#he’s just such a wet fucking cat of a man

[britcision]

Someone confiscate the Kabumisu Rapunzel AU from me, I am not starting a long form anything until my DPxDC novel is done but also I am ONLY capable of doing it wrong

Because:

Kabru MUST be Rapunzel. Mandatory. Milsiril is not letting that little bitch out of her tower. (Also his Main Character Energy)

Mithrun has less than zero drive to do anything ever up to and including wandering around in lonely tower infested woods to find said lost princess

These can only be resolved by Mithrun also already being inside the tower and then we’re into Beauty and The Beast territory too with the Forbidden Room but instead of Cursed Flower there is Cursed Hottie

Tbh Labrumisu would solve this problem where’s my threesome shippers we need ONE (1) character with some goddamn initiative

(Sadly still can’t be me I do not ship Laios in general he’s just not got that Ship Juice)

Milsiril just has such perfect villain vibes and okay I’m selling myself on the Labrumisu because if Laios comes in to kidnap one of her babies (and her broken former coworker) there’s a 50-50 on whether Milsiril just decides he’s young enough to adopt

This is now a main character hoarding situation Falin and Marcille have to come rescue Laios and also his boyfriends from the crazy sword elf and her army of dolls

Which is why I can’t write this one.

Look at that.

Look what happened in like 5 bullet points.

The rails have been OBLITERATED but also it’s just got such good legs someone take this idea and run with it to somewhere very different and much simpler than I am capable of

[tellmeallaboutit]

knock knock (Raphael x F!Player)

Chapter 5, In Which You Turn Out To be Capable of More Than You Thought

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 4 (Part 2)

AO3

You had the sweetest dreams. 

You lived in a beautiful mansion in a world where capitalism had fallen (which did not prevent you from living in a mansion), you no longer had to work (well, because capitalism had obviously fallen) and, most importantly, you became Raphael's one and only dark consort (you were not sure how capitalism fit into this narrative), whom he cherished and loved more than anyone, even more than the Crown above his horns. 

Perched atop Raphael’s lap in the throne room, surrounded by a crowd of souls kneeling before you and begging for your mercy (including your high school bully Thomas, who once locked you up in the bathroom, and the ex who cheated on you), you suddenly heard the distinct ringtone of a Teams call. It's a sound that could never be mistaken for anything else; it could be used as a method of torture. 

You made a mental note to suggest this to Raphael later on.

The call seemed downright disrespectful to your new status as the Archduchess of all Hells, so you ignored it; surprisingly, it did not stop. Thinking about how you would ask Raphael to execute whoever disturbed your bliss, you stretched out your hand to swipe the huge green button that was being projected right across the throne hall.

"Anya?" The voice on the other end was familiar, but you couldn't place it. 

Your mind struggled to come to life and make sense of your surroundings. 

Why were you lying naked? 

What time was it?

Why did your whole body ache?

And why was there a wet patch beneath you? 

To answer at least the last question, you reached down to touch the moisture between your legs, and saw thick white liquid coating your fingers in the soft morning light. You went for a sniff: smelt like a freshly burned match and salty musk. 

Oh, fuck.

Okay, so Raphael wasn't big on safe sex (which probably should have been expected from someone who lived in the House of Hope). Not that you remembered asking him for protection. Not that you were able to or wanted to. The thought of him coming inside you seemed insanely hot yesterday; but now, in the clear light of day, it just seemed insane.

Don’t human women all die horribly giving birth to half-devils?

The voice on the phone called out again, "Anya, are you still there? Are you okay?"

“Yes?”, you responded hesitantly and pulled your fingers away from your nostrils. 

"You're fifteen meetings late for our meeting," the voice reminded you, and you finally remembered who it belonged to.

Your supervisor. Not a bad guy, not a good guy, just a burnt out middle-aged man who never imagined himself stuck in middle management while going through a messy divorce.

"We had a meeting?" You asked, even though somewhere deep down in your foggy brain you knew very well that you did have one scheduled.

You sat down on the bed and did you best to suppress a moan: your arse was bruised raw.

“Your development talk, Anya”, your supervisor sighed. “Did you… did you just wake up? It’s fifteen past ten.”

Quick, think of a believable excuse. Your cat died? No, he knows you don't have one. Your grandmother passed? No, that would be disrespectful to her memory. You were robbed? No, then you wouldn't be sleeping so soundly...

"No, I...I didn't," you stammered, desperately trying to come up with something, anything.

"Do you want to turn your camera on?" He asked. "It helps during these talks."

No, you didn't want to turn on your camera unless you wanted to make absolutely sure he saw you stark naked - which was definitely not going to work in your favour (or maybe it would, but you didn't want to test it). You shifted on the bed (your bed made a very obvious, very loud creaking noise) and your supervisor cleared his throat. 

“I am not feeling too well, sorry”, you said. “I’d rather not”.

That wasn't entirely false - between the sore arse and what felt like bite marks on various parts of your body and what the hell was that purple bruise on your thigh? 

There was silence before he spoke again, "Well then...I guess we're halfway done here. Did you hear about the news?"

“The news?”, you echoed.

"You haven't checked our company website?"

Does anyone actually bother to check those?

"Mmm-hmm," You responded noncommittally.

"Okay," your supervisor sighed. "We've been acquired, and as a result, there will be some changes and layoffs."

"Oh," was all you could manage to say.

"I'm currently making a list of potential layoffs."

"Oh," you repeated, starting to understand where this conversation was going.

"Anya," he began, his tone more serious now. "I don't want to sound harsh, I have enjoyed working with you. As a friendly suggestion: it might look better on your resume if it appeared that leaving was your own decision."

Hell no, you won’t let the corpo screw you over.

“Hey, no, I want a severance package. I’ve been working for this company for three years”.

"Sure," he responded. "You are fully entitled to it. But first, we'll have to review your work activity. You know, what you did on your work computer, which websites you visited, how often you were active."

Maybe you’ll let the corpo screw you over.

“Never mind,” you surrendered. “I’ll come by today to pick up my stuff.”

“I am glad we could find a mutually beneficial decision”, your supervisor said, wished you a nice day, dropped off the call, and left you naked and pissed off.

As you got up, you felt something dripping down your legs. Wonderful, washing Raphael’s cum off the carpet sounded like the perfect start to your morning. You used your blanket to clean yourself (it would be easier to wash later) and dragged yourself to the bathroom.

On your way there, you caught sight of yourself in the mirror and couldn't help but let out an exasperated laugh. The make-up from yesterday was still smeared on your face in dark trails, making you look like a freshly fired and thoroughly fucked racoon. 

