☆ even the gods bleed
{☆} characters furina, neuvillette
{☆} notes cult au, imposter au, multi-chapter, gender neutral reader
{☆} warnings blood, injury, light angst
{☆} word count 2.3k
What was justice?
Focalors had asked herself that question many times during the long nights she spends awake pouring over the prophecy of a dead God, words replaying in her mind like a broken record until the sun rose like a blooming flower.
She was the God of Justice, an Archon, yet she herself lacked the answer to such a simple and yet so very complex question.
How does one define what is just and what is not? How does she know that what she believes to be just is right? Is it justice if one being alone may sway the scales of justice on a whim? What justice is there to be found in the cold, watery grave that awaits her nation?
She does not know.
Perhaps she may never know.
What she does know, at least, is that this is not justice.
It is a mockery of it.
She stands before the bloodied, broken body like the judge, her sword held so tightly in her hand her fingers feel stiff, a dull ache adding to the weight of what she's seen. For a long, horrible moment she almost thinks they are dead – something she would have reveled in, only a day prior – before she sees the subtle rise and fall of their chest. Breathing, but barely.
The rain felt heavier upon her shoulders at the realization – she was not sure if it was in relief or horror.
Her nails dig into her palm, mind stuck somewhere between that abject horror and confusion so palpable she swore she could hear the gears in her head turning.
For a long, silent moment as she stares upon the body beneath the heavy rain..she wonders if this is how it all ends instead. If the world itself will simply crumple in on itself and cease – without its heart, it will wither, after all – long before the waters ever swallow her nation whole.
Because, try as she might to rationalize it, for every drop of rain that hits her like pins and needles, soaking her down to the bone..the body of the imposter is completely dry. Even the water pooling along the stones dares not to leave so much as a splotch against their ragged, torn clothes.
She remembers the meeting so very clearly, and she thinks she is a fool to not have noticed sooner – the Creator upon their gilded throne, finger pointed in accusation at the visage far too similar to their own. The imposter. She remembers the lilt of their voice as they called for their death as easily as one would speak of the weather – and to no one other then herself would she admit the spark of fear it had ignited within her. Because beneath the divine charade there was a sick enjoyment in the way they looked upon the imposter – like a bug beneath their shoe.
She understands, now.
She had thought that perhaps finally – finally – she could do right by her people, by her Creator, if she rid Teyvat of this..intrusion.
Now she sees herself as what it all really is – blind lambs following the herder.
Perhaps she would be considered a heretic under the eyes of the law – beneath the weight of justice, heavy as the heart that bears its sins. Perhaps this is a mistake, one she would come to regret.
But for now, she sheathes her blade with unsteady hands, the sound making her ears ring – for what she had almost done, what she had already done – as she stumbles like a newborn lamb towards the broken body of..
..What, exactly? Human? Divine? She is not so sure what to call them. Creator? No. The name is bitter upon her tongue, now, burning like liquid flame down her throat.
Where once she had spoken it in reverence and admiration, it felt hollow and empty, now.
Her vision wavers as she kneels down against the rain soaked stones, the rain upon her back growing heavier as she reaches a shaky hand forth – and for a moment, however brief, she feels the weight of expectation, of a title she fears she may never live up to, wash away with the waters that fall from the heavens.
The bruises and blood smeared across their skin are like strokes of a paintbrush, their body the canvas from which such horrid art is created. It makes her ill.
Doubt wavers her composure briefly – her position is already unsteady. She has never been seen as an equal to many of the other Archons. Her own people do not see her as their Archon, but an actor in a grand play that they shall simply toss aside and replace like a broken doll the moment she bores them.
What does she have left to lose?
She reaches out again, her hand settling onto their shoulder and turning them onto their back. She..isn't sure what to do, actually. She's never been particularly physically capable – she tended to avoid fights, even if she oft provoked them – and she was certainly no healer.
Yet what choice does she have but to march on anyway? She is in the heart of the city, it is far more dangerous here then anywhere else..she had little time to make her move.
Fontaine was, after all, a nation founded on the principle of justice. To know an injustice has been made against the most Divine..the entire nation was in a frenzy.
