Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
โ Live Streamingโ Interactive Chatโ Private Showsโ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch โข No registration required โข HD streaming
warnings (bold apply): murder, death investigations, mentions of bludgeoning, mentions of violent crimes, crime scene descriptions, autopsies, forensic procedures, discussion of corpses, blood, psychological horror, paranoia, manipulation, false accusations, imprisonment, implied corruption within legal systems, grief, anxiety, depictions of trauma, and themes of predestination/fatalism. this will be updated as the fic continues. please do not read this if you are not able to handle these topics.
pairing: wriothesley x detective/investigator!reader (gender neutral)
wc: ~1,116 words
taglist (4/50): @chxrry-cxke , @phantomhearts65 , @nekobiii , @wriothesleyfan69 // send in an ask or comment to be added!
masterlist. ao3. previous. next.
You hated unanswered questions.
Unfortunately, your life had become one.
The file sat on your desk.
You had moved it three times.
First to a locked drawer.
Then to a filing cabinet.
Then to a shelf on the opposite side of the office.
Every attempt lasted less than an hour before you found yourself staring at it again.
The folder remained exactly where you'd left it.
Quiet.
Unassuming.
A simple stack of paper capable of ruining your week.
Your month.
Possibly your entire life.
You exhaled sharply and rubbed your eyes.
Across the room, rain tapped softly against the office windows.
Fontaine's skies had been grey for days.
Appropriate.
The page rested open before you.
Your name.
The date.
The words beneath it.
DECEASED.
No matter how many times you read it, nothing changed.
No hidden messages appeared.
No clues emerged.
The document offered little information about your manner of death.
Only the certainty that you would die.
You hated certainty almost as much as unanswered questions.
Because certainty encouraged complacency.
People stopped asking why.
Stopped investigating.
Stopped fighting.
The moment someone decided an outcome was inevitable, they had already lost.
And you had no intention of losing to a piece of paper.
A knock sounded at the door.
You looked up.
"Come in."
The door opened.
A courier stepped inside.
An official court messenger.
Young, nervous. It wasn't uncommon for people to feel a little unnerved around the heavy presence of a detective.
The poor man looked as though he'd rather be anywhere else.
You couldn't blame him.
Rumors surrounding the investigation had spread far beyond the people officially involved.
Nobody knew the details.
Everyone knew something was wrong.
The messenger held out an envelope.
"For you."
You accepted it.
"Thank you."
He nodded.
Then immediately left.
Not even attempting conversation.
Interesting.
You waited until the door clicked shut before examining the seal.
Not a court insignia.
Not the Palais Mermonia.
The Fortress of Meropide.
You stared.
Then blinked.
Then stared again.
"...What?"
Carefully, you broke the seal.
Inside sat a single sheet.
The message was short.
Almost annoyingly so.
"Investigator.
Your presence is required at the Fortress of Meropide regarding the ongoing records investigation.
Transportation has been arranged.
Do not decline.
โThe Duke"
You read it twice.
Then a third time.
A laugh escaped before you could stop it.
Not because it was funny.
Because of the wording.
Do not decline.
Not requested.
Not invited.
Not even summoned.
Simply informed.
As though the decision had already been made.
You set the paper down.
Then immediately picked it back up.
The Fortress of Meropide had remained mostly uninvolved throughout the investigation.
At least publicly.
You knew reports had been sent there.
You knew Wriothesley had received copies. Who within the court system of Fontaine hadn't?
What you didn't know was why he suddenly wanted to speak with you.
Or why he apparently felt confident enough to order your attendance.
You folded the letter.
Slipped it into your coat.
And began gathering your things.
If nothing else, perhaps someone beneath the sea had answers.
โ
The journey took most of the afternoon.
You spent it reviewing notes.
Again.
The pages had become familiar companions.
Victim statements.
Witness accounts.
Timelines.
Evidence logs.
Predicted crimes.
Completed crimes.
All perfectly aligned.
No deviations.
No mistakes.
No failures.
The files had never once been wrong.
