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2025-05-18
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Home Away From Home

Summary:

Cacucu asks Neuvillette and Wriothesley to help his two owners get together.

Notes:

aaand the award for silliest event in genshin history goes to… CHEVALMARIN FILM FANTASYLAND!!!!!

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

Wriothesley knows something’s wrong when the pink creature—Cacucu, he supposes—starts flapping its tiny wings like it’s fighting for its life.

“Oh?” says Neuvillette. He leans forward in his desk chair. “Please, Mister Cacucu, let us know what is troubling you.”

“No way, bro,” says Cacucu.

Neuvillette frowns in contemplation.

“Oh dear! Oh dear!” says Cacucu. 

“Go on.”

“For real now? Do you even hear yourself, bro?”

“Fascinating.”

“The heck are you on about?”

Neuvillette actually stands up from his desk chair. “Of course we will,” he says with conviction. “Mister Cacucu, rest assured. Anything we can assist with to remedy this terribly unjust situation, we shall perform to the best of our abilities.” Then he turns to Wriothesley. “The issue lies with his caretakers. We must speak with them posthaste.”

Wriothesley crosses his arms and leans against the wall. “You’re assuming I’ll go along with you.”

“You will,” says Neuvillette, quite assuredly.

Damn. Neuvillette knows him too well. It was worth a try.

“After all,” Neuvillette continues, “it is an area that you and I are quite well-versed in.”

Wriothesley frowns. The only areas the two of them are familiar with are crime and punishment. “Is he being mistreated?” He can’t imagine anyone being cruel to this creature. It makes his head hurt.

“His caretakers,” says Neuvillette, sounding affronted, “have not yet gotten together, after nearly eight years of being in love with one another.”

Wriothesley blinks.

“I, too, am appalled,” Neuvillette says, with that completely neutral expression. He’s so fucking weird.

“One question,” says Wriothesley. “How, exactly, is this our business?”

“Bro,” says Cacucu.

“I could not have put it more succinctly myself,” says Neuvillette, nodding at Cacucu like he’s given the most eloquent speech known to man.

Wriothesley stares at him. “Ah, what the hell,” he says weakly, not for the first time. Neuvillette does weird things a lot. He’s damn lucky Wriothesley likes him. And that Wriothesley is beholden to him as per the laws of their country. Also that Neuvillette is the most powerful person Fontaine has ever seen. That probably helps too.

“So, shall we get to drafting a plan? We cannot approach this without proper planning. Mister Cacucu has informed me that this operation will require great finesse. Our intervention must be discreet. Subtle. Meticulous.”

“Discreet, subtle, meticulous,” Wriothesley repeats, sitting down at the desk across from Neuvillette. He mentally braces himself for the odd project of the month. “I got it.”

***

“Ifa has, like, the world’s biggest crush on you,” Wriothesley tells Ororon, the minute the operation with the gun is over.

Ororon blinks at him with his strange, round eyes.

“…Or so I’ve heard,” Wriothesley amends quickly. It’s not that he’s scared of Ororon. He’s just. Very weird. A little too weird sometimes. Wriothesley wants to believe that he’s the silliest guy to ever exist, but he didn’t miss the look in Ororon’s eyes when he got serious. The look of someone who’s ended lives with their own hands. Wriothesley would know; he sees it in the mirror every morning.

Ororon clicks the weapon box shut again and hands it over. “Uh huh,” he says. “I know he does.”

Wriothesley raises his eyebrows. “…And?”

Ororon’s mouth twists slightly. “And what?”

“Do you feel the same way?”

“Yeah,” Ororon says, easy as anything.

Wriothesley stares at him for a full three seconds. Ororon, maybe unconsciously, twists the chain on his wrist, looping it until it forms three rings around his hand. The gorgeous, heavy silver chain looks faintly familiar. Wriothesley gapes at it. “Is that a Fatui Harbinger chain?”

Ororon glances down at his own wrist, like he needs to remind himself it’s there. “Oh. Yeah.”

“Okay, like, just for national security,” Wriothesley says. “You’re not a Harbinger, right?”

Ororon tilts his head. “I don’t know,” he says, sounding genuinely curious. “The Captain did say something about the succession of his role when he gave me this. But he kept one of them for himself. I guess that makes me half a Harbinger?”

