#play like this. as they should. what are we even doing otherwise

[iheartvelma]

Here's what I wrote:

You know, one of the jobs of journalists is to tell the truth, even if it's ugly and sometimes said inelegantly. I learned that in school ages ago.

It's also one of the jobs of citizens in a free, democratic country to resist totalitarianism, and journalists to tell the truth, to enable them to do that.

We do not play "both sides" or pretend there's any sort of equivalence between people that want to and do inflict real harm on vulnerable groups, and people that advocate for… you know…not doing that.

This is the paradox of tolerance - we have to be intolerant towards intolerance, otherwise it creeps into our state houses and our laws and the White House. We do not give it leeway or second chances.

Crucially, we do not surrender in advance.

What Sam Kuffel said on her personal Instagram account was perhaps inelegant, maybe even rude. But it was the truth. Anyone with eyes could see it. If you pretend it was something else, you're surrendering the narrative in advance.

Are you afraid you might lose viewers (from your very pro-police lineup of all-detective-shows all-the-time, I mean, c'mon, it's CBS!)

Well, I ask you; do you want viewers who want to harm your other viewers?

I would rather that you be brave and stand up to fascism and so-called 'christian nationalism' rather than kowtow to it.

I don't know if you have any WWII veterans on your staff or in your alumni, or in your extended family and friends. But maybe you should ask them what it was like to liberate death camps, because normalizing fascism as "just a new kind of politics" is where this leads.

You owe Sam Kuffel a public apology, and offer to rehire her with a raise. You'd be very lucky if she accepts.

[ariadne-mouse]

I keep coming back to like, if the entire point of Ludinus & BH's plan here was only to prevent a second mass destruction event like Calamity - the gods being too big to fight with each other without mass collateral damage, and having the ability to wipe out a city like Aeor - then I could see there being a logic in "the gods gotta go, one way or another", setting aside the possibility of mortals to once more develop that same power as Aeor did in the Malleus Factorum, and notably, that we don't know if the BH Third Option will be an effective de-powering of the gods themselves in perpetuity, since it's unclear what will happen to their divinity, how permanent the transformation would be, or what Predathos might do (stay as a presence in a Vessel as insurance? be released and stay on its own? be released and go, taking the threat against the gods with it?). But again, setting all that aside, I can see the logic of looking at the Calamity and going "we must prevent this from recurring at all costs", and not trusting that the gods will never reach the unanimity break the divine gate, and the story digging into the ethics of ends and means. Sorry, gods, you're just too big to be here - shrink or GTFO. (Note if this is the case, this would/should also apply to the Titans if they were still in play, as they have the same widescale destructive capacity.)

But Ludinus and BH also heavily cite more day-to-day systemic oppressions and inequalities among the world of mortals, perpetrated *by* mortals. The power of temples, the intrusion of worshippers on communities like Hearthdell, and otherwise the presence of gods-based religion in all facets of life creating unequal outcomes. Now, I tend to agree with meta positing that we didn't get a strong narrative of gods-based religion being the hegemonic power in Exandria, only that, like other power structures from, say, governments - it exists and can be used for good or ill, with disagreements about what "good" and "ill" are. But Ludinus certainly wasn't spending any time trying to make the Empire's government more agnostic or materially improve the lives of the common people there or anywhere else, despite his vast influence (and he maintained allies like Ikithon, whose idea of a youth enrichment program was the Volstruckers). Critically, the idea that his or BH's plan will effect systemic mortal change hinges on the gods' fate changing the power of their followers, who comprise the presence of gods-based religion on Exandria itself, and these situations where inequality is indicated.

However, we also don't yet know exactly how the gods taking any of the 3 choices - become mortal, run, be eaten - will materially effect divine power that is wielded by mortals. Maybe it will change, maybe it will diminish either permanently or temporarily, maybe it will be the same with the rationale it is powered by mortal faith as opposed to some intrinsic god-stuff. We just don't know yet. Moreover, even if the powers vanished, the faith and the associated sociopolitical structures might remain. It feels like a gap in logic to me which weakens the conviction of the road BH are taking now, and tempers the triumph that this is the "best" solution, because it's still unclear how it addresses the actual problem statement of "no more Calamity AND no more inequality among mortals from gods-religion".

One aspect I didn't touch upon above is that of answering prayers and granting boons, which sort of sits in the middle between the gods' own power and what mortals wield, and is part of the tapestry of the gods' influence in mortal life. Ludinus's plan to kill the gods did follow that any sort of "favoritism" would no longer be in play, but the BH Third Option is less clear on that. It is certainly possible that the gods will become unable to answer any prayer or grant any boon in the same fashion they might have before, and this would very literally remove the issue of "unequally answered prayers" for a measure of that concept: all phone lines are down, no one gets to make a call. But neither Ludinus's plan nor BH's would necessarily solve situations like Bor'dor's, where his mother took on the punishment intended for him believing that her faith in Melora would protect her - or at least would not be a linear "this kind of thing definitely won't happen anymore" because mothers protecting their children and faith in optimal outcomes are not solely the providence of religion, nor is imperfect access to power and safety. The kid Bor'dor accidentally harmed was rich, and this informed the severity of the punishment/lack of forgiveness - there is a very local class struggle aspect there which the gods played no part in, and which their removal would not prevent.

The BH Third Option may be appealing in its potential bloodlessness, but it's also so recent and zoomed out that BH themselves haven't fully revisited what more specific problems they are actually trying to solve, and the story on the way there hasn't scaffolded sufficiently to make it clear. Perhaps there is a narrative to be told in BH taking action despite uncertainty - "we don't know that this will change anything or everything but we have to try" - but that is still weakened by the insufficient exploration of religious hegemony in everyday life, and in BH themselves not solidifying their trajectory of intent earlier (in either direction!) even if their means were uncertain. Like, there is absolutely a version of this whole thing which could have better supported the rationale to shake the etch-a-sketch, whether framing it as "right" or "justified" or even just "logical" from a character-driven arc perspective, but just that's not quite what we've gotten, nor does it seem to be explicitly about about making a desperate and imperfect choice. It's somewhere in the muddy middle.

Anyway, I find it interesting to try and follow these throughlines - and very eager to see what happens next, because it will help define some of these ramifications more clearly, which will absolutely make for a fascinating end of C3 and C4 world state whatever they are. I'm here for it! I'm also still enjoying the show, enjoy BH as characters, etc, all of that, if that need be stated. I will say - this is all certainly taking a chance and rolling the dice!

[ridercutting]

blade stageplay (saitama) translation (part 1)

ok i've translated the first 2 scenes (first 15 minutes) from the blade stageplay (saitama). putting it under the cut ↓ it's a hard wip in terms of tone/ phrasing/ some grammar etc but i'll edit it proper later, i just want to get something out for now. enjoy!!

"The spell binding the king of time has been lifted, bringing chaos to the world once again."

---

Hajime: What in the world happened? I'm supposed to have become a human. So why am I the Joker again..?

King: That form suits you much better, Joker.

Hajime: Spade's Category King… Why have you…

King: It's kinda a pain but we're gonna resume the battle fight, okay? For me, and you two Jokers~

Hajime: Kenzaki? It can't be helped. Henshin!

King: It's fine, even if you don't transform.

King: What are you holding back for? Even though you're actually suffering. Hurry up and turn back into the Joker!

Hajime: Answer me! Who is it that released you!

King: I'll be taking this~

Hajime: Give it back! You didn't have any interest in the battle fight. What are you playing at only now?

King: I hit a nerve, huh? That's right. This battle means nothing to me. Just as long as I get to mess up what you and Blade have done.

Hajime: What?!

King: Now then. Your power is mine now, Joker.

Hajime: Kenzaki…

Tachibana: Hajime!

Hajime: Tachibana!

Tachibana: What's going on Hajime? Why have the Undead…

Hajime: We'll talk later. For now…!

Tachibana: Right. Henshin!

King: How troublesome… After them!

Now, What comes next?

I know that. But if you don't discard your hand at the most opportune time…

More importantly… If we use this guy, we'll be able to see something much more interesting.

Otherwise…

Mantis: This is…

King: Yo! Long time no see, Mantis.

Mantis: Caucasus!

King: Why don't you calm down? I don't have any intention of fighting you.

Mantis: What?

King: I want you to lend me your power. Battle fight is not yet over. Because the two jokers have delayed its conclusion.

Mantis: Joker… Two of them?

King: You know about it too right? The rider system. That humans have used that to become undead. I want you to seal the Joker.

Mantis: What are you scheming?

King: Nothing at all. If I use my power, I can even force you to obey me…Though it'd be more interesting if I didn't have to.

