, fucking fourteen again, did you learn nothing, why would anyone ever care about you, you naive goddamn idiot?

Soon, the bottle was somehow almost done. At this point he was running one recording on repeat, mindless and purposeless except for repeating slashes of pain, familiar rhythm like the knife on his wrists years ago.

"Hydro Dragon, Hydro Dragon, don't cry." Whoever had penned that rhyme, as well as the Fontainians who came to believe in it, must not have known the Hydro Dragon all that well, considering that they thought the Hydro Dragon could cry. What did they take said Dragon for, some sort of bleeding heart who grieved for humans and the heavens alike?”

If this was true… If this was true, then Wriothesley didn’t just get fooled himself. Then he helped a monster take control of the country and potentially use it in war against heavens. 

He clenched his hand and it took him a moment to realize he broke the bottle he was holding in it. That pain from glass pieces in his palm felt small and distant now. But at last, it spurned him into action.

If this was true, he only had one shot. He’d already told Neuvillette of the dragon conspiracy, like a good little idiot eager to please. And any tyrant worth his salt would make sure to take him out after his, especially now that he outlived his purpose in giving access to Meripode vaults. He might have some time because of how oblivious he was, dismissing the conspiracy openly, but it couldn’t be long. 

He couldn’t take his time. He couldn’t hope for the better. He had to act like it’s the worst option possible. More than anything, he needed to confront Neuvillette, dragon Sovereign or not. He had to fix this, no matter the cost.

He realized he needed leverage. Brute strength was out of the question. Even before the flood, Neuvillette absolutely destroyed Fatui Harbinger in one flash, quicker than anyone in the audience could see what happened. Wriothesley would put himself against Harbringer with no hesitation, but he wasn’t an idiot. If this was how powerful Iudex was before, then after allegedly gaining his full power, there was no way Wriothesley could threaten him. No, he needed something else.

He took out the paper and wrote a note, taking care to not stain it with blood. Fortunately, he held the bottle in his left hand, so he could keep it out of the way.

“....and so confess that I, Wriothesley, Warden of the Fortress of Meripode, killed Chief Justice, Iudex Neuvillette.”

He finished the note and carefully put in his signature, then folded the paper into an envelope and closed it with his personal seal. Then he walked up to a safe, one of the hidden ones, and punched in a code. When the safe opened, he rummaged in it for a moment, until finally taking out two vials.

This was sold to him as the poison that could kill a god.