#To which Dottore repaired the damage

[starlitwishes]

@starscrxssed

"... I didn't know she was one of his test subjects too."

Wrenn had been staying with Tighnari in Gandharva Ville for some time now. He had gotten to know Collei a fair bit, and while his time there was meant to be 'punishment' for the injury he inflicted upon Tighnari, he knew he wasn't in bad company. In fact, he secretly enjoyed his stay there, much to his own dismay.

At least, until something happened--something he didn't expect.

Wrenn hadn't meant to startle her so badly, when he went to grab her. He hadn't meant anything by it--she had just been turning away from him and he wanted to stop her from leaving, to tell her something he felt was important. But she violently pulled her wrist away and screamed, cowering away from him before running off. Such a reaction to being touched by him startled him, and his own self hatred had started to bubble over--was he so repulsive or other to them that his touch was so offensive?

So he had been in a foul mood all day, avoiding everyone--until Tighnari had found him, and revealed the truth of the matter. That Collei had been one of Dottore's prior experiments.

A segment of his, probably--but still, nevertheless, a victim.

"That explains why she freaked out so much," Wrenn huffed. Though a part of him felt guilty for how quickly he jumped to the conclusion that it was a problem with him specifically, and not something outside of himself. "I'm... surprised she survived through it. Humans are far more fragile than I am. Normally, they die after one experiment... guess he wanted to keep her alive for some reason. That's the only reason she's alive. He doesn't care if his test subjects live or die unless he has something to gain from you being alive. If he's interested enough, then you're not allowed to die. Not on his watch."

Wrenn's words were harsher than he meant, but they were a matter of fact--as his own chest tightened at the thought, he knew better than anyone that if Dottore was interested in you, it was the only thing that saved you from death.

If one could call it saving.

"I'll take care not to suddenly grab or touch her from now on," he promised with a nod. "The last thing I want is to put myself in more debt to you. I'll take on some of her work to make up for it... and, feel free to tell her that I meant no harm by it."

[m1d-45]

a temple to the seas

summary: as dottore's assistant, you run into a variety of creatures. however, this one seems a little too human for your taste...

word count: ~3.4k

-> warnings: major dehumanizing language and behavior (towards character, temporarily by reader), minor mention of a (presumed to be) dead body, mentions + minor depiction of blood, titles of two harbingers not shown in game (written pre-natlan), some sort of weird power dynamic going on but neither of them are winning

-> gn reader (you/yours)

tag list: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me || @chaoticfivesworld || @raaawwwr || @ryuryuryuyurboat || @undrxtxd || @rainswept || @wanderersqt || @rozz-eokkk

< masterlist >

dottore worked with a myriad of strange and wondrous creatures, both with and without natural origin. on the tamer side of things, you’ve been called in to inspect slimes with weak or nonexistent elemental charge, a crystalfly with six wings, and a strangely docile lawachurl. on the other end, you had to tear apart ancient ruin machinery, pistons firing to grind moss-covered gears against each other. you’ve even fixed up your fair share of segments, one of the few entrusted with their delicate circuitry. hubristically, you thought you’d seen it all, because what could surprise you more than the blue heart of an abyss lector placed in your hands?

you flash your keycard in front of the reader beside a thick steel door, the hallway light creeping along the floor as it slides open. the room is dark, with a large cloth covering the back half. it’s roughly taped up, with dark… mystery liquid bleeding out from the bottom. it’s surprisingly empty, with neither person nor furniture to keep you company. you’re left with a covered cart, the tools strapped to your sides, and the paper in your hands. your target is behind the curtain, it seems.

you don’t think too hard about it, instead pulling the cloth off the cart and messily pushing it through the handle on one side to keep it off the floor. the door shuts and plunges the room into darkness, so you take a small penlight from your pocket and tuck it behind your ear, reading the paper on the board.

you’re to study a specimen from the sea, strangely. the doctor usually kept his study to terrestrial creatures, an observation already noted on the page. a fishing party had reported something strange in the water, which had only turned into a concern once it had attacked one of the fatui’s ships. commoners were able to sail through the area fine, even in small fishing dinghies, but it chose to specifically attack the ship sent for negotiations with mondstadt. il capitano had expended several dozen squads retrieving both the mora lost and the beast itself, which was wounded by the ship’s anchor and made for a fierce capture, blah blah blah. you couldn’t care less about the details. instead, you skip to your short list of duties at the bottom: repair the enclosure, determine the intelligence of whatever you’ve caught, and establish a line of communication if sufficiently advanced.

you’re not sure why they think you’ll be able to talk with whatever’s in there, but that’s a problem for later. you take stock of what you were left, searching in the thin beam of your penlight and squinting through the light reflected off the steel cart. the lights haven’t turned on yet, so they must have either been manually set to off or damaged when the subject was brought in. not including your pen, the only light is from the card reader behind you and what slips through between the cloth and the walls, both a pale blue that do little to illuminate the room at large. you give up on the cart and scan the walls for the light switch, finding it closer to the door than normal. thankfully, it was just set to off, but the lights flicker when you turn them on. you click off your penlight, looking up at them oddly. why would they be flickering?

having apparently given its answer to your unspoken question, the cloth trembles with a dull thud. the liquid at the bottom spreads out a bit further, looking clear now that the lights are on. your instinct says it’s water, but it could just as easily be alcohol or gasoline. the cloth itself is already dark, so it’s hard to tell how much of it is soaked.

then again, it is a supposed sea monster, right? it makes sense that it would be held in a tank, but the water spilling doesn’t reflect the loudness of the thud. if it had rammed the glass, then the water splashing over would have been visible as it hit the cloth. on the other hand, you were told to repair the enclosure, so-

another thud, louder, the water spreading out in another surge. you quickly discard your train of thought, tucking away your pen and checking over the cart with much more ease. there’s a first-aid kit, silicone sealant, and a roll of thick, clear tape that you grab. it’s a temporary fix, but you need to get a grasp on the situation before you can decide on a proper course of action. you push the tape into the large pocket of your lab coat, freeing both of your hands to grab the cloth over the mystery tank. you pull, quickly yanking it off and letting it drop. it doesn’t feel soaked yet, so it can hopefully absorb some of the water on the floor.

the tank itself is… boring. the water is murky, a tumultuous mess of air bubbles and thick black strings of something. chains? no, then it wouldn’t have been able to hit the glass. you wouldn’t be surprised if it had broken the chains, however, as the cracks spiderwebbed through the glass are alarmingly thick. you unspool some of the tape, sticking strips over the sections where the cracks intersect. water still drips through, but at a far slower pace. it’ll do for now.

as you patch up the glass, the water slowly begins to settle. sediment falls to the bottom, and you can’t tell if the shine is natural or because it’s reflecting the light streaming through from the ceiling. the tank is still dark, though, a deep fog covering the back half. there should be lights all the way to the far wall, so they’re likely damaged.

as if it heard your thoughts—were you superstitious, you’d be worried by now—one of the lights on the near side breaks with a shatter, glass and sparks falling into the tank below. you step away, moving well out of range of the puddle on the floor despite the minuscule charge. the other light breaks in a similar fashion, though this time you catch something small and dark being flung at it. you bring out your penlight again, crouching beside the glass to catch a glimpse of whatever it is. you’re expecting a link of the chain-like structure you saw before, maybe a rock or shell, so of course it’s none of those things. there, at the bottom of the tank, is a single coin of mora. it shines as innocently as the glass slowly sinking around it, oblivious to the gears turning in your mind.