Sighing, you stepped into the shower and let the warm water wash away Raphael's seed, sweat and the remnants of yesterday's make-up. Oh, you thought as you washed it all away: maybe you should have brought some of Raphael's DNA to study in the lab. Then you would have a solid proof. They also might have found a way to breed powerful cambion super-soldiers.

Anya, why do you always have to think such bullshit? Raphael is from Dungeons & Dragons, not Warhammer.

Your bruises ached even worse under the hot water.

“You know, Raphael”, you spoke to yourself as you wrapped yourself in a towel. “I start to think there might be some issues with our relationship”.

Your phone chimed with a message.

"good morning my lovely girl," it read, instantly piquing your interest.

Oh, wow. Okay, you guys might have some issues, but he is certainly kind of sweet. You were about to pick up your phone to type something as sweet back (good morning my favorite devil?), when another notification popped up. 

“Did you know your Raul is one of the richest people in the country??”

Ah, damn. Your mum seemed to be in an excellent mood - why was that?

Probably because “Raul” made it to some mightiest and greatest list.

“I hope the date went well please call love mama god bless 🙏🥰”

As soon as you got yourself dried up, you were scanning the corporate website (last time you checked it when you prepared for an interview); the acquisition news was on the front page. You hastily scanned through the article.

“…was yesterday acquired by Avernus Capital AG, Zürich. The legal aspects of the transaction were handled by the Managing Partner Raul d'Avergni…”

By whom?

By whom?

Oh, for fuck’s sake, Raphael! So you can remember to get me fired but a condom slips your mind? Does he even know what those are? Has he ever needed to use one?

Ah, now you understand why he hadn’t called for the whole three days. He was working hard on fucking up your life. Screw reigning over the nine hells as the Archdevil Supreme when there's a girl who spent six months after graduation hunting this job (damn this economy) to torment.

Yes, you hated your job, but it paid the bills. Your emergency fund would cover one month expenses, tops. Raphael gave you a thousand over Twitch, that was nice, but that won’t last long either. If you buy plan B and visit a gyno, that’s one hundred less, easy. You can’t ask your mother for any help, either - she could barely make ends meet as it is.

Fine. Breathe in, breathe out. Perhaps he got you fired to offer you a better job; wasn't that what he mentioned yesterday? That’s right. Your work for me is not yet done, he said. That’s it; he has another job and needs all of your free time. 

You grabbed your phone to call him to confirm; and then you realized you still did not have his number, all the times he called you (which was exactly one) it was from a no caller ID. 

So much for that plan. Fine, the other way, then. You fired up BG3, the save from his Sharess Caress room.

The sight of his avatar and the inviting huge bed behind him stirred a pang of longing in you. "Hey, I miss you," you murmured to the screen, "Could you call me, please?"

“Give me the Crown that dominates the elder brain”, Raphael answered, not a line off the scripted talk.

“I already did that and now you are here. What’s the next task?”.

“A crown for a hammer, a deal of a lifetime”, Raphael ignored you and carried on with his talk with Tav.

The devil didn't toss you any curveballs, no ad-libbed lines or cheeky glances that shattered the fourth wall; just the same old scripted scenarios you'd already seen and played through. You jumped between saves, but nada. Your mum called you three or four times in the meanwhile. You shot her a short message that everything was okay (everything wasn’t), and you’ll call her later. 

Next, you scrolled through the missed discord notifications, filled with images and screen caps of Raphael and other Tavs, hundreds of other Tavs, elves, tieflings, humans, a wide gallery of his bloody harem (especially the modded Durges got under your skin) from the new romance scene Larian dropped. You were very tempted to tell them all about your night with Raphael and how it was the best sex you've ever had and on an unrelated note, do all women really die if they give birth to cambions? 

But then again, you’ve been called crazy enough lately. Better to delete the whole app. 

Who has time to chat in discord? Definitely not people with full-time jobs.

…Right.

In the afternoon, you decide to go to your office in the center of the city to pick up the few things they still had and hand in the things you still had . Company badge, laptop, chargers; three years' work fit into a cardboard box. Your last pay cheque will arrive on Friday, they said. 

Thank you for your hard work and dedication, and for making us a euro while we give you a cent and go get lost. Interviewing for them took a whole day; leaving them took half an hour.

The office was half empty; the few who were there were preparing to celebrate the grand occasion of being taken over by Avernus Capital (wouldn’t have happened without you, by the way, and you doubted that the new owner would be that nice). You mumbled a few hellos and how do you dos, but you realised (not that you ever thought otherwise) how little you cared for these people, and how little they cared for you.

The only one you really wanted to talk to you couldn't be reached.

Wait, but Raphael's office was only two underground stations away, you thought. If you can't call, maybe you can pay him a visit and congratulate him in person on his great acquisition.

Raphael's office, a multi-storey eighteenth-century building with the golden letters D'Avergni & Partners plastered all over it, looked very unwelcoming from the outside; inside it had all the warmth of a mausoleum. Dark grey walls loomed around you, somewhere between an art gallery and a prison cell. Art Deco furniture with sharp angles filled the space as floor-to-ceiling windows let in cold shards of light. You were stopped dead at the reception desk.

The receptionist's lips curved into a polite smile as you approached. 

She actually seemed nice, not the snotty bombshell type usual at such kinds of places; she had a tired smile and dark bags under her make-up.

"I would like to see Raul d'Avergni," you said, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear.

She looked at you as if you had entered a church and asked for a personal audience with God. Doubt gnawed at your resolve, but retreating now would be even more awkward.

Some young men, sipping coffee from their plastic cups next to an espresso robot, looked at you curiously through their thick-rimmed glasses.

"Good morning!" chirped the receptionist, regaining her composure. "Do you have an appointment?"

"Ugh, no..." you replied, trying to sound confident. “I'm his (what, what, what?)… his girlfriend, actually”.

Brilliant. 

She arched her eyebrows slightly, looking at your "Astarion approves" badge on your rucksack, which had seen quite a bit of action in its life (the summer festivals!), then at your "nique la police" T-shirt. Yes, you didn't give much thought to what you were wearing, but then again, you weren't planning to visit Raphael when you came here. 

The receptionist did her best to remain professional, but you could sense that she was very doubtful about your statement.

"I am afraid Mr. d'Avergni is in meetings all day today," she offered with an apologetic smile. "Perhaps you could try calling him if it is a private matter?"

Yeah, great idea. Your cheeks flushed as embarrassment washed over you. Of course his girlfriend would have his number.

"You do have his private number, don't you?" she continued, her smile unwavering.

Now you felt like a complete idiot. The girl was obviously too tired to make fun of you, but the stares and whispered giggles of the posh idiots behind your back were not nice.

“Sure I do," you blurted out. "Just still couldn't reach him for some reason and it’s pretty urgent. Anyway, just let Raul know I stopped by. My name is Anya. Anya Berger."