That fact bothered you more than the prediction of your own death.
Human beings made mistakes.
Witnesses lied.
Evidence vanished.
Investigations failed.
Perfection was impossible.
Yet somehow the records achieved it every time.
A prediction machine disguised as paperwork.
The thought made your skin crawl.
By sunset, the ocean stretched endlessly around the transport vessel.
Ahead, the great mechanical structure of the Fortress could be seen underwater.
Massive.
Cold.
Unwelcoming.
The prison looked less like a building and more like an industrial beast waiting beneath the waves.
You had visited before.
Only briefly.
Even then, the place had unsettled you.
Not because it was dangerous.
Because it felt isolated.
A world entirely separate from Fontaine.
Down here, the laws of the surface seemed distant.
Muted.
The vessel docked.
You disembarked.
The familiar metal walkways echoed beneath your footsteps.
Workers moved throughout the fortress.
Prisoners carried supplies.
Guards monitored operations.
Everything appeared ordinary.
And yet every person you passed seemed to know exactly who you were.
Some glanced away immediately.
Others stared.
A few whispered.
Wonderful.
The rumors had arrived before you had.
A receptionist greeted you near the administrative offices.
"Investigator (Name)."
You nodded.
"I was expected."
"Of course."
She stood.
"The Duke is waiting."
Naturally.
Not "will be waiting."
Actively waiting.
You were beginning to suspect the Fortress suffered from a chronic inability to phrase things normally.
The receptionist led you through several corridors.
Eventually she stopped before a large office door.
"Inside."
You thanked her, then entered.
The room was warm.
Unexpectedly so.
Bookshelves lined the walls.
Documents occupied several desks.
A kettle rested near one corner.
The atmosphere felt more like a study than an office.
And seated behind a desk was the man responsible for dragging you beneath the sea.
Wriothesley looked up from a report.
Sharp eyes met yours.
Calm.
Observant.
Entirely too amused.
As though he'd already learned something about you that you hadn't.
"You came."
You stared.
Then slowly crossed your arms.
"I mean, your letter said not to decline."
A pause.
Then the corner of his mouth twitched.
"...Fair point."
His smile vanished almost immediately.
His gaze shifted.
Landing briefly on the satchel hanging at your side.
The one containing the file.
The one containing your death sentence.
When he spoke again, his voice was noticeably quieter.
"Then let's skip introductions."
The room suddenly felt smaller.
Wriothesley folded his hands atop the desk.
And for the first time since entering, you noticed the stack of folders beside him.
Court records.
Dozens of them.
Perhaps hundreds.
More than you'd ever seen gathered in one place.
His expression remained calm.
But something about it had changed.
The amusement was gone.
Replaced by concern.
Real concern.
The sort that made experienced investigators pay attention.
"You've spent months trying to discover where the files come from," he said.
You nodded.
"And you've found nothing."
You nodded again.
His gaze hardened.
"Good."
You frowned.
Good? How is that good?
That wasn't the response you'd expected.
Not even remotely.
Wriothesley leaned back slightly.
The movement was casual.
The look in his eyes wasn't.
"Because if your investigation had found the answer already..."
Silence settled between you.
Then he finished quietly.
"...you would've been dead long before that document predicted."
For the first time since receiving the file, you felt genuine fear crawl down your spine.
final note: wowie i actually really love writing this series. a LOT. huge thanks to my beta-reader/editor @lonelykrow this rough draft was originally ROUGH. thanks to @opalescentangels for outlining the chapter before i write it!
warnings (bold apply): murder, death investigations, mentions of bludgeoning, mentions of violent crimes, crime scene descriptions, autopsies, forensic procedures, discussion of corpses, blood, psychological horror, paranoia, manipulation, false accusations, imprisonment, implied corruption within legal systems, grief, anxiety, depictions of trauma, and themes of predestination/fatalism. this will be updated as the fic continues. please do not read this if you are not able to handle these topics.
pairing: wriothesley x detective/investigator!reader (gender neutral)
wc: ~1,116 words
taglist (4/50): @chxrry-cxke , @phantomhearts65 , @nekobiii , @wriothesleyfan69 // send in an ask or comment to be added!
masterlist. ao3. previous. next.