you can’t believe that a sea creature would have want for terrestrial money, but you can believe that it’s attracted to the glimmer. it’s smart enough to use one of the smaller coins, though you’re not sure if that’s to make it harder to see as it flies or if it knows its value. you don’t hold your breath about it. if squid can open jars and slimes can plan ambushes for their prey, you don’t expect anything impressive from whatever this thing is.

the glass and mora are still there, so it didn’t care about either enough to actually grab it. it’s either waiting for you to back off, dislikes the light, or both. you stand, making your way back to the cart. you trade your tape for the proper sealant, scribbling a small note about your findings on the second, blank page on the clipboard. you reread the original file, this time catching that a non-insignificant amount of mora was missing from the wreckage. it was packed in sealed bags, so it wasn’t as if it was carried away by the tide. your mystery friend was in possession of ten thousand mora, give or take, a fact you tuck away for later. there’s plenty of scrap metal to be found around the lab, which can potentially be used as bribes if your theory proves correct.

the tank thuds again, and you turn quickly. you’re only able to catch a glimpse of black retreating into the fog, though, the flash of scales a microscopic indication of what you’re dealing with. plenty of sea creatures have scales, though this eliminates most of the ones with tentacles. scales, with enough force to crack the glass of its tank. what are the chances it’s just a particularly aggressive shark?

none, of course—capitano’s squadron’s could likely take down a shark one-handed and half-blind—but it’s fun to play pretend.

you approach the tank, pulling the tape from the bigger leaks and put it over the thinner cracks instead. silicone is scraped over the main breaks, the excess smeared to the edge of the tape. you peer into the tank as best as you can, but it’s too dark to see anything. even with the broken lighting, what does get through isn’t diffusing naturally. the darkness seems to swirl, collecting the dirt off the floor-…

the mora’s gone. so is the glass. you stare at the place they used to be, briefly lost in the sight of the concrete flooring. you hadn’t noticed any movement, so it was either masked by fog or a sufficiently slow creep. both? the ‘mist’ inside seems to ripple and flutter with invisible currents, never parting to let anything through.

another coin of mora shoots through the veil, hitting a weak spot dead-on and pushing the cracks higher through the glass. you’re starting to suspect the thing can read your thoughts… or it can just use whatever brain is left to know that you’re watching. what’s gotten into you?

you shake it off, pushing sealant into the new fracture. some of them spread too high for you to reach without a stool, though they’re fairly thin. you’ve been pretty lucky, not having to put yourself in a vulnerable position yet—unless, if you step back, it was intentional? you’re only halfway across the tank, but you take a break to do just that, actually taking in the patterns of the rifts instead of logging them as another problem to be solved.

the room is fairly tall, though the tank doesn’t stretch all the way to the top. you can only reach about three quarters of the way to the top of the glass, and there’s a sizable space of air above the tank. instead of focusing at the top and trying to widen that opening, the damage is nearly entirely in the bottom third. everything that reaches higher are hairline, not intended to spread that high. whatever it is, it wants to flood the room, enough that it’s prioritizing that over escape.

definitely smarter than a squid.

you approach your cart to make note of your realization, using your penlight to write. you angle yourself so you can barely see the tank out of the corner of your eye, sketching a rough diagram of the room and marking where the major breaks are. like last time, the water begins to twist, the mist receding from the glass. you draw random shapes on the side of your paper to stall, interspersed with writing-like loops in case it’s somehow able to understand the difference. the sides of the mist curl in, forming a bubble in the middle. it swells, rushing forward, and you quickly flick on your light and point it toward the tank.

your light is weak, obviously. it’s a pen, a focused beam meant to fit in tight spaces and illuminate them efficiently. it’s dispersed somewhat by the distance, glass, and water, but you know what you see no matter how unclear. a large, glittering tail lashes forward, wrapped in heavy gray chain and dense fog. it’s yanked back as quick as it came, but you’re no fool. the weight of the ship’s anchor hitting the glass makes another low thud, barely-there crackles heralding new fissures. it was softer this time, likely thrown off from your light.

smart enough to use tools. scaled. deep-dwelling, or otherwise nocturnal. you don’t know much about the sea, but that doesn’t seem to add up into anything remotely normal. sea lions don’t have scales, neither do dolphins, whales, or squid, and none of fontaine’s aberrants could survive either the cold or the salt. snowstriders are large, but they’re naturally a bright white. whatever you have, it’s an anomaly.

you shouldn’t be so surprised. since when did the doctor deal in the mundane?

you leave the rest of the tank’s cracks as is, instead picking through the lower level of the cart. there’s a small slate and marker, a larger light, some gloves, and a bunch of other stuff you don’t bother with. you tuck the slate under your arm and put the marker with your pen, pulling off the large light and a battery pack. it’s heavy, but you manage. the water agitates when you set it by the tank, as close as you can without risking water damage. it should be water resistant, but you’re not about to test that theory and get yourself in trouble.

the thing must have an idea of what you’re doing. it also must not be native to too deep waters, or else it’d be blind. but if it was in the shallows, how did it manage to grow so large without ever being seen?

you insert the battery, hovering your hand over the knob. there’s no telling if it’ll get aggressive in the light, so you prime yourself to run just in case. you look up into the dark fog of the tank, twisting the light to full power.

your first, horrific thought is that it’s somehow brought a corpse into the lab. sure, the fatui aren’t exactly known for their top care of fallen soldiers, but surely it would have been separated from one before being put in its tank. the body is half-hidden behind a mass of scales, a deep violet that shines despite the fog—which itself isn’t fog. you’re not sure how or why, but it’s shifted from black to brown, clearly just dirt constantly kept in motion. your light cuts through it easily as it begins to settle, the tail shifting to hide the body. you can’t see a head yet, is it an eel of some kind?

and then you understand. the body’s shoulder moves, led by a black hand. dark ink stretches up their forearm like an infection, leaving behind claws instead of nails. it reaches down, behind the wrap of scales, and flicks another coin at the glass with far too much strength to be puppetted.

that’s its body*.* you physically recoil from the realization, hand tightening on the light and dimming it a little more in the process. black scales shine purple as it approaches, ripped and jagged fins twitching and sweeping the dirt away from impossibly far off. still likely an elemental, you think dully, watching as it approaches. another coin of mora flashes between two long claws and flicks towards you quick enough to leave a small trail of vacuum bubbles behind it. it hits the glass with a sharp click, right over the light.

you know what it wants. you’re still reeling from the idea that something can look so human when deep beneath the sea, struggling to fit its silhouette together in your mind, but you can still think properly. the dirt continues to sink, revealing more paper-thin fins shredded by the anchor’s chain. the floor is marred from thousands of claw marks, though you can’t see the full extent of the damage. its curled up over the well, wrapped tightly in its tail. all you can see are purple scales and lavender fins, waving gently in the water. if you’d seen a picture of it like this, you’d only assume it was a strangely large eel that had been unlucky enough to wander into the wrong side of a harbor.

but you knew better. the scales shift and a dark claw sticks out, another mora flung towards you. it hits with more force than last time.