Her eyes dart around nervously, hands clasped tight on their shoulders and her lips drawn into a taut line – someone would notice her absence. One of the Archons would point out her absence in the coordination of the search.
Her options were just as limited as her time – she couldn't just take them out of the city. Security was tight, and as much as she fancied herself an escape artist – Neuvillette could hardly keep her in one place for too long – she doubted she could do the same with the limp body of the imposter in tow.
..The Palais Mermonia it was, then.
Her room had a secret entrance that few knew about, and even fewer would dare to traverse. She just..had to hide them there for a bit and hope Neuvillette wouldn't notice anything different.
Probably.
Still, there was the problem of actually..transporting the body. As grim as it sounded. Her only solace was the fact she didn't have to worry about them catching a cold, at least, and their breaths were still audible, if only barely. So she had to resort to some..unexpected methods.
Seeing the limp form of, well, the imposter – she'd really have to ask for something else to call them when they woke up – stuck in a bubble of hydro wasn't exactly on her bucket list.
Then again, neither was treason.
Well, first time for everything, right?
It wasn't breaking the law if no one else knew about it.
..Neuvillette didn't have to know about it, really. It was fine.
She could, of course, technically try to talk some sense into Neuvillette – he'd listen to her, right? She thought she was pretty close with him..but he was also the one person more obsessed with justice then she was. Such a stickler for the law..so maybe she's breaking a few, it's fine.
But he was also pretty devout, as much as he tried to keep his worship private – with Focalors around, nothing was really secret. Maybe she could get him to settle down long enough to prove it.
..How was she going to prove it?
An exaggerated groan escaped her lips as she led the bubbled imposter – she really wished she didn't have to resort to that, it would be a lot a more awkward to explain then dragging the body around – through the winding streets of Fontaine. She's just glad she's already memorized the entire city like the back of her hand..and a little dramatics went a long way. People listened when the Hydro Archon spoke, and she was suddenly very, very glad for that fact, even if they treated her more like a mascot then a God.
And partially because she, maybe, just a little..stole a few documents detailing the layout and a little personal exploration of her own – but what Neuvillette didn't know couldn't hurt him!
After what felt like hours, though was really no more then half an hour at best, she'd managed to drag herself – soaked to the bone with rain – and the conveniently bubbled imposter up through the secret entrance and into her room.
The perceived safety, as flimsy as it was, was..comforting. Until she heard the rustle of fabric, the clearing of a throat and the pop of a bubble as she, in her surprise, popped it – and then the thud of the imposter hitting the floor.
She felt a bit of regret about that part, at least, wincing.
"Lady Furina." His voice was as sharp and cool as she remembered it always being – like fresh spring water, she'd heard it described. Soothing. It did not feeling very soothing right about now.
She turned sharply on her heel, a forced smile tugging at her lips on reflex, every muscle in her body tensed – she probably looked like a wet cat right about now, soaked with rain, but that was the last thing on her mind.
"Do you mind explaining what, exactly, you did?" Not what you're doing, she notes – what she did. He was mad. Oh, she was really in for a scolding now. She twiddled her thumbs, laughing weakly, though it quickly dies out at the awkward, tense silence.
"Well, you see – it's rather complicated! I can– I can explain." Her attempts to diffuse are met with a raised brow and the sharp tap of his cane. Every single thought is plagued with the urge to run, but the unsteady breathes of the 'imposter' keep her rooted in place. "Well?"
She was sweating bullets, her nails digging into her palm as she scrambled for any excuse that could warrant her not getting hauled off and scolded thoroughly at best – she was coming up empty. How was she supposed to prove that the 'imposter' was very much not what the 'Creator' said they were? Their unconscious body was doing no one any favors, certainly.
"The Creator is lying," She blurts out, immediately regretting her impulsiveness when she feels the sudden weight of his stare – the piercing hues of his eyes that remind her just who is the strongest between them. It is not her, she knows. It never has been. "You can see for yourself! Don't you trust me, Neuvillette–?"