Mantis: Fine. But after I defeat the Joker, you're next.

King: Hahaha! Interesting. I'd like to see you try!

----

Tachibana: Are you alright, Hajime? What in the world is going on?

Hajime: Tachibana, do you remember that I became a human?

Tachibana: You're a human? What do you mean?

Hajime: Some time ago, Kenzaki and I got wrapped up in a particular battle, during which we lost the Joker's power and became human.

Tachibana: He… Kenzaki has turned back into a human?

Hajime: Yes. All the Undead were gone, and the battle fight was settled… At least it was supposed to have been.

Tachibana: If that's true, then why…?

Hajime: It's the Overseer. Other than that, there's no one else who could have pulled off something like this. But I don't feel it's presence at all.

Tachibana: Several cards disappeared from BOARD. Could there be any relation…?

Hajime: I don't know..

Tachibana: For now, you should hide yourself. I'll deal with sealing those undead.

Hajime: I'm sorry, Tachibana

Tachibana: It's for the sake of our friendship.

Mantis: I won't let that happen!

Mantis: Joker! This is payback for back then!

Hajime: What are you talking about?

Mantis: For the humiliation of being the Spider's puppet and being defeated! What's wrong! Give me your all!

Hajime: I… I won't fight!

Mantis: What'd you say?!

Hajime: I wont… I won't go so far as to trample on Kenzaki's resolve.

Mantis: Like I care! Fight, Joker! The one I want to fight is that beast that bared its instincts, that ruthless killer! Only by defeating you, can I regain my pride as an Undead!

Hajime: That's your wish? And yet, I still won't fight!

Mantis: If so, then I'll draw the Joker back out of you!

Wake up! Joker!

Hajime: I…

Mantis: That's right! That's the way! Release your instincts! Joker!

Amane: Hajime-san!

Hajime-san.

Mantis: …What?

Hajime: I am… a human!

Mantis: You…! This kinda…

Tachibana: Hajime!

King: Where are you going, Mantis?

Mantis: Even if I take on such an opponent, my wish won't be fulfilled.

King: Did you forget? I was the one that unsealed you.

Mantis: I fight for the sake of my own goals. I had no interest in anything else from the very beginning.

King: Is that so? Even though I thought it was just getting interesting…

Mantis: What?

King: I guess I should just have forced your hand after all. Like the rest of them.

Hajime: These guys are…

Tachibana: The cards that disappeared! So you were the one that had them!

King: That's right! Well, have fun!

King: I guess I'll start by getting rid of you, the hindrance.

Hajime: Tachibana!

Tachibana: Hajime!

King: Don't get in the way.

Fine then. I'll seal the joker.

Tachibana: Hajime!

Hajime: Tachibana

Tachibana: Hajime!

Hajime: Tachibana… I'll leave… Kenzaki to you.

King: Game over~

I'll take this.

Tachibana: Hajime!

King: Such a pity, isn't it? All of your useless struggles up till now, has been rendered into nothing with just this. Get him.

Mutsuki: Henshin!

Tachibana: Mutsuki!

Mutsuki: Are you alright, Tachibana-san?

King: Leangle, it's been a while hasn't it? Ohh, so you've been able to suppress the power of the Category Ace. Mutsuki: This is… Spade's Category King. And also…

Tachibana-san, Let's retreat for now.

King: Ah… well, whatever. Joker was successfully sealed. Next up is Blade. This time I'll hunt you down. The rest of you, chase after them!

---

that's all for now, ill probably come back and edit parts of this post every once in a while. probably i'll get out a proper tl once i finish the rough (mutuals feel free to hmu if youre interested in proofreading/ qc etc!!!!!) and tell me if you spot any weird mistakes lol.

if anyone wants the jp raws feel free to ask as well ^_^

[eluxcastar]

One of Repetition — Chapter One

── ୨୧：arlecchino x reader

୨୧﹑synopsis :: your sudden dismissal from your position of harbinger, and the fatui as a whole, marks the end of the largest chapter in your life. you had never known a day without the tsaritsa's guidance, and you are set to never know another with it.

୨୧﹑genre :: angst

୨୧﹑content :: fem reader, reader is a harbinger, reader has a pyro vision, capitano is still not human and I haven’t played fontaine or natlan ngl, possible ooc, ACTUALLY EDITED FOR ONCE OMG RIRI CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT

୨୧﹑words :: 4.6k

so erm. nooooo it hasn't been like two months since I updated 👀 what are you talking aboutttt. so, yeah, that took me forever (mostly because I was planning things), but I have the next chapter written already, so it'll be just an editing job, most likely 😔 I had this one prewritten too, but ig I decided I hated it. I ended up rewriting most of it. we aren't even out of oneshot content yet omg 😭

my head is on backwards rn it's eleven pm, and I'm supposed to be beta reading someone's fic for them 💀 I just spent all day struggling to fix this

also I have a discord server 🙏 you should join it I spill spoilers there, and there are fun people

CROSSPOSTED ON AO3

Months pass before there is talk of the crowning of a new Harbinger, the people abuzz with the news and eager to know all they can, preferably before the aristocrats feel like sharing the night of the event. You considered attending the ceremony but ultimately decided against it. You may have the courage to do so, but you are certainly not stupid enough to wander into the waiting heart of the Fatui's clutches. You have waited patiently for this moment and can easily wait longer to hear the news.

No longer treating the inn like a home, you settled somewhere in the plains of another nation only a few weeks after you had first arrived there, sensing the barkeep was getting sick of you and the attention you were drawing to his otherwise obscure establishment. 

People settled there for a night, saw you were there, and word of mouth lured others as they boasted of their encounters with you to travellers who would come to see you. While this influx of new customers certainly boosted business, it also had the unintended consequence of driving away those who preferred to keep a low profile and valued its place as being for those 'in the know'. In other words, while you were great for a boom in business, you were bad for long-term business. 

The barkeep pushing the mora you tried to pay him to pay for another night was enough to send the message he wanted you gone, out by morning. The idea you were not to come back for quite some time was clear to you in the look he gave you. 

Liyue, on the other hand, is filled with mountains and teeming with visitors who have come to witness the highly anticipated Rite of Descension. Surprisingly, the influx of tourism only adds to the overall enjoyment of your experience. You would think that tourism would hinder your time there, but on the contrary, it makes it better in a way. The locals are expecting an influx of outsiders to come to see the Geo Archon in person, and, as a result, they are not only willing to hire help for the time but also serve later at food stalls, and the place is livelier. 

People notice you less as you blend into a crowd of tourists who also don't belong, and you manage to slip under the radar.

You have no interest in the Rite of Descension nor the Geo Archon, and most of your time is spent outside the harbour.

Wangshu Inn, a mid-point between the harbour and the border to Mondstadt, is still within Liyue. It is quieter—which is neither good nor bad—and home to some very understanding owners. They ask so few questions it almost alarms you, but their non-intrusive nature is a welcome change. You crave respite from the chaos and theatrics you were revelling in as a reprieve from the stress you were under, wondering how you would live your life now. At one point, you relished being hailed as a hero by many, but it soon became overwhelming, and you found yourself trapped in the clutches of Brighella once again.

Whether by design or happenstance, your identity had begun to consume your life again, and if you wanted to have any hope of living outside of Brighella, then that had to stop. And so, you sought a place to lay down your burdens and unwind, leading you to where you are now.

You arrive as your old self, and despite clinging to it since your travels had begun, you remove every piece of your armour for what you intend to be a long time and leave it all neatly arranged in a corner like a pile of folded laundry for when you eventually return to it.

Something compels you to finally don the fresh outfit you acquired during your journey through Fontaine. You collect the many pieces from where you stuffed them into your bag and lay them out before undressing from your underclothes. Admittedly, floor-length layered dresses, bustles and extravagance are not your style. If they were, you probably wouldn't have spent years making clinking noises every time you moved your arms. Years of being cooped up in a heavy suit of armour have attuned you to a hulking weight dragging down your every step.

But…

There's something alluring about trying out a new look, especially when it involves pants that don't weigh more than a third of your body weight. Besides, you always kind of liked the showy outfits of Fontaine anyway, just…not yet. Now seems like a good time to dip your toes in.

You almost don't recognise yourself when you finally see yourself in the mirror. Perhaps you got too used to seeing a metal helmet staring back at you and a suit of armour for a body, but the fresh air against your skin and lighter clothes feels…good. 

For the first time in a while, you feel free.

You look at yourself and see a girl. You've always seen a guard or a statue staring back at you, and you can't see the eyes hidden beneath that mask. What you're met with is a girl with messy hair and colourless eyes desperately trying to tame it down as if she's become self-aware that her helmet mussed her hair—it's a girl whose laziness is laid bare.