you don’t know what to do. it’s hurt, obviously; dark blood seeps from between every scale, whether because of the anchor or the torn fins or something else you can’t see. you’re surprised it was able to whip the anchor as fast as it did. with how dark and blurry everything is, you can’t help but wonder if blood was a substantial part of the mist you saw before. not many morals last long under the doctor’s instruction, but you don’t like seeing it recoil from the light. maybe it’s another hallucination, maybe it’s pulling on your neurons to make you do what it wants, but the end result is the same.

against your better judgement, you lower the light just slightly, keeping your hand on it in case things turn south. the monster’s tail slowly unwinds, revealing more of the body within. their skin is bluish, with dark streaks across the ribs. you watch in a daze as it crawls forward, finally coming face to face with the monster in the tank.

it looks painfully human. bright yellow eyes, the same color as the mora it not-so-discreetly swipes off the floor, surrounded by a cloud of black hair. you could almost fool yourself into thinking its a free diver, a particularly foolish one who left his wetsuit on the shore and was slowly succumbing to hypothermia. blackish gills flutter along his neck and ribs, your hand unthinkingly turning off the light when its scales press against the glass. he seems perfectly human from the waist up.

and then it hisses at you. his lips pull back over layers of shark-like fangs, your hand alarmingly twisting forward instead of back with the rest of your body. the knob clicks under your fingers, the light entirely turning off, and the thing has the gall to look proud.

right. dangerous sea-thing that risked its life to try and flood the lab. you’re usually better under pressure than this, but to be fair you usually don’t deal with subjects that can maybe-probably read your mind.

you pull yourself together, pulling the cap off your marker and writing a simple question across the slate in your neatest handwriting. your hand is strangely shaky. when you’re done, you turn it towards the glass.

‘can you read common?’

his eyes flick first to the slate, and then to yours, his hair shifting in an invisible current. it parts enough that you can see his ears have elongated into spiny ruffs, each flared out wide. you don’t know what that means. you go to write as such on the board, and a sharp click draws your attention. he waves at the slate, then nods.

what was his previous reaction, then? if he understood that nodding was an agreement, then why not do that to begin with? if you mapped the movement of his ears onto another animal, would it be a stretch to interpret it as annoyance? could he be offended you thought he couldn’t read?

another coin shoots toward your face, the click startling you out of your thoughts. you blink, and he waves to your board again, with more emphasis. was he used to this style of questioning, then? you’ll have to ask the segment who was in charge of him prior about what they did.

‘what’s 2 + 2?’

how many times have you been shot at since you’ve come in here? you should start a tally.

you continue with basic questions, slowly increasing their difficulty. he looks almost bored through all of them, laying over his tail. you can never see further than his waist, irritatingly, and he keeps summoning more mist when you aren’t looking to further fog the transition. you’re tempted to go get your clipboard, but figure that’ll break whatever rapport you’ve built up. he’s not aggressive anymore, so you’ll settle for sneaking glances at the patterns of his fins.

‘do you know the name snezhnaya?’

he’s rather fond of giving you looks you’d dare to call condescending, your only answer coming in irritated ruffles of his spines until he gets tired of waiting and nods again. you somewhat wish you could give him a slate to write on himself, but he could easily break it into dangerous shards. not that it would matter much, considering his claws…

he clicks two fingers together in an unmistakable snap, and though the snap is lost in the water you know you’ve been caught. you quickly write down some random question about the capital to distract him, but it doesn’t work. his teeth flash in the light, though it seems to be more of a smile than a jeer. his shoulders bob, unnatural fangs gleam beneath a sharp cupid’s bow, and you’re not sure when he stopped being an eel and started becoming a person.

[fatuismooches]

Dottore and artist!reader?👉👈 Reader just quietly sitting in a corner while Dottore tinkers with something, sketching him in their sketchbook. Of course when they notice him getting closer they snap their sketchbook shut (Because it's rather embarrassing being caught drawing someone you know...) Dottore is always amused but also a bit annoyed that they're hiding something from him. And it doesn't just apply to drawing! They do everything! They paint, they play instruments, they write, they crochet, etc. And I can imagine them dabbling into mechanical things as well! Mostly for design and not really function (They made him a little mechanical raven one time, and he may or may not have upgraded it to be able to move around and added a camera to spy on people...) They play music and compose it (I like to imagine that they composed Dottore's introduction theme in-game 👉👈) You can always hear their music faintly playing down one of the halls. Sometimes they even sew clothes for him! (Not that he uses them often, he probably has a few copies of the same clothes if they get dirty or damaged...) Clothes that are pretty, but functional and practical for his lab, because he hardly ever leaves the damn place... (hehe, making him a pretty suit if you ever need to attend one of the Tsaritsa's ball's...) I also like to imagine a scenario where they have a bunch of paintings of him hidden somewhere, and they'd get really embarrassed if Dottore would find them... I mean, it does look as if they are obsessed with him with how many paintings they have of him... (He will tease them endlessly about it, and even offer to model for you since you seem so captivated with his looks... of course you can only tease him back and stun him into silence by telling him to take off his clothes so you could paint him nude for the first time :) )

DOTTORE AND ARTIST READER!!! OOH I AM LOVING ALL OF THESE TALENTS... You love spending time with him while the two of you are doing your own things, namely you sketching away at whatever you want... which is Dottore of course. You love drawing him, the love of your life... you wonder if he knows how his expression slightly changes when he's wholly focused on something... you do, as you capture it in your sketchbook. Though sometimes his complicated outfit makes you want to snap your pencil. You love drawing him in different outfits too, just his simple blue collared shirt... unbuttoned a bit too sometimes.

THE MECHANICAL DESIGN!! YES! You probably take some of your husband's creations and like to add a few finishing touches to them... and it just adds a completely new layer and sparks to the product! It's probably gonna be doing evil things... but it'll be stylish!! (The mechanical raven omg 😭🥺 i'm thinking it's similar to Freminet's penguin... it's just a lot more... deadly.)

I hc Dottore is a fan of music,, so he would always like to listen to whatever you compose. He likes to try and understand the deeper meaning behind every note, every sound. Even though he's not with you all the time, he and the clones like to hear your music drifting throughout the labs as they conduct their business <3

Ah making his clothes,, making my heart weep. You've probably made him some simple shirts and stuff to sleep with because if it weren't for you he'd just go to sleep in his lap attire 💀 (average Dottore behavior) Plus sometimes there's a buckle that's gone loose... a very tiny tear on his pants... you notice all of it and you make sure to fix that up as well. And... if anything you'll probably be repairing some of the clones' clothes because they've blown themselves up a couple of times. (Dottore in a suit is making me froth at the mouth)

I don't even know where you would hide your paintings of him (in your closet and one day they just come tumbling out and he's like ... and you're like ...) It's fine though, because he's equally as obsessed as you (a completely normal thing in his eyes) But OH he is a little shit... he will embarrass and tease you to no end, bring up how you got every detail down... oh you must stare at his face quite often no? Would you like to examine him up close, he teases. Yes, yes you do, you respond, already pulling out a blank canvas so you can do a full study on his body.

[nomorefstogive]

I now cannot get the image of Lumine pulling a Radahn phase 2 to the Archons xd

Anyways, hi again! Thanks for the ask--amazing by the way--and the addition to the Ranni!Reader post.

Always nice to see another Tarnished; I tried to keep myself away due to my horrible internet that likes to work only when it wants to but, alas, with two certain bosses I had to xd

Goes to show that even if my cringe is free from judgement, I still need to have help I guess ;-;

Skdkdkdkd sorry, I'm terrible at conversations ;-;;

It's alright, I'm am probably worse at them lol. Asperger's and social anxiety are a hell of a pair eh?