You hated unanswered questions.
Unfortunately, your life had become one.
The file sat on your desk.
You had moved it three times.
First to a locked drawer.
Then to a filing cabinet.
Then to a shelf on the opposite side of the office.
Every attempt lasted less than an hour before you found yourself staring at it again.
The folder remained exactly where you'd left it.
Quiet.
Unassuming.
A simple stack of paper capable of ruining your week.
Your month.
Possibly your entire life.
You exhaled sharply and rubbed your eyes.
Across the room, rain tapped softly against the office windows.
Fontaine's skies had been grey for days.
Appropriate.
The page rested open before you.
Your name.
The date.
The words beneath it.
DECEASED.
No matter how many times you read it, nothing changed.
No hidden messages appeared.
No clues emerged.
The document offered little information about your manner of death.
Only the certainty that you would die.
You hated certainty almost as much as unanswered questions.
Because certainty encouraged complacency.
People stopped asking why.
Stopped investigating.
Stopped fighting.
The moment someone decided an outcome was inevitable, they had already lost.
And you had no intention of losing to a piece of paper.
A knock sounded at the door.
You looked up.
"Come in."
The door opened.
A courier stepped inside.
An official court messenger.
Young, nervous. It wasn't uncommon for people to feel a little unnerved around the heavy presence of a detective.
The poor man looked as though he'd rather be anywhere else.
You couldn't blame him.
Rumors surrounding the investigation had spread far beyond the people officially involved.
Nobody knew the details.
Everyone knew something was wrong.
The messenger held out an envelope.
"For you."
You accepted it.
"Thank you."
He nodded.
Then immediately left.
Not even attempting conversation.
Interesting.
You waited until the door clicked shut before examining the seal.
Not a court insignia.
Not the Palais Mermonia.
The Fortress of Meropide.
You stared.
Then blinked.
Then stared again.
"...What?"
Carefully, you broke the seal.
Inside sat a single sheet.
The message was short.
Almost annoyingly so.
"Investigator.
Your presence is required at the Fortress of Meropide regarding the ongoing records investigation.
Transportation has been arranged.
Do not decline.
โThe Duke"
You read it twice.
Then a third time.
A laugh escaped before you could stop it.
Not because it was funny.
Because of the wording.
Do not decline.
Not requested.
Not invited.
Not even summoned.
Simply informed.
As though the decision had already been made.
You set the paper down.
Then immediately picked it back up.
The Fortress of Meropide had remained mostly uninvolved throughout the investigation.
At least publicly.
You knew reports had been sent there.
You knew Wriothesley had received copies. Who within the court system of Fontaine hadn't?
What you didn't know was why he suddenly wanted to speak with you.
Or why he apparently felt confident enough to order your attendance.
You folded the letter.
Slipped it into your coat.
And began gathering your things.
If nothing else, perhaps someone beneath the sea had answers.
โ
The journey took most of the afternoon.
You spent it reviewing notes.
Again.
The pages had become familiar companions.
Victim statements.
Witness accounts.
Timelines.
Evidence logs.
Predicted crimes.
Completed crimes.
All perfectly aligned.
No deviations.
No mistakes.
No failures.
The files had never once been wrong.
That fact bothered you more than the prediction of your own death.
Human beings made mistakes.
Witnesses lied.
Evidence vanished.
Investigations failed.
Perfection was impossible.
Yet somehow the records achieved it every time.
A prediction machine disguised as paperwork.
The thought made your skin crawl.
By sunset, the ocean stretched endlessly around the transport vessel.
Ahead, the great mechanical structure of the Fortress could be seen underwater.
Massive.
Cold.
Unwelcoming.
The prison looked less like a building and more like an industrial beast waiting beneath the waves.
You had visited before.
Only briefly.
Even then, the place had unsettled you.
Not because it was dangerous.
