#it tells me this. that people these days are merely interested in convenience. and the cost of convenience is paying attention.

[cirtusmistress]

He Follows - Fixation

Mahito is met with someone who is his true opposite, and a mutual curiosity blooms.

Mahito x Reader

Tags: Angst and Feels, Tragedy, Slow Burn, Tragic Romance, Mahito Being an Asshole, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Eventual Romance, Not Beta Read, Mahito POV, Verbal Abuse

AO3 Crosspost

Word Count: 1.7k

You were endlessly fascinating to him. Though he had little interest in humans outside of his experiments, he couldn’t help but be enamored by your every move. You had cursed energy, so no doubt you were aware of his presence everywhere you went. And yet you never looked at him. Never spoke to him. You merely kept pressing on. Why? Was he not interesting enough for you? Surely someone such as himself was far more intriguing than any other human you came across day after day. He stood out, he could tell you that for free. Blue hair and covered in patchwork skin? What human looked like that! 

Mahito had only existed for a short few months. Though he held incredible intellect he was still much like a child. Still growing, learning. Everyday was something new, something fascinating. Learning how to use his cursed technique, interact, manipulate. All things that would aid him in his end goal of creating a world without humans. 

So one day when he was simply people watching - looking for a new playmate to experiment on no doubt, he couldn’t remember - he saw you. Helpless, innocent you. Walking along with your bag of convenience store goods in hand, and with a small gaggle of low level curses parading behind you. Though they weren’t stalking you. No.. They were following you willingly. Mahito watched from his perch up high on a residential building. How when you walked, they followed. How when you stopped at a crosswalk a flyhead landed on your shoulder. And you smiled at it! You weren’t a sorcerer, he could tell from where he sat. Your energy level was far too low. And yet, you somehow commanded those curses. How could it be so?

He had followed you home that day. Thanks to the quick mastery of his own technique, he was able to contort and morph himself into a Fly Head. Well, as close as he could manage. He joined your little parade and followed all the way to your small single bedroom apartment. You paid no mind to the extra curse in your home, simply going about your chores. Mahito watched with the other curses. Had you perhaps used some kind of technique to bribe them? Maybe some kind of cursed spirit manipulation? Finally you sat at your little coffee table and pulled out something from your convenience store bag. Ice cream. Those ones that came in cones, prepackaged and ready to go. You had four, and laid three of them out in front of you and the curses. 

“Go ahead,” You said with a gentle smile, “These ones are for you guys.” Once they had your go ahead, the spirits began eating your offering. Mahito was.. Shocked. Low levels like these couldn’t think for themselves like this. Let alone eat! And yet he buzzed there as the curses who looked like bugs and mutants and grotesque little things nibbled away. Making happy little sounds all the while. You ate your own treat with this.. Stupidly sweet genuine smile on your face. Then you saw him. The odd Fly Head who hadn’t moved. Your head tilted, so did Mahito’s. Then the other way, and he followed. And then you smiled at him, as sweet and genuine as it had been to the others. And something rippled inside him.

“Haven’t seen you before! I didn’t know you all came in different colours!” You laughed, holding out your own ice cream in his direction, “Well welcome. You’re safe here with me. Do you want some? C’mon!” You jiggled your hand in his direction as if you tempt him like a cat you found on the street. Mahito didn’t quite know what he was feeling. Why were you.. Being so kind? To this trash? These low level curses that hardly had brains! Were you stupid? Not knowing these creatures around you could suck you dry, weigh you down, make you miserable? It was overwhelming for Mahito. So he simply gave in and played along. He sampled the treat you offered. It was sweet. And he liked it.

Ever since that encounter Mahito had followed you everywhere you went. To work, the shops, out on excursions. Sometimes in the form of another creature, sometimes lagging behind as just himself. Having studied you up close he’d confirmed none of the lower grades were under your control in some way. Everything they did they were doing willingly. Why? Why did they do it? What did you offer these things that they could not obtain from just being curses? What did you have that he just couldn’t understand? What had you made him feel that day, and every day since?