Also, since you mention being a fellow yuri fan, and I apologize for the shameless self-plug, I am writing a pair of yuri fics on my Ao3, one for AL and one for Genshin, if you are curious the link is: TheGreatestShow

As for Lumine...

Admittedly I have three differing ideas for her. I will have to send them in separate messages but here is the first one.

The first being: Eldritch/Cosmic being Lumine. With her being somewhat based on the Elden Beast.

P.S. Also I am going to put the read more link below this because holy shit this wound up being longer than I thought it would be lol.

Not quite a god, but certainly a being removed from mortal comprehension and existence. The human form we see is merely the equivalent of a porcelain shell, designed to protect her more vulnerable, yet also more powerful, true form, something she would kill to keep secret.

She is less interested in the politics of Teyvat and more in regaining her power and either finding Aether and beating him into a coma for abandoning her, or departing the world and returning at full power to settle her score with Asmoday.

She does not go out of her way to attack the Fatui, something that will be a re-occuring theme amidst these ideas, and even offers to aid them in exchange for their help in regaining her powers.

She is also considerably more ruthless than in canon, her battle with Dvalin almost ending in her killing the dragon over the skies of Mondstadt until Venti removes his power out of fear for his friends life. Her clash with Childe ends with Dottore having to perform surgery to reattach the youngest harbingers arms and repair his damaged organs, after Signora grabs him and bails after he staggers into the bank half dead after she gets the gnosis.

Her clash with Osial ends with her attempting to drain the god's power to fuel her own return to full strength, something which is only adverted when Osial removes one of his own heads to stop her from draining him into nothing before he is hit with the Jade Chamber.

As for Inazuma...That is the point where her patience reaches its limit.

Her first meeting with the Shogun end with her vessel being damaged and her being forced to flee, anger and humiliation that a mere doll managed to injure one of her kind swelling within her veins to match the disgust at the blatant attempts at emotional manipulation done to sway her to the rebels side.

But one does not live for eons without learning when to hold their tongue and blade, and so she smiles and joins Sangonomiya's rebellion, waiting...waiting, until she waits no more.

The delusion factory, the remains of gods and demons bent and warped into a power source...a power source she can drain.

Scaramouche barely escapes with his life, and Miko is likewise almost killed as the Starborn devours the power of the factory and at last manages to shatter some of the seals upon her own power, her smile widening as she obliterates the area before ascending, wings of nebulae and galaxies at her back as she gazes upon Inazuma.

Madness and rage swirl within her, the lingering malice of the delusions clouding her mind and amplifying her own rage towards this land and its people, who have dared to humiliate her so, as she calls forth her power and descends.

Kujou Sara staggers into the Shogun's chamber, drenched in blood. Her bow clatters to the ground as the Anemo Boxer holding her up staggers to his knee, blood leaking from both a gash on his side and his lips as he looks at the startled face of both his lady and the Shogun with dread.

The Tengu general manages to stammer out these words-

"...Encampment...destroyed...only...survivors...Monster...coming..."

Before she fades into unconsciousness, the last thing she hears being her Shogun call out her name as explosions begin to rock Inazuma.

From on high the winged being watches as rifts and tears into the cosmos form, meteors and asteroids pouring from them and laying waste to not only the harbor of Ritou, but to the city itself.

Her smile widens as she sees the resistance soldiers, consumed by madness and mania due to her aura having enveloped them, running rampant, maiming and butchering and mutilating to their hearts content.

Faintly she hears Paimon begging her to stop, but she ignores her, her gaze now fixed upon that loathsome Island in the sky as she reaches up a hand to part the heavens and summon forth-

A lightning bolt strikes her hand.

A snarl of rage leaves her lips as he turns to the Shogun, summoning twin greatblades to her hand as she surges forward to at last settle their score.

The battle is vicious, and even within the Plane of Euthymia, Ei is pushed to her limits, divine blood staining the sands as she struggles against her merciless foe.

Eventually she managwes to deal what should be a fatal blow, the Musou no Hitachi tearing a path straight across the Starborn's chest and sending her flyting into the distance.

Yet just as Ei takes a deep breath, she feels the air grow dense.

The sound of shattering pottery fills the silent realm as Lumine begins to rise to her feet only to stagger forward, her form breaking apart like a fallen vase and revealing not but an ever growing stain of darkness that soon envelops the remains and much of the surrounding land, pulling them into stygian depths.

From the depths emerges an arm, stygian in color for but the briefest of moment before light swells and dances within it, stars and galaxies of colors known and unknown forming within the endless expanse of darkness as the limb pulls out of a double Helix shaped blade, the light of the cosmos seeping from it.

With the arm their comes a body, female in form, yet devoid of all other features save for the swirling galaxies and cosmos within, that is until twin orbs open, blazing with the light of twin stars as wisps of comet trail form under a galactic veil upon the beings head.

Above them forms a halo of asteroids and meteors and comets, swirling and dancing amidst a field of stars, a black hole posed at the center and yet not devouring them as it should.

The being rises without legs, it's body seeming to end in the ever growing stain as tendrils and additional limbs rise from the morass as the command of the Starborn.

"You crave eternity...then behold the eternity of the cosmos."

Comes forth a voice that echoes from all directions, light and wispy, yet dark and crushing as well.

Desperation fuels the following battle, even the Shogun is barely able to match the monster she faces, one arm lost and an eye carved out as she is flung to and fro by the being.

Electro meets the blazing Cosmos as the heavens are rent and the plane of Euthymia falls away to reveal a burning city, the two titans continuing a duel that spans the length of the island and then some.

Mountains fall, and canyons are carved, the heavens are rent and reforged a dozen times over as they clash without respite or hesitation until, at last.

The Starborn seizes the Shogun and casts her down into the ground before the Statue of the Omnipresent Goddess, smiling as she rears back her arm to deal the deat-

An arrow slams into her stomach.

A snarl of rage tears from her lips even as agony assails her senses as she turns to regard the one that dared to strike at her.

Ebony wings are unfurled, bandages yet being soaked crimson as muscles and wounds are pulled to tight, as a general stands defiant to protect her goddess from the being that looms above them.

Stalwart and loyal she steps forward to meet the being that looks upon her in confusion and disbelief, though there is something else that likewise burns within those orbs, a faint hint of...respect as she descends to meet her foe.

Desperately the Shogun reaches out for her general, only to see her vision fade in and out as the two clash, the injured Tengu matching the beast as she sheds her human form and brings forth the full extent of her cursed blood, though even that falls short.

Two blades tear through her stomach as she is lifted into the air before being flung across the city and into the ground, the Starborn actually panting in exertion from the effort of the battle before she turns to-

A scream fills the air.

Lightning writhes and dances the Tengu forces herself to her feet, a hand holding her entrails in her as she does so.

"I...will...not...let...you...hurt...her!"

A roar of lightning descends as a Vision shatters, wings of ebony feathers now burning with violet electro as a bow of lightning forms within the Tengu's hands.

Apotheosis. Ascension into godhood, and all done in the name of loyalty.

The Starborn feels her respect match her anger as she calls forth her own power once more to meet the newly born god in a battle that shakes the island again.

Her victory is certain, yet still she admires the being that fights against her with such fervor and fury that she can feel corruptive power of the delusions and the bloodcraze it brought upon her fade away from her midn as she fights for her life against the being before her.