Wriothesley can’t even begin to process that. He makes the executive decision that he doesn’t have to deal with it. “So, uh, are you and Ifa ever going to…”

“Going to Liyue? We were hoping to, after this trip.”

This guy cannot be real. He wears the symbol of a Harbinger’s favor like a fucking bracelet, and yet here he is, missing every single point Wriothesley tries to make.

Ororon glances sideways at him. “Are you alright? We’re taking this back to the Palais Montrenia now, right?”

Wriothesley decides, right then, that he gives up. “Palais Mermonia,” he corrects. “You know, Yilong Wharf has some fantastic teahouse shows, if those are your thing.”

Ororon looks intrigued. “That might strike the perfect balance,” he says, his eyes lighting up. Literally—the line beneath his blue eye emits a faint, mysterious glow. “Ifa always likes to go out, and I always like to watch movies… That way we can watch shows and go out at the same time.”

Wriothesley mentally cheers for himself. He’s doing a fantastic job.

“I feel bad that Ifa always loses at rock paper scissors, though,” Ororon says, looking up at the sky. “I always start with scissors. You think he’d know, by now, how to combat that.”

Wriothesley raises his eyebrows. “You two play rock paper scissors a lot?”

“Uh huh,” says Ororon. Then, in true Ororon fashion, he does not elaborate at all.

Wriothesley heaves the box up and adjusts his grip. “Okay,” he says. “Great talk.”

“Cool,” says Ororon.

They walk back to the Palais Mermonia in silence.

***

“So, that didn’t work,” Wriothesley says, the minute he and Neuvillette are finally alone in his office again.

“Hm,” says Neuvillette. “Were you subtle?”

Wriothesley scoffs. “Of course. I’m the pinnacle of subtlety.”

“I seem to recall you showing up to the Palais with two dozen rainbow roses at eight o’clock sharp just last week.”

“That was subtle. The original plan was five dozen.”

Neuvillette sighs. He rests a hand on his forehead, pushing back his hair to reveal the faint scale patterns along his hairline and the tips of his ears. “I do not require such gestures.”

“I don’t require nice tea and a record player.”

Neuvillette’s mouth tilts faintly downward.

“You’re allowed to like things,” Wriothesley reminds him, quieter. “Every person likes things. Maybe you like being delivered two dozen rainbow roses.”

Neuvillette’s sharp eyes soften, just briefly, into something almost human. “Yes,” he says softly. His fingers brush over one of the documents he’s partway through. From between the pages, a single dried rainbow rose falls out, like a bookmark. “I do like that.”

Wriothesley laughs, just a little. He leans against the edge of Neuvillette’s desk. “I’ll do it every week, then. Two dozen flowers, right when the Palais opens. I’ll be waiting.”

“As long as it doesn’t interfere with our work.”

Wriothesley grins. Neuvillette’s expression might not have changed, but the sun shines warm and dry outside the stained glass windows. He knows, by now, what that means.

“I’ll try another angle,” Wriothesley says. “This one will be super subtle. So subtle. Invisible, even.”

“We shall see,” says Neuvillette.

“So cruel to me,” Wriothesley sighs, dramatically throwing himself across the couch next to the desk. “How will I ever recover?”

“I imagine you never will,” says Neuvillette gravely. “My cruelty will haunt you until your dying day. On your deathbed, you shall use your final breath to curse my name for daring to imply that you have a taste for the dramatic.”

Wriothesley looks at him for one long moment. Two. Then he bursts out laughing.

Neuvillette smiles, just faintly. At his back, the sun persists, brighter than ever.

***

“I heard you’re going to Liyue,” Wriothesley says, casual as anything, over slices of a fruit tart and two cups of strong black tea.

Ifa glances up from his plate. “Ororon told you, right?”

Wriothesley nods. “I gave him some suggestions. I’ve been to the closer areas of Liyue several times. Never to the Harbor, though. Too far for a prison warden.”

“I feel you,” Ifa says, sighing. “I can’t leave for too long, either. Like, dude, what if everyone’s saurians get sick, and I’m M-I-A?”

“You can’t be the only vet in the country.”

Ifa huffs an ironic laugh. “I’m not the only vet. But it’s a family thing. My family’s been vets for generations. People like us. I keep trying to tell them, like, ‘this bloodline dies with me, man, go give the other guys some business.’ But they never listen.”