He was pondering these thoughts at a park on his lonesome one day. He had tired of waiting for you to come out for your lunch break so he’d wandered off. He lazily swung back and forth on a swing, mind putting along as your methods all but tortured him. And then he heard your voice. 

“Hello.” He leaned back in his swing, looking at you upside down. You took a few steps back to make room for him, though you did not run away. “You’re the one who keeps following me right?” You asked, folding your hands in front of you. So you had noticed him! And here he thought himself invisible! Mahito rose his feet as he began to swing again. 

“Perhaps,” He mused, “Who’s asking?” Despite being curious, Mahito was still in many ways a childish being. Straight-forward answers were not in his wheelhouse. 

He heard you step around him and take a seat in the swing to his left, “The person you’ve been following for four weeks.” Your tone was still soft and your voice was like honey on his ears. Why had he waited for you to make contact? “I wasn’t sure if you were human or one of my little friends. You’re not like them.”

“You mean those curses?” Mahito asked, pointing past you. You glanced to see your ‘friends,’ all huddled together underneath a jungle gym. Smart enough to hide from Mahito. His energy was enough to scare them. He had grown that much in a mere four weeks.. 

“Curses?” Your brows quirked up, “I wouldn’t call them curses. They’re harmless once you get to know them.” You looked back at him. Mahito felt his own innocence being reflected in your eyes. You truly had no clue what kind of company you kept. Those sweet little things you so cherished were the bane of many peoples' existences. And yet you looked at them like puppies and kittens. What did you see him as then? What was he in the eyes of someone uninformed on the world of curses?  What was he?

“If you knew I was there why didn’t you talk to me?” Mahito asked. You for once let your smile drop. You looked contemplative. Did you yourself not understand your odd mutual fixation? Perhaps two strangers forever caught in one anothers orbit?

“Because,” You spoke but stopped. Your tongue dragged over your lips and Mahito watched so closely. Every movement, every blink, every twitch. The breaths you took, the pulse of your heart, the vibration of your very atoms. “Because I didn’t want to scare you. You looked so.. Lonely.” That word. Lonely. Mahito knew of loneliness. It often came with the very emotion that birthed him. And he had never once thought he was lonely. He was content wasn’t he? Doing his experiments on his own, finding other intelligent spirits to aid in his end goal. He was not lonely, he was never alone. So why did your eyes hurt him? Why did he once again feel compelled to run? Why was your kindness so terrifying?

“That’s the pot calling the kettle black huh?” Mahito jabbed back, dragging his feet until his swing stopped. “All these weeks I haven’t seen you interact with a single person outside of work! All you do is hang around with weak inferior spirits!” He stood as the words erupted from him. Once again, unequipped to handle these sudden emotions. So he did what children did in these situations. He threw a misdirected tantrum. 

“I am not lonely. Why would I ever be lonely? I have friends! People to talk to, play with, show my work to! You’re the lonely one! Too scared to talk to me for weeks on end! God you’re- You’re so pathetic!” Hate was something Mahito knew. He knew how to hurt people. And the look on your face said it all. Never had your unending kindness been met with such aggression. And part of Mahito loved that look on you. But another part of him wept for you. Love was his opposite. Something Mahito knew he could never comprehend. Not truly. He could pretend. Replicate it. Make copy after copy. But never could he match your wavering, unending love. 

He left before you could reply. He could have killed you. Make you into something cruel and grotesque. But the last shred of curiosity he had for you prevented him. Old sentiment. The first bout of it in his short existence. You were left in that park. And though you had just been verbally abused, your heart cried for the blue haired man. How could he not see how badly he was hurting? You could. You saw it in everyone. Everything. Every past failure, every hurt feeling, you could see it. Feel it. Even in those spirits you loved so much. Even in him. He radiated it. And right now all you could do was hope maybe one day, you could speak to him again. And maybe he wouldn’t be so cruel. 