You watch your own hand pat uselessly at a knot as if that will wish the tangle to stay down by the force of sheer determination. Were those knots always there? You swear they weren't. Though perhaps foolishly, you hope not. You've been walking around like this for almost two weeks now.

Maybe that's why they tried to talk you into getting your hair done…

It's pointless. Your arm drops back to your side. You can't help but admire your reflection as you don a dress that falls just about your knees, even if you're doing it while you stumble to pull on the pair of boots you got with it while still standing. You surrender to crouch down and tie the laces.

When you stand, you return to marvelling at the sight of yourself. The boots are nice. There are no creases at the bends, and you notice the unmistakable clean sheen of new leather that draws a smile to your face. The dress is different—maybe too different—as you're not sure you recognise yourself. It's a dark dress meant to be paired with an undershirt. The saleswoman managed to talk you into one with a collar laced with frills and tied at the wrists and neck with bows—it's a popular style there, supposedly—and isn't this whole 'rebranding' of your identity supposed to be about fitting in? A vest-like piece pulled around your chest belts with a loop of fabric at the front; you assume it was made to vaguely resemble the corsets worn beneath the puffier dresses you shied away from.

The new outfit is making you giddy—too giddy for your taste. You don't recall having such an innate pep in your step, only one that felt deserved, but this is different. A suit of armour, no matter how shiny it may be, has never made you twirl like an overeager dancer just to see the fabric of your skirt catch the air and flow around your legs, only to fall back into place when you stop.

You find satisfaction is usually earned through hardship and perseverance, derived from a fundamental need to complete something you started. This is different. For once, your satisfaction with yourself comes from the beginning of something. This time, happiness comes to you without reason, a given right in this world where you revel in the lightness of your steps and the quiet sway of gentle, breathable fabric.

The jagged teeth you see in your smile can be hidden away behind a tight smile that looks awkward on your face. You ignore the sharp points you can only compare to an animal and pretend your eyes bear a more saturated hue.

Nothing significant has been accomplished. It's not like when you first descended the Abyss and returned unscathed despite your doubts. It's simple. It's human. It doesn't even seem like you made much progress toward becoming yourself when you lay it all out on paper. You bought clothes and wore them, that's it. 

Something about it feels so much like yourself. The freedom to stray from what you thought you were until now, something you hadn't dared to try before.

Yeah...you should unpack that hairbrush next.

-

One thing you like about Wangshu Inn is how it serves even people who aren't staying there. The ground floor overlooking the water is designated as almost a kind of restaurant. People filter in and out to be served, stay for lunch, meet with friends, and take breaks from their missions. It is meant as a place for travelling merchants, but you find that is not all its patrons see in it.

You are not nearly as sociable as you were in the Snezhnayan bar you were at, but this seems more manageable anyway. People leave you alone and don't crowd your table and head with presence and noise. You actually manage to relax when you're no one, even if you're fidgety and idle, because you have no idea what relaxing is supposed to look like when you're used to spending all of your time doing something, being somewhere, talking to someone. Peace is as hard-earned as victory, and the unfamiliar feeling of relaxation is both comforting and unsettling.

You strike quaint conversations, all of which feel far more enriching than any grandiose, embellished tale you got off a lowly wanderer attempting to make a name for himself on your stage. It's been a long time since you set foot in Liyue, and you don't think you've ever been here for leisure. The very concept of leisure is as foreign to you as the modern lands you're now travelling.

You wait by the lift for a ride back up to your room. A merchant stands by your side, shifting his weight between his feet as he stares up at the descending contraption that seems to laze down to the lower level of the inn.

"Are you from the Adventurers' Guild?" he asks unexpectedly. Your attention snaps from your daydream back to him as you're rudely jolted from your reverie. You're suddenly hyperaware of yourself, the dumb look on your face that you're used to concealing, and the fact that you've been caught off guard.

"No," you answer. Lying to the merchant is useless when it's too easy to disprove, even when it would serve you well.

"Huh. I thought you were," the merchant remarks. "You seemed like you would be. If you've come looking for work, they'll have a place for you."

"What's it to you?" you cannot help but ask.

"I have a transport job that needs doing," he explains with a dismissive wave of his hand. "It would save me a trip and the paperwork of putting up a job."

You nod, and the conversation trails off as the empty lift lowers before the both of you, jolting to a stop as it collides with the floorboards beneath it.

The two of you step on through the open side facing you and settle somewhere around the centre, though he drifts to perch his hand against the side for a hint more stability. You notice how he avoids looking over the edge, focused on what's directly ahead of him.

"They accept anyone?" you continue, wondering how far you'd have to go with your lies to get in. Admittedly, you'd also like to distract the man a bit, even if you'd deny that part given the chance.

He looks at you with a strange gleam in his eyes like he's not sure whether to thank you or scoff at what he must think is your pity. You have no pity for anyone.

"A friend of mine said they'll take anyone," he confirms. "All you need is power, and you have a vision, so I'm sure you'll be fine."

Everything seems to think that. Visions are some god-given, unattainable relic that represents pure power. Maybe they are. They're directly attached to the gnosis every archon received at the end of the archon war. They were Celestia's harbingers of conclusion—the end of an era. After that, though the gods could fight for eternity, it would be meaningless as long as each gnosis was irrevocably tied to a land and a being who possessed the power to crush each of them in an instant. Visions are pathetic slivers of the world compared to those chess pieces.

You have long grown tired of correcting people on that front.

"Will I have to stay here?" you ask instead, meandering back to the idle conversation you imagine humans enjoy far more than batty old ramblings of the past. People from Liyue snicker and sneer in the face of outsiders about their archon walking by their side, but their understanding of their archon is not as it once was.

Descending once a year is nothing compared to living amongst them as Morax used to.

"They have branches everywhere," he assures you. "They communicate with each other. I'll be here if you ever find my commission."

You knew that already, but you needed something to ask. You're saved by the bell as the lift jostles at the top of the inn, the ropes coming to yet another sudden stop and pausing to allow you to step off onto the balcony that oversees the lake and the landscape around you. Your departure is wordless as the merchant doesn't stop to say his goodbyes, eager to meet the other man waiting for him by the guard rail, who greets him with a tight smile and a handshake.

The Adventurers' Guild... You recall it forming. You've never known much about it, however, as it faded into the back of your mind practically the moment it was created. It fell into your version of obscurity naturally and never felt relevant when you were more concerned with the malformed creatures of the Abyss trying to kill you. Monitoring it was never your job, and most adventurers who find their way into the far reaches that you used to don't make it out to tell the tale.

Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad to have a look at it when you get a chance. It could give you something to do.

-

Idling is in your nature, as it has been for years.

You idle because you have grown used to it. Patience, waiting, watching. You never liked it, but it is a constant that lingers. Unfortunately, as expected, you are sick of idling. It grew dull way back when you spent night after night bragging to an inn of drunks about something you never did.

So, you cement your name for the very first time.

For hours—perhaps a day—you paced your room at the inn, agonising over an answer to a question you weren't even sure would be posed. Innkeepers don't question paying hands. Adventurers do, especially guilds of them. They want to know all they can.

And you don't have a name.

Perhaps you once did—you certainly can't recall—but whatever you have been called, you no longer have a right to such names, not Brighella and not anything else. You need a new name, and in the absence of your mother, you will have to make your own.

But you cannot decide what.

You spent the night wondering and then the morning, as you woke with a sense of unease in the pit of your stomach. It feels more real than it has ever felt before, the weight of such a thing finally bearing down on you more than drinking and lying and weaving tales of a great adventure you never went on could ever hope to. You suspect people know that many stories you told were embellished or complete lies, but the appeal was never in truth.

The appeal was in a good story to entertain the drunken, and names are not made solely for drunken ears.

Before you descend the tree of Wangshu Inn, you have made your choice.

By the time you come to stand before the two organisers of the Liyue Adventurers' Guild on duty today, you force yourself to make peace with it and scribble the only way you can think to spell it down on the paper they give to you. It's the same old handwriting you recognise to be your own, not made for documents, signed by the weathered hand of a warrior making up a signature on the spot in the cursive hand you have always had.

You signed most of your words to the Tsaritsa that way, told of the deaths of a thousand men, more truthful tales of your ventures through the Abyss.

You withhold the stories, sliding the paper back to the woman with a cursory glance her way, seeking the answers to questions you don't want to ask. She takes it from you, collecting it in her hands and reading it in a brief flicker of her eyes across the page. 