Wriothesley sets down his teacup. “The bloodline?” he asks, as delicately as he can. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I’m not having kids.” Ifa takes a slice of strawberry out of the tart, right off the top, and eats it whole. Then he slowly and methodically begins to dissect the tart, removing each individual piece of fruit from the top.

Wriothesley stares at him. Never in his life has he seen someone deconstruct a fruit tart. Fascinating. “So… you don’t like kids? Or you’re too busy, or…?”

“I like ‘em okay,” says Ifa, shrugging. “But me n’ Ororon aren’t gonna have kids, so.”

Wriothesley blinks. In front of him, Ifa eats a slice of peach, unbothered. The tart shell sits abandoned on his plate.

“You don’t have to eat it,” Wriothesley tells him. “If you aren’t partial to Fontainian cuisine, I won’t be offended. I can get something more suited to your tastes.”

“No, no, it’s great, man. I love fruit. Super tasty. I just haven’t seen this serving vessel before.”

Wriothesley stares down at the abandoned pastry crust. “Serving vessel,” he repeats faintly. He pushes his tart away from himself. “So you and Ororon…”

“We’re not gonna have kids,” Ifa says cheerfully. “We agreed that Cacucu is enough for us. And Ororon’s always making friends with the little guys in the wild.”

Right. Cacucu. “We’re not quite done with the secondary confidentiality agreement,” Wriothesley says, picking up his teacup to hide his mouth. He’s never been great at lying. “So we’ll have to keep him a bit longer. I assure you he’s being treated well at the Palais.”

Ifa waves his fork vaguely in the air. “Don’t even sweat it, bro. If he were having a bad time, I’d know.” He looks Wriothesley directly in the eyes, his expression utterly blank.

Vaguely unnerved, Wriothesley sips from the teacup. The tea is too hot; it nearly burns his mouth. He valiantly doesn’t react.

“But he’s obviously doing well right now,” Ifa says, beaming. Then he separates a blueberry from the dissected fruit tart pile and pops it in his mouth.

“…Right.”

They sit there in silence for a few moments. Wriothesley takes another sip of tea and burns himself again. He will never learn.

“So anyway,” says Ifa eventually. “Ororon said you suggested teahouse shows?”

Thank fuck, Wriothesley thinks. Normal conversation. “You like going out, right? And he likes stories. Teahouse shows are a great combination. Outside, at a lively place, but it’s easy to find quiet if you want it. And the theater performances are excellent.”

Ifa picks up his teacup and takes a sip. He considers, then looks pleased.

“Oh, and he said you always lose at rock paper scissors,” Wriothesley recalls. “Apparently he always starts with scissors?”

Ifa huffs a small laugh into his teacup. “I know.”

“So if you wanted to go out, you could just…”

“I know,” Ifa says again, smiling slightly. He picks up another strawberry slice from the destroyed tart on his plate.

The affection in his eyes is odd and heavy. Wriothesley watches him eat the last of the fruits off his plate, leaving the pastry all behind.

“Thanks, man,” says Ifa, standing up from his seat. “That was great! What tea is this? Mind sending me the label? I wanna get some for Ororon’s old lady. She needs something to drink that isn’t alcohol.”

“Lapsang souchong,” Wriothesley says automatically. Then, “Wait, Ororon was raised by an alcoholic?”

“Kinda,” Ifa says, shrugging. “After the ritual sacrifice thing failed, everyone felt bad, so they all raised him, I guess. Anyway, lapsang souchong. Got it. You’re the best, bro.”

And then he just leaves.

Wriothesley stands up from his chair. He sits back down. He stares at his own reflection in the teacup.

So. He might actually be bad at this.

***

“Hm,” says Neuvillette, when Wriothesley crosses the Palais and returns to his office. He adjusts his reading glasses on his nose and sets down the documents he’s been writing. “Another unsuccessful venture, I take it?”

Wriothesley takes a seat in the chair across from his desk. “Have a little faith, Monsieur.”

Neuvillette fixes him with a piercing look. He raises one eyebrow.

“Okay, yeah, I might have failed,” Wriothesley admits, caving instantly. He ducks his head to avoid that knowing gaze. “You can’t just look at people like that. Your dragon eyes are kinda strange when you’re wearing those.”

Neuvillette frowns. He takes off the magnifiers. “Are they no longer strange?”