Because it felt isolated.
A world entirely separate from Fontaine.
Down here, the laws of the surface seemed distant.
Muted.
The vessel docked.
You disembarked.
The familiar metal walkways echoed beneath your footsteps.
Workers moved throughout the fortress.
Prisoners carried supplies.
Guards monitored operations.
Everything appeared ordinary.
And yet every person you passed seemed to know exactly who you were.
Some glanced away immediately.
Others stared.
A few whispered.
Wonderful.
The rumors had arrived before you had.
A receptionist greeted you near the administrative offices.
"Investigator (Name)."
You nodded.
"I was expected."
"Of course."
She stood.
"The Duke is waiting."
Naturally.
Not "will be waiting."
Actively waiting.
You were beginning to suspect the Fortress suffered from a chronic inability to phrase things normally.
The receptionist led you through several corridors.
Eventually she stopped before a large office door.
"Inside."
You thanked her, then entered.
The room was warm.
Unexpectedly so.
Bookshelves lined the walls.
Documents occupied several desks.
A kettle rested near one corner.
The atmosphere felt more like a study than an office.
And seated behind a desk was the man responsible for dragging you beneath the sea.
Wriothesley looked up from a report.
Sharp eyes met yours.
Calm.
Observant.
Entirely too amused.
As though he'd already learned something about you that you hadn't.
"You came."
You stared.
Then slowly crossed your arms.
"I mean, your letter said not to decline."
A pause.
Then the corner of his mouth twitched.
"...Fair point."
His smile vanished almost immediately.
His gaze shifted.
Landing briefly on the satchel hanging at your side.
The one containing the file.
The one containing your death sentence.
When he spoke again, his voice was noticeably quieter.
"Then let's skip introductions."
The room suddenly felt smaller.
Wriothesley folded his hands atop the desk.
And for the first time since entering, you noticed the stack of folders beside him.
Court records.
Dozens of them.
Perhaps hundreds.
More than you'd ever seen gathered in one place.
His expression remained calm.
But something about it had changed.
The amusement was gone.
Replaced by concern.
Real concern.
The sort that made experienced investigators pay attention.
"You've spent months trying to discover where the files come from," he said.
You nodded.
"And you've found nothing."
You nodded again.
His gaze hardened.
"Good."
You frowned.
Good? How is that good?
That wasn't the response you'd expected.
Not even remotely.
Wriothesley leaned back slightly.
The movement was casual.
The look in his eyes wasn't.
"Because if your investigation had found the answer already..."
Silence settled between you.
Then he finished quietly.
"...you would've been dead long before that document predicted."
For the first time since receiving the file, you felt genuine fear crawl down your spine.
final note: wowie i actually really love writing this series. a LOT. huge thanks to my beta-reader/editor @lonelykrow this rough draft was originally ROUGH. thanks to @opalescentangels for outlining the chapter before i write it!
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
โ Live Streamingโ Interactive Chatโ Private Showsโ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch โข No registration required โข HD streaming
warnings (bold apply): murder, death investigations, mentions of bludgeoning, mentions of violent crimes, crime scene descriptions, autopsies, forensic procedures, discussion of corpses, blood, psychological horror, paranoia, manipulation, false accusations, imprisonment, implied corruption within legal systems, grief, anxiety, depictions of trauma, and themes of predestination/fatalism. this will be updated as the fic continues. please do not read this if you are not able to handle these topics.
pairing: wriothesley x detective/investigator!reader (gender neutral)
wc: ~854 words. short, but the next chapters will probably be much longer!
taglist (0/50): comment if you'd like to be added!
masterlist
The first file arrived on a Tuesday.
Nobody noticed.
That, in hindsight, was perhaps the most unsettling part.
Not the impossible contents. Not the prediction that would later come true. Not the panic that would eventually spread through Fontaine's justice system.
No.
The frightening thing was how ordinary it looked.
It sat among dozens of other case reports on an archivist's desk. Stamped. Signed. Properly formatted. Filed exactly where it belonged.
Case Number 47291.