"Of course," she replied in that 'not-a-chance' tone. "Have a nice day, Mrs Berger."

You retreated with your dignity in tatters and headed for the exit. What on earth possessed you to come here? You could have just as easily gone to the Microsoft headquarters and said you brought Bill Gates some home-made pancakes, and by the way, where was he?

Fuck.

As you made your way out, you heard the young man with framed glasses murmur to his coworker, "Such bullshit." You couldn't help but eavesdrop. "I've seen the birds Raul brings to the parties and they are top-notch. Not some..."

You stopped in your tracks. Normally, you were not the scandalous type (you were a people pleaser, if anything), but if the world wanted to treat you like a doormat, you would at least bark back. 

“Not some what?”, you asked before he would finish the sentence.

"Oh, my apologies, miss. I wasn't talking to you. It was just a conversation with my colleague," he responded with a saccharine smile. All these guys sported slicked-back hairdos, boxy glasses and Patagonia vests. Your socks had more personality than these fucks.

“You were talking about me, you Patrick Bateman knock-off. So, what did you want to say?”

His faux-polite smile vanished in an instant.

"Wow, okay”, the guy sneered. “What did I want to say? In a completely unrelated conversation, I wanted to say that giving a drunk blowjob on a Tuesday night doesn't make someone anyone's girlfriend."

“You know what he will do with you if I ask him to?”, you said, your fists clenched.

You did realise how much of a cunt you sounded, but Raphael burned a guy’s mouth for calling him a two pump chump; surely he can burn this guy for being a jerk to you, too. 

There should be some benefit in being Devil’s special little mouse, right? 

The guy just scoffed at your threat, small drops of coffee landing on your face. His coworker looked embarrassed and quickly looked away. 

"Oh, I don't know," the guy retorted, "Why don't you call Mr. d'Avergni and ask him to fire me? Oh wait… do you really have his number?"

You couldn't come up with a clever response, so your anger gave you a bad one.

“I hope a damn bus runs you over”, you grumbled under your breath.

For a split second, you found yourself hoping that very scenario would unfold. That some rogue city bus would burst through the wall and flatten him. Once wasn’t enough; it’d reverse and do it again for good measure. 

Alas, no such luck.

The security at the door started to pay attention, but you didn't want to cause any more of a scene. 

You chose to rise above (not that you had any choice) and strutted away.

"Mr. d’Avergni is not going to call you back, nut job," the guy called after you. "He's way out of your league."

Your fingers clenched around the straps of your rucksack, knuckles white as you retreated.

The moment you left the posh building behind, you felt terrible. In an attempt to make yourself feel a little better, you grabbed a subway sandwich with some extra ham and a sugar bomb coffee from Starbucks, but it did nothing to improve your mood. You found a spot on the steps of the library and sat down to eat and brood everything over.

Let's look at the cold, hard facts. You lost your job, that's one thing. You might be pregnant with a devil's spawn that'll tear you apart on its way out, that's two. You've only saved enough money to get by, that's three. And on top of that, some yuppie jerk ridiculed you. 

That's four. On the plus side... on the plus side... 

Well, you had the best sex of your life last night (by a large, large margin). Just thinking about that orgasm made you dizzy. And that kiss. His lips. His hazel eyes. The way Raphael looked in a waistcoat with a cigar. The way he looked at you.

…yeah.

You stared into the distance, catching the outline of a Catholic cathedral out of the corner of your eye. A thought occurred to you then; Raphael had been so irked by your cross. Going to an actual church will probably make Raphael jealous of the other Big Guy with the magical powers (even though he hadn’t demonstrated them for at least some centuries) that he might actually come out and talk to you. 

You wolfed down the rest of the sandwich and got up.

The cathedral door, huge, twice your size, seemed to be closed. In the old days, you would have just walked away; it was clear you weren't welcome. But now, with all the rules and logic thrown out the window, you pushed against it and, lo and behold, it did open for you.

At first glance, the cathedral seemed devoid of life. There is something utterly captivating about an empty cathedral, as there is about all things that are not supposed to be empty. It was a beautiful church; no doubt about that. Obscenely rich, too, gold gilded altars and towering stained glass windows that painted kaleidoscopic patterns on cold marble floors. Marble statues of angels stood sentinel along the walls. Why do they always have these judgemental looks on their faces? Sinner, sinner, sinner.

I am; so fuck off. 

Far richer than any church should be, and yet the first humble wooden box that caught your eye was "DONATIONS WELCOME".

As you navigated towards the altar (a good half-minute journey across the vast nave), you discovered you weren't alone after all; an elderly pastor dozed in his throne-like chair and a choirboy leafed through sheet music by the monstrous organ pipes.

"Lord Almighty," the pastor creaked as he looked at you. "How did you get in?"

"The door?" you said, gesturing behind you.

He blinked twice.

"I was sure I had locked it. Oh, my memory. Getting old is no fun, child, I can tell you that."

The pastor was one of the types desperately trying to pass themselves off as your friend. 

"Should I go or..." you asked, not really wanting to go anywhere. 

The moment you stepped through the door of the church, you felt like you were crossing worlds again; the mundane real world was behind the door, and the world where interesting things happened was right there.

"Or no... Please stay," said the priest. "If you're here, it must be God's will. We don't turn anyone away. It's not like we've had many newcomers lately."

That might have something to do with being kid fiddlers, you thought, looking at the choirboy in the white and red outfit - fourteen, fifteen at the most - but you said nothing and came closer.

"And what brings you to the house of God, my child?" The priest's smile was warm and inviting. "Would you like to make a confession?"

No, no, absolutely not.

“Or, no”, you chuckled nervously. “No, Father, I wanted…”

(to piss off the devil by coming to the church)

“I wanted…to ask you… I wanted to ask you about the devils.”

The choir boy looked up in interest.

“I wanted…to ask you… I wanted to ask you about the devils.”

The choir boy looked up in interest.

"The devils?" the pastor asked incredulously, rubbing the dust off his glasses. "There is but one; you probably mean demons. What about them?"

"Just, ugh... Say, I am haunted by one. Ah, no, you are haunted by ghosts; possessed, then. What would be the procedure?"

You didn't really know what you were asking for. You didn't really believe that there was a step-by-step guide to getting rid of a devil in your bed, especially if you invited him, especially if you liked him very much.

The priest put his hand on his belly and laughed, the old wheezing laugh of a man with a heart condition. God, it smelt like incense in here; such a suffocating smell, as if it was meant to dull any common sense.

"My child," he said, putting a fatherly hand on your shoulder. "The Church may have its doctrines, but the idea of demons is simply a metaphor. A representation of our transgressions, our weaknesses." 