At last their battle ends, the Starborn wounded and yet still living, her blade raised to deal a death blow before...she stops.

"What is your name?" She asks the panting Tengu, who looks up at her and responds.

"Kujou Sara."

"The name of a clan of cowards who tried to leave you to die does not fit you, noble one." Comes her swirling voice as she sets the Tengu down.

"Let it be known that I, Lumine of the StarBorn, hearby dub you the 'Storm Born' of Inazuma for your birth into your new childhood came from the storm of rage and loyalty within you."

With that said the Starborn turns to look at the Shogun, who has been aided to her feet by a fearful Ayaka and weary Kokomi as they look upon the being before them.

"A pity you were not made Shogun of these lands, a far better job than this witless coward you would have done." The Star Born says as she delicately brushes aside a blood soaked lock of hair from the Tengu's face, watching as the new born god falls into slumber but a moment later.

"Now then," She turns to the Shogun and her fellows, "Shall we discuss the terms of your surrender child?"

Well, what do you think?

I like the idea of Lumine being a more eldritch or cosmic being, and her taking the civil war a bit more seriously and this was the result.

Another version of this idea has her being soulmates with all of the women in Teyvat, well more like the central pillar of a vast soul bound polycule whose arrival triggers its forming, and her being brought to a mortal level was a few members of Celestia's bid to use her to unite the world against the Abyss.

The bond only becomes known when her true form is revealed and the soul marks are made apparent, needless to say it leads to all sorts of chaos lol.

[primowishes]

@starlitwishes

Scaramouche was repeatedly repairable. The extent to which that he was, Dottore intended to find out. That was the idea for this test, as he convinced the puppet to finally agree to it, strapping him securely to the table to prevent unnecessary movements.

Unlike a doll's joints, Scaramouche's were as solid as any living creatures. If Dottore didn't know that he was but a puppet, he would be convinced that Scaramouche was human. The evidence of his construction faded with time--but even so, a being made of parts and limbs could be disassembled, surely, especially when they could be reassembled as simply as working with any machine.

Considering his tools, he took a scalpel. And with a simple, "let's begin", he swiftly cut through the wrist, hoping the damage wouldn't be so severe that Scaramouche shut down--he needed consciousness in this, and it would be inconvenient to wait for him to awake.

The process would only take a couple of minutes, with cold efficiency, until Dottore separated the hand and wrist from Scaramocuhe's arm.

[italiasoloitalia]

Days 20, 21: Pescara del Tronto

Glimpses of the turquoise waters of the Adriatic as take the autostradale towards Pescara del Tronto. Green, lush patchwork countryside to our right. We decide to overnight in Ascoli Piceno though my cousin Anna is in Rome atm so we stay at Torre 100. Straight into Piazza del Popolo to see that beautiful space and have a coffee at Caffe Meletti. Yay! It is the quiet of siesta time but we explore the major buildings and churches around it and Piazza Arringo. Medieval history at every turn. Several buildings showing repair work yo earthquake damage.

After a refresh and feet up we return for aperitivo and the piazza is glowing in the afternoon sun, there is a group of well-dressed family members gathered in the centre, cones of confetti at the ready as they await the bridal couple from the civil ceremony in the comune. Pigeons swoop, children bike, families circle and the scene is a delight. Dinner nearby at Trattoria Nonna Nina begins with Oliva Ascolane, certamente, they’re very good though the olive has not been peeled (a la orange) but split and stuffed - the olive itself is ‘fleshier’: 8 olives for 5€! Not $4 each like in Melbourne that time! A beautiful stroll back through lively streets.

Pear-shaped! It had to happen I guess for things too good - Glenn wakes after a restless night, dizzy and unbalanced on his feet, slightly nauseous. One would forgive forgive us for 😱😨 ... stroke? after friends’ recent events. 🤔 middle ear/vertigo ? Because we were to be iheading to the somewhat isolated village with limited access to medical care, I thought doctor best option but not so...ambulance to hospital 🤢 where within the hour he’s on a drip, followed by a ‘tac’ (head scan), followed by a specialist otorino (ent) who diagnoses middle ear/ vertigo, medication and I’m guiding wobbly-boot to taxi at 2pm. Amazing service and attention from hotel staff, three lovely female ambo’s, nurses and orderlies....all for...zip, niente! 😲

The hotel have kept our room and as we enter, Caterina my cousin rings - we were to be calling her tomorrow and I had not wanted to trouble them with this until tomorrow. I asked what made you call, “ti sentivo vicino” (I felt you near) 😌

We decide to let G rest and tomorrow they will come to drive our car to village as G of course should not drive till that dizziness goes 🙄. I scurry out to fill the script and ... the first rain of our holiday descends - thunder cracking, torrential, hail kinda rain .. yep, pear-shaped

“Don’t complain” I mutter as I trudge along - the first hiccup...(non è grave, solo fastidioso: not grave just annoying said dottore) and hopefully within a few days he’ll be ok and to top it off, we’ll be with famiglia. Next hiccup, farmacia doesn’t have one of the medications, ritorna domani mattina - I anxiously respond “but that will delay his recovery”...no, no the compresse (capsules) will be the help, intanto. All this today in Italian mind you! Exhausted, I pull in out of the torrent into a welcoming bar to get a bite for G and a welcome macchiatone! Forza Leda!

A picnic dinner in and early night after getting in touch with my family in Pescara del Tronto and they insist they will come in tomorrow morning to drive our car back to paese. I’m at la farmacia on the dot of 9am after having called into the same bar for a cappuccino. Must say I felt like a local on the way back, a signora having done her morning chore and back home. Now is the time for me to put on my infermiera 👩‍⚕️hat and administer G’s prescribed puntara (injection). 😱🤷‍♀️. Gs not convinced I can manage so I go downstairs to prega help from the lovely signora first aid and she is happy to help I’ll simpatico 🙄 signore by showing me how. I plunge that needle with a good jab 🤨 and we head downstairs to see Vinicio on doorstep 😍🤗. We’re off and V and I jabber on the way while poor G keeps his eyes straight ahead. We slow as we pass the paesi along the via Salaria, all affected by the earthquake. PdelT from the road below is as awful as we’d seen and heard via the internet and we move on to the area on the flat near il Fiume Tronto where the ‘provisorio’ casetti (‘provisional little houses’) have been built, together with little shops, bar and community areas, to those who chose to stay in the area instead of relocating, until decisions re future permanent situations are made.

My mother’s family are there with open arms, tears and an heartwarming welcome. Their suffering over the past two years is palpable but they are making the best of their straightened circumstances by beautifying their homes, frequent gatherings, celebrations and planning for the future. The table is set and we await the arrival of family by sharing news, photos and calling Mum. More tears, passing the phone around to all though not mentioning anything to her about G - she’s been praying constantly for our safe journey and we wouldn’t want to shake that faith! g is not himself but putting a brave face on it and when lunch is served he’s given the head of the table and much fun, hand-waving translations and feasting begins. It’s 4pm before coffee is served after prosciutto and melon, lasagne, arrosto di manzo con verdure, piselli con prosciutto, insalata, pomodori e citriole, frutta and zuppa inglese 🤭. G thankfully is not nauseous and able to satisfy the “mangia, mangia” on repeat though is head is still spinning and is wobbly on his feet. Poor thing. I leave him to rest still why I’m taken up to see the village up close. It’s devastating and we are able to walk the upper road where my father’s childhood home stood. It’s mostly rubble save for the cantina which is amazingly in place. A little park near my aunt’s home is now the site of a memorial and there are t-shirts with images of the victims strung along the fence. Very moving as my cousin Pierino goes along telling me who they were and little anecdotes about how and why. Most were not from the village but visiting for summer. At my Zia Fenisia’s home I recognised the edges of the marble stairwell that I so well remember and remnants of the little green tiles that dotted the terrazzo at the front of the house. 😰. It is pleasing to see the beloved Fontana (drinking fountain and one time clothes-washing site), whose renowned water stems from the fantastic Monte Vettore which looms above and behind, has survived but unlikely to remain.