Her voice is cut off by the sharp click of his cane as he strides across the room in only a few steps, his height making her feel like a child about to scolded. She hated it, but she grit her teeth through the exchange. She reminded herself that this was for the sake of the 'imposter' and any affront to her ego was..tolerable.
To her credit, too, she didn't immediately lash out when she saw him poke at their body with his cane, turning them onto their back – she wanted too, though. She considered it, but the thought was quickly shot down when his stare turned back upon her, and she felt frozen in place again, her tongue a heavy weight in her mouth.
Yet she couldn't shake the sudden tenseness to his shoulders, his brows furrowed and a distant look to his eyes. It was..haunting, in a way.
She knows it well, she realizes. The realization and acceptance, the crumbling of every solid foundation you've ever known – leaving you to flounder in the waves, alone and afraid.
The gentleness in which he picks up the limp body surprises her though, his cane set aside. The rain howls like a horrid storm outside, but she cannot focus on anything but the furrow of their brows, the soft noise that escapes their lips.
"I trust that you know that this must stay between us," His voice is soft, like the gentle lap of waves against the shore, as he sets their body down against the bed, his hand lingering against their cheek with something almost like reverence – and if her eyes do not deceive her, affection. "Lady Furina."
She does not hesitate to agree.
"Well– well of course!" She huffs, crossing her arms over her chest and frowning at the feeling of her wet clothes clinging to her skin, a heavy weight that feels like it's dragging her down. "Just what do you take me for?"
He doesn't deign to respond.
It only makes her fume more.
Not that he seems to notice, unbuttoning his heavy outerwear and tossing it on the bed, rolling up his sleeves and focusing on the injured– er..yeah, she really needed a new name for them. Calling them imposter felt wrong.
"So long as you understand, then we will have no problems." She huffs again, pouting and puffing up her cheeks, sitting down on the other end of the bed with only an occasional glance towards him as he worked at peeling away the ragged clothes and examining the injuries marring their skin.
She suddenly felt out of place.
..What was she supposed to be doing?
As if noticing her sudden quietness, Neuvillette sighed, his back turned to her though his attention very much falling upon her. She really hated the feeling like she was being dissected whenever he looked at her. It was unnerving. She doesn't know how anyone else handles it..
"If you are so eager to do something, Lady Furina, then please have something brought up for when our..guest awakens. They will need to recover their strength."
Finally! Something she can do. She perks up, her heels clicking on the floorboards as she darts out like a bullet, unable to stay still for so much as a moment.
Neuvillette, for his part..
Feels an odd sense of serenity as he stares upon the troubled features of the..guest. A peace that lessens the burdens upon his shoulders, the weight of a nation upon his back.
He cannot hear the rain, anymore.
..It must have stopped.
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PATHETIC SHOWDOWN 2: ELECTRIC BOOGALOO
made a pathetic poll before, vox absolutely SWEPT against lucifer last time, pondered on it and thought hey out of all the people who could possibly evenly match up to vox in patheticness, ADAM might have a chance. SO
POINTS (feel free to come up with your own I am grasping at straws here):
Adam
FOR
got cucked by lucifer TWICE
what's more pathetic than getting left by your wife? getting left by BOTH your wives
an actual dudebro
dumb as bricks
just look at him
"HES UGLY" "PUT THE MASK BACK ON"
actually fucking dies
and not even by lucifer by fucking niffty
AGAINST
is actually a really powerful angel who could destroy alastor's shield with one punch and almost killed alastor
mentions that he does in fact fuck in episode 1
could possibly be argued to still have bitches with lute
Vox
some of these may just be copy and pasted from the last one. against will have new points to juxtapose adam though
if you've been around my space long enough you know these well
FOR
lost his own diss track against his rival
sings an entire number about not giving a fuck about his rival's return while being the only person TO give a fuck
tried to physically block a radio, an AUDIO output device as if it'd stop anything, failed at doing even that
his screen calls out the reason for his crashes and he seemingly can't control it
causes a city-wide blackout because his rival announced to everyone he rejected him
there is a non-zero possibility he was/is in love with said rival but said rival will never love him back
purposely avoided going to an overlords meeting and called his co-worker up at the very last minute to attend for him
the guy he appointed as a spy ended up being the very person to prove a sinner can be redeemed
coward who constantly hides behind screens
episode 8
AGAINST
he is capable in literally any context outside of alastor
debuts actually acting cunning
capable of coming up with something on the spot without hesitation (voxtek angelic security)
actually smart (able to interpret val's "put something inside them" comment as appointing a spy)
feared by his employees
well he didn't get left by anyone in an EXISTING relationship... he just got rejected in one that never started
he has bitches (yeah it's valentino but bitches are bitches okay!!)