"It's official things," she had told you. "The Snezhnaya branch wants documents of all new and current members, especially now with everything that's going on there."

"Of course," you respond, careful to measure your words and keep from spilling too much. "You can never be too careful."

They're searching for you.

Whether the Fatui wants them to or not, you can't say—perhaps it's someone else's prerogative. You wonder if the thought of reward has crossed everyone's mind as the rumours of your existence travel across Teyvat like wildfire. The promise of potential riches—something actually quite common in the snowy lands—is sure to lure everyone eager for mora to chase the traitorous criminal who tries to escape justice. Reward is how anything gets done in Snezhnaya. 

You're glad you left the armour in favour of the simple knee-length dress you find so much joy in. You're no longer imitating the image of Brighella, as her killer once did.

IIt is no longer a nameless charlatan they're after. You know they'll find you soon.

-

'Soon' seems to come quicker than you expected it would as the walk back, though providing no particular company, does present the same dangers as always—along with some new additions. You thought that the stray fatuus that litter the streets near the Northland Bank would be your greatest foes, a collective of walking spies who notice every passerby with the same keen eyes Pantalone personally carved into each of their loyalty-riddled heads by hand. You've noticed stares before, as you imagine many do not, or which they grew used to.

You eye them back with a scrutiny that you struggle to hide, eyes wandering down the winding stairs to a pair who talk amongst themselves without much regard, engrossed in their conversation. You doubt they would recognise you even if you passed too closely.

You narrowly avoid a salesman haggling you for attention, waving them off and hurrying past before they can finish their pitch, let alone convince you into forking over a single mora as you speed across the bridge from the harbour in pursuit of your only current home. The wind in your hair, as it never really has been before, the cold able to reach your skin in gentle touches, the caresses of wisps.

"Excuse me, miss?" a voice calls to you. From where? Your head whips around in search of the source, first forward, then above to the rock you recall seeing by the edge of the banister. 

Finally, you turn around, faced with the sight of a woman you've never met speaking with a voice you've never heard. It doesn't matter as you take in the deep purple uniform of a cicin mage with a hood adorned by two antenna-like pointed ears and littered with electric violet jewels to match the swinging lantern that crackles to life with a hearty glow—a member of the Fatui. 

The top half of her face is obscured by a mask, as is customary for most of the Fatui, but it is unmistakable the way her teeth flash in an unkind smile as you meet her gaze beneath the cover concealing her eyes. She stands with a stiff posture that gives away the impatience in her every breath and twitch of anticipation.

Has retribution finally come to stare you in the face?

Seconds pass, stuck in an unending standstill, the air thick with looming tension. Silence is all that remains, save for the songs of birds and the whispers of breeze—it is as if neither of you are even there. 

At last, she presents you with a letter. It is sealed with a long-dried splatter of wax decorated in the raised details of the stamp of a Harbinger. She extends it towards you, expecting you to take it sooner rather than later, as she taunts it before you with a jeering wave of the envelope.

"From the Damselette," she explains curtly.

You snatch the object from her with a huff of annoyance, having half the mind to snap for it, though you realise quickly enough that you have no actual authority over her—not in her mind. You look it over, taking in the seal—indeed the mark of the Damselette—and flipping it to check the front to spy if your title is penned upon it. It's blank.

"What could the Damselette want with me?" you ask her.

"Perhaps a warning." The words slip by, quiet but noticeable, immediately catching your attention. You raise an eyebrow at her. 

Her contempt for your very presence unveils itself with the sharpness of her words, the darkness brought into the light with the ugly sight of an expression that reads like the rot of a once-fresh fruit. 

You're very aware of the fact that her finding you means she knows something—perhaps more than she should. You are not familiar with her. It is unlikely that she ever worked under your command, though you'd be a liar to say you memorised every face that matched a name in your division. However, it is possible that she might've held a certain level of regard for Brighella, which has since turned to hostility as rumours of her arrogant killer run rampant. 

"I don't know. I'm not privy to those things," the mage adds.

In thought, you trace her from head to toe, scrutinising her for any indication of where her animosity came from. However, there is nothing that gives away her motives. You break your gaze away from her and glance down at the letter in your hand. 

"Walk with me," you say without leaving room for argument as you begin to lead her down the path away from the harbour. "I suggest you get a better hold of your tongue. They don't like it when you're rude to their guests."

Her smile does not waver, even as she obeys your invitation. Maybe she knows you were not asking. "You are not a guest," she retorts pointedly, stating that fact with glaringly false politeness.

You scoff despite your indignance. "Everyone who receives correspondence from a Harbinger is a guest," you tell her with a similar sharpness.

You suppose you can't fault her disdain when all is said and done.

The cicin mage quickens to fall into step beside you, an almost peaceful stroll taking the place of your standoff on the bridge. The mockery of something quaint is… pleasant in its own way though suffocating in another. Walking her somewhere that can't be seen from the city should not be too difficult. Maybe then, you'll finally get some peace and quiet. 

From somewhere tucked away in her clothing, she pulls what appears to be a knife from your peripheral vision and points it at you, but you tilt your head just enough to find it is only a blunt letter opener balanced in the palm of her hand, waiting to be picked up.

"I was ordered to stay until you had read the letter to deliver her your response," she says.

You pluck the knife from her hand, spinning it into place with a flick of your fingers—some fool's party trick you picked up gods know how many years ago—and free the contents with a single swipe of the blade, hearing the satisfying tear of the paper you couldn't help but always like. 

Just as the cicin mage believes you are a murderer, the letter addresses you as such—as if it were addressed to the Damselette's dear friend's killer in this volatile hour. Your lies have reached Columbina's ears. Moreover, she is playing along with them with a coy string of tall tales and pretty lies you imagine sound nicer to the ears of all who hear them than a single word from your mouth ever has. That's why she's the one with a title like Damselette rather than you. You never did make a very convincing helpless maiden.

You expected to find scrawls of threats and unfair deals demanded of you in the name of Her Majesty, but it is instead only an innocuous update on what is happening regarding your position—the reassurance that they have not violated the terms of the agreement made. All of the danger you currently face is your own fault, as Columbina less-than-subtly implies to you through her no-doubt carefully worded reasoning and explanations. All you see is a half-hearted apology and an excuse to tell you that you've once again made trouble for her, though you should've expected a scolding. You've earned many and received few. Preparations set them back, supposedly.

While you imagine preparing not only a Harbinger's funeral but a ceremony to announce their successor does take time, it would not take this much time with how prepared they were to kill you off in the first place—it was a planned betrayal. You imagine they picked the flowers for your coffin long before you caught wind of it. Quelling the rebellions of wayward partisans who see your death as a sign from Celestia would not have helped either, nor the desertion caused by the nerves of your admirers. You're almost certain that worlds have shaken.

It just looks better if they don't appear so prepared.

For whatever reason—perhaps your consolation prize for enduring her shameless lies—she shares a secret with you. As you casually scan the letter with little care for its contents, your attention is immediately drawn to the heart of the matter. It's the very subject on everyone's minds, and all that anyone speaks of, even now, months from the day they announced your supposed 'death' to the public.

They'll name him Il Capitano—The Captain.

You would not have picked it for him yourself, but that does not mean that you hate the name—quite the opposite, in fact—as you have to admit that when you envision the name paired with his face, it suits him well. She ends the letter promising that she will 'take good care of him', though you know that your respective ideas of those words do not align or even coexist in the same universe. There is an unmistakable discrepancy between her intentions and your own, and you don't like it.

Come back to us, Brighella. You can watch everything you wanted in person.

[thethreefaes]

Realizing her slip up, Lyra blushed and nodded.

“Er… kinda. Our mother was a healer and one of the best. But along with that, she had a very kind heart.” Lyra looked up at the sky as she spoke. The sun lowering and painting the heavens in oranges and purples. If she looked hard enough she swore she could see stars trying to shine through.

“She helped a lot of fledglings. There was one… she was younger than me. Her mother tossed her out. It was found that she had very little fae blood and magic. Her sire having lied and hid his dirty blood.” Lyra scrunched her nose at the term.

“It had caused a lot of trouble. And mom took in the little one. She called her Rose. And Rose clung to me so much that Kia would get jealous.” Lyra’s smile fell and she curled up on herself.

“We woke up one morning and… she was gone. Taken from the nest. Mother couldn’t tell us what happened. Her gaze would become hazy. Her name had been used to keep her silent.” Her fingernails dug into her palms. She glared at the dirt.

“She-she hadn’t even gotten her wings yet. Kiara got colder after that. Shutting me out.” It felt like another life time ago. Three children playing and laughing. Unaware of the rules and consequences of their blood. Lyra rubbed at her eyes and took a deep breath. Right. Kiara. Healing.