Up to the cimitero to visit the crypts of all the family members on both sides of our family that have passed away over the years and it makes for an emotional day of both joy and sadness. Our family names of Rendina and Filotei are abundant and gives my sense of belonging even more piquancy.

We return and preparations are in progress for dinner 🤭😳 and G is doing ok having had some funny and interesting exchanges in Italglish. So much ribbing, dry and witty remarks tells the story of people who know each other so well, spend a lot of time together yet are caring and respectful. A ‘light’ cena of frittata con buffala, leftovers from lunch, more prosciutto and cheeses, frutta and a ‘marscapone’ (tiramisu but with a very light and loose creamy mascarpone). Uffa! A great day but I need to get Mr Wobby-boot to bed so my kind cousins drive us to nearby Agriturismo Grisciano and will collect us again in morning.

We sleep like logs and wake several times towards morning when everything is dark...dormi says G, it’s still night, dormi says I the next time...finally G gets up to open the shutters to a brilliant sun and it’s 9.30am 🙄😬😆. A cappuccino before we are collected and back to family where the women have been to church and I go to meet them and check out the new church of Santa Croce di PdelT where the original bell has been returned and erected. Inside, only the ancient crucifix and a wooden statue of Our Lady have been saved from the old church which sadly had housed ancient relics. Two new bells are planned in addition to the original and it is lovely to see and know that this important part of their lives is resurrected (😏) and continues to sustain them.

The women are off to the bar for an aperitivo and I am taken in arm ... G tags along but then scampers after the men, making the women laugh with his horrified face and ‘chattering’ gesticulations. Cries of “quando e simpatico!” have him 💁🏼‍♂️🤦‍♀️

Crodino’s (a non-alcoholic Campari-ish fizzy) all ‘round, a platter of olive-oiled bread, prosciutto and lonza and I am joining in the banter like a local. Such fun. That would have done me for lunch but we apparently lunch is at the new ristorante on site! On our way, meetings with many who again introduced themselves as amiche and parenti of my mother, sending her regards and telling anecdotes of their relationship. Sweet.

Lunch is funny - talk about fussy about their food! The trouble is of course that they eat so well at home, that going out never, or rarely, meets their expectations. The antipasti of meats and local cheeses was served (trendily) on wooden platters but as whole salamis and cheeses with knives to slice for yourself. My cousin quipped “when it comes time to pay the bill, I’ll take it outside and leave it there for them to get for themselves”! 🤣. The fantastic spaghetti all’amatriciana had pecorino cheese in the sauce(🤦‍♀️🙇‍♂️); the tagliatelle ai funghi had too many other kinds (and too much of them) and not enough porcini (🤦‍♀️🙇‍♂️); Leda wanted agnello, there wasn’t enough, said Pierino, the potatoes are burnt said Vinicio...let me say, it was all delicious (we’d be very happy for it to be our local!) and it added to our fun!

It’s decided ‘una scarpata’ (a jaunt) to Castelluccio to show us the beginning of the famed ‘la fioratura’ (flowering) of the lentil plains of Monte Vettore, about 15 kms away. I had been with my family when we came when I was 15 and Dad had so wanted us to see it and relive the times he used to climb up from PdelT to tend to fields with his zaino (backpack) of bread and tinned beef (Simmenthal). It is a spectacular drive up and so beautiful in the afternoon light. Castelluccio too was virtually destroyed in the earthquake and the proprietors of the many shops and restaurants have set up food trucks as an interim measure until a restaurant plaza is finished. It is busy with visitors and we are invited for a coffee at the one remaining Agriturismo la Valle Delle Aquile owned by friends of Linda (Vinicio’s daughter) and her boyfriend GianLuca. A fabulous view which is supposed to be even better at sunrise. Next time? The flowers are just beginning to open and the poppies this year are late but it is something I’d love to see at its peak (early to mid July usually). Still, stunning.

The table is laid...again...🤦‍♀️ but the freshest local buffala mozzarella and sweet tomatoes, stracchino and other local cheeses, salads, carciofi, salami, prosciutto etc is hard to resist amidst the cries of “magari un pocchino” (even just a little). Dolci, more, then we’re taken over to the con.tain.errr where they have community gatherings with a kitchen, tables, tv and even karaoke (😫) and all manner of boxes are taken out for us to choose some PdelT mementoes for the family. Lovely.

We are driven back to Grisciano for the night and,all being well, G will drive us back in the morning to farewell before we move on to Orvieto. Yes, many tears, warm embraces, loving wishes to all in the family later and we leave. Such a wonderful few days, even though emotionally draining, my heart is full.

It was fortuitous (or from mum’s prayers🤔) that G’s vertigo thing happened when it did as we were able to work around it in a safe harbour. It’s improving (slightly) daily and it’s more likely, Dr G thinks, stemming from neck exercises and movements he did rather than any middle ear issue.

Orvieto, here we, slowly, come.

[dikiyvter]

[ x ] Misc. words for Drabbles | Sent by @melodicbreeze​: Wings cw: // none | 1377 words | No I don’t know what I’m doing :0)

His vision has wings. A relatively normal assessment to make; The Mondstadtian vision frame did include a wing-like design at it’s bottom. The only problem was that Giacomo was the furthest thing from a citizen of Mondstadt- As far as most were concerned, in fact, he was hardly even a citizen of Snezhnaya ( though the visions of Snezhnayan citizens are echoed in it’s design, as well; A backdrop for those silver wings and the soft blue-green glow of the anemo vision against a palm clad in white glove )...

“What is this?” the good doctor asks, as though he’s never seen a vision before, and for once Giacomo can swear he sees a flash of delight in the mans eyes. That sort of joy that comes when he finds something new to pull apart, something interesting to study.

“It’s my vision, Lord Harbinger,” dutiful is the reply, the slight nod of Giacomo’s head- respect, confirmation of previous thought. A shared curiosity, perhaps. In the short few years it has been alive, the construct can safely say it- he has not seen many visions, least of all visions like this one. “Presumably, at least,” he quickly adds, hands tucked safe behind his back as he rakes a wary glance across his creators desk ( Strewn in paperwork; Piles upon piles, bits of mechanisms dotting the surface, the soft glow of the lantern glinting off of Dottore’s mask, the way he thrums his fingers against the wood surface of the desk-- )

“Your vision,” echoed words dusted in a coating of venom that seems to rise any time the harbinger speaks of visions. One of many things that once interested him now turned to something of boredom ( the slightest swell of pride, for reasons nonsensical. Giacomo briefly smiles under the feeling that he has rekindled his creator’s joy for something; But the emotion is quickly shoved away, replaced by the safety of the cold and the calm that he’s come to cradle closely. ) “Never known the gods to give visions to machines before. An interesting development, don’t you think?”