He laughed a little more and then told you very gently, carefully, as if you were mentally deficient:

"Demons are not real. They are metaphors, allegories".

Having heard all your life that the Devil is watching, the Devil is waiting, and now all of sudden he is not real, and you were pretty sure he had fucked you raw yesterday.

Very helpful, Father. You suddenly felt an urge to bring forth the Antichrist just to spite the entire Catholic Church.

The cathedral door groaned in protest as it swung open once more. You looked over your shoulder.

The man entering the cathedral was the last person who should be treading on consecrated ground.

"Then who the hell is that, Father?" you muttered under your breath.

"Oh, my dear friend!" replied the priest with the broadest of smiles. "What a joy to see you!”

Raphael's attire was nearly identical to the first time you saw him in the cafe: a three-piece suit with a subtle shift in color, now a deep navy. A bit of a dated look of a wheeler and dealer in smoke-filled rooms; something very much “Mad Men” about him. 

"Darling, you claimed not to be religious," Raphael smiled at you as he approached and gave you a light kiss on the cheek. "But look where I find you."

"Well, you're also the last person I would expect to see in a church," you replied.

"Why is that?” The priest asked. “This man has done more for the Church than any other, my dear child!"

They embraced, the priest and the businessman, like good old friends. Well, you always knew that the Church was in cahoots with the Devil, but not so literally. You shook your head at the hypocrisy of the Church, Raphael, and the way things were done in general.

"You exaggerate, Flavio," said Raphael. "Besides, it's my pleasure and duty to contribute to my community. I assume you've already met, but let me introduce you anyway - Anya, my paramour".

Raphael gestured to you. Better tell your colleagues that, you thought, since they doubted it so much. He should also find this guy in the glasses, introduce you to him and then fire him immediately (and have him run over by a bus while he was on his way to collect his things). In fact, that was now your main requirement for staying his little mouse. 

"Blessed be, I'm ecstatic for you both," the priest gushed, barely containing his excitement. "Praise the Lord that you are finally doing better, Raul. It's about time..."

Raphael gave him a very cold smile and interrupted with a slight raise of his hand.

“Dimmi, hai preparato i documenti che ti ho chiesto? Il fisco sta facendo dellle indagini”.

"Haha!” the priest laughed. “La tua ragazza è venuta a chiedermi dei diavoli, forse avrei dovuto indicarle l'ufficio delle imposte".

Their conversation dove into rapid Italian, leaving you in the dust. It was rude but precisely their intention. Your attention wandered from them and across the hauntingly beautiful church interior, finally resting on the choir boy standing in the shadows.

He looked very pale. The poor guy was scared, scared shitless. His lips moved soundlessly; words stuck in his throat like swallowed stones. Tracing his petrified stare, your own eyes landed on the towering wall of the church.

The shadow Raphael was casting was not human; wings unfurled from its back and double horns crowned its head. It looked both eerie and beautiful in the soft candlelight. A part of you admired it for its artistic potential; this could be inspiration for some haunting fanart.

Wait a second.

“Do you see it too?” You mouthed silently to the choir boy who nodded frantically, sweat on his forehead.

A surge of relief washed over you - finally someone else shared your madness. But before you could reach out to him, he darted away into the ink-black abyss of the back room. Raphael's touch on your hand halted any thought of following him.

“Ah, pay him no heed,” dismissed the priest nonchalantly. “The boy’s mind is somewhat...disturbed.” He quickly clarified with an awkward laugh: “Not that we judge here – all are welcome under God's roof.”

Even the Devil himself, it seemed.

Your gaze returned to Raphael and then flickered towards the pastor; he either couldn't see or chose to ignore the monstrous shadow of his parishioner.

Or perhaps, he did see it and was merely delighted to meet his true master.

"Take all the time you need, Flavio," Raphael said, his hand dismissive as he sent the pastor scurrying. "We're in no rush."

The priest melted into the shadows of a side corridor, leaving you alone with the Devil in God's house. If Raphael nudged you back just a fraction more, your body would be flush against the cold stone altar. 

You found the idea very intriguing.

"Our little escapade last night was quite... memorable, wouldn't you agree?" His fingertips traced a path along your cheekbone. "Did you come here seeking salvation from your sins?"

"Sins? No," you replied coyly. "There are other things that trouble me... Like how I lost my job because of you."

His eyebrows shot up in surprise, thumb caressing the curve of your cheek. “And how exactly did I manage such a feat?"

"Well, my company was acquired by yours and I was restructured away."

A slight frown creased his brow as he considered this. "So, you were employed by Tenebris? That is an unfortunate twist of fate." He paused before continuing, "Did you enjoy working for them?"

"Not particularly," you admitted, "but it paid my bills and kept me fed."

He smiled, his touch lingering on your skin. "And what price tag did they put on keeping you pliant?"

"Two thousand two hundred euros net”.

And sixty euros. Plus a free travel pass and a discount at a gym you never went to. Plus a yearly bonus!

This revelation seemed to snap him out of his trance-like admiration of you.

"A month?" His tone held an edge of horror and for once, it felt good to see him rattled.

You nodded, a small smile playing on your lips. His gaze was filled with genuine sympathy. It wasn't such a terrible salary - it was above the country's average after all!

"I see," he murmured. "This explains your living situation. My dear Anya, don't let anyone under-value you; your time is worth far more than that. As for your current predicament - and I confess to having contributed to it - I will make amends."

With that, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a plain leather wallet. You couldn't resist taking a look yourself; there was a government ID card, a driver's licence and several other cards you couldn't identify. He pulled out a sleek black credit card and handed it over.

"I'll let my banker know you're authorized," he said. “He will contact you with regards to security details”.

"No, no, that's not what I meant," you quickly interjected, pride sparking in your chest. "I can fend for myself."

"Don’t you ever say no to me," Raphael warned with a playful edge to his voice as he pulled you closer into his arms. "It won't end well."

His jesting tone didn't quite mask the threat in his words, but you couldn't help but grin. Whatever he says, the very way he says it is just so nice. 

"I'd rather have a job," you said, not sure if you were actually that eager to get back into the corporate grind.

"Then I shall arrange one for you," he grinned. "A prestigious position under a very demanding superior. It will keep you very, very occupied."

You were pretty sure that position was not what you went to college for. Then again, didn't he say yesterday that he had a job for you? 

"Consider it limitless," Raphael added nonchalantly while your fingers traced the cool metal of the credit card. "If you manage to find its limit, consider me thoroughly impressed."

Did he want you to splash out on new clothes and the like? But there were more pressing matters at hand. Your mum had just cleared her towering credit card debt and was in need of some expensive dental work. The local cat shelter was on the brink of closure and rent was due.