“Gothi’s salve and your herbs here are similar to what was in our home. It’s been easier than I thought to learn and adapt. I’ll be sure to annoy Kia to take care of her arm. Or I’ll just do it.” She giggled. “Actually I should be the one. Kiara would be too impatient to wrap her arm.”

Lyra grew silent as she thought about everything. Her past with the faes, the horrible humans, the good faes and humans she’d met. The creatures she’d faced and healed.

“I… I’m only half way to my hundredth year, but I feel older than I am. I should still be in my mother’s home. In her nest and learning from her. But the fates decided otherwise.” Lyra flicked a stone in the dirt.

“I learned my healing magic by helping creatures I met on my travels. Learned to hide and control my magic. It was… lonely. Even when I found Altair. Until I found you.” Looking at the chief she felt at ease. No more running. No more hiding. Feeling protected in a community. A clan.

“Maybe I’m being silly. But I hope Kia starts to see Berk as home too. She… she doesn’t have to be a high fae.” It scared her. That Kiara would change and become cruel like the other high faes.

“Hiccup!” Lyra ran up to the chief, an excited grin on her face.

“Are you busy? I have something to show you!” She took his hand and pulled him towards Altair and Toothless.

“You know how last month the lightning strike caused the large forest fire?” Stopping in front of the dragons the fae all but buzzing in excitement. If her wings were visible they’d be fluttering.

“I did a thing!” She couldn’t wait to show him.

[unproduciblesmackdown]

asia kate dillon in rehearsal as lucifer in the mysteries, in a scene referred to as "the prophecy" (indeed an act i section between "the moses story" and "the annunciation")

and akd as lucifer in a performance of the mysteries, in the "sermon of the senses," the last part of the entire show (and after "the last judgment"); this pictured occasion also referred to as the "third opening night"

[noiseemaster]

meet my son his name is maunder he has br-HOLY SHIT DID ANYONE ELSE JUST SEE THAT?

[longagoitwastuesday]

I have learnt things about Geto that I wish I could unlearn

[virtueofsanityx]

the slog to saturday after that text conversation feels like swimming through syrup, taking it's sweet time to arrive, and setting him on edge with every passing moment as anticipation built. time ticks, and ticks, and ticks, and it's finally saturday night and ross is staring at himself in the mirror, clothes hanging loose on his body in a way that looks welcoming and inticing. the dreaded mesh shirt leaves so little to the imagination that he considers tossing on a tank top underneath before he discards the idea. he can already hear maksim mocking him for it, and it's not as if his body is unappealing under it.

he hasn't had a regular workout routine since playing football in highschool, but there's still muscle there. he's squishier than he used to be, no longer the lean muscle, but still fit enough, he thinks. his jeans hang low on his hips, low enough to make it quite clear to anyone who might be paying attention that he didnt bother with underwear before slipping them on. they sit at an angle, just enough to start showing off without being overt in just how lewd he's trying to look. he's slipping on his shoes just as he hears the knock on the door, grabbing his favorite cologne and giving himself a spritz.

he isn't expecting the door to open and his feet to immediately leave the ground, hands flailing for a moment before they land on firm, hard shoulders for balance, eyes wide and breath catching. he feels almost shy as his feet hit the ground again, face hot with blush, eyes looking anywhere but at maksim as he steps out of the way to wave him inside for a moment before they take off.

he can smell alcohol, can only assume that maksim started the party early, that's why he'd done it.

shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot only reminds him of the other part of his outfit, the one definitely unseen, but not forgotten. maksim had put the idea in his head, and as good as it feels, he can't help but wonder why he'd done it, when he could have just said that he did and moved on. "you are certainly in high spirits." he manages to squeak the words out as he moves to the kitchen to quickly grab a beer. he should at least start the evening.

there's a pause as ross takes a sip, and then an eyebrow raises. "did you call me human ross? as opposed to...?" it hits him all at once, how odd that is, though he isn't quite sure what he's supposed to make of it. is maksim just already extremely drunk? did he feel that he needed to get that way because he would not be able to spend time with ross otherwise? something about that hits him in a strange way, a pain he doesn't want to think about or explain.

instead, he downs the beer in two quick gulps, hoping it hits faster. "should i drive? if you're already feeling toasty, wouldn't wanna end up in a ditch or something." he hates the way his eyes linger on the other man, all long lines and firm muscles. his tongue darts out, licks across his bottom lip and catches a couple of the stray drops of beer there, and he doesn't quite realize what he's doing until he meets that hypnotic gaze again and quickly shakes himself out of it. "right... we should.... uhm.... right."

To be fair, Maksim doesn’t really know what the hell this is either. Sure, he had a code of honor and some set of rules he chose to live by-------- but if anyone truly meant harm to Ross, wouldn’t they have acted by now? That was the whole reason Maksim stuck around in the first place, not to get roped into inviting Ross out for club nights like they were, god forbid, friends. And yet, here he was, toeing that precarious line. Nonetheless, the Alpha himself hadn’t faced another attack in a while, and Maksim knew what that meant. His pack’s enemies weren’t gone; they were regrouping, sharpening their blades, perfecting their poisons. He couldn’t afford to relax. Especially since he was Ross’s only line of defense for now, and while there was no emotional attachment there (none he’d ever admit to, anyway,) he wasn’t about to let Ross end up mangled or tortured. It was a rather peculiar code, though, considering any pretty creatures Ross might end up conveniently steering his way. Maksim fully intended to do all the mangling and butchering with those himself.

He wasn’t kidding when he said the lack of anything to sink his teeth into was driving him stir-crazy. Without the thrill to keep his blood pounding with purpose, restlessness was starting to creep in.

...There were also other reasons, admittedly, for his stir-craziness. Ross was managing to get his cock hard while also tugging at some unexpected strings of emotion, which was... unsettling. He even had that stupid little book Ross had mentioned, sitting on his nightstand right now, though it had gone untouched during their text exchange. Maksim figured he’d be taking matters into his own hands soon enough, grabbing his cock and pumping until all that animal need was milked away------- what Ross didn’t know couldn’t hurt him, right? But then, Ross had brought up his ex, and that was a bit of a cold shower, enough to snap him out of the mood. He had only himself to blame, really. If he hadn’t been so damn prideful about seeing his attraction through and sending that risky text, the conversation could've gone in a completely different direction. And yet, he wasn’t about to go there. Thick brows shot up in mild surprise when Ross mentioned planning to propose, and for a moment, curiosity lingered. Human marriage was a joke anyway, and Maksim wanted to tell Ross as much, but he paused. Maybe that was something Ross was still emotionally tangled in... and honestly, while he didn’t give a damn, he still shouldn’t be cruel.

The only reason Ross was calling him anything remotely sweet was because he didn’t fully understand what Maksim was-------- a force far beyond the image Ross had of him. He had no idea just how deep Maksim’s primal instincts ran, or the terrifying hunger for blood and flesh that was as much a part of him as breathing. He didn’t know that, at his core, something savage inside Maksim wanted nothing more than to fuck him senseless.

Maksim might be a great and powerful Alpha, but deep down, he was still Ross’s natural predator.

[ Little Brat ⟶ ✉︎ ] Thanks, I'll keep that in mind. [ Little Brat ⟶ ✉︎ ] Your ex is a fucking loser, get over him and find your boring ass marriage elsewhere. [ Little Brat ⟶ ✉︎ ] You should always want to be nice to me. Make this a habit and it might just come with a reward.😏 [ Little Brat ⟶ ✉︎ ] Yeah, yeah. You say that cuz I brought you the most amazing tacos that one time. But I appreciate the sentiment. I'll pick you up around 10.

The very next day, Maksim announced that he had plans for the upcoming Saturday------- plans that didn’t involve the usual group hunt. No, this time, he was going out on his own, hunting for something more personal. It raised eyebrows, and a few of the pack offered to tag along, eager to play the role of protective bodyguard. But Maksim simply grinned, eyes flashing with that signature, devilish gleam. He didn’t need protection, he was just looking for a different kind of high this time around and they need not be worried. The rest of the pack might’ve been annoyed, yet that Saturday, everyone still gathered at his place for a pre-game session, downing shots and shaking off the tension before they went their separate ways to wreak havoc on the town. A thickly familiar, animalistic hunger crept about the night air, the kind only torn flesh and rampant fucking could satisfy. Maksim, as always, took care in his appearance-------- though 'care' didn’t mean tame. His hair beautifully fell in dark, unruly waves around his face, bringing out the glowing blue of his eyes. Those eyes, piercing and feral, promised either violence or rutting, so disturbing it was almost impossible to look away. His plain tee clung to his body, stretched tight over his hardened chest and defined biceps, a canvas showcasing the powerful muscles beneath. The brown leather belt around his waist was just the right kind of rugged, accentuating his strong hips and the curve of his lower body. Darkwash fitted jeans hugged his chiseled form with mouthwatering precision, every movement an invitation to temptation. And there was something about him that transcended handsome; he was dangerously captivating, a predator in human form for now, every inch of him radiating brawn and grace. Of course, only an Alpha could be the embodiment of strength and dark charisma. By the time he left his house, he was already buzzed, the liquor making his blood hum with excitement. He considered taking his motorcycle at first, but then his mind clicked--------- humans felt the cold more than he did. So, Maksim slid into his truck, the tires screeching as he accelerated, driven by the primal call of the hunt.