“They’re always strange.”

Neuvillette’s eyes drop to the glasses on his desk. A minute frown crosses his face.

“I like them,” Wriothesley says quietly. He reaches out one hand to tip Neuvillette’s chin up again, so they’re holding eye contact. “I like your eyes. I think they’re beautiful.”

“They are strange.”

“Strange and beautiful. They’re not mutually exclusive.”

“Hm,” says Neuvillette, sounding pleased. The scales on his ears shimmer oddly under the light, like they’ve changed angle. “Would you like to talk to Mister Cacucu about the issue? He may be able to shed light upon a better solution.”

This day can’t get any more demeaning. Wriothesley nods. He’s seeking advice from a round pink bird. Why the hell not?

Cacucu, as it turns out, is staying in the rafters of Neuvillette’s office. Neuvillette looks upward and makes an incredibly odd sound, like two music notes held at once, and then Cacucu descends like an angelic premonition. Wriothesley sits there and watches, baffled. Sometimes he forgets about the whole dragon thing. Now is not one of those times.

“Good morning,” Wriothesley says to Cacucu, giving him a little salute.

“Good morning!” says Cacucu excitedly, flapping his tiny wings.

Wriothesley blinks. He didn’t know Cacucu could do that. Impressive.

“Mister Cacucu,” Neuvillette greets, inclining his head. “It appears that our best approach to the problem has not been successful. We—that is to say, Wriothesley—have been doing our best to approach your two caretakers in conversation and suggest their affections to one another.”

“For real, bro? Do you even hear yourself, bro?”

Neuvillette makes an odd cough. “That is impolite. I cannot say that.”

“For real, bro?”

Neuvillette heaves a sigh. “He says—and I am paraphrasing a bit—that approaching either of them has traditionally proved ineffective, because of their combined obtuseness and… lack of awareness, or perhaps lack of care to observe social norms.”

Ah. He probably said something about Ororon being batshit insane. Poor Neuvillette, too polite to admit the truth. Ororon probably wouldn’t even mind. He is a bat. Kind of.

“Do you have any alternate suggestions to aid us?” asks Neuvillette.

Cacucu spins around in a tiny mid-air spiral. “No way, bro,” he says at last. Then, “Half a bro. The best.”

“Excellent,” Neuvillette says, leaning in closer over his desk. “Mister Cacucu has suggested that we talk with others who are close to them to get a better idea of the picture. How convenient, then, that Mister Kinich is staying in Fontaine for some time.”

Wriothesley is the respected and feared commander of Fontaine’s inmates. He has a goddamn noble title and everything. And here he is, trying to convince two twentysomethings to get their act together. And failing. This is the lowest of the low. “Sounds good,” he says, defeated. At least Kinich is sane, and quite reasonable if he does say so himself. “I’ll go talk to him.”

“Good morning,” says Cacucu, chirping helpfully.

Wriothesley sighs. “Yeah, man,” he says. “I’m trying my best.”

***

“They are dating,” Kinich tells him. Then he goes back to sharpening his grappling hook, completely unbothered.

“NO THEY AREN’T,” says the little pixelated creature he carries around. “THEY’RE MARRIED!”

“Hm,” says Kinich. Without looking up from his grappling hook and whetstone, he says, “You’re investigating unclassified flying objects, right? Like this one here?”

“EEP,” says the floating thing, and then it vanishes. Just. Straight up vanishes.

“Don’t mind him,” Kinich says, looking up at Wriothesley. “He’s harmless until I die. Once he takes over my body, all bets are off. But I’m quite alive, so it’s fine.”

Wriothesley is starting to reassess his earlier statement. Maybe Kinich isn’t sane at all. Maybe no one in Natlan is sane. “…Right,” he says, glossing over all of that. “You said they’re dating? How do you know? Ifa’s saurian companion seems very distressed by their current situation.”

Kinich sets down the whetstone. “Everyone knows.” He looks out at the water, where they’re already deconstructing the Chevalmarin Film Fantasyland. “I shouldn’t say this, but…”

“But I’m under a strict non-disclosure agreement and will only use this knowledge to improve people’s lives,” Wriothesley fills in, before Kinich can change his mind.

Kinich shoots Wriothesley a faintly amused look. “You make a fine argument.”

“It is the land of courtrooms.”

