#wait wait wait

DRAGON ATE THE MYTHICAL DEVIL FRUIT HITO HITO MI MODEL: ZAZA.

‼️MONKEY D. DRAGON IS THE NEW RAIN GOD.‼️

THE OLD RAIN GOD?

NEFERTARI D. LILI

(Maybe a part of him wants to be judged- proven right about himself. Maybe he’d beg.) (<- he’ll be disappointed on that front but oh well)

I also offer you: imploding about all this right after the wild gang chapter (or the yuujou gang equivalent :3)

Hopefully I’m making sense I keep dozing off as I’m typing

Jounouchi knows the look.

Mutou never gives it to him.

Mutou looks at him like he’s something worth keeping. Something bright. Something good.

But the other one—

The spirit behind those eyes.

The one that weighs hearts

That one sees everything.

Jounouchi feels it the moment Yami’s gaze lands on him.

Heavy. Measuring.

He wonders what the scale would say if it were placed over his chest.

How much rot would spill out.

How many mistakes.

How many times he chose the wrong thing, the easy thing, the violent thing.

How many nights he told himself he’d do better and woke up the same person anyway.

Unfit.

The word sits quietly in his bones.

He wonders if Yami can hear it there.

Wonders if the spirit looks at him and sees someone rancid. Someone heavy-hearted. Someone who drags down everyone who tries to keep him.

Maybe that’s why Jou doesn’t look away.

Maybe that’s why he holds the gaze.

Waiting.

Because if anyone is going to say it—

if anyone is going to finally confirm what he’s always suspected—

It would be a king who judges souls.

Jounouchi exhales slowly, something almost like relief creeping into his chest.

“Go ahead,” he mutters under his breath.

Maybe a part of him even hopes the words come out like a verdict.

Unworthy.

Not fit to stand beside him.

Because if Yami says it—

If the spirit that Mutou trusts most in the world says it—

Then at least Jounouchi will finally know he was right about himself all along.

And he can stop pretending.

The thought settles over him like quiet.

Like the stillness before a blade drops.

Jounouchi lets his gaze stay fixed on those red eyes, refusing to look away even as something uneasy curls low in his stomach. He’s seen that stare before — during games, during punishments, during the moments when the world seemed to bend around the king’s will.

The gaze that strips people down to what they are.

Measured.

Judged.

He wonders what it would look like if it were real.

Not just metaphor.

Not just the feeling of it pressing down on his chest.

But the actual ritual.

The stories talk about scales.

Ancient, perfect things made to measure truth.

Jounouchi can almost see them if he lets his mind drift far enough.

A vast, silent hall carved from stone older than memory. Torches burning low against painted walls. Gods carved into pillars, watching.

And at the center—

The scale.

One side empty.

Waiting.

On the other—

A feather.

Small. Perfect. Weightless.

Ma’at’s feather.

Truth.

Justice.

Everything a heart is supposed to be.

Jounouchi imagines standing there barefoot on cold stone, dust clinging to the bottoms of his feet. His hands empty. His chest bare.

The king sitting high above the scale.

Watching.

Waiting.

“Step forward,” the king would say.

And Jounouchi would.

Because what else is there to do?

The jackal-headed god would reach into his chest without hesitation. No ceremony. No apology.

Just a clean motion.

Heart in hand.

Still beating.

Jounouchi wonders how heavy it would feel.

Heavy with all the things he’s done wrong.

Heavy with anger and cheap fights and broken promises.

Heavy with the quiet certainty that he’s always just a little too much trouble to be worth keeping around.

The jackal would place it on the scale.

And for a moment—

Just a moment—

It would balance.

Jounouchi almost hopes for that part.

The brief illusion.

Before gravity takes hold.

Before the truth settles.

Before the heart drops.

Too heavy.

Too stained.

Too full of things it should never have carried.

The feather wouldn’t move.

It never would.

And the king would look down from his throne and see exactly what Jounouchi has always known.

Unfit.

The creature waiting beside the scale would stir then.

The devourer.

All teeth and hunger and inevitability.

Ammit.

Waiting patiently for the verdict.

Waiting for the heart that failed the measure.

Jounouchi exhales slowly, the breath leaving him in something dangerously close to relief.

Yeah.

That sounds about right.

Better to have it decided cleanly.

Better to have someone who can see the truth say it out loud.

So he lifts his chin just a little higher and meets the king’s gaze head on.

“Go ahead,” he murmurs again.

Because punishment—

Punishment would make sense.

Punishment means the scale worked.

Punishment means the king saw him clearly.

And if the devourer takes his heart afterward—

Well.