"I actually wanted to help my mum out a bit, if that's okay, she's, ugh"... you started, rolling the credit card in your hands. 

"Anya," Raphael interrupted sternly. "You shall have whatever you wish for.”

You nodded and looked into his eyes, remembering the pleasure of lying under him yesterday and how much you wanted to do so again. 

"About last night," you said. "Should I take the morning-after pill..."

Raphael shook his head in disbelief.

"You Catholic girls... No need for that considering our activities last night, but even if there was...I've always envisioned having a family but never found the right woman."

It's such a stupid cliché, you thought, as your stomach fluttered and you let him lean in for a kiss. 

But maybe. Just maybe. Maybe he really meant it. He had such a horrible life in hell. Maybe you were the first one…

…the actual first one, the one…

Right . You still don't want to die in childbirth, however flattering Raphael’s words might be. If you pay for Plan B with his credit card, will he see it? Nah, better use your own.

"...right," you murmured against his mouth, then remembered what else was bothering you. "And could you please tell your colleagues that we are together?".

Were you even together, you wondered in sudden fear, but Raphael nodded:

"I'll make it very much known, if that's what you wish for."

Your heart pounded in agreement. The more people knew, the more tangible it felt.

As Raphael's lips melted against yours, you glanced at his shadow on the wall and smiled; he must have thought you were looking at the confessional, for apparently the horned outline of his own shadow was not bizarre to him.

"Would you like to confess? I could absolve you of all sins" Raphael whispered in your ear, his hand slowly but surely tracing the full curve of your arse, still sore from his tail-whipping. "I am afraid you have to commit them first, though”.

He gave it a light squeeze and you yelped; he seemed to revel in the sound.

"We're in the sacred house," you blushed, squirming under his very bold advances and enjoying them very much.

"Indeed we are," Raphael concurred, his hands yanking you into the shadowy Catholic confessional, shoving you in first. The image of him cloaked in his holy robes flashed in your mind and a giggle bubbled up at the sheer audacity of it all. “What better place for blasphemy?”

The cabin was barely big enough for the two of you, dimly lit and very narrow; meant for one person only, the other chamber remained empty, separated only by a small window. The smell of old wood and incense filled your nostrils as he closed the door behind you.

The last time you went to confession, you were a teenager and the priest was so old and ugly that no dirty thoughts crossed your mind; but now you suddenly realised that there was no hotter place on earth.

Raphael's lips brushed your earlobe, his stubble against your cheek, "Kneel before me," he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. "Show me how remorseful you are for cavorting with the Devil."

You weren’t sorry.

Not one bit. 

Without hesitation or second thoughts, just like you had before the chair yesterday, you sank to your knees in front of him. Something told you that this will become a familiar position for you in the days to come.

The moment your face was against his groin, Raphael undid his pants. His cock sprang out, large, reddish and throbbing; even better than you had imagined. You couldn't help but wrap your hands around it, almost in disbelief that this thing was so real and so eager for your mouth. A bead of pre-cum glistened at the tip, and you licked it off, savouring the salty and musky taste. 

Raphael gasped above you, his body tense with pure lust. Your thighs clench together in excitement and you feel the soaked panties stick to your pussy as you feel him guide your head towards his cock.

“Repent, you little sinner”, Raphael muttered, his voice thick with lust. "Plead for your redemption."

Judging by his state, he should be the one pleading.

You teased him with slow, deliberate licks, the tip of your tongue tracing his frenulum up and down (he loved it). You nuzzled your cheek against his rigid shaft, a purr of satisfaction escaping your lips as you lavished it with wet, open-mouthed kisses. Each vein was a roadmap for you to follow, every inch of his cock kissed and licked with a fervour that bordered on reverence.

"Enough," he said. "I want to see the depth of your remorse".

Your tongue slid over the top of his head and your lips followed, parting as you slowly took him into your mouth. Raphael moaned and you echoed him, your voice pulsing against his shaft, the church walls echoing the unholy litany. You sucked his cock greedily, desperately, drawing him into a warm, needy vacuum, and the harder you tried, the wetter you became. 

You wanted to give Raphael the blowjob of his millennium; you gave everything to serve him, saliva slicking down his shaft, down your chin, down your t-shirt, as every muscle in your mouth worked hard for his pleasure. The world around blurred into nothingness; all you could focus on was the dark thatch of hair framing his groin and the rhythmic motion of his cock sliding in and out of you. 

No one ever wanted to suck him off as much as you did, as deep and sloppy and messy as you did. You liked the scent of him, the taste of him, the feeling of him, the sound of him; everything about him; you’d love to suck him dry. 

“Keep going”, Raphael let out a moan of such desperate pleasure it could be pain. "Dare to stop and I promise you'll taste hellfire."

As if you had any intention of stopping; this was an act of worship you could perform for eternity.

You glanced up; he was sweated, chestnut locks clinging to his forehead, the flickering candlelight casting dancing shadows across his face, and you felt more powerful than ever in your life. He tugged his necktie loose and opened the collar, his breathing coming out harsh and shallow. He was at your mercy; at the mercy of your tongue and throat.

Raphael bucked his hips, desperate to thrust in your mouth, and you let him take control; let him grab and hold your head while you simply hang in his grip, pliant and passive, as his cock jerked in and out. He went at it with such ferocity as if he hadn’t fucked for months; which you very well knew not to be true.

Gag reflex kicked in, your body threatening to revolt, and you repressed it with all the will you had, tears gathering in your eyes, and with each move of his hips it became more and more challenging. Thankfully, his bucking became more desperate; your mouth clamped down harder around his cock, and you let your tongue run up and down his shaft. 

You felt hot jets of liquid gush against your throat as Raphael cried out, his body shivered and he leaned forward as he came, and you felt stupid happy. A larger bit of his cum dribbled straight down your throat, the rest pooled in your mouth around his cock. 

“Swallow”, Raphael said, his voice deeper, rougher now. "Take all of me."

He was not going to pull out, not until every drop of him was inside you, so you made two very deliberate gulps, rolling the slight bitterness of his release on your tongue before you swallowed it all down.

Then you looked up at him like a starving animal - hungry for more. Your fingers carefully gathered the stray droplets of his cum and you greedily licked them off. As a final gesture, you kissed the tip of his cock, to which he cursed under his breath; something in Italian; whichever it was, it sounded hot. 

You grinned, licking your lips, so proud of yourself.

"You are divine," Raphael said as he pulled you up by your hair, pressing you hard against the confessional wall before claiming your lips in a rough kiss – tasting himself on them. "Divine. You are a treasure. I cannot believe my own luck. I cannot believe…”

In that moment, if he had told you he loved you, you would have believed him without hesitation.These very words were on the tip of your tongue but you chose to channel it all into the kiss.