Mahito couldn’t forget you though. Despite how he tried to bury his feelings. He knew you two were polar opposites. One born from hate, and one born to love. You were his foil. And he couldn’t move on. Not until he learned what it felt like. He was in his nature. He needed to know, to feel, to experiment. So after a few days of respite, he began following you again. Farther away this time, but he was there. Watching. And you kept walking. Waiting.

[cammslush]

6REEZE; each member has their own special and adorable darling (but you don't know they think that way about you) - Part 2

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Content warning(s): Yandere themes (overprotectiveness, possessiveness)

Let me know if I missed anything.

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Part II: Center - Aether

"We're having a concert today, I'm sure you know. It's going to be live on our YouTube, please watch it there instead."

Aether tried his best to hide his signature golden strands of hair from the light, underneath his dark hood. He speaks quietly into the receiver of the payphone conveniently just a few blocks from the concert venue. But with him being pretty much the face of 6REEZE…

"Hey, I recognize that golden hair anywhere! Is that…?"

"Sorry, talk to you after the show. Bye."

It was almost an impossible task trying to keep a low profile.

You were a strange-fated soul who met Aether during a photoshoot for a magazine. Well, he was hard to ignore. The brightest member of 6REEZE, that was him!

"I'm ____, pleasure to be your acquaintance," you held out your pretty hand to him. Why did you introduce your name? He already knew who you were: an actor. But some part in his heart sort of…thumped, at the thought of you saying your name.

It's a very common thing for celebrities to meet in joint projects. It's also a common thing for said celebrities to become close friends…or even fall in love.

"No…I shouldn't fall in love. I can't fall in love…" Aether almost wanted to rip his heart out the same day he met you. Idols always sing love songs, but they are not allowed to love. So then…

Why? Why does his heart beat so quickly whenever he thinks of you? Why is it that his chest hurts everytime he sees your face in an advertisement, or your acting in some unpopular movie? Why, why, why…

But he can't just leave you in his "list of merely recognizable people", not after you offered so much company and kindness.

“I met Aether from 6REEZE during a photoshoot once,” you carelessly said in an interview, “And then we actually became friends! He’s actually a pretty nice person! And his hair looks way brighter in person. Go watch their live concerts to see it for yourself!”

Do actors live in a different world from idols? You’re so good at acting in shows, from what he can tell. Why can’t you act like you have never met him before?

Don’t you get it? Your adorable face will get mauled by a horde of crazy idol fans if you admit that! He can’t let that happen!

Venti is so careless, he lets the existence of his "bestest friend" be known to the public with such little care of their wellbeing — Aether is different! He isn't careless one bit.

Despite being your friend, you really have no actual way of contacting him besides a phone number that he asked you to memorize, and he also asked you not to ever input this number on your personal phone. You thought it was a little strange, but heeded his requests nonetheless. Perhaps it was a strange tradition.

But Aether isn't mean to you or anything, yes? He is one of the nicest, brightest people you've ever met in your life! He'd never want you to get hurt, that's the whole point of his actions.

He himself has perfectly memorized all of your information, like your phone number, or your address. It's only, purely because he believes he isn't allowed to save any of that info on his phone, not because he feels the need to know every single little detail about you.

It would be bad if any fan found out about his close association with another celebrity, right? The only, only option left is to store everything about you safely inside his mind.

Under absolutely no circumstances should anyone know you exist in his life.

That is knowledge available only to him.

"Aether, I was recruited to act in an advertisement, and they're still looking for more actors. Marketing opportunity for 6REEZE! Just say the word and I can recommend anyone who's interested to the Director," you spoke to him over the payphone.

Aether wanted to smack himself for how much he misses hearing your voice. It was hard to tell his inner conflicts, thanks to his bright and sunny outer image.

Looks like there's no other choice, "I just asked, buuut no one else is interested, so I'll take any role."

He cannot even allow his fellow 6REEZE members know.

"Oh, okay. Also, I'm watching the concert at home. Everything you guys did was so cool! Especially at the song 'Let the Wind Lead'...My Archon, all I can say is you guys shone very brightly."