is in fact not dead
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Too Hard
Woop part 2 of the trip inside Jamil's head.
Part 1 here.
The next time Jamil caught sight of you on campus, his first instinct was to turn around on his heel.
What a stupid thought to have because of you.
Besides, that would only make him more conspicuous, not less.
So, when your eyes met his, Jamil gave you a short nod in greeting. He would’ve left it at that and kept on his way, had you not walked up to him.
“Hi Jamil! How’s it going?” you said with that impossibly disarming smile of yours.
Why was it so difficult to look at you like he normally would? You had no right to make him feel so stiff, so unnatural.
On autopilot, Jamil exchanged a few pleasantries with you - those lessons from his parents had been instilled too deep in him for him to falter too badly in a simple exchange such as this. Still, Jamil quickly excused himself by telling you he still had to find Kalim before his next class.
Jamil didn’t miss the way your smile faltered. Had you hoped to get something out of him?
“Oh, okay. I’ll see you two later, then.”
Something about that irked him, though Jamil did not allow himself to dwell on it further.
His heart really had no business still racing as it did when he walked away, unaware of the frown on his face.
Just act normal. That’s all he needed to do.
After all, he had no time for dwelling in silly fancies.
If Jamil had been acutely aware of you before, it only seemed to worsen now that he was making a conscious effort to not act any differently with you. In fact, the harder he tried to keep you out, the more you invaded his thoughts, unsettling him.
The most innocuous words from you looped in his mind, and even the simplest actions caught his eye. For goodness's sake, he’d found himself staring at you while you were queueing up in the cafeteria the other day, not even doing anything other than standing around and looking bored!
For once, Jamil found himself grateful for all his duties. At least they provided him with something else to occupy himself with.
After all, if he was busy enough, it was difficult to think about those bright eyes of yours, your sweet laugh, or the way you bit your lip while thinking.
Still, sometimes it felt like no matter which way he turned, you were there, ready to throw him off-kilter. Not like it was his fault that often the most convenient route to class intersected with your daily routines. Or that your face seemed to jump out from any crowd, catching his attention.
Which certainly did not help his basketball performance. Jamil certainly did not recall you having such an interest in sports before, yet suddenly you were always there, distracting him. What had changed?
Could you possibly-
Jamil scoffed to himself, forcing his thoughts back on track for the nth time that day.
He picked up the tray of food and started taking it to Kalim. After dinner, he’d need to help Kalim with his homework, there were some housewarden tasks that would need dealing with, not to mention the preparations for the next-
Jamil froze in his tracks.
The voice he heard was quiet, but it was unmistakably you.
Really, it should not have come as such a surprise to him. You had become a rather frequent visitor to Scarabia, and Kalim often invited you to stay for meals. In fact, Jamil had started planning the dorm’s meal prep with your tastes and dietary restrictions in mind, just in case.
Jamil rounded the corner with strange exhilaration, his heart fluttering needlessly.
Yet, his mood evaporated when he saw you.
Why did you stop talking and look so guilty as soon as you caught sight of Jamil?
Jamil knew that look you gave to Kalim, had used it himself a thousand times. The one telling Kalim to keep quiet about something.
What could there possibly be that you would be comfortable sharing with Kalim, but not with him? That would give Kalim reason to sit so close to you, a comforting hand on your shoulder?
Jamil's mind raced with possibilities, yet could not settle for any single explanation.
He’d have to ask Kalim about it later.
Jamil gave you a short, polite greeting, his eyes lingering on you in an attempt to read what you were hiding.