The priest's footsteps echoed through the church, amplified by the silence.

"Li ho presi," he happily announced. 

Raphael hastily adjusted his clothing, looking genuinely embarrassed for a brief moment. The two of you stumbled out of the confessional, not exactly gracefully. 

From the pastor's expression, you could tell he understood what had happened between you and Raphael in the confessional. Your faces were flushed and your hair was disheveled from his hands tugging and pulling on it. Your damp chin, which you hastily wiped with your sleeve, only made things more obvious.

“...Raul," Flavio chided with a tone heavy with disapproval. "I still hope to wed you in this very church, but you're making it exceedingly difficult."

His eyes didn’t even glance at you; apparently, any attempt at salvation or reprimand was wasted on you now.

"I donate millions to this church,” Raphael retorted dismissively, dusting off imaginary lint from his shoulders. "If you want others to overlook certain things, you should be prepared to do the same."

The Father raised an eyebrow but said nothing as he handed over some documents to Raphael.

With that, the audience was over.

The angel statues glared down at you with undisguised contempt; particularly the one clutching a sword. That’s exactly why people turn to devils, you judgemental winged pricks on high horses, you thought. You rolled the aftertaste of devil's cum on your tongue and thought that going to heaven was definitely not in your near future.

Exiting the church, you were met by two armed men standing guard at the doors. For a moment, you thought you were being apprehended for lewd conduct in public. Raphael's security, you realized.. Of course he had security. Both looked like dark, looming, emotionless twin shadows. What were they really? Cambions? Orthons? Surely no one could truly harm him?

You clutched closer to Raphael, his lips brushing your forehead as he attended another phone call.

“Mamma mia,” he blurted out mere moments after he picked up, and a chuckle escaped you at how stereotypically Italian he sounded. You hadn't realized that was an actual phrase they used. His furrowed brows and concerned tone quickly sobered up the mood though, "What happened? Where? Was it on Main Street?"

He looked genuinely troubled and you offered silent comfort by intertwining your fingers with his. He responded with a reassuring squeeze.

“One of my juniors got into a...”, he told you as soon as he had hung up. “Into some macabre road accident”.

Hit by a bus, you realized with a jolt but kept your silence.

You had to witness it yourself.

Without a word, you followed Raphael to the crash scene, the wailing sirens of fire trucks and ambulances echoing in your ears. Security trailed along behind, all of you making your way through the gathering crowd.

The sight that greeted you was both mundane and horrifying, in a way that only real life could be. The bus stood askew, its once deep blue body now painted with crimson streaks. And there, on the cold pavement, was...splattered…what was left of a person. 

"I don't know what happened," an older Asian man sobbed nearby, his words falling on deaf ears. "I swear I've been driving this thing for twenty years, I swear I was not drunk..."

The policewoman stood tall and stern above him, her arms crossed in a way that made it clear she had already formed her judgement. Some other kind soul actually offered him an anti-shock blanket. Some less kind souls were taking pictures of their phones. News reports were arriving, too.

This poor man probably had a family to support. What would happen to him now?

You could handle all the exaggerated violence and gore on television, but you absolutely could not watch the man sprawled out on the pavement in real life; or at least what was left of him. It reminded you of the cherry pudding from the evening before. You could see his broken glasses scattered haphazardly on the ground and tears welled up in your eyes. 

He was a jerk, sure, but he was also mortal, like you. Now he lay dead, wrapped in plastic sheets, and it could have easily been you.

Where was he now? Did Raphael claim his soul? 

Did you cause his death?

You didn't mean for it to happen. Well, maybe you did, but...

“Don’t look, piccola,” Raphael murmured in your ear, his hand shielding your eyes. “You fainted over a cherry pudding once; this is by far worse. Damn it! My youngest and most promising. Just twenty-seven years old and newly engaged. An absolute tragedy.”

The same age as you.

"I'm sorry... he was so rude to me," you choked out between sobs. "I didn't think..."

“Anya, please, it's none of your fault,” Raphael’s voice softened. “Just the cruelty of fate; an accident. We cannot be held responsible for such misfortunes”.

“No?”, you asked with a faint hope.

You were not a bad person, even if you were fucking the devil; in fact, you were going to splurge his credit card on all the animal shelters and children battling cancer to make up for what you had just did. You were not a bad person.

You were not a murderer, no, no, no.

“No,” he repeated and then a slight smile, completely inappropriate to the moment, touched his lips. “Except when very much are responsible; unless we made it happen.”

Raphael’s words made you flinch slightly but he maintained his hold on you.

Yeah, well, you did that, you wanted to say, I did nothing, I only wished for it.

“The driver must have been under the influence,” he continued . “I cannot conceive any other reason for running over a pedestrian at a red light.”

You breathed out. The air was thick with the smell of gasoline, burned rubber and the scent of blood; metallic smell of death.

“Oh, you look rattled, poor thing, look at those tears”, he cooed and offered you a handkerchief with his initials on it. “Anya, love, my apologies, but I have to attend to this immediately. There’s going to be press, rumors that we work people to death that’s why he was not looking around. I need to be there for my company”.

For the company?

“…And for his family, of course”, Raphael added as if reading your thoughts. “That’s his fiance over there, I suppose. Oh, take her away, you morons…”

There she was, the woman in a suit, wailing like a banshee, as somebody tried to hold her close and hug her. What she had seen just now she would never, ever forget. 

Raphael held both your shoulders and rotated you to face him.

“You.. you know what? Go shopping, distract yourself a bit. Then call my driver to take you to my place. We'll spend the evening together”.

His words were met with a hollow nod from your side. You cast another side glance at the accident, and he  gently turned your face towards him again.

"And learn when to look away," Raphael murmured, punctuating his advice with a soft kiss on your lips, "It's an essential survival skill."

[thegnomelord]

hi, me again. the cruise is fairly okayish for me but my husband (HUSBAND 🥰🥴🥴🥰😍😻😻😍🥰🥴) loves it

uhh moose price (can you tell i like price). moose are pretty like violent or dangerous creatures so he’d be very clash-y. BUT. this only applies if they’re in fall rut or are a female with babies…take that as you will.

oh god im such a monster fucker leviathan ghost (GHOST LEVIATHAN?? SUBNAUTICA MENTION) (sorry). hes jsut so big and 😫😫 wet. im wet. im a man sorry im not wet im just getting wet bc im diving. into the ocean i go. i need myself a big merman or shit to fuck my ass??

im in love with the graves cat idea but instead his goofy ass owns a farm and sees this fucking….feral bobcat….like what the fuck you doing out there boy!?!?!?! anyways graves like snatches this fucking bobcat reader and thinks hes a normal cat. he has made this mistake many times before. his shadows are cackling bc he just posted a picture of his new catboy demihuman to the groupchat. that is a bobcat my boy. or even better, cougar. mountain lion that just needs a little loving (or, hes planning on eating graves. boy dinner. take that as you will)

graves again, now with a singular hunting dog. maybe a beagle. its hunting time :) gotta catch fucking turkeys or like doves. hes so proud of his boy when the pup drags back his shot 😊. i would bark for you graves pleas come home i have diabetes for you like in america

please dont mind my rambles i have so many thoughts i cannot contain them

-❀

Good for your husband lol :Dd

Tbh I would love to see moose price with big ass antlers, see him fighting over you cause it's rut and he'll be damned before he lets someone else come near his mate. And also then pushing you down and riding you, horns and face still splattered with his opponent's blood.

