#but it does not have the sai marker brush. which i've missed

[sn0wbat]

my skykid can never settle on any specific outfit but that's fine

[maaarshieee]

OKAY SO I SLEPT ON THIS IDEA AND I LOVE IT EVEN MORE SO IM GONNA THROW IT AT U AND U CAN DECIDE AS WELL

so mr dottore wears gloves obviously. just like literally most of the genshin characters. but what if this;

the reader has been w him for a while, but he’s very adamant on not showing his hands to u. so u decide to ask him about it and basically he trues to brush it off, only to tell u about an accident he had during the akademiya that left his hands scarred and just not good looking.

how the reader takes that info is up to u 🤭 i just love the idea of little things w dottore that make him vulnerable to his partner, whether he believes it does or not

- dottore stan (srry if this was long i typed quite a bit 😭)

⎯⎯ ୨ 𝐒𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐬 ୧ ⎯⎯

➢ Iʟ Dᴏᴛᴛᴏʀᴇ x Gɴ!Rᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

➢ 1.6k ᴡᴏʀᴅs ┊ Fʟᴜғғ

➢ Mᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ

a/n - DOTTORE ANON I LITERALLY HAD THE SAME IDEA IN MY DRAFTS BUT YOURS MAKES MUCH MORE SENSE THAN HIS MASK,,, cuz scars on his face are not canon but hands??? yes yes yesyesy ily/p, ALSO I DONT MIND IF YOU SEND A LONG MESSAGE! I LOVE READING DETAILED REQUESTS <3 titled "scars", have a good day/night! (i aspire to be the home of soft dottores)

↬ cw: established long-term relationship with reader, mentions of experiments, canon typical violence, usage of 'zandik' for dottore's real name, non canon scars i just had a brainrot at the scars part

You never knew the reason why Dottore had started wearing gloves back then.

While you were away in a different region for a thesis project, as well as a couple errands to complete for Zandik, when you were both back at Sumeru Akademiya, an accident occurred relating to his experiments and his hands.

You never really understood why he hid them from you, but other segments he's made also refused to remove their gloves unless they were created before the accident. Even in bed, on occasions he'd lay with you, he'd have them on. You've never complained though since you liked the feeling of his gloved hands on your skin.

But still, can he fault you for your ever-growing curiosity over your lover? It has been years and he's yet to reveal what was underneath those smooth cloth that hid the scars, you assumed, within.

"Is it really that bad?" You asked one day, exasperated as you watched him write on his whiteboard, completely focused, but also listening to your words. He'd never dare to miss anything you'd say to him. Dottore only threw you a glance, before proceeding to write equations you could barely comprehend. "What are you addressing?"

You gesture at his hands, to which he paused with a small frown tugging on his lips. "I mean, it's been so long since I've seen your hands, Dottore." You stated, curiously eyeing his gloves and taking a step closer to him. "I never knew what happened to them as well, but you don't really have to tell me, I just..." You faltered when he capped the marker he held and hid his hands behind his back, letting out an unamused scoff.

"Is this really necessary?" How stubborn you are, you've never learnt to give up on things that piqued your never-ending interest in the unknown. He marvels at that unchangeable trait of yours, but unfortunately, the only secret he's ever held from you was included.

"No," You admitted, but you were unbothered by his dismissive nature, having grown used to it when the topic relates to his hands. "I am merely curious and quite concerned as to why my lover is ashamed of revealing his hands to me." Each word you've greatly emphasized stabbed through him with annoyance, especially when you've assumed he's ashamed of such trivial matters.

Him? Ashamed? He's done so many things to others that you were aware of and yet you say he's ashamed of his hands all because of his scars? And not because it is the hands of a sinner? Honestly, you're one thing that Dottore fails to decipher.

A scowl formed on his lips, revealing his sharp teeth as he clenched his hands into fists behind his back. "Dear, I must ask you to kindly put an end to spouting nonsense." He hissed through his teeth, glaring threateningly at you. But you knew that glare and the hard tone in his voice weren't genuine. Whenever he expressed anger towards you, they always meant something else. Defensive, if you will.