When the Alpha arrived at Ross’s just before 10 o'clock, he bounded up the stairs two at a time, practically vibrating like a giant excitable puppy. And his grin only stretched even further the moment he knocked on the door, and the tiny one answered. "Human Ross!" he exclaimed, immediately stooping down to lift Ross up with ease, his large, steady hands yanking him several feet off the ground before gently setting him down again. Melted blue eyes locked onto Ross, scanning him with intense, appreciative focus. That wild, bestial gaze crawled over every inch of the boy's figure, drinking in the details of his outfit.

[n4rval]

a little pause on art for finals(they are all late) but boy has brain been braining

more specifically on dings' dynamic as asriel and chara's weird uncle bc that's just something i don't see a lot

[neverendingford]

.

[sailforvalinor]

…well, turns out changing to a Jo pfp is fitting in more ways than one.

[impinged]

One thing you're willing to share. Haha, well, if that's the case... Nothing comes to mind~!

That's a joke you don't voice. Again, not even all that funny either. You promised! You're going to answer!! What's a little internal commiserating before you do? It's healthy! Probably!

"One thing…" You echo, before a lap of frustration has you going, "Isa, there were hundreds—" Oh, that's not... You kind of just let that out, huh. Well, it's good thing you remember each one then! You do not tell him this. "But... Okay."

Urgh. Of course he would throw the question back at you. Suddenly, even if he says otherwise, one question doesn't feel very fair if you can only offer up one thing in return. You bury your face in the pillow while you contemplate. Argh, well played, Isabeau…!

Okay then. Good or bad. Well, you can say right away don't really want to talk about the bad. But something good feels too lighthearted given he clearly knows what happened. You rattle off a few frivolous things in your head, things you think barely satisfy such a question.

You told me about wanting to become a fashion designer! Did you know Odile wasn't really researching anything? We saw a ghost. You kept running straight into that blinding tear in the hallway and I had to pull you away. Okay definitely not that one. Ahem. Think harder, something has to be good enough…

"I'm allergic to pineapple." Despite its absurdity, you look up at him as if all the bones in your body are terribly serious. And they are. "Did we know that?? Did I ever mention that...??? Bonnie brought pineapple slices for snacks. And I..."

Well actually you don't have to say that part he probably gets it!!! You shake your head and sputter out an apology. This doesn't count. This is just something he should probably know to make sure it doesn't happen again (they were kind of good before they killed you!) A tangent to distract him from the real answer when you get to it. Very intended.

"Sorry, that's... not my answer. I'm thinking..." Let's see... We built a bomb to throw at the King, and we did, and yes it felt just as cool as you can imagine it did... Oh! You met the Change God...? Ehh, maybe not that one. Yet. Um...

"You took me to see the stars, the night before we left for the House." Huh? Oh, yeah. Well, this one is nice, but, you didn't really mean to say it out loud. What is with you? You keep slipping up! Saying things you're supposed to think!!!

You suppose it works though. If anything, it brings it full circle. He mentioned it earlier too, didn't he? Although the way he phrased it made it sound like it was your offer, but you definitely remember it being something he did for you.

"It, uh... It happened a few times. The same time. Just, during different loops." Stars this is a pain to describe. You still remember how you felt the first time, and start to regret how jaded you felt on repeated events. He didn't know. Does now, but you won't tell him it meant any less as it continued... You don't like thinking about it like that, actually. It meant and means a lot still. No matter how your overall circumstance made you feel. No matter the repetition.

"It was nice." Your grip on the pillow tightens. You don't know if you should say anything more. It feels like cheating. Just saying the joke at the tree here earlier felt like cheating. But it suffices as an answer, right? No follow up questions, right? Would you even allow those...? Uh... No comment.

"oh!" his laughter clipped and unsure (stunning performance, sif; bonkers timing, though!), squeezing his pillow like a lifeline trying to muffle the drum in his chest, "looks like we want the same thing, then. me staying, that is. yay us!"

alright, isabeau, he moved on! you should, too! stop making it weird.

so he does! slowly, fluffing the cushion before he sinks into it. while sif's eye is elsewhere, he takes the opportunity to study them again. an accident at first, but he lingers in silent, wistful appreciation... up until he outlines their discomfort and the blanket becomes a lot more visually inviting by comparison.

he nearly jolts, agape, "you will...? o-of course, that's more than okay."

one question... that's a toughie! deep in thought, he looks down to the hand between them, nail-painted fingers slightly curled, still experiencing the little phantom memory of sif-- how nice it felt to hold them steady, like he would've with mira or bonnie.

and the absence of feeling when he pulled away, scathed, all because isabeau overstepped, well-intentioned or not.

his skin burns suddenly, but he tries not to show it. just chock the subtle wince up to him thinking suuuper hard!

'thennn, are you free tomorrow?' he almost blurts. it's unexpected! silly! and... a bad idea if he wants sif to confide in him. there's plenty he could ask: 'why'd you go into dormont's House alone?,' 'why didn't you tell us?', 'was there anything i could've done to help?,' 'would you have let me help?,' 'please let me help'--

oops. not a question. still wants to say it, though, the way it lodges in his throat; forces him to squeeze his tired eyes before he reopens them with an equally tired smile.

"i'm lost on how it all works, but... mm... tell me something that happened during the loops? whatever you feel like, big or small! good or bad," assuming there was anything good. he points for languid emphasis, "one thing you're willing to share with your pal isa. you set the starting point for later!"

that's the intent, anyway. a start. open-ended to offer as much, or little, as sif wants! isabeau can't be too direct (not yet). can't overwhelm him, like before! can't send him into another spiral, because that slope's really crabbing slippery! with good reason!

if only there was a magic question that'd clear things up now, before it worsens (how? he doesn't want to know, but the suggestion churns his insides). it feels impossibly out of reach (they're out of reach), but... he wants to get there. trying to.

[windupaidoneus]

now some people may not like to hear it but even the worst people who exist are still people & there is no human being who has More right than others to decide whether others deserve to live or die (does not mean i personally condemn murder in self defense or anything of the sort or killing fascists or whatever i'm just saying as a baseline This Is How it Is) & this is why the death penalty is not a good thing no matter how good & trustworthy the people in any government might be. people on average also deserve the chance to learn to do better. & no, someone who's been forcefed propaganda their entire life will not let go of that deeply entrenched mindset so easily, it's not particularly unrealistic & it absolutely sucks to deal with but in the context of tangibly working toward world peace it's also not an issue to try & help such people both in material ways & in helping them learn better rather than cut them down or abandon them to a grim fate. all this to say that's why i don't think garlemald is written badly, as unpleasant as the experience might be. walks off the stage

[pandorashearts]

we are all just sitting here baffled out our mind that somehow our event team has more talent than our main wonderhoys team when the main wonderhoys team has multiple 4*s w increased mastery so it should be the most powerful team we can currently make w that alone??,,,,

also it's attributing it to decor, but the type decors are all at the same lvl (5-6 depending on location with the cute type being a 6 in the 5s group. thats the only outlier) & nearly all the personal decor is maxed out, but that wouldn't make a difference anyway bc it's all the same charas so ???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????

[osaemu]

GOJO SATORU: ONE FOR THE MONEY, TWO FOR THE SHOW

✩ ‧ ˚. synopsis: you and satoru, your fake boyfriend, have awards to accept and places to be. so how'd you two end up fucking in a bathroom? NSFW

contents: fem!reader. semi-public sex, p –> v, blowjob, unprotected sex, creampie, praise, you two get walked in on at the end (kinda). references hungry for more. not proofread, ignore any minor mistakes. 3.5K words.