I mean good luck for your ass, isn't Ghost Leviathan big as fuck? But same tbh, I'd love to see a big ass mer 141, can you imagine Soap if he was a megalodon merman? Jesus.

Also I am deffo laughing at the cougar reader getting taken in by graves cause he just can't tell the difference between an apex predator demihuman and a normal cat lol. Big 'accidentally adopted a coyote' vibes tbh. Would be funny if he does like a dna test cause you're kiiiiiinda funky looking for a cat demihuman and you keep getting bigger as he continues to take care of you and feed you. Only to figure out, oh shit, you're a damn cougar! While you're laying on top of him, heavy body pinning him down and just purring.

[bucketfullofstrawberries]

Hi! Came here to tell you I didn't know the meaning of a comfort character until Edgar. Nowadays when I'm feeling down, all I have to do is make a drawing of him and it inmediately brightens my mood.

You have made a character who is genuinely impactful in other people's lives, who feels like a person in his own right. Who is and always will be loved by many, who doesn't feel like he's just fiction.

He is wonderful, and everyone who has made art of him knows that. And we all are grateful that you made him.

❤️

EXCUUUSEEE MEEEEEE UOU CANNOT SAYY ALL OF THAT AND KEEP YOURSELF ANONYMOUS

EXCU-HU-HUUSEEE MEEEE,,,, OUUHH.... OUHOOOA......... I'M CRYING ALL OVER YOU IM WEEPING AND I'M CRYING AND IM TURNING YOU INTO A SOPPING WET THING BEAST WITH MY TEARS, FUCK YOU!!!!!!

No, SERIOUSLY though- THIS IS SO FUCKING SWEET AND HEARTFELT WHAT THE HELLL!!??? WHAT THE FUCK!!!!!!! IT TOOK ME A GOOD FEW HOURS TO ACTUALLY SIT DOWN AND WRITE SOMETHING FOR THIS WHOLE THING BECAUSE I JUST 💥IM NEARLY FUCKING SPEECHLESS HERE, GOOD FUCKING MORNING,

Edgar being a comfort character to you is SUCH a MASSIVE fucking compliment, even if I don't have a bloody CLUE who you are I am CRYING ALL OVER YOU SO MUCH!!!! BECAUSE!!! THAT'S KIND OF WHAT MY AIM WAS, IN A WAY???

I really don't know HOW I pipelined from a basic white Geography Teacher looking beta FUCK to this.. whimsical, Jolly Holiday, Mary Poppins-esq British man and yet STILL kept him as a Narrator, but I DID!! BUT OVER TIME, instead of keeping him as a sopping wet white cat crying in a corner, I slowly started building up a little story for him and thought to myself "..Huh. It'd be cool if he was quite different from the majority of the Narraverse... maybe I could make him fun and full of whimsy!! It might make people happy!". Because I like to make things different most of the time, it's something I've managed to be quite well known for! AS WELL AS THAT, It's an absolute joy to draw and write him as a character for myself BUT -- seeing people genuinely enjoy him as a person is something I LOVE to see because I LIKE making people happy.. and having him become a COMFORT CHARACTER, of all things, is such an honor and a privilege.. it wasn't anticipated from me at the start at ALL, But I'm SO happy you see him that way!!

And I FULLY SUPPORT, ENCOURAGE AND CONDONE Edgar being used as a source of ANY COMFORT, ANY WHICH WAY POSSIBLE!!! If he's a source of feel good energy for you, then go NUTS!! DO WHAT YOU LIKE WITH HIM, I'M NOONE TO JUDGE!! This doesn't just go out to you, either, this goes out to EVERYONE and ANYONE!!

And I'm sure Edgar HIMSELF will be MORE than delighted to provide some sunshine to your rainy days and moonlight to your cloudy night skies! I MEAN IT!! I REALLY DO!!

It brings me IMMENSE joy that I'm able to make characters that impact peoples lives in such a positive way.. because I KNOW how that feeling feels because so many characters other PEOPLE have made makes ME feel the same way.. and if EDGAR can achieve THAT with a wider audience then that's something I'll always be proud of.. and that's something that encourages me to keep pumping out content because it's something I LOVE to do and I'm more than happy to make sure people know that they're loved and they SHOULD feel loved, not just by me, but by Edgar himself. He's been carefully made over a YEAR in order to be a pleasant and good character and I'm SO happy I can convey that well enough for people to recognize him as good, because he's MEANT to be good,

But having someone say this to me UP FRONT, IN MY FACE, WALTZING IN THROUGH MY DOOR LIKE IT'S NONE OF THEIR BUSINESS IF I'LL CHOKE AND CRY ABOUT IT, I'm literally SO grateful, ETERNALLY grateful that I'm able to provide a character to be.. well, a sort of place of Sanctuary. Making peoples faces light up, getting excited about him.. it's nothing that makes me feel egotistical or big headded, it's just. Lovely to know that I'm making people happy with what I do. That's what I've wanted to do for a majority of my life, make smiles and bring cheer. I guess Edgar's -- kind of the EMBODIMENT of that.

He won't always be a Narrator... I've made my mind up about that. But he'll always live on with that significant mark he made in the community he was founded upon. THIS community, this lovely community that isn't always picture perfect but there's just SO many extraordinary and sweet people in it that I'll always be fond of it, of this. Of everyone!! Of The Stanley Parable, Narraverse and Paraverse & All of the Above and below!

TLDR: I wanted to make a Character that people could find joy within. And I'm proud to say that I did. And I'm so so SO grateful to those who keep the magic alive and love and support not me, but the journey Edgar's had and how far it's taken him.

I love you guys so so so sosososososo SOOOOO much it's insane From who you are, to what you do and what you make..even just the little things you are SO loved..

