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lovesickeros · 10 months

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☆ 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.

#sagau #genshin sagau #self aware genshin #genshin impact sagau #self aware genshin impact #fic tag #imposter au #focalors #furina #neuvillete #a family can be a dragon an archon and his 300 other children who reverse adopted him #u date him its a package deal sorry #u now have like 300 children g-dspeed #also tagged spoilers on neuvi's part bc its kinda a spoiler??? sort of #also this can be read as platonic or romantic on neuvi's part #can u tell i like focalors btw :)#also gonna be swapping between focalors/furina bc SOMEONE sent me a theory and it sent me spiraling im gonna be ill #u know who u r and ur days r numbered #can be read as romantic between reader & neuvi but only bc i know focalors rubs it in his face she found the actual creator first #anyway can u tell focalors is my fav pt2 i wont shut up abt her its terminal atp #focalors..................#anyway *doesnt post fr months. randomly drops a 2k word fic. leaves and doesnt elaborate*#starts out v serious ends v silly #wrote this in one sitting im gonna go pass out now gn

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bludhavensbirdboy · 4 days

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okay what if buddie happens and we don’t get a big realisation of feelings or sexuality crisis from Eddie. I mean Eddie ‘never dealt with a single feeling in his life’ Diaz perhaps might just be like okay this is how it is now, i kiss men or i kiss buck and that’s okay. I don’t know i think it would be very in character to just not question it if buck and him kiss before they discuss their feelings.

#i love a man incompetent with feelings #give me buddie i want it.#i think eddie and buck are gonna be even closer in s8 cause mr fix it buckley will wanna be close to eddie to check on him #and idk i think it would be in character for both of them if they just kissed and not discussed first it just randomly happens #perhaps they get more domestic cause chris is gone and eddie needs support #or perhaps i’m silly and buddie won’t happen and eddie will spiral and go back to texas so chris can be close to his grandparents #who’s to say #irrelevant tags >#911 #911 abc #911 show #buck/eddie #buddie #eddie diaz #evan buck buckely #evan buckley

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randompolykin · 14 days

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11 otherkin related questions:

How many kintypes do you have? (What are they? Not required part)

Are you questioning kintypes right now? (What are they? Also not required to answer)

do you also have theriotypes? (✨What. Are. They✨)

Do you consider your kintypes to also be theriotypes?

Do you experience species dysphoria? How would you rate it on a scale of one, being nearly noticeable/upsetting to ten, so intense you find yourself wishing to rip out of your skin you cry for an hour, in the middle could be in the middle, or having periods of it being very low, then very high. (When I am talking about species dysphoria I am talking about right now as in either these past months, years, or what it's like for you in general, whichever you prefer answering.)

what type of thing(s) give you the most species euphoria. Dysphoria?

Are there certain music (songs, artists/bands genres) that connects/reminds you of your kintypes? Do you listen to these while experiencing lots of species dysphoria to comfort yourself, or while in a shift?

Is your main blog your kin blog, do you have a kinside blog, do you have a kin side blog but sometimes post otherkin stuff on your main blog anyway, or the other wat around? Or do you just have a bunch or random or highly specific blogs or something?

Have you ever made a moodboard relating to your own kintype(s)?

Do you do moodboards carekits etc requests, do you have a side blog for it? Have you requested kin moodboards etc? Do want to start doing requests but don't have the time?

Tell me a funny/silly otherkin related story.

#Don't have to do all of them #And it's okay not to know the answer #Or to adjust the question or answer #This is the kinda thing that people can ask you to do a certain question #Or you can just randomly do it all #It's not to personal #And it's semi basic stuff #I will prob do more of these #This is prob gonna be the least specific one #also please ask me to answer these!#otherkin #I'm gonna tag this in therian and you can uno reverse the do you also identity as therian stuff with #Do you also identify as otherkin #therian #therianthropy

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ardate · 1 year

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I've been checking out the OC tags for a little while, and I can say the state of OC sharing on tumblr is in absolute misery.

We've all discussed how bad the ratio of reblogs has become, how the amount of them have been dwindling those last couple of years, but I think an extra important emphasis has to be made on original creation. Though everything is hit by the lack of sharing, fanarts at least have a tag people will look for, improving their visibility - fandom OCs are sadly shared less than fanarts, in general, but they still enjoy that same visibility.