At this point, the other segments had to pause from whatever they were doing, listening to the words they exchange and observing what would happen. "I see them often tremble when you need to remove them when I'm around, you know?" You stated, his lips now a thin line, which made you regret ever mentioning that to him. "I- well, granted I've never seen them whenever you do, but I notice things, okay?"

You raised your arms and sighed in defeat, taking a step back from Dottore. Well, it has been years. Curiosity will forever haunt you like an irremovable itch but you'll refrain from ever mentioning it if it always riles him up like this. It was time for you to give up. What you didn't catch sight of was the way Dottore tensed when he heard you sigh, a frown evident on your features.

"My apologies, love. See to it in the future that I'll cease ever mentioning your gloves, or your hands, I wish to not further upset you."

It seemed to subdue the growing frustration he's had with the topic for many years now, satisfied with your words. "Very well, then." He didn't say it, but you understood that he wanted to say his thanks to you, a small smile on your lips. And with that, you took your leave for your other duties as part of the Fatui and Dottore went back to continuing on with his projects. You thought that would be the end of it since he's oddly secretive about it.

Until one day, he decided to open up to you out of the blue.

It wasn't often that Dottore— not a segment, would join you in your shared private chambers and shed himself from his thick layers of clothing, leaving himself in his dress shirt, pants, and gloves. It was... certainly odd for Dottore to be this affectionate, especially when he allowed you to wrap yourself with his coat, which he always used in Zapolyarny Palace or his laboratory and would snatch it from you when he spots you wearing it.

Dottore almost turned his heels and left you by yourself once again when you kept staring at him with wide eyes, lips parted in shock whilst you buried yourself deeper into his coat. "Quit staring." He seethes with a scowl and you broke into the biggest grin he's seen for a while, finally seating himself next to you. "Come," Without hesitation, you immediately flung yourself toward him and wrapped your arms around him, pulling him close as you place yourself in between his legs.

"Now now," You started, a pleased sigh escaping your lips when you felt his arms wrap around you as well, fingers tracing the structure of the bones on your back, trailing up your spine and to your nape, "This is quite the surprise, it's only been..." You hummed in thought, cheek pressed against his chest, "A few weeks since you've given me so much love and affection."

Dottore could hear the tease in the tone of your voice, and yet, perhaps just for tonight, when he chose to be a tad more vulnerable towards you? "Would you prefer if I was more affectionate, then?" And you stumbled in your words, giving him an incredulous look, hands now cupping his exposed cheeks. "Oh my, d-did you hit your head? Did something happen!?"

He had to stop himself from rolling his eyes at your exaggerated reaction and pushed your hands away, instead leading your hand to the end of his gloves, encouraging you to take them off. Now you were completely at a loss for words, sitting up and eyeing his masked face, scanning for any reactions that could give away anything to what he feels at the moment.

But you caught no signs of any usual emotions you see he wears on his face on a daily basis. Irritation, uninterest, anger, or any of the sorts. And you've always been graced by his sincerity only for you, but somehow, this felt a little different.

"If you're not opposed to it..." Your eyes went back to his gloves, a little nervous, "Then, shall I?" This time, he couldn't help it. "Just get on with it." He sighed and rolled his eyes, which earned a snort from you, finally feeling more at ease at this much more familiar behavior, and slowly pulled off his gloves.

You observed the scars on his hands— from the tips of his fingers down to his wrist, they faded to a deep shade of turquoise, and scars scattered all across his hands and arms, similar to what they call; "Lichtenberg scars?" You quired, fingertips tracing the patterns splayed on his skin, fascinated. "Just what happened in your old lab that caused such marks? And the coloring— what the hell?"

Dottore would never admit this to you, but he felt his heart still the more you spoke, anticipating unpleasantry from your lips though Dottore found it odd that he never felt this way until you've finally seen them (no, he has, he was merely in denial).

But of course, since when have you spoken badly of him? With the same adoring smile, you always wore, your eyes sparkled in wonder open further observation. "These patterns are rather lovely, in my opinion. Compliments the dark colors of... well, wherever these hues of blue came from." He had unknowingly let out a breath of relief, lacing his fingers with yours, a small scowl once again etched on his lips.

