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I sometimes wonder if people forget that Dottore is not actually a medical doctor. Of course he has no ethics - he's an engineer who never took the hippocratic oath. His mission was never to heal. Even he laughs in Pierro's face when he's given the moniker of Dottore.

When he experiments, he's not looking at it from the human side - his purpose is not a therapeutic one. He's has tunnel vision for the mechanical aspect of it. He's only interested in the results of how the machine parts work in a human body, not the other way around. When people whine that he experiments on humans, in his head that's not what he's doing - the experiment is a test run of the machinery and how it works within a biological host. Do you see what I'm getting at?

Obviously I'm not justifying his approach, but I think people kind of miss the point with him in that he approaches experimentation from a different and solely pragmatic angle then are all shocked Pikachu that he has no regard for human comfort. His priority will always be the research and furtherance of scientific knowledge over losing a perfectly replaceable test subject. The purpose isn't gratuitous cruelty but unfortunately it is an intrinsic and foreseeable part of his work. That doesn't mean to say that he isn't careful about use of resources and whether more data can be procured if he is able to keep them alive for longer, but for me that is the extent of his consideration for whether or not a subject survives or their body is put under strain.

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Link to the artis

doodlescara on twitter

oh no🫢

it’s a bby😭

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❄️ Kaeya - Diluc 🔥

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“I will always hold you close but I will learn to let you go”

As usual, I’m emotional for them so here’s another kazuha and tomo’s fanart

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soft diluc my weakness

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I want to interact more with people on here and post my writing but idk how this app works 💀

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Hello Tumblr, been a while, where my Baizhu fans at?

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will the rain ever stop?

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me @ scaramouche

From this scene btw:

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Lost.

Scaramouche lost the battle with the traveler, and now the dreams of his past torment him. Nahida seems to have something in mind.

Characters: Scaramouche, Nahida (Buer), past friends

Themes: angst, hurt/no comfort, trauma

Pairings: none

Word count: 2.1k

I. Prologue

"You claim to have turned your back on the life you once had, yet your heart grieves deeply."

Six days and six nights, he lies in a weightless void. It envelopes him, cradling his body like a fragile porcelain doll. Six days and six nights, the bitter silence brought comfort, the dark void rushing over him in waves, grazing against the fractures that decorated his skin. A timeless space, there was no end to the eternity he felt that was brought to him.

Scaramouche dreamed. Memories from long ago, he dreamt of faces he'd forgotten. He dreamt of himself, the feeling of the veil that fell past his shoulders, he touched the long strands of hair he'd long since cut. There was a sense of unease, his shoulders remained rigid with each movement he made, treading along the line of unconsciousness that flickered with faded memories.

Scaramouche fell.

There was a drop in his stomach, whatever visions he seemed to remember were torn away. He squeezed his eyes shut, a sickening feeling striking through him, building up at the back of his throat. He felt a pressure on his body, a burning sensation at his fingertips growing with each passing moment.

The feeling of impact never came to him.

He blinked his eyes, immediately regretting it the moment he opened them. A feeling of nausea washed over him, cold air licking at his cheeks. The burning sensation never left his fingertips, rather, it enveloped his entire body. He took a moment, sucking in a breath as he began to glance at his surroundings. He lifted his hand, grimacing at the shock that ran through him, flashing with a hot feeling of discomfort.

Snow was the first thing he noticed. It bit into his skin, faint clouds escaping from his lips each time he took a breath. His mind was foggy, thoughts slipping away before he managed to grasp onto one.

Where was he? The battle between him and the traveler flashed through his mind and his body tensed. The sound of the horrific snapping of the cords in his desperate attempt to reach for the Gnosis rang loudly, Scaramouche shot up, hissing at the pain that shot through him again. The sick feeling rushed to the back of his throat, and his hand slapped over his mouth, a muffled, retching sound slipping from his lips. His stomach turned, and he leaned over, heaving unevenly.

How did he get here? Who took him here?