But what of the purely original? People who have OCs belonging solely to their own world, with a tag nobody will look for? I've been seeing awesome OC art that has been sitting for days and weeks with 0 or 1 notes, sometimes 5 or 6 with luck (though most of the time only likes)... And though there are exceptions, overall, it's a frankly saddening sight.

The way for someone to get attention on their OCs is to already be a well established blog or to produce fanart on the side to build a following. Blogs solely creating original content sit at the bottom of the note pool with no escape in sight.

As much as we praise tumblr for its tagging system and the fact it doesn't kill old posts the way other social media does, it still does fail in the way of uplifting creation that isn't fandom-based.

I don't have a solution to this. It is merely a sad observation. It's only natural that people would look for what they already know and love. But in a world where all of our interactions are linked to consumerism, in a world where automation replaces human imagination, I'd love to see a community of people willing to actively search for, and uplift, the creatives that are trying to peek out of the water.

One reblog may lead to another may lead to a follow, may lead to a creator feeling like their work matters.

So I'm doing it, one reblog at a time.

#ocs #oc #original character #original creation #original story #reblogs #tumblr #mine #i've had this build up in my heart the more i've been exploring the oc tags #clicking on blogs and seeing all their lovely ocs #and seeing all of em with what. 1 note? a Like most often #idk.#i love fandoms! i love so many of them #but. i wish i could see more cool imaginative stuff from us normal users too #and i wish there was love and support for it #so yeah. i'm gonna keep exploring the tag randomly and reblog a bunch of cool ocs i find #i'll be happy if you even just consider doing the same

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lovesickeros · 18 days

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☆ 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?"

#sagau #genshin sagau #self aware genshin #genshin impact sagau #self aware genshin impact #fic tag #genshin cult au #genshin impact cult au #neuvillete #claws my way out of my hiatus again hiiiiiiii #starts gnawing on neuvi and putting him thru the worst things imaginable #basically what if reader was a little fucked up and asked neuvi very nicely 2 do a fontaine on everyone in teyvat :]#only the ppl who didnt hurt reader dont get dissolved #but neuvillette is in the middle of a crisis anyway bc what did he. just do.#local dragon man caught between being loyal 2 his creator and judging the ppl who hurt them and being like What the Fuck #i was gonna make this so much longer but ough.............its fine #maybe ill expand on this idea another time #also like. minor angst is there for a REASON ur favs r DEAD and NEUVI is having a HORRIBLE time just a warning in advance #neuvi looking at villain!reader like a kicked puppy while he drowns like half of teyvat #putting zl and neuvi thru the wringer. they can handle it its fine #what peer pressure (villain reader) does to a man (a 6'4 ft tall sopping wet cat dragon)#need more reader just being a horrible person. they r just a little creature #realistically i would never do this but i do like bullying my favs in fics sooooooooo #difference between neuvi & tsaritsa bc the tsaritsa would be having the time of her LIFE #*extreme over simplification of her character cough cough but #villain reader and tsaritsa is meant 2 go together and FUCK #I MADE IT ABT THE TSARITSA AGAIN #someone bonk me i need 2 be put down #anyway. leaves for like 3 months. comes back randomly just 2 put my fav thru literal actual hell #shakes neuvi around like a dog toy

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randomly--accessed--memories · 1 month

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Yes yes yes, that's it

Mimzy was his friend when they were alive and Rosie was in Hell long before him; they had their own identities that he respected. Vox had just gotten himself out from under the thumb of an old overlord and was starting a new phase of his afterlife when he and Alastor met. Alastor was his patron and mentor, and he loved how Vox used to look up to him; it was a bit sycophantic, sure, but Alastor also thinks he's the best thing since hot jambalaya, so it was fine by him.

In Alastor's mind (and Vox's too, honestly), Vox would've been nothing without him, just some random sinner with a TV store and a shitty business deal with Mammon for 80% of his profits. Even his ascent to power as an overlord came "because" of Alastor. After the rejection, when they fought for the first time, it ended in a stalemate and all of Hell took notice that the fearsome Radio Demon wasn't able to kill this random screen-headed sinner– he must be someone to watch. The way Vox started jacking his style after they split just confirmed in Al's mind that he was still his, even if they were now enemies. So yes, why would he see any issue with rewriting Vox as he pleases? He was already so willing to change himself for/into Alastor before ("tell me what to change for you, and I will!!"), how is this any different?