And Edgar loves you guys ALL the MORE!! <3

..AND YES I DID START CRYING WHILE WRITING THIS, SHUT UP, I'M EMOTIONAL, FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU

[nothavinganygoodtimes]

when u do sketches of one character and ur two faves somehow invade the page

[thekittyokat]

you ever just have a lot, a LOT of feelings all at once about a character and not even remotely enough words or brainpower to FORM the words to describe everything you're feeling. so it feels like you may explode. yeah

[meadow-moth]

He won't leave my brain

Thinking about him just sitting alone in his room. The guards won't talk to him anymore - they've watched too many die for the same. He's read and reread all of his books. His uncle won't be back until tomorrow. The trauma this guy has I'm literally exploding

[lovesickeros]

☆ thrice the bell tolls

{☆} characters neuvillette {☆} notes cult au, imposter au, villain au, drabble, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings minor angst {☆} word count 0.9k

"Get in the water."

There is no trepidation in the voice of the Sovereign as he speaks, only pure contempt that bleeds into the very air until it chills their lungs – there will be no penance here. No redemption. He stands before them with apathetic indifference, and with his hands he shall draw judgement upon sinners without a shred of mercy, so heavy his gaze they cannot move. This land shall become the grave of gods – no, not gods, Archons. Transcendent..and fallible.

Horribly, humanly fallible.

What a cruel thing to be – neither god nor mortal, in the end. Their Authority a stolen, coveted thing, so easily taken in a blaze of fury that singes them to the bone, in winds so harsh it tears the breath from their lungs from the sheer pressure, in the way their hairs stand on end as if lightning shall smite them for their arrogance. Judgement has come for them, in the end, and no plea nor bargain can save them from it's justice – they shall be judged and they shall be sentenced.

"..I was willing to put aside your past transgressions – forgive your thievery of the Authority that is not your own – to see Their vision of harmony come to reality." He speaks with nothing but clarity and calmness that unsettles – as gentle as the serene pond illuminated by gentle sunlight, ducks drifting across its pristine surface and creating faint, brief ripples. Calm as the tide as it recedes from the shoreline. His eyes speak of the tempest – the raging winds and the harsh waves that will crash and break and ravage. There is a fury so turbulent it makes the wind go still, the earth erode and the water recede. "You do not deserve repentance when Their body bears the marks of your transgressions," There will be no mercy. They try to plead, to beg and bargain but they cannot speak – their cries go unheard just as Theirs were ignored. A horrifying irony.

"Self proclaimed Acolytes, all, yet you bathe in Their most divine blood and call yourselves Saints," He breathes in, taps his cane against the hardened earth, and holds his head high as he meets their eyes unflinching. Mercy, they think, for we are innocent – we did not know. "Sinners, to the very last. You tear at the flesh of the most Divine like wild dogs to sate your own hunger, for you know nothing else."

His voice is the toll – it echoes like the ringing of a bell, calling them to the water like a siren. It beckons, it demands, and it will not wait. The water recedes and he stands like a beacon among the shores – a bastion of light where it has been snuffed out.

His eyes witness their sins – heavy a burden he bears as he witnesses that which they must atone for. The cruel hand of an Archon as it spills the Divine blood of the very earth beneath their feet. He sees Their agony, feels it to the last. Every bolt of wind, every jagged rock, every bolt of lightning. Every single one he feels until he weeps – for Them, he weeps.

His left hand renders judgement – guilty. Their transgressions are grave, and no redemption can be found for such horrors they have inflicted upon the mortal vessel of the Divine. They have felt their sorrow, have felt Their pain, and he has found them guilty.

And with his right hand..he enacts justice.

"Let your sins be your anchor – let your sins weigh heavy upon your shoulders so that you may feel a brief flicker of the agony you have inflicted upon Them," He lifts his cane with a solemn resolve, tears staining the scales upon his cheeks. "I shall weep for you, too, for no other shall do so in my stead. Return, wretched beasts, to the earth and let it nourish Them where you did not."

And at his call, the waves devour.

Entire cities, entire nations – those who bear the sin shall drown in it's wake, dragged to the lowest depths where even the sun cannot breach. It takes and takes, claws and tears and rips at the bodies of the damned – it devours the world, impartial and unrelenting in it's judgement.

And Neuvillette alone weeps.

◇

"Neuvillette? Are you..crying?" Their voices makes him startle back to awareness, the briefest flicker of shame welling up in the empty space of his chest as he wipes away the tears that roll down his cheeks like drops of rain.

"It..appears so. Forgive me, most Divine, it seems I had a brief lapse in focus." He clears his throat, straightens his back, tries to ignore the pit in his stomach as he watches Their lips pull into a smile all too happy. He..he should be happy too, shouldn't he? He should. If They are happy, so should he be. His lips curl into a smile that doesn't feel like it fits on his face, but he delights in the way They smile wider when he does.

They approve, and that's all that matters, isn't it?

"It won't happen again, I assure you."

Their approval is all that matters.

So why does his chest ache so badly? He did as They commanded, he removed the stain upon Teyvat and ensured Their safety.

So why does he feel such sorrow?

The thought gnaws at him like the tides erode at stone, yet he cannot bear to burden his Creator with such..nonsense.

He will bear this weight alone until the day the waves come to claim him, too.

"Shall we visit the gardens today, Divine One?"

[wazzappp]

Apologizing for trying to rip someone to shreds by letting them examine aforementioned shred-rippers is pretty standard.

Seeing people you’ve lost in in the person you are apologizing to is not…

[blind0raven]

I HAVE TO WAIT A FUCKING YEAR FOR HIS UGLY ASS BANGED HAIRCUT FACE CARD DAMN IT!!!!

Though on one note... does this mean that he "might" now possibly get actual plush merch twst? 👀 I want to legit fling this fucker down the stairs and squeeze him

[britcision]

So one thing Imma praise til I die is the sheer efficient storytelling of Dungeon Meshi

Just look at Mithrun

Immediately set up as the most important person in the room by being the only one not looking at the camera, mysterious covered face but always there, just barely off to the side

About one chapter of being incredibly badass and a fucking madlad

And then Ryoko Kui dumps a bucket of water on his head so you simply cannot mistake him as anything other than a sad wet cat of a man

[whiteapplesandblackblood]

2023 actor award nominees chuuya nakahara and dazai osamu for that stunning performance everybody! give it up for our two best gay- I mean gorgeous actors!!!!

[steakout-05]

this image of barry reminds me of a weird shivering wet animal staring at me from his little hole in the ground. a creature

[ffb6c1lover]

can kendall roy fucking fight

[dolokhoded]

mel c magdalene made me realize what was missing from my magdalene design and it's that she's not fucking jacked. it's crucial to her character

[omgcatboi]

Me and Hanzo are the same in the since that we listen to Kill_All_Your_Friends_MCR.wav when we get sad.