“you two are so cute together,” the interviewer sighs, looking at you and satoru in turn. “please, tell us more about your relationship!”

satoru laughs, resting his hand on your back and pulling you into his side. you put on a smile and instinctually put a hand on his chest, pretending not to notice the way he stiffens up at the contact. “where do i even begin?” satoru asks dryly, turning and looking down at you affectionately, and he’s almost a good enough actor for you to believe there’s any real emotion behind those cold blue eyes.

two weeks ago, satoru’s media team came to you with a request for you two to start dating as a way of gaining more attention from your fans. naturally, you declined—it’s not like you’d gain anything from the deal but the burden of being paraded around on the arm of the man you hated—satoru gojo, the cocky son of some famous actor in the 90’s. but after multiple increases in the amount of money satoru’s team was willing to throw at you, you finally agreed under the condition that this arrangement would end the second you wanted it to.

“i’m sure you’ve seen our latest movie on netflix,” satoru starts, looking back up at the interviewer, whose eyes have practically turned into hearts. “the one with the serial killer, yeah? well, it started from there and just grew into more.”

“i guess you could say the attraction on the screen wasn’t all acting,” you add with a knowing smile. good thing you were a decent enough actor to pretend as if you weren’t just lying through your teeth, otherwise the millions of dollars in your bank account would all be gone. 

the interviewer laughs and turns to the camera, saying something about how the chemistry between you and satoru was what really made the movie a hit—in fact, it might even be the reason you’re both getting nominated for best actor and actress.

“well, if you’d excuse us, i think we should get back to the party,” satoru jumps in, nodding his head at the interviewer in thanks. he removes his hand from your back as you follow him to the main area, weaving through crowds of fans and interviewers on his way there. you walk at his side, heels clacking against the freshly polished floor. satoru dips his head and whispers, “hold my hand.”

you scrunch up your nose and shake your head. “no thanks, it’s not like anyone’s watching right now. it’s way too crowded.”

“just do it,” satoru mutters, grabbing your hand anyways. when you start to pull away, he fixes you with a stern look and adds, “they’ll think something’s wrong if you don’t.”

“ugh, fine.”

two hours pass, filled with other actors’ remarks on how good you and satoru make as a couple. suguru geto, one of satoru’s close friends who had played a cult leader in a recent documentary even said that you might be the girl who could fix satoru. yeah, right.

“so, when do awards start?” you ask satoru, swirling your drink and relishing the sound of the ice clacking against the side of the glass. he shrugs and takes a swig from his own cup, which looks suspiciously like apple cider disguised as champagne. “really? you’re nominated for like, four awards, and you don’t even know when you’re getting them?”

satoru laughs carelessly and looks you up and down, eyes lingering on the short cut of your dress. “at this point, i’ve got so many awards that it doesn’t even matter anymore. and by the way, you look really good in that dress. oh, wait, didn’t i buy it for you?”

“you’re not smooth.”

“then why am i nominated for best actor, huh?”

“because the system’s absolute shit, obviously. otherwise toji would win every time.”

satoru groans and drinks the last couple sips of his drink, rolling his eyes. “don’t even mention that piece of shit.” you shrug in response, hiding your smile behind your glass. a couple years back, satoru had lost a role to toji and to his despair, the movie did really well, despite what he’d promised to the producers who had turned him down. and it looks like he’s still bitter over that, and all of a sudden, the perfect plan to piss satoru off appears in your head.

“look, it’s toji right there!” you gasp, setting down your drink and hopping off your seat, walking over to toji while ignoring satoru’s warnings. “oh, hi, i’m a big fan,” you say to the tall, well-built man, smiling bashfully. toji turns and looks down at you, raising an eyebrow and smiling.

“hey, pretty, you’re the girl in that movie with the serial killer, yeah?” he asks, crossing his arms. you nod and internally marvel at how tall he is—especially compared to satoru, who, by any standards, is pretty damn tall. toji looks you up and down, taking his sweet time drinking in the way your dress hugs your figure. “that scene in the alley was really fuckin’ good,” toji adds conversationally. “you’re definitely winnin’ best actress for that.”

anyone who’s watched the movie knows that the scene he’s referring to is the one where you get fucked by satoru against a dark alley wall—and you’ve seen enough edits of the scene to know exactly why it’s getting all the hype.

“aw, thanks,” you say coyly, resting a hand on your hip and tilting your head. “y’know, i’ve always wanted to star in a movie with you,” you continue, hearing satoru come up behind you in the background. you ignore the sickeningly obvious way he clears his throat and flutter your eyelashes at toji, who’s eying you with interest.

“i’d like that. i can probably pull some strings,” toji replies with a smirk. his dark eyes flicker from you to satoru and his smile turns almost patronizing. “and who’s this?”

“her boyfriend. and i really hate to interrupt this friendly chat, but she’s not up for grabs,” satoru snaps, wrapping an arm around your waist and dragging you back to your spot at the bar. you shoot satoru an indignant glare, but receive no reply besides his tightening jaw. toji laughs and waves you off, mouthing “call me” at you when you turn back apologetically. 

satoru drags you by the hand to one of the bathrooms, shoving open the door with the side of his arm and pulling you inside. there’s a long, shiny counter, which you become very familiar with once your fake boyfriend hoists you up and sits you on it. “the fuck was that?” satoru hisses, narrowing his eyes accusingly.

“what, we were just talki—”

“i don’t like the way he was looking at you,” satoru interrupts, crossing his arms tensely. he fixes you with a cold stare and you fidget uncomfortably with the hem of your dress, which you now realize is rather short. 

“okay, and?” you reply irritably, starting to get annoyed by the way satoru keeps patronizing you. “it’s not like we’re even dating, gojo,” you snap, emphasizing the use of his last name.

“yeah? well, i don’t need my ‘girlfriend’ slutting herself out to the guy everyone knows i hate,” satoru fires back, taking a step forward. his palms rest on the counter on either side of your exposed legs, and you suddenly notice how red satoru’s face is. the flush in his cheeks wasn’t as noticeable underneath the bar’s dim lights, but here, it’s rather obvious.

“are you jealous?” you ask incredulously, unable to suppress the cheeky smile that finds itself on your face. satoru’s jaw slackens and his eyes widen, and that’s enough of a sign for you to confirm it—satoru gojo, your fake boyfriend, is jealous. he doesn’t reply immediately, so you laugh, throwing back your head and giggling at the way satoru’s petty rivalry seems to be only one of the reasons he was so eager to get you away from toji. “aw, that’s so cute, but we aren’t even dating, sweetheart,” you coo, reaching out and caressing the side of satoru’s face.

he instantly swats your hand away, rolling his eyes at your laughter. “well, we still have to act like it, you idiot,” he mutters, leaning over you and eying the low neckline of your dress. you instinctively cross your arms and glare at him, and satoru only cocks an eyebrow in return. “so, if we were actually dating, do y’know what i’d be doing right now?”

“what?” you decide to humor him.

satoru’s demeanor completely changes at your question, going from pissed and flushed red to almost playful.

“this.” 

and just like that, satoru slips his slender fingers underneath the bottom of your dress and pulls it up, exposing your black, lacy panties. 

“gojo, what the—”

“shh, it’s all for the show,” he whispers teasingly, brushing one finger against the warm skin of your thigh. you involuntarily shiver from his touch, and against all rational impulse, find yourself wanting more.

in the acting community, satoru was well-known for being a stuck-up brat, and when you two had first announced your relationship, plenty of actors doubted it. after all, how could you, the classy it-girl of the movie industry, date an asshole like satoru? but even you were surprised at how easily people started to believe it when you two interacted in front of them. you’ve been told that you two had a rather unexpected burst of chemistry together, and that your relationship might actually make it.

what a shame.

satoru hooks his fingers underneath the waistband of your panties and tugs them down, raising an eyebrow when you don’t protest. he maintains eye contact with you as he slides your panties down your thighs, exposing your embarrassingly-wet cunt. satoru looks almost as surprised as you do at how soaked you are, even as he runs two fingers over your slit before sliding them in. you hate how good it feels—it’s been a while since you got a chance to sleep with another man, especially since you’ve been stuck with satoru for the past two weeks. 

“shit, you’re so fuckin’ wet,” satoru murmurs, scoffing in mild disbelief as he meets your eyes and smiles. he curls his fingers upwards, causing your thighs to reflexively close before satoru reopens them. “so, wanna explain, sweetheart?” he tsks, tapping your thigh with his other hand.

you make a face and look away, cheeks heating up the longer satoru waits for a response. “it’s probably from toji,” you snap back after a moment. satoru laughs sarcastically, shaking his head almost condescendingly and pulling out his fingers.