“If I’d known you were coming over, I would’ve prepared something for you to eat as well,” Jamil said, already thinking about which parts of the dorm’s dinner to spruce up for you.
“Oh, no need, just figured I’d pop by. I’ll get out of your hair soon enough,” you said, something sheepish about your expression.
As expected, Kalim asked you to stay and dine with them, and with just a bit more persuasion you agreed - though not before telling Jamil that he should join you too and have himself a breather.
And since Kalim agreed with you, Jamil soon found himself sharing a meal with you and Kalim. Yet, even as he sat down with the food, his mind raced.
Had you been getting particularly close to Kalim lately? But surely Jamil would’ve noticed such a thing. Maybe someone from the dorm had been giving you trouble? But if that was the case, then surely you could let Jamil know about it, too. Unless for some reason you did not want to? But if it was something that concerned Kalim, then sooner or later it was bound to concern Jamil, too.
All the while, Kalim was talking to you about this and that, the latest topic being the animals kept on the Asim estate.
“I’ve got some pictures, let me show you!” Kalim said with an excited grin.
Only, a thorough patting of his pockets and a look around confirmed that Kalim’s phone was nowhere to be seen.
Jamil pinched the bridge of his nose. Where had Kalim left it this time?
Before Jamil even had the chance to say that he would handle it, Kalim sprinted off. Jamil hesitated for a moment, automatically halfway up from his seat, before he decided that leaving a guest unattended would be a worse offense than not helping out his master.
Jamil slumped back down with a sigh, mentally tracing the path Kalim took today, trying to recall the last time he saw Kalim handle his phone.
“Breathe. He’ll manage,” you said. There was the faintest of smiles on your lips, and Jamil could not decide if it was knowing or amused. Perhaps both.
Somehow, despite his frustration, Jamil’s own lips wanted to curl up too.
“Hmm. Maybe he will.”
Sure, Jamil could’ve called Kalim’s phone, to make it easier to find, but it was not that urgent, was it?
Jamil took another bite of his food, keeping an eye on you from the corner of his eye.
How was his mind so empty and so buzzing at the same time?
“You know-”
“So-”
You looked at each other, both just as surprised that the other had spoken up at the same time.
Even your surprised look was so-
“You first,” Jamil said. The way you bit your lip... Jamil had to raise a cup to his lips, slowly sipping his drink.
“Just… Feels like it’s been quite a while since I’ve seen you be still, you know. Or exchanged more than two words with you,” you said. You were attempting a light, joking tone, yet it was quite clear there was more to it.
“You say that like it would be unusual for me to be busy.”
He was not prepared for the way your soft sigh tugged at his heartstrings.
“No. It is not.”
You were both quiet after, poking at your meals. Normally, Jamil would’ve cherished such a moment of peace, yet this particular silence between you two was decidedly awkward.
Where was your usual chatter? Why weren’t you looking at him like you usually did?
“If you’re worried about me, don’t. I’m fine,” Jamil said, some softness creeping into his tone despite his best intentions.
“That's what Kalim said too,” you said. Yet the way you looked at Jamil made it clear you were still skeptical.
Wait.
Had you clammed up earlier because it had been Jamil you had been talking about with Kalim? That Kalim had comforted you about?
The thought twisted his stomach into knots.
Eta: you can find part 3 here, part 4 here, and finally part 5 here.
Hasdhfsdf the way I fought with that last scene I swear. I don't even want to know how many versions I went through, trying to figure out how to say what I wanted without rubbing it into your face or making it too veiled. The joys of trying to convey things through a limited pov. Hopefully it came out reasonably balanced in the end.
Rip to all those sentences that were lovely on their own but didn’t work for the whole. Hopefully I can rehome y’all one day.
I do have thoughts for part 3 and part x (might be some chapters between those two as well, who knows at this point), so maybe we'll see those at some point, too.
Tag list:
@colliope @crystallizsch @diodellet @jamilsimpno69 @jamilvapologist @twstgo
If you'd like to be tagged for future works, let me know! (Just be aware that sometimes I do also write nsfw, though you can certainly ask to be tagged only for particular kinds of works.)
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