Kinich huffs a dry, humorless laugh. “We were at war,” he says quietly. “Everyone loses someone at war. But Ororon… he had it worse than most of us. He put his entire faith in someone, and they gave up their life for us. For him.”

Wriothesley stares out at the theme park, half-destroyed already. He doesn’t know what to say. He’s never had someone die for him before. Maybe his siblings count. The older ones, who didn’t get wise fast enough.

“He was inconsolable,” Kinich continues. “His plants wilted. His house fell apart around him, and he just sat there and watched.”

Suddenly it clicks in Wriothesley’s mind. The Harbinger chain twisted around his wrist, and the odd tiredness in his expression. The face of a man who’s seen death with his own eyes. He knows, just then, what price the people of Natlan paid for their freedom.

“And then Ifa came back,” Kinich says. He stands up, dusting off his pants. He turns to Wriothesley. “You understand what I mean.”

It isn’t a question. Wriothesley likes him more and more by the day. “I do understand.” Then, after a pause, “I named myself after a man in an obituary.”

Kinich smiles, just a little. “I changed my last name to my hero title.”

Across the water, another piece of the infrastructure falls. They watch in companionable silence.

“HE’S IN THE MARKET FOR PARENTAL FIGURES,” says the little pixelated thing suddenly, out of nowhere.

Kinich smacks it in the face. It goes flying. “Don’t pay attention to him,” he says. His face is faintly red. “He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

Wriothesley’s chest feels warm. He can’t stop the smile from spreading across his face. “Of course not.” He stands up. “Well, do you want to join me for dinner? I’m making haddock. Steamed for Neuvillette and Sigewinne, braised for myself.”

Kinich hesitates. Then, very quickly, he says, “I’d like mine braised, too.”

Wriothesley smiles. Together, they walk back to the city, back home.

***

“Love works differently for dragons,” Kinich explains, over his braised whitefish with pasta and leeks. “Cacucu probably doesn’t see it, because human concepts of dating aren’t equivalent to his own.”

Wriothesley glances at Neuvillette just briefly, then back down at his dinner, and finally at Kinich again. “How so?”

“Living spaces,” Kinich says. “Dragons show their commitment by sharing living spaces. This is good, by the way. Thank you.”

“Yeah!” says Sigewinne brightly, grinning with her sharp little teeth. “Thanks, Your Grace! Super tasty.”

Kinich looks at her plate from the corner of his eye. She has a giant chunk of fish, steamed to perfection, and absolutely nothing else. The fish doesn’t even have sauce. He looks over at Wriothesley again, raising his eyebrows.

“You’re welcome, Sigewinne,” he says. Then he shakes his head subtly at Kinich.

Kinich just nods and gets back to his own balanced, seasoned meal. There’s no accounting for tastes, let alone the tastes of melusines and dragons.

Neuvillette sets down his fork. “You intend to display their love in a draconian fashion, so that Mister Cacucu will understand.”

“Exactly,” says Kinich. “I’ve already got a plan.”

“YOU HAD A PLAN FOR DINNER TONIGHT TOO,” says the little pixelated creature. “YOU JUST WANTED TO HAVE MORE TIME WITH—”

Kinich promptly bats it back into nonexistence. His face is pink again. “Ajaw doesn’t know what he’s talking about. It’s not like I need home cooked meals. I’m just polite.”

Wriothesley suppresses a grin. “Take some more leeks. You ate them all already.”

Kinich quietly serves himself more leeks. Wriothesley beams.

***

“So,” says Kinich the next morning, his voice utterly flat. “After you get back from Liyue, are you two gonna keep living together?”

He’s talking to Ifa and Ororon at the docks, where they’re preparing to board a boat bound for Yilong Wharf. Neuvillette and Wriothesley are both standing on the second-floor balcony, watching them discreetly with Cacucu in tow. It’s not spying. It’s just… discreet observation. Yeah.

Ororon blinks with his big round eyes. “I don’t know.” He turns to look at Ifa. “Are we?”

Ifa slings an arm around Ororon’s shoulders. “Don’t even worry about it, man. You’ve been helpful around the vet clinic, and I’ve got that plot half cleared out already. You can grow your vegetables by the clinic.”

Ororon blinks at him again, slow and owlish. “The Stadium's climate is better for cabbages.”