He didn't get a chance to properly think about it before he retched again, shutting his eyes as the repulsive sensation flooded over him. He coughed violently, a smell of bile overwhelming him. Recoiling, a sense of horror struck him. Fingers twitching, he backed away, eyes locked on the black, oily substance that seeped into the white snow.

His eyes were wide. How? He thought. He did not get sick, he could not get sick.

He was not human.

In an attempt to get up, his legs shook. The cold feeling never lessened, and instead, had only become more intense. The wind blew harshly, hitting his face as he trembled violently. Beyond him, there seemed to only be endless amounts of snow, stretching as far as he could see. There was no sunlight, the sky looked what had rather been what looked like a blanket of smoke, an eerie feeling creeping from the dark edges of the distant horizons.

Scaramouche glanced at the tall, towering mountains, the harsh wind howling and crying, a sense of turmoil churning in the pit of his stomach.

He didn't get far. With each step, he grew weaker, waves of dizziness and nausea taking over him. Despite his ignorance, he swayed, his final step collapsing him to the ground. The storm howled in his ears, and a scowl formed on his face, gritting his teeth as he fought to get up, desperate to ignore the weight that fell over him. He dug his hands into the snow, shaking violently.

Frustration built up, a scream finally escaping his throat.

A hoarse, broken shout, "What is it that you want from me?!"

There was no answer. Regardless of his desperation, confusion, anger, or even fear, he was rendered powerless. He had no control, and it terrified him.

His vision blurred, the familiar darkness enveloping him as it did before.

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Scaramouche wasn't sure how much time had passed. There was a constant throbbing in his head, he took a sharp breath, wincing at the sore feeling in his throat. Squinting his eyes, he glanced around. There was a faint muttering, yet despite how close it felt, he couldn't manage to make out a proper sentence. Their words echoed, seeming to replay numerous times. Scaramouche groaned, and their words stopped.

"Inou, the lights." It was a hushed voice.

There was a moment of silence before he heard someone rush to what felt to be the other side of the room before the light was dimmed. His body felt murky, and he opened his eyes, fighting the grogginess that hung over him as if it were a thick blanket. He turned his head, taking in where he was - which was nothing like where he had been last time - and who was there with him.

"Where.." He croaked.

"Oh my god, you're awake."

Their voice cracked mid-sentence, and he stiffened, eyes snapping to the source. Beside the bed, a young boy hung his head low, his hand covering his face before he looked up. Scaramouche carefully watched his movements, and his heart sank. The boy's eyes watered as he trembled, biting his lip to hold back any choked sobs, but his gaze focused on the familiar red streak that stood out from his dark hair. Scaramouche dug his hands into the blanket beneath him, gritting his teeth as he attempted to spit out a vile remark to the boy.

He opened his mouth, though, and managed to get nothing out aside from a raspy incoherent noise. Frowning, he turned away, shutting his eyes in hopes to escape from whatever horrid prison he was forced to be in. Of all things, must he live through the betrayals that broke him most again?

"Leave him alone for now, I'll take care of him."

A familiar voice, one he's forgotten many years ago, belonged to the older brother of the boy named Inou. Scaramouche slid further under the blankets, listening to the sound of hurried footsteps leaving the room after a pause of hesitance. For a while, neither spoke. Even if Scaramouche had the irresistible urge to drift off, he refused. He didn't know what would happen next, he knew they weren't real but rather this had been a fragment of his memory.

Or worse, this could have been a trap.

Last he'd done, he attempted to kill the traveler, and had he not been stopped, he may have become a true archon.

Was this their way of ending my life? He thought to himself, and a familiar feeling of bitterness settles inside him. Are they attempting to destroy me like this?

He was broken out of his thoughts by a gentle nudge to his shoulder; immediately he shot up. Scaramouche stared, eyes wide, staring at the older man who stood in front of him, holding a damp towel in his free hand.

"You'll get worse like this. Easy."

"I'm not a dog-" Scaramouche hissed, but bit back from saying anything further, wincing at the soreness in his throat.

"I didn't say you were."

It was a curt response, and Scaramouche lied back, lowering his gaze. After a pause, he leaned forward, taking a moment to carefully analyze him before he gently pressed the cold towel to Scaramouche's forehead. There was a sense of relief, and he sighed from the brief escape of heat that uncomfortably flashed in his body.