A question toyed on the edge of his mind only briefly- “Yes, Lord Harbinger. I do,” He shifts on his feet, risking a glance cast to his creator and with it a small amused smile, “And I do believe it is interesting, as well,” only a moment does it take for the realization to hit, the joke to land- and, thankfully, for Dottore to huff his own amusement ( It was always worse when the jokes didn’t land; When the attempts to lighten his creator’s mood, to play with his words, went wrong and the clown was faced with the full brunt of his brutal mistake and his Lord Harbinger’s horrible mood- ).

“It almost looks as though two visions have been placed together,” the good doctor mutters his thoughts and jostles Giacomo’s from his own. Curiosity strikes the construct as he takes a brief step forward, wanting to inspect the vision that he had only had so very few precious moments with; The thrum of energy that reaches out for him, the call of the wind that he knows would spring forth at his command if he could just... “It’s cold to the touch,” observes Dottore, and it feels like such an obvious fact to the visions owner. While true that the blessing is that of Anemo, to assume a creation like Giacomo could ever call upon anything other than a bitter cold...

“The winds were cold when I called them,” he utters, the hold of his hands behind his back growing tighter as thought it takes effort to contain them there. Effort not to reach out and feel that gorgeous wind between his fingertips once more. Effort not to bask in that frigid breeze of northern air- “Not as cold as any Cryo vision,” Giacomo is quick to clarify ( the lingering memory; frozen gears no longer turning, the dutiful creation of Il Dottore stepping in the way of the 8ths blast of cold; Feet frozen to the ground and he’s never felt such cold before, such all-consuming, burning, blistering cold- ).

“Considering you didn’t freeze Rigatello to the ground when you hit him with that blast of wind, that would be my assumption, yes,” ah... right. The construct inhales a sharp breath, closing his eyes and willing himself back to that place of quiet calm ( A place in which his fingers do not still twitch with the damage done to his circuits; A place in which he cannot quite recall how it felt to have his mind well and truly fried, to feel his control slip away with the melody of excess electricity that thrummed through his veins, through his heart, through the fragile circuits of his brain- ). Honestly, if he were asked for the truth he would blame Rigatello in his entirety for his current state. Giacomo can imagine it now, his partner placed upon the cold metal table as the fatui scientists pour over Dottore’s blueprints, the scrawled notes in rough handwriting, the frantic musings on how to repair each and every torn piece of skin, every circuit severed. It was the roughest state Giacomo had ever been able to reduce the man to, and yet... pity? Regret? Concern? In the calm place he resides within, the construct feels none of those things.

“I will not apologize,” he cannot even begin to pretend to. Words uttered low with a weary glance to the side, the frustration of the mildest anger beginning to meddle in the quiet state of his mind, “Rigatello... Does not know when to stop sometimes, my Lord. Had I not stopped him-”

“It would be you being repaired and not him.”

Briefly does Giacomo consider that he should perhaps feel solace in the fact that Dottore knows exactly what it is that had driven the attack. And yet all he feels is the anger seep, the yawning void replacing it, stretching ever-out in all directions. What solace would knowing bring, when it never came with action? Softly does he bite down on his lip, mind running with thought. Never would he be able to ask Dottore to intervene; Not even in his wildest imaginations could he consider the Harbinger- any of the Harbingers- bothering to get in the way of petty squabbles between effective immortals. Tearing each other apart didn’t matter- in the end they would be repaired, and everything would go back to normal the very next day. The next hour. The next minute.

Endless is the cycle, and as Giacomo’s eyes drift back to the vision that now rests plain against Dottore’s desk, he finds his eyes fixating on those silver wings. Soft and distant is the voice that utters the name, “Lord Harbinger Dottore?”

“Hm?”

“Visions... they do not typically take the appearance of two different nations, do they?”

Red eyes stare at him blank and unimpressed, the lingering moment of awkwardness before they slide down to the vision on the table. Giacomo is not stupid, though the question may at best make him look well and truly oblivious- he knows that the strange appearance hasn’t gone unnoticed, that it must be the true source of the fascination, that rekindled interest- “No, they do not,” Dottore says in a tone far too concluding. He reaches out, closing the short distance between his hand and the strange vision as he slides it towards the construct, up to the edge of the desk. “The best way to learn,” he starts, chair creaking as he pushes himself back and stands. In graceful movements does he pick his coat from the back of the chair, pulling it on as he speaks, “Is by doing.”

“Lord harbinger?”

“Take the vision,” he says with a nod in it’s direction, watching evenly as the construct hesitantly picks the item up off of the desk- holding it between his hands like a fragile glass due to break at any given moment. “And follow me. If the so-called god of Anemo wants you to spread your wings, then spread your wings you shall,” a grin crosses his features, sharp teeth between pulled lips as he begins to stalk towards the door, his creation following dutifully behind him.

“I’m sure Her Majesty will be glad to hear I’ll be taking up falconry.”

[inhumanheresy]

Innate hydro and abyssal healing have done much for Tartaglia in the time since he’s regained consciousness, but most of that recovery has been internal, his body focusing on repairing the worst damage, with the more superficial outer injuries bound, bandaged, and salved to recover at a rate far, far closer to that of a true human until the rest of him is well out of danger.

For now, he remains in bed — orders of a proper doctor (who isn’t Dottore, thank fuck) — until the healing of his external wounds starts accelerating and the medical team can confirm his internals are stabilized. Bandages swathe his arms from the wrists all the way up until they disappear under the sleeves of his hospital gown, and gauze pads sit secured over both temples while another, larger one on his chest peeks out from underneath the gown’s collar.

He sits upright, propped up on pillows, reading over a pile of reports and news from the time spanning his ‘trial’ up until now. A nurse had refilled the jug of water next to his bedside not too long ago, so he figures his afternoon will be quiet for a good while longer.

The last thing in the world he expects to hear is a quiet, tremulous, familiar voice stammer ‘Brother… Big… big brother?’

Tartaglia freezes, a week-old issue of The Steambird opened to an article about the Hydro Archon and the circumstances surrounding her ‘abdication’. The previous issue of the paper lies underneath several folders of intelligence regarding Arlecchino and her people’s actions during and after the Fontaine Flood, which is good, because somehow, someone with a Kamera was brave or suicidal enough to stand their ground when the whale burst into the Opera Epiclese and snap a clear shot of the creature — and of him as well, in full Abyssal form and fury.

“Teucer?” He looks, and sure enough, there stands Teucer in a warm coat and his favourite ushanka, tears welling up fat and wet, lower lip trembling. Reaching out, Ajax beckons his little brother over to his bedside as well as he can manage — which isn’t too bad, all things considered, but the motion remains stiff compared to his usual grace. “Teucer, why are— how did you get here?”

Once again, he needs to have a talk with the people assigned to watch over his family. One time is a slip. Twice is a pattern.

( 🎠 ) TRYING TO TELL the kid no would get you nowhere if it had something to do with his big brother. teucer was the kind to listen ( when it suited ) and then watch if it interested him. even at the ripe age of 8, his smarts were ridiculous all things considered - from finding his way to liyue from snezhnaya VIA SHIP ALONE

SO IT WASN'T all that surprising when three of the plain - clothed men and women under his big brother spoke of ajax's ( the real words were: ' did you hear of the eleventh harbinger's return home ? finally hear about him after more than a month and its through medical channels . . ' ) return to the homeland. it worried him that his brother was mentioned in the same sentence as medical - did he get into big trouble with other sellers ? why'd they have to be so MEAN TO HIM ?