"Don't speak of them as if they were for design." He warned, though, despite his hard tone, his touch was completely different. Soft, warm, and contained gentleness you've never thought he'd have in him. "Have you forgotten I acquired them through an accident?"

"Then, do they still hurt?" You simply asked, eyes gazing upon his masked face, head slightly tilted to the side. Dottore was about to deny it but instead shook his head. "Occasionally, yes. Though you needn't worry since I can barely feel them."

He paused when you leaned down, lips attached to the scars littered on his hands. Baffled, he almost pulled his hands away from you but refrained to do so. Not when your lips feel so divine on his aching skin. "I... what are you...?" It wasn't often he'd falter.

"No one's ever kissed them," You answered, eyes filled with mirth once you saw you'd taken him off guard, small giggles bubbling from your chest. "I'll take any opportunity I get but I can stop if you do not like it—"

"Continue," Dottore said quickly, startling you but you let out a soft laugh, shaking your head at his antics, and peppered his skin with kisses, while his other hand caressed your cheek lovingly, a slight upward curve at the corners of his lips.

"Does this mean I'm allowed to see more of your uncovered hands, darling?" You pushed your luck, and it seems he's rather giving tonight, making your heart race.

"Perhaps, if you hadn't annoyed me before you asked."

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[sylverstorms]

Mother Miranda x Lawyer!Oc ----Tilted Scales

Hello guys :) This is another commission I wrote for the amazing, wonderful @saltwatereulogies

Your support has been insane, I can't thank you enough. Hope you enjoy the story ❣

Three days.

That is how long you've been in the village, after years of studying abroad, before everything turns to shit.

As you slowly blink focus back into your eyes, you try to clear the haze from your mind. It feels as though you've collided with a truck. Your body hurts, your wrists protest in their iron cuffs, stuck to the wall as they are, having supported your weight while you were unconscious.

Desperately, you try to recollect the events that led you here...

A grey sky. A bleak day. One moment you were making coffee for your mother, excited to be able to sit down with her in the mornings again... and the next you heard the echo of screams.

Overcome by adrenaline, you bolted out of your house, only to witness a scene straight from a nightmare; humanoid monsters ripping villagers apart, cries and blood and animalistic growls all blending together into one mad mix.

And before you could even warn your mother...

Damn it all, what the fuck happened!

You suddenly struggle against your bonds, hard enough to rattle your whole frame. Your wrists burn from the grind against metal, but you don't care–

“Stop that. It is pointless and you will only injure yourself.” A cold voice, strangely familiar, says from far to your right.

You peer deep into the shadows, searching for the only other person in the empty room... until you see her. A mask advances on you, gold and shaped like a crow's visage, then wings folded into a cloak come into view.

You would be a fool to not recognize her. The local saint. The village's prophet. The very 'saint' your mother prayed to, for your safe return, all these years. Mother Miranda.

The sound of her heels bounces off the walls until she comes to stand directly in front of you. Looking past the openings of her mask now, you realize....

This isn't possible.

She hasn't aged a day. Not a single day, since you left the village. The years should show around her deadly blue eyes, somewhere, and yet they don't.

“I see you remember me...” she says, while you're still trying to find your voice. “Miss Warren.”

“What is going on? Mother Miranda, what happened to the village?!” you demand.

Her expression shows nothing. “The village is in need of... renovation.” she speaks, even, regal. “Repopulation, even.”

You stare at her with wide eyes.

“Now, don't give me that look. You would not be here if you weren't of the ones I chose to keep.” she continues. “You see, from now on, every single person in my domain will make themselves useful in some way, or they will be replaced. And you... you have been abroad studying law for a while now, yes?”

“I... yes.” you reply, still not fully having wrapped your mind around your situation.

“Excellent. What I need from you is simple. You will make the village independent from the state’s taxes as a religious organization... and you will keep foreign investors out from that point onward.”

What... what part of that is simple?!