Petty theft.
Defendant convicted.
Sentence carried out.
The matter should have ended there.
Except the crime had not happened yet.
The defendant would not commit the theft until three days later.
By the time someone noticed the discrepancy, the case had already been archived.
Most assumed it was a clerical mistake.
Fontaine processed thousands of legal documents every week. Errors happened.
The second file arrived shortly after.
Then a third.
Then a fourth.
The mistakes became harder to ignore.
Each document detailed crimes that had not yet occurred.
Every suspect existed.
Every witness was real.
Every location matched.
And every prediction came true.
Exactly.
Word spread quietly among court officials.
Then quiet became urgent.
Urgency became panic.
The Court of Fontaine prided itself on certainty.
Evidence.
Logic.
Reason.
The truth could always be found if one followed the facts.
At least, that was what people liked to believe.
Unfortunately, facts were becoming increasingly difficult to explain.
Which was how the investigation landed on your desk.
You still remember the day the assignment arrived.
The stack of files had been dropped onto your workspace with enough force to shake your inkwell.
Thirty-seven cases.
Thirty-seven impossible documents.
And a single note attached to the top.
โInvestigate sources immediately.โ
You'd spent years working as an investigator for Fontaine's legal system.
Missing persons.
Fraud.
Conspiracies.
Murders.
Kidnappings.
Sometimes even worse.
You'd built a reputation for solving cases other people considered impossible.
You trusted evidence.
You trusted witnesses.
You trusted the simple belief that every mystery had an answer.
The files challenged all three.
No ink could be traced.
No author could be identified.
No witness remembered creating them.
The paper itself appeared entirely ordinary.
You examined every page personally.
Nothing.
No hidden messages.
No coded markings.
No clues.
Only accurate predictions.
One after another.
You hated that.
Not because it frightened you.
Because it didn't make sense.
And anything that didn't make sense demanded investigation.
So you began where any detective would.
You interviewed suspects.
You questioned clerks.
You reviewed security reports.
You searched archives.
Weeks passed.
Then months.
More and more files kept appearing.
The answers did not.
The deeper you dug, the stranger the pattern became.
The documents never predicted insignificant events.
They focused on heavily violent crimes.
Murders.
Disappearances.
Domestic abuse.
Moments where lives changed forever.
Almost as if somethingโor even someoneโwas documenting history before it happened.
You were still trying to prove that theory wrong when the seventh file arrived.
The moment it appeared, every official involved in the investigation was summoned.
The folder was sealed.
Unmarked.
No origin.
No record of delivery.
Exactly like the others.
You were present when it was opened.
The room felt unnaturally quiet.
Nobody spoke.
Nobody moved.
A senior archivist broke the seal.
Inside was a single page.
No crime.
No suspect.
No witness statements.
Just a name.
Your name.
For several seconds, you simply stared.
You were convinced you were reading it incorrectly.
You weren't.
Beneath your name sat a date.
Six months from today.
And beneath the date, written in flawless official script:
DECEASED.
CAUSE: BLUNT FORCE HEAD TRAUMA.
MECHANISM: CEREBRAL CONTUSION.
MANNER: UNDETERMINED, STILL UNDER INVESTIGATION.
The room remained silent.
Someone dropped a pen.
Another official quietly excused themselves and never returned.
You couldn't blame them. You don't know how you haven't left the room yet. You've just heard about your own death, months before it has even happened.
For the first time since the investigation began, you found yourself struggling to breathe.
Not because you believed it.
Because you didn't.
You refused to.
A document could not decide whether you lived or died.
A piece of paper could not determine your fate.
There had to be an explanation.
A culprit.
A source.
A reason.
And even if there wasn'tโ
You intended to find one anyway.
The file was removed from public record before sunrise.
By noon, copies had reached the highest levels of Fontaine's justice system.
By evening, one final copy had been delivered far beneath the nation's waters.
To the Fortress of Meropide.
Its administrator read the report in silence.
Read it a second time.
Then a third.
When he finally set the page down, his expression had become unusually serious.