“nice try, hon,” he says sweetly, lifting his fingers to his mouth and licking off your slick in one smooth motion. satoru exhales heavily and swallows, taking his time in doing so. “want me to go grab toji to join us?” satoru asks, forcing a smile on his lips. “i’m sure he’d love to watch you beg—”

“shut it, gojo,” you interrupt, swatting away his hand, which somehow found its way back in between your thighs. “we have an award show to get to, there’s not enough time for this bullshi—”

that was a mistake. satoru instantly lifts you off the counter and, ignoring the rather wide range of curse words you throw at him, sets you on the ground and starts unzipping his pants. “shh, we got all the time in the world. they can’t give an award to someone who isn’t there, right?” satoru cooes, threading one of his hands through your hair and pulling you closer to him. his other hand finishes unzipping his pants, freeing his already-hard dick.

you look up at satoru, forcing yourself to act unimpressed—even though you know damn well he can see through your half-hearted attempt at hiding your real feelings. “s’ that all?” you ask, hating yourself for the crack in your voice when satoru laughs at you. 

“ah, i think it’ll be more than enough for your pretty face to handle. now c’mon, open nice n’ wide for me,” satoru instructs you, reaching down and tilting up your chin as he guides his dick into your mouth. against all rational impulse, you let him, all while glaring daggers at him from below. 

you run your tongue over his flushed red tip, and satoru sucks in a harsh breath, chest tensing as you continue kitten-licking him. his hand moves from your chin to the top of your head, and he pushes your mouth farther onto his dick, jaw tightening the more your tongue laps at him. 

sure, maybe you shouldn’t be sucking off your fake boyfriend in a bathroom where anyone could walk in at any time, but it’s the first time you’ve felt this way in too long, and you weren’t ready to let this feeling go just yet. so you humor satoru and moan, smiling when you feel the way his whole body loosen up at the soft vibration. “f-fuck, didn’t think you’d actually know how to give a man a good time,” satoru mutters through gritted teeth. 

“really?” you ask, pulling away from his dick for a moment to catch a breath. “we fucked for that movie, though, and you seemed pretty damn satisfied then, didn’t you?” you say in-between heaving breaths. satoru scoffs and shakes his head, pushing your mouth back onto his dick.

“yeah, but that was for a movie. this isn’t,” he clarifies, eyes fixed on the mix of spit and pre-cum dribbling down your chin as you continue sucking him off. “fuck, why are you good at this?” he hisses, almost incredulously—it’s as if he was hoping you wouldn’t be this good for him for some reason, but now’s not the time to reason through it or wonder what’s going on in his mind.

satoru shudders around you, and you feel the hair threaded through your hair tighten. it’s not enough to be painful, but his grip still makes you whine from the increased pressure. his breathing becomes more shallow as you run your tongue over his length, and his foot starts to bounce on the floor as he gets closer to cumming down your throat. “shit, baby, m’ close,” satoru confirms a moment later, tilting his chin back and glaring at the ceiling. 

“fuckin’ hell, i—” he cuts himself off with a loud, lengthy groan, pushing your head even farther on his dick and tensing as the full force of satoru’s orgasm hits him. he lets loose a flurry of curse words as he cums in your mouth, filling you up to the point where it starts dripping down the side of your face. it’s hot and salty, two sensations that you normally wouldn’t put together, but in this moment it’s all you can think about as you slide one hand downwards towards your throbbing pussy.

still reeling from his surprisingly quick orgasm, satoru leans back onto the counter and pants for air. as for you, you’re starting to want some of his pleasure for yourself—so you slip two fingers inside your cunt and pulse them back and forth, needy moans slipping out of your lips at every thrust. “gojo,” you call, looking up at him and licking his cum off your lips. the sight of you kneeling in front of him, cum dripping down your lips and fingers knuckle-deep in your cunt is enough for satoru to cum again, but he forces himself to maintain some level of control.

“jus’ call me satoru,” he murmurs, reaching down and tugging you up to your feet. it’s hard to stand while your legs are trembling, but thankfully, satoru does most of the work for you by positioning you against the wall, back facing him as he aligns his still-hard dick in front of your dripping pussy. “say it,” satoru mutters in your ear, resting one hand on your waist and the other on the wall just above your shoulder. “say my name f’me, sweetheart.”

“s-satoru,” you breathe, and a moment later, your fake boyfriend—who doesn’t feel so fake anymore—shoves himself inside of your welcoming cunt. you’re already wet enough to the point where he doesn’t really need to prep you at all, but you’re still just tight enough so that every thrust feels like he’s breaking you down in the best way possible. 

“y’feel so good,” satoru groans, resting his chin on your shoulder and snapping his hips back and forth, setting a steady yet harsh pace. you stutter out satoru’s name again and again as your vision goes blurry, with your only thoughts revolving around the dick shoved up inside you and the man praising you in your ear. 

satoru curses when he feels your walls clench around him, breaths growing shallower with every thrust. “arch your back for me, princess,” he mutters, eyes fluttering rapidly as he squeezes your waist. “yeah, jus’ like that,” satoru praises, breath brushing against the side of your face as he continues thrusting into you. “how’re you feeling, pretty? s’ this all right with you?”

you nod shakily in response, swollen lips hanging wide open as you gasp for air. satoru clicks his tongue and slows his pace, dipping his chin and studying your face. “gonna need you to use your words, angel.”

“m' good, i wanna cum,” you mumble, a loud moan slipping through your lips when satoru laughs and resumes fucking you a millisecond after you answer. 

“i’m gonna fill you up, baby, i promise,” satoru whispers, and his words are barely audible over the lewd, sticky sounds coming from everywhere. all your senses are directed at satoru—the man you really shouldn’t be fucking right now, but all your inhibitions fade away as you feel your stomach start to tighten as you approach your orgasm.

“fuck, satoru, m’ close,” you whimper, arching your back even more and clenching your teeth shut. satoru sucks in a sharp breath as he confirms that he’s also about to cum, and his thrusts grow sloppier the closer he gets. “don’t stop, please, i—”

from there on, your words mix themselves together, with the only understandable word being satoru’s name. your fake boyfriend spills into you first, cum leaking from his tip and mixing with yours as you both chase your releases. and it hits you hard—if it wasn’t for satoru, you would’ve crumbled to the ground from the sheer force of your orgasm. all you can see is white as satoru finishes emptying his load inside of you, and the sticky, viscous liquid trails down the warm skin of your thighs as it overflows from your abused hole.

“shit,” satoru mutters, stumbling backwards and eyeing his now-soiled clothes. “this was a couple thousand dollars, damn it.”

you exhale a breathy laugh and turn around, leaning against the wall and meeting his half-lidded eyes. “you kidding? my dress was way more than that, and there’s no way i can wear that out now.”

satoru grins, running a hand through his ruffled hair and walking back towards you, touching your waist and sliding a finger over your dripping cunt. “you were so good f’me, baby. what were we arguing about again?”

“i have no idea,” you mumble, watching satoru lick his finger clean. he’s shameless—even as clarity returns to both of your minds, he still insists on dragging the moment on. not that you mind—that was the best sex you’d had in a while, even if it was too fast and in a bathroom.

“we should get back to the ceremony,” you say distractedly, pulling down your dress and frowning at the new wrinkles. “can i wear your suitjacket? i don’t want people to see this.”

satoru sticks out his bottom lip and pouts, looking you up and down. “but i like it. you look like you just got fucked by a really hot guy. oh, wait, that’s me!”

“you’re an asshole.”

before satoru can reply, the bathroom door opens, and you both jump out of your skins. thankfully, satoru had time to pull his pants on, otherwise it would’ve been significantly more embarrassing. suguru pokes his head in the bathroom and rolls his eyes when he sees you and satoru, and an exasperated sigh slips out of his lips when he sees your fucked-out states. 

“are you two seriously fucking during the awards?” suguru snaps, amber eyes glittering with dry amusement. you look away bashfully, tugging down your dress even farther out of embarrassment. satoru shrugs nonchalantly and walks over to suguru, offering his hand in search of a fistbump. 

suguru eyes him dubiously and crosses his arms. “did you wash your hands?”

“heh, no, not yet.”

ignoring satoru’s smug grin, suguru swats his arm away with the back of his hand, disgust evident all over his face. “gross, fuck off.” he turns to you and arches an eyebrow, looking you up and down disapprovingly. “you two should clean up before coming outside, otherwise they’ll probably take away your awards,” suguru adds, wrinkling his nose. “i’ll tell them you’re on your way.” 

“okay, thanks,” you mutter, face warmer than ever. suguru nods in response and leaves, and when you and satoru finally return to the awards ceremony, there’s plenty of whispers about you two, and most of them aren’t very family-friendly.

well, at the very least, nobody’s gonna doubt that you two were a couple now!