Aether wants to keep hearing you talk. But at the same time…

"Yeah…The intermission is about to end. Let's stop here," without even telling you, he hung up the phone and promptly deleted the conversation from his contact history.

With a sigh, he left the break room.

No, no…he can't let what happened to Lumine be repeated with you. Nobody deserves that.

It's not because solely his attention should be on you — "get your head back on track, Aether!" It's because you'll be in grave danger if anyone else found out. He's told himself time and time again, someone as precious as you should never be laid a finger on.

If anything did happen to you, he might as well as die right then and there with you.

"...Aether? Hello?" You spoke on the other end, confused.

You're such a great actor, aren't you? He knows, he's watched almost every piece of film or advertisement you've played a role in, no matter how unpopular the show, no matter how insignificant the role.

So please, act like you've never heard of 6REEZE. Act like you've never even heard of Aether, in public.

That way he can have you all for himself!

[raw-law]

Okay. Everyone's asking about what you would change about the world and about the people around...let me challenge you to tell me what is it that you love about the world? What makes life worth living, what makes the world worth saving?

- heavy questions anon here. Let me sign with....🍰

L:

thank you for the ask, anon. i enjoy heavier questions like this. they're fun to contemplate.

for me, i live for the sake of continuing the game. i enjoy challenges. i especially enjoy winning said challenges. people can talk about parties or sex all they like, but the greatest thrill to me will always be cornering the opponent into the palm of your hands. maybe that's a little sadistic, but it's true to me.

if i was to tell someone else what makes life worth living though, i'd say people. people are interesting to watch. it's hard for me to truly hate anybody when we're all just mere ants jumbled together in one large cage. some think that makes the world all the more terrifying, but i think it's special. i like watching ants. i like watching people. we're very alike. that's not a bad thing.

Light:

This question is certainly a fun one to ponder over. If I'm being honest, my answer is the same as L. I couldn't ever bear to live in this world if it was the same thing every single day, and there was nothing to truly occupy me. The monotony would kill me.

I suppose that's what I live for: the thrill of the game. Whether it's being the pursuer or the pursued; it doesn't matter to me. In a way, I think that being the pursued is even more exhilarating---escaping your enemy's clutches by a hair's breadth, outsmarting them from beginning till the end: this may be more than a little unusual, but I think I'd love it. That thrill of playing the game.

And what makes the world saving? I think it's because of humanity's unpredictability. On one hand, we've slowly destroyed the universe ever since the pre-industrialisation era, and killed millions of our own kind out of pure hatred, or worse, for our own convenience; but on the other, there are people organising protests against these kinds of things, people standing up for what's right and what's not. That's what gives me the hope that maybe, one day, the world will indeed become a better place (though that sounds clichéd), and so that's what makes this rotten world so worth saving.

Thanks for the ask, Anon. I really enjoyed your question.

[congregamus]

Just found a journal entry from almost 20 years ago where I'm still working on the same things. It's hard to know if it's because what little bit of help I get isn't great, or if the problem is that I'm fighting WHAT ACTUALLY IS rather than just my POV regarding that.

Everything Bad and Beautiful

(This is a reference to a Sandra Bernhard Concert Album)

I had a really hard day yesterday, so I took a mental health day from work today.

In my performance class, I get the opportunity to sing for Joyce DiDonato, the premiere Rossini mezzo-soprano of our generation. Since I'm having a hard time staying close to center right now,  I thought it wise to take care of myself so that I don't spiral further into confusion. But most of all, I want to have a positive musical experience in this class. There are tasks in the world that you don't need proper sleep and emotional stability to perform, but singing for an idol is not one that you can phone in.

So, I took the reins and am taking care of me.

I wanted to sing something new to help get my grad recital further on its feet, but in the interest of ensuring the good experience, I will sing something challenging, but something that I know very, very well. I have never sung this piece in class, so it's new to my classmates, but old hat to me. I learned a new song, but more importantly, I've learned some things applicable to my emotional well-being.

There are times to act, but there are also times when action is not advisable, but ignoring my own discomfort in any situation is never the right answer.