“I want to move closer to the center of Natlan anyway. And I’m not leaving you alone again.”

Ororon’s mouth tilts up a little. The mark below his eye glows again. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “I don’t want to be alone anymore.”

“Then you won’t be.”

Some long-standing stiffness in Ororon’s shoulders relents.

Cacucu rolls around delightedly in mid-air in front of Wriothesley and Neuvillette. He flies down toward his two caretakers. “Good morning! Good morning!”

Ifa beams. “Cacucu! Dude, we’re so glad you’re back!” Then he somehow manages to squish the tiny overinflated beach ball of a saurian to his chest in a hug, amidst various squawking and squabbling. Eventually Cacucu emerges, flitting around above their heads and making a racket.

Ororon looks up at him. “He’s really happy, huh?”

“Oratrice Mecanique d’Analyse Cardinale,” Cacucu declares.

From their vantage point above the group, Wriothesley chokes on a cough. He valiantly manages to stifle it with his hand.

“That’s great to hear,” says Ororon, deathly serious. He gives Cacucu a nod.

Kinich bids them farewell with his completely stoic face, then turns back and flings himself over to the second-floor balcony where Wriothesley and Neuvillette have been listening in. Casually, as if he didn’t just bodily throw himself up eight meters, he says, “I think that worked.”

From behind his back, something peeks out. Then, “YOU’RE WELCOME!!”

Before Kinich can swat the pixelated creature away, it flees into his bag. Kinich only sighs, shaking his head. “I’ll see you later,” he says, giving them a businesslike nod. “This smuggling case isn’t over. I refuse to let gamblers off the hook.”

Wriothesley nods solemnly. “And there’s more braised fish that won’t eat itself.”

Kinich finally cracks a tiny smile. “I also like barbecued pork ribs, if you want suggestions.”

Then he flings himself off the balcony again, back up into the air. Wriothesley winces as he flies off into the morning light. He’ll be fine, probably, but Wriothesley worries. Sue him.

“Success at last,” says Neuvillette, gazing down at them.

“Huh,” says Wriothesley, watching the three of them walk off toward their boat bound for Yilong Wharf. Or float off, as it were. “He just wanted them to live together?”

Neuvillette’s eyes flare with a strange purple intensity. “For dragons, to share one’s living space is the highest form of intimacy. To belong to the same place, and care for it together. It is not a suggestion one makes lightly.”

Wriothesley blinks. He distinctly remembers Neuvillette asking him—no, pleading with him, even—to consider moving to the Court of Fontaine. The Court. Where Neuvillette lives. He glances over sideways. “So when you asked me to move here, did you mean…”

The corner of Neuvillette’s mouth quirks upwards. “Indeed.”

“I think,” says Wriothesley, “this is the part where human lovers would kiss each other passionately and declare their undying love forevermore.”

“I see,” says Neuvillette sagely. “It seems rather unfortunate that I am not your human lover, then.”

Wriothesley tilts his head towards him, bumping their shoulders together. “Maybe dragon lovers do it too. You never know.”

“I do know,” says Neuvillette, and then he takes Wriothesley by the chin and kisses him soundly, square on the mouth.

It’s not a long kiss, or a dramatic kiss, or anything spectacular. But it’s sweet and lovely and the puddles on the sidewalk shimmer with the fresh, brilliant sunlight pouring out from behind the clouds.

Neuvillette brushes his thumb one last time against his jaw, then releases him entirely, drawing back to a reasonable distance. “If you wish,” he says quietly, “there will always be a place for you at my side. Whether in service of Fontaine, or in my home.”

“Our home,” Wriothesley corrects. “A place in our home.”

“Hm,” says Neuvillette, like the fucking weirdo he is. “I shall amend my documents accordingly, then.”

Above him, the sky gleams bright. Next week Wriothesley will bring him two dozen flowers again at eight o’clock sharp, and all will be right in the world.

Notes:

does anyone else want kinich & wriothesley found family!! i think wriothesley deserves another kid. he should make kinich barbecue ribs

please drop a comment / kudos if you enjoyed! i’m SO glad wriolette are back. the minute i heard wriothesley’s voice i actually yelled “YESSSS” to my empty house. it echoed. and then neuvillette opened his mouth and i genuinely hit a phainon-style fist pump. dumb expression and all. i might be an idiot

find me on tumblr (princesscas-ao3)!