A relatively rare thing for Wriothesley.
The report contained hundreds of names.
Thousands, perhaps.
Yet only one seemed to concern him.
Yours.
Anyone would be able to recognize the name of a helpful investigator. Especially one who works on so many cases. That's besides the point, to Wriothesley, though.
What sticks out is your name in such an extreme case.
Because if the court truly knew the futureโ
Then someone needed to stop it before yours arrived.
final note: huge huge huge thanks to @opalescentangels once again for the INSANE amount of work she has helped with on this work! this went from an outline to a draft in about 48 hours thanks to her. anyways, i really hope this is an enjoyable read for those who are reading this! lots of work has been put into it!
warnings (bold apply): murder, death investigations, mentions of bludgeoning, mentions of violent crimes, crime scene descriptions, autopsies, forensic procedures, discussion of corpses, blood, psychological horror, paranoia, manipulation, false accusations, imprisonment, implied corruption within legal systems, grief, anxiety, depictions of trauma, and themes of predestination/fatalism. this will be updated as the fic continues. please do not read this if you are not able to handle these topics.
pairing: wriothesley x detective/investigator!reader (gender neutral)
wc: ~854 words. short, but the next chapters will probably be much longer!
taglist (0/50): comment if you'd like to be added!
masterlist. ao3. next.
The first file arrived on a Tuesday.
Nobody noticed.
That, in hindsight, was perhaps the most unsettling part.
Not the impossible contents. Not the prediction that would later come true. Not the panic that would eventually spread through Fontaine's justice system.
No.
The frightening thing was how ordinary it looked.
It sat among dozens of other case reports on an archivist's desk. Stamped. Signed. Properly formatted. Filed exactly where it belonged.
Case Number 47291.
Petty theft.
Defendant convicted.
Sentence carried out.
The matter should have ended there.
Except the crime had not happened yet.
The defendant would not commit the theft until three days later.
By the time someone noticed the discrepancy, the case had already been archived.
Most assumed it was a clerical mistake.
Fontaine processed thousands of legal documents every week. Errors happened.
The second file arrived shortly after.
Then a third.
Then a fourth.
The mistakes became harder to ignore.
Each document detailed crimes that had not yet occurred.
Every suspect existed.
Every witness was real.
Every location matched.
And every prediction came true.
Exactly.
Word spread quietly among court officials.
Then quiet became urgent.
Urgency became panic.
The Court of Fontaine prided itself on certainty.
Evidence.
Logic.
Reason.
The truth could always be found if one followed the facts.
At least, that was what people liked to believe.
Unfortunately, facts were becoming increasingly difficult to explain.
Which was how the investigation landed on your desk.
You still remember the day the assignment arrived.
The stack of files had been dropped onto your workspace with enough force to shake your inkwell.
Thirty-seven cases.
Thirty-seven impossible documents.
And a single note attached to the top.
โInvestigate sources immediately.โ
You'd spent years working as an investigator for Fontaine's legal system.
Missing persons.
Fraud.
Conspiracies.
Murders.
Kidnappings.
Sometimes even worse.
You'd built a reputation for solving cases other people considered impossible.
You trusted evidence.
You trusted witnesses.
You trusted the simple belief that every mystery had an answer.
The files challenged all three.
No ink could be traced.
No author could be identified.
No witness remembered creating them.
The paper itself appeared entirely ordinary.
You examined every page personally.
Nothing.
No hidden messages.
No coded markings.
No clues.
Only accurate predictions.
One after another.
You hated that.
Not because it frightened you.
Because it didn't make sense.
And anything that didn't make sense demanded investigation.
So you began where any detective would.
You interviewed suspects.
You questioned clerks.
You reviewed security reports.
You searched archives.
Weeks passed.
Then months.
More and more files kept appearing.
The answers did not.
The deeper you dug, the stranger the pattern became.
The documents never predicted insignificant events.
They focused on heavily violent crimes.
Murders.
Disappearances.
Domestic abuse.
Moments where lives changed forever.