“Do that for me and in return I guarantee your mother and you will go back to your house safe and sound. You will have no shortage of Lei for as long as you live, Miss Warren.” Miranda promises.

But it is not the sweet part of the deal your mind stays glued to. “And if...” you gulp. “If I can't work around the law to do that...?”

Miranda blinks slowly at you, like you shouldn't even ask such a basic question. Like the answer is obvious.

“Well. Then I have no further use for either of you.”

It is in this moment that it dawns on you.

This woman is no angel and no saint.

She is a devil.

-

-

You spend countless sleepless nights pouring over every single paragraph, every little opening or ambiguity in the law you can use to free the village of taxes.

To keep your mother in the dark about this, you work in the office Mother Miranda has provided for you, in her very stronghold.

Although technically it's her home, you don't see her nearly as much as you initially thought. She is gone throughout the day and returns late at night, not even sparing you a glance before heading for her chambers, at the upper sections of the building.

The days she does come into your office to inquire on your progress are few and far-between, your conversations always short and cold.

This evening is different.

“How is your work coming along, Miss Warren?” the prophetess asks with her aggravatingly nice accent, seating herself like a queen on the chair in front of your desk.

Your eyes are tired, but you force them on hers, through the mask obscuring her face. “I think I've got it. I'll be sending the necessary papers tomorrow and the answer shouldn't take longer than a month.”

“Very good.” she nods, a miniscule curve to her lips.

Icy eyes then drop to the wine in the whiskey glass at the corner of the desk. You think she will make a comment about drinking at work, but instead she says;

“Pour me a glass, will you?”

You will your hands steady as you comply, then carefully slide her drink over.

Miranda takes her mask with claw-shrouded fingers... and soundnessly sets it on the wooden surface. Then she pushes the veil at her hair back, shaking long, platinum locks free.

You do a double take you hope she doesn't notice. Because what the actual fuck.

You didn't think her hair was that long, or that straight, or that it would fall over her shoulders like she's staring in a shampoo ad. You didn't think her lips were shaped like a cupid's bow or that her skin was this flawless and radiant.

The helplessly lesbian part of you could begrudgingly admit she was beautiful before... but now you arrive to the painful realization she's drop-dead gorgeous.

“So. I've heard you won cases others would describe as impossible.” she begins.

“Nothing's impossible. You just need to know where to look.” you reply. Law is your comfort zone and she is not that far above you here. “But how do you know that?”

“I have my sources.”

"Nobody truly leaves this village, huh.”

“Not without my consent, no. But I knew you'd come back.” At your slight frown, she elaborates, “You would never leave your mother behind.”

She's right. There was a whole world of opportunities waiting for you out there and yet... here you are.

“Good work, so far. You can take the next two days off. Your eyes could use the rest, Miss Warren.” Miranda speaks, finishing her wine.

“Sarah.” you say. 'Miss Warren' is for clients and she is your boss.

Miranda's lips give a slight quirk that may or may not be a trick of the light.

“I know.” she replies and exits the room, long hair billowing behind her back.

-

-

The taxes were only the first challenge. Now that the village is free of them, investors are flying in circles around it like vultures over meat.

In the meantime, Miranda comes to talk to you more frequently.

Lately, it seems she has more free time. You wish that was a good thing, but...

“So... are you like... going to stay here?” You ask after reading the same sentence five times to make sense of it, because her gaze on you is distracting as fuck.

“I'm not getting in the way of your work.” she says. You want to argue she is, but can't quite do that in a way that won't get you killed.

“I'm simply not used to working with company. Isn't this boring for you?”

“No, actually. I find it interesting, even though science is my field of expertise.” she answers. “And the way you take notes is… amusing.”

You try not to blush as you look down at your notebook, filled with different colored markers and post-it squares with tiny stick figures pointing to the more important paragraphs. You have been doing this for so long to sort out information you didn't even realize you were keeping it up in her presence.

“What is this supposed to be?” she asks with a small smile, the first of its kind you've seen.

To your horror, her clawed pointer aims at a particularly silly doodle, barely the size of a pencil's eraser.

“A... bird.” you grimace like you've been stabbed.