THAT WAS THAT, he had thought, making his mind up to go find him, even if it meant sneaking into places he shouldn't ! his big brother taught him how to be sneaky ( kind of, they'd only just started knife training . . ) so this was the BIGGEST TEST YET !

IT FELT LIKE forever as he'd watched the plain clothed toy - makers head to the big castle for a span of two days. afar he watched, nibbling at the snacks as the blue - eyed menace scoped it out. and on the third day his plan went into action. successfully, surprisingly enough, even if doing so proved to BE ANXIETY INDUCING.

ONCE INSIDE THE toy factory he was absolutely on his own. realizing the potential trouble he'd gotten himself in he tried to keep focus on the task at hand ( though, as he learned, trying to avoid so many people was surprisingly SUPER hard ). a little ways in the young mind started to piece together that this place MAY NOT BE a toy factory at all.

BUT FINALLY . . his nose caught the smell of anti-sceptic, following it until --- ❝ BIG BROTHER -- ? ❞ his voice is whispered, though kinda half - anxious enough to be heard as teucer bit his lower lip, hugging himself as worry tugged at his heart. he looked pretty bad . . like a whale SAT ON HIM or something . .

THE YOUNGEST TOOK steps forward after checking if anyone else was there 'fore the 8 - year - old hurriedly GOT HIMSELF CLOSER.

❝ BROTHER ? BIG . . BIG BROTHER ? ❞ he whispers when closer, blue eyes flicking over the body in the bed. he was breathing right ? it was hard to tell over -- over the tears -- oh . . when did he start crying ?

@inhumanheresy gets this for ajax from teucer bc i had brainworms all day.

[primowishes]

With every step, the Doctor grew a little bolder. Time and again, he repaired any damage to Scaramouche's body. Each loss of consciousness sparked back to life under Dottore's hand. This was the natural next step; while there always was the chance that this was just one too far, he had confidence in his ability to bring Scaramouche back. Again, again, and again.

"It's nothing so barbaric as 'tearing you apart'. It's merely a closer study of your innermost workings. Necessary, if I'm to know anything more."

But of course, it didn't matter what Scaramouche thought of it, nor did he care about the sharp switch flipped by him, something crazed in consenting to this. All that mattered was that Dottore had a willing participant, and he could further his study.

In exchange, perhaps he could unlock greater potential in Scaramouche. However, to Dottore, that was a mere side-effect, and something which he could use to bring him back. He'd long-since taken him into his ironfisted grasp. It was just one step further. One small push, a minor thing compared to how far they'd already come.

"Now?" Dottore spoke in a detached tone, clinical, when he was anything but. "I'd planned to give you time to recover from our previous experiment, but... if you insist."

He emphasized Scaramouche's choice in this, when in reality he hadn't given him much of one. Regardless of the puppet's decisions, he'd find a way to do as he pleased, and find out what he wished. Perhaps, of course, Scaramouche was well-aware of this fact, but still they would play this game of pretend, where it mattered what Scaramouche wanted of this, and how far he was willing to go. It certainly made things easier on Dottore's end, who cared not either way what he'd said.

"Far be it from me to not take this opportunity, then. Let's get started."

His smile was ice-cold, but the thrill that ran through his veins hot.

"Lay on the table, limbs in the restraints," he said, hidden eyes nonetheless fixed upon Scaramouche, as if in attempt to pin him in place with his gaze. "Once I begin, I won't be stopping until I've finished putting you back together; I'm sure you understand. This is a delicate procedure, and I also cannot have your thrashing getting in the way. Wouldn't want to accidentally damage anything."

His grin grew. "Enticing as it is, I'll pass on the offer of opening up your skull, at least for today."

Where would the fun be if there wasn't opportunity for more in the future?

"Reasonable? Doctor, even I know that this is a bit much."

But who was he to argue, really? Dottore had borderline the same answer every time.

I can put you back together. I have a talent for it.

It was true, however--that Dottore was a skilled man, and excellent at what he claimed. A part of Scaramouche wondered that, had this been the first thing Dottore purposed to him back when he didn't have his title, if he would have immediately ran for the hills and never looked back.

A part of him still wished that he did. Oh, he wish he did.

But it was too late now. Scaramouche knew it--and Dottore knew that he knew. That was why each and every protest he gave him grew weaker and weaker. It was easier just to cave in, get it over with, and move on to a hell even worse than the last.

But Scaramouche couldn't help but to wonder--what could possibly be worse than a full blown vivisection?

Could he really survive something like that? Dottore seemed to think so, but...

Still, knowing it was going to happen one way or another made Scaramouche's hands tremble. He knew it was going to be the most painful thing Dottore put him through--maybe one so painful that his consciousness would turn off right at the start of it. Something about that thought made the shaking in his hands travel up his arms, and shake him right in his core.

... Why was he afraid?

The thought hit him like a ton of bricks, and his jaw tightened. Why was he so afraid? It wasn't like he wanted to be in that much pain, but there were only two outcomes for him.

Either he would survive... or he wouldn't. If Scaramouche died then and there by Dottore's hands...

An ugly part of him rose up, a part of him that longed for the death that he was denied over and over again. Hadn't he tried to kill himself so many times before, only to be denied by the very man who could bring about his death now?

Maybe it was just the pain he was afraid of. If that was the case...

Laughing. Scaramouche started laughing.

"Well. Who am I to deny you your fun?" he sneered. "You want to cut me open and pick me apart? Fine. In fact, I'll do you a favor--you can take whatever the hell you want out of me. Tear me apart for all I care--Hell, go right ahead and saw my skull open too, while you're at it."

"Kill me, or don't. I don't care--you know either option is fine by me. So, what are you waiting for? Get your damn scalpel. I'm ready when you are."

[primowishes]

"Well, I'm not a mind reader, Scaramouche." Rather than affirmation, denial, even insistence against the accusation, Dottore dismissed it with a statement that didn't answer. Not that it mattered. Integrity of the experiment was more important than minimizing pain.

It was inconvenient, his ability to feel pain, and at some point, it would just have to be dealt with regardless. Dottore wasn't there to coddle him, not when what he wanted required extreme methods, high risks.

More irritating still was having to keep Scaramouche convinced that both methods and risks were still worth it.

"It's all useful in some way, even a failed experiment," he said, haughty. "Though not always as useful as it is disappointing."

And disappointed was what he seemed to feel, considering the burns that the chemical had left on the artificial skin. If function of the body was irrelevant, then it wouldn't matter if it caused some damage, as long as healing or self-repair could outpace corrosion, but as it stood, he found the results unsatisfactory.

"It typically makes for a good conductor of elemental energy, and can remember the type its been 'charged' with, so to speak." He always had an explanation, always a reason why it was worth doing this or that, even in pursuing his own self-interests. His personal pursuit of knowledge and that of which his partnership with Scaramouche had been born were inextricably linked in Dottore's mind. "You can probably imagine that it would be useful if one could use it as naturally as they would channel elemental energy through use of a Vision--even more so, in fact, if it were part of their own body."

He clicked his tongue. Fine, back to the drawing board then, unless he could think of a way to reconcile its usefulness with the damage it did even to the puppet.

"Unfortunately, any humans its been injected into have died, and it seems it would severely damage your body as well, so I'll have to think of something else..."