Almost as if somethingโor even someoneโwas documenting history before it happened.
You were still trying to prove that theory wrong when the seventh file arrived.
The moment it appeared, every official involved in the investigation was summoned.
The folder was sealed.
Unmarked.
No origin.
No record of delivery.
Exactly like the others.
You were present when it was opened.
The room felt unnaturally quiet.
Nobody spoke.
Nobody moved.
A senior archivist broke the seal.
Inside was a single page.
No crime.
No suspect.
No witness statements.
Just a name.
Your name.
For several seconds, you simply stared.
You were convinced you were reading it incorrectly.
You weren't.
Beneath your name sat a date.
Six months from today.
And beneath the date, written in flawless official script:
DECEASED.
CAUSE: BLUNT FORCE HEAD TRAUMA.
MECHANISM: CEREBRAL CONTUSION.
MANNER: UNDETERMINED, STILL UNDER INVESTIGATION.
The room remained silent.
Someone dropped a pen.
Another official quietly excused themselves and never returned.
You couldn't blame them. You don't know how you haven't left the room yet. You've just heard about your own death, months before it has even happened.
For the first time since the investigation began, you found yourself struggling to breathe.
Not because you believed it.
Because you didn't.
You refused to.
A document could not decide whether you lived or died.
A piece of paper could not determine your fate.
There had to be an explanation.
A culprit.
A source.
A reason.
And even if there wasn'tโ
You intended to find one anyway.
The file was removed from public record before sunrise.
By noon, copies had reached the highest levels of Fontaine's justice system.
By evening, one final copy had been delivered far beneath the nation's waters.
To the Fortress of Meropide.
Its administrator read the report in silence.
Read it a second time.
Then a third.
When he finally set the page down, his expression had become unusually serious.
A relatively rare thing for Wriothesley.
The report contained hundreds of names.
Thousands, perhaps.
Yet only one seemed to concern him.
Yours.
Anyone would be able to recognize the name of a helpful investigator. Especially one who works on so many cases. That's besides the point, to Wriothesley, though.
What sticks out is your name in such an extreme case.
Because if the court truly knew the futureโ
Then someone needed to stop it before yours arrived.
final note: huge huge huge thanks to @opalescentangels once again for the INSANE amount of work she has helped with on this work! this went from an outline to a draft in about 48 hours thanks to her. anyways, i really hope this is an enjoyable read for those who are reading this! lots of work has been put into it! AND ANOTHER HUGE THANKS TO @lonelykrow FOR BETA-READING!
notes: hi! this is my first actual fic ever! i do deeply appreciate likes and reblogs as i work on this. also, this fic will be cross posted to ao3, so once i figure out how to get that working, i will link it on this masterlist. thank you for your continued patience and understanding!
updates: i have updates planned weekly, hopefully every saturday. however i am INCREDIBLY busy laster this year and may not have time to update it as much. i apologize!
warnings: murder, death investigations, crime scene descriptions, autopsies, forensic procedures, discussion of corpses, blood, psychological horror, paranoia, manipulation, false accusations, imprisonment, implied corruption within legal systems, grief, anxiety, depictions of trauma, and themes of predestination/fatalism. this will be updated as the fix continues. please do not read this if you are not able to handle these topics.
special thanks: @opalescentangels for a lot of work on this!! she can never get enough thanks for everything she does for me! and to everyone who reads this and supports our work ๐ค
pairing: wriothesley x detective/investigator!reader
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wait stop i'm already obsessed with the venti one </33 i love when people write him with horror, there's so much that can be done!! (เนหแดห)๏ปญ but i must ask...
which one of your wips is your favourite concept-wise?
(like. which one/s are you most excited to write?)
THIS IS A WONDERFUL ASK i love talking about my things omg!!
also a really hard question to answer because i really love all of them but honestly. yeah the venti one is probably my fave, i really love the idea of horror ESPECIALLY with venti! very good character to work with for the themes of that piece. and i also have a strong bias towards the wriothesley one because i love forensics/crime a LOT!
for those who want to read more detailed descriptions of these fics, check under the cut!