“Ah, of course.” Miranda holds back a chuckle but you can tell she's dying to make a comment.

Studying becomes hell for the rest of the time she's there with you, those sharp eyes picking apart every little move you make. At the same time, though, the hours you spend with her make you realize...

She's not a saint, though she may look like one. She's not completely a devil, either, even if she may act as one, at times.

She's human.

-

-

Miranda shares nothing about herself when you chat, but she seems to like it when you speak about your time abroad and all the things that left an impression on you there.

Your conversation over wine is cut short, however, when you receive a call from a number you learned means nothing but trouble, lately.

“Sorry, I have to take this.” you tell her.

The one calling you is none other than this month's rival lawyer, trying to dispute your claim over the land for his own boss. He's lost to you before, so it's also personal, but you are confident you have cornered them good with the latest papers you sent them...

And you are proven correct, when, a few seconds later, he is all faux polite on the other line, resorting to offering you money for you to withdraw your arguments.

Miranda comes to stand next to you, listening in to what he's saying.

The problem with that is, the second her arm brushes yours and you catch a whiff of her perfume –which always lingers in your office long after she's left— youare the one who stops listening to him.

Your attention flies to other things, like the inches she has on you, the exact color of her pale blonde hair, the little glint of victory in her stunning eyes.

Oh, no. God, no...

You know what this is, the feeling in the pit of your stomach. Alarm bells go off in the back of your head, as though your own mind is telling your body how foolish it's being.

There isn't a worse thing you can do to yourself than be attracted to Miranda.

-

-

Over time, familiarity with the prophetess brings higher levels of difficulty into your 'try to ignore your crush on her' game.

Miranda joins your side and leans over your shoulder, sometimes, to peer down at what you're doing. You don't move and don't breathe until she's within a safe distance again.

Then there are the wayward 'reward' touches, when you turn another investor away from the village. She may pat your back or leave her hand on your shoulder, or even scratch your nape with her claws as a job well done.

You hope your poker face hides the fact you feel her touch on you for far longer than you should, after she's gone.

Tonight, the situation is the toughest it's ever been for you.

There is a rainstorm going on outside; the waterdrops are tapping against the windows of your office as though they're trying to break it. Miranda has pulled her chair next to you so you can talk easier, without having to shout over the cacophony.

“And basically the judge's decision was that—”

You are interrupted by a blinding flash of lighting, during which your mind lets you know the stronghold is easily the tallest structure in it's vicinity—

When thunder cracks down the sky and strikes the building, you nearly scream. Your body tenses and you jump; but Miranda's hands come to your biceps and hold you steady, against herself and your desk.

Another flash comes before you really have time to think about your proximity. She covers your ears with her palms before the thunderclap can send you into overdrive again.

“You are with me and you're scared of a little thunder?” she teases when things quiet down and your heartbeat eases.

It's true; Miranda is the more terrifying force of nature. At the same time, however...

You feel oddly safe to be this close to her.

“Well... I'm not scared right now...” you quietly admit.

Her pointer comes underneath your chin and lifts it so you are looking straight into her hypnotic blue eyes. How is this color even real...

“And why is that?” Miranda asks, her wings coming around you both. They're curtains of black, cutting out some of the storm's sounds.

You want nothing more in this moment than to run your fingers through each individual feather.

You lick your lips. That's...not a question you can answer if you want the balance in your arrangement with her to remain.

Perhaps, though, the scales have tilted for you long ago. You just haven't been brave enough to admit it.

You have the courage to face it now when she leans down and covers your lips with hers, warm in a manner you never imagined she could be.

Her wings pull tighter around you and your mouths slide more firmly together. Lipbalm and creamy lipstick mix, tongues brush, tasting of wine. You are shaking so bad on the inside from how much you want this, more of this, the rumbling of the thunder be damned.

Miranda's palm cups your flaming cheek when she pulls back, perfectly composed and staring at you with a little smirk in place.

You dare to turn a little, lay a tiny kiss on the inside of her wrist, beyond her rings and accessories.

You aren't very fond of storms, but...

You willingly walk right into the eye of this one.