"You worried Inou, you know," he began to speak, "the boy cried for days while you were unconscious."

He had nothing to say to that, the usual urge to say something bitter and hostile was washed away and replaced with grogginess. He opened his mouth to say something, but another wave of dizziness began to engulf him.

Wait, he thought, not yet. Not yet, please.

A small part of him wanted to stay, but he couldn't stop his vision from darkening as it had done before.

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Scaramouche dreamt again, just as he had done before. There were moments he had been on familiar paths he'd walked down when he'd traveled, unknowing of where he would go next. The memories never lasted long, they'd disappeared as soon as they came.

He was a spectator in his own body, but that didn't stop the horror that flooded through him when he watched the scene of the boy who lie on the ground in front of him. His skin was sickly pale, eyes glossy as he stared lifelessly at the ceiling above him. It didn't stop the fear that crept behind him, eyes wide as he watched himself come through the door behind him, a hopeful and carefree expression plastered on his face as he grasped a basket of lavender melons.

He watched himself, reliving the memory that broke him years ago. Watching his own smile begin to falter, the expression full of hope shapes into one of alarm and dread. He ran out the door, the lavender melons falling onto the ground, and a rush of panic surged through Scaramouche. He knew what would happen next, he knew what he would do.

Don't, he thought.

His mind raced as he ran after his own memory, unsure of how much time passed as he continued to run. He had so much regret, he didn't want to relive this.

He froze when he found himself back when he started, flames erupting from the home as black smoke rose into the sky in a thick cloud. A sharp gasp and Scaramouche bolted forward, lunging for the figure that watched it go up into flames.

"What have you done?!"

His attempt to attack his own self was futile and instead fell through him as if he were a ghost, landing into the snow beneath him. He stared at himself, watching the emotionless gaze of his memory look at the flames that arose, roaring angrily, spreading as far as they could reach. A feeling of anger rose through him, and he rose his hand, ready to send a flash of electricity to his memory.

However, nothing happened.

There was no blinding light, no flash of energy, no sound of cracks of electricity.

No matter how much he screamed, shouted, or spat insults at himself, he could do nothing but watch as the memories and familiar feelings that flooded his vision after shoving them away for so many years. At last, he let out a long, wretched scream, making a final attempt to lunge at himself before the vision faded. Any last traces of it disappearing as if it had never happened. He heaved, his entire body stiff as he stood motionless.

"Now do you understand, Kunikuzushi?"

He whipped around, a scowl on his lips. In front of him, the youthful archon stood, looking straight at him.

"Buer." He seethed.

Around them, there was nothing but empty space. A void.

He stepped forward, raising his hand in the familiar motion he'd always done.

"It's no use to make any attempts against me."

"Choose your next words carefully," he spat, venom dripping from his words.

"Perhaps what you'd just seen was not enough for you to understand," she replied, walking towards him. Her steps were careful, slow, and he watched her every movement as she came closer. "Or is it that you refuse to accept it?"

Her eyes remained calm, there had been no smile on her face, but rather a distant and sorrowful look. "You've claimed to be devoid of emotion, Kunikuzushi," she paused, meeting her gaze with Scaramouche's, "but your heart continues to bleed for those you've lost."

"My heart does not bleed, " he shot back, "you have no idea-"

"If I had no idea, I would have never given you a chance to live again." She cut him off abruptly, "regardless of whether you suffered or not, my people still come first. I am still the archon of Sumeru.

"You mean the same people who abandoned you?"

"They knew no better. The past was hidden from them, they had no say in what could happen to me."

Scaramouche laughed bitterly, taking another step back. "You truly have no hatred for this world? How naive."

"It is not me who is naive, rather, I think that might be you."

"Watch your tongue," he snapped again, any hint of a smile immediately returning to a glower.

"You deserve a second chance, Kunikuzushi," her hand rose, and his ears had begun to ring, the dark emptiness surrounding them began to crack, "it's time you finally received it."