๐ชฝ "the angel collector" โ venti x (yet to be labeled) reader
religious horror, mystery, angst tbh, generally kinda dark?
ancient statues across teyvat are losing their wings.
every morning, the missing pieces appear beside you.
stone feathers gather on your windowsill. broken halos appear beneath your bed. forgotten churches ring their bells when you pass. as the phenomenon spreads, venti becomes increasingly desperate to keep you away from the truth.
unfortunately for him, the truth seems determined to find you first.
note: this will probably end up being a longer work cross posted here and on ao3.
โ๏ธ "records" โ wriothesley x (detective/investigator) reader
crime/forensics, thriller, mystery, suspense, slow burn, also general dark content.
the cases arriving at the fortress of meropide don't make sense anymore.
prisoners are being sentenced for crimes they haven't committed. witness statements describe events that haven't happened yet. entire court documents appear in the archives detailing murders, disappearances, and disasters that are still months away.
as an investigator assigned to the growing pile of impossible cases, you're tasked with determining whether fontaine is facing a massive conspiracyโor something far worse.
wriothesley has seen strange things before.
he's never seen paperwork predict the future.
note: this will also likely be cross posted! there's a LOT to this specific concept. special thanks to @opalescentangels for doing a lot of the work on this concept with me!
May I ask about the Kaveh WIP? What does the name "Silk and Starlight" mean? Sounds so comfy ๐
hi!! im so glad you asked!!! this is actually among my few favorites in my list!!
i guess a good way to describe this one is it's basically about finding a home in another person when neither of you feels like you belong anywhere else. equal parts domestic fluff, emotional vulnerability, if that makes sense?
i dive a LOT into symbolism, it's one of my favorite things! which is why i chose the title "silk and starlight"!
for example!
silk โต comfort, luxury, warmth, artistry
starlight โต hope, dreams, beauty, longing
but it is also very straightforward because there is a cute stargazing scene :)
๐ง๐จ๐ญ๐: THANK YOU!!! im so honored to get tagged in this omg this is so much fun :) im scared to tag people so uhhh if you don't want to be tagged let me know and i can take it down if i tagged you! some of these are less "wips" and more ideas with titles, so im only counting ACTUAL works im writing at the moment (drafting) which is like...two..sorry guys ๐ THIS IS A REPOST SINCE I DID THE FIRST ONE IN A REBLOG. I APOLOGIZE!!!
once again a huge thanks to @lunafile-mp3 / @chxrry-cxke for tagging me!! (i wasn't sure which page you wanted me to tag!! i apologize!!)
๐ฐ๐ก๐จ ๐ข๐ฆ ๐ญ๐๐ ๐ ๐ข๐ง๐ : @teyvatteatime , @carebearcozy , @nyxessence ! you guys all have amazing works that are incredibly fun to read :) ! please know that this is totally optional and you don't have to participate!! i understand if this isn't your cup of tea!
please feel free to ask questions about these works if you would like!
im so sorry to anyone who got tagged twice!!! please bear with me ๐ญ
๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ โฅ๏ธ
make a post with names of works in your WIPs, then tag as many people as you have WIPs. people are free to send in asks for works that pique their interests!!
โ๏ธ "court of glass" โ neuvillette x reader
drama, angst, mystery
status: outlining!
๐ฆ "silk and starlight" โ kaveh x reader
fluff, roommates to lovers
status: drafting... ๐๏ธ
โ๏ธ "records" โ wriothesley x reader
crime, suspense, slow burn
status: outlining!
๐ชฝ "the angel collector" โ venti x reader
fluff, horror almost, angst if you squint
status: drafting... ๐๏ธ
๐น"until the flowers bloom back" โ diluc x reader
romance, tragedy
status: drafting... ๐๏ธ
๐ฏ๏ธ"my love, my light, my life" โ flins x reader
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
โ Live Streamingโ Interactive Chatโ Private Showsโ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch โข No registration required โข HD streaming