The "Truth" as I Learned It and the "Truth" as I Now See It:

→When I was a kid, I was told, "Just suffer through it." I learned that my needs were not important. As the child of a bi-vocational minister, I learned that I came last. That anyone with a sniffle got the family's full attention, but by the time it was my turn, everyone was too tired to bother with me. I learned to say, "Of course" when I was asked, "Can it wait?" I learned that it truly could wait. Seemingly forever. I also learned that Christlike self-sacrifice was the greatest gift to offer the world. And don't forget that if it's easy to give, the act of giving means a whole lot less. Anyone can do what is convenient for himself. What you have to do is dig down deep to the point where you don't think you have any more left for yourself, because that's where Jesus is.

→Now, I'm starting to understand that no one really wants more of me than I have to give. Unconditional love extends to me, from myself as well. I've spent the last 15 years of my life running on empty.

I can't hide my feelings because I'm afraid that I won't be loved anymore. When I feel that I'm giving more than I honestly have to give, it makes me go into protection mode, and my inner light doesn't shine.

The "Truth" as I Learned It and the "Truth" as I Now See It:

→If you show anyone who you really are, then you will not be loved, because that person is gay. And gays are not allowed. If you are honest and tell anyone that you're starting to wonder about all this stuff you're being force-fed, then you're going to be shut out of the lives of the people who are closest to you. So you should lie and keep doing what you're doing right now even though it's tearing you up inside. At least the world isn't rocked.

→Now I'm starting to apply in my relationships what I learned long ago. A world that can be rocked by truth-telling is a world that seriously needs rocked.

It is possible for me to stand up for myself without lashing out.

The "Truth" as I Learned It and the "Truth" as I Now See It:

→Matthew 5:9b "Blessed are the doormats." Once you've established yourself at the guy who loves being selfless and giving until it hurts, it's really hard to break that cycle. When you trudge ahead the way that I have, forcing down your own feelings because you want to avoid conflict at all costs with the people who mean the most to you, it becomes more and more difficult to merely state your feelings that may be "out of sync" without bringing up everything in the past that anyone has ever done to you that you didn't express in the first place. But it can be done.

→What I now know is that relationships have to be based in honest expression and have room for everyone's feelings. It is easy enough for me to include anyone else's. It is much harder for me to admit that there is room for my feelings as well.

Please be patient with me,  everyone. I'm learning a new skill, and I will fail at it as often as I succeed.

[herrscherofmagic]

A Home Lost, A Home Found

I just made a post with this idea, and thought "wait I can just write the story right now", so I did ^.^

Since I put this up on AO3 I figured I'd share it here, too!

Crimson eyes met azure eyes once more. For a split second, the figure wondered if the child before it could hear the fear in its voice.

“Listen to me very carefully, and I promise that you and Natasha will not die today.”

.

One era ends, a new era begins. A certain special someone is left behind with nothing but her precious memories, and she must find new meaning in this long and empty life of hers.

When the Herrscher of Finality descended upon Earth, it took merely hours for nearly everything Seele loved to be seized away from her. But in those final moments, she still had her other self, and together they made a great sacrifice to give humanity one final chance.

As she collapsed against her comrade, Seele’s hand slipped off the handle of the Abyss Flower and fell onto the broken ground. In those final moments, she could hear a voice cry out to her before being consumed by the violent cracks and rumbles of earth-shattering lighting, before the sound faded away into silence.

The light in those azure eyes peacefully dimmed to nothing, another life lost to this sudden and tragic end of the Current Era. But in a small room suspended in the void, a pair of crimson eyes frantically looked around and loud cries were left unanswered. In those final moments, Seele realized she was alone.

.

.

.

“The Stigma Awakened holds remarkable value, but they’re only the intersection of stigmata and humans, and the most primitive guarantee of Project Stigma.”

When she first heard these words Seele thought nothing of them- pointless philosophy, disconnected from reality and a waste of her time. How cruel it was that these words would replay in her mind over and over like a broken record, Seele now understanding the true meaning behind them.

From the first moments she came into being, Seele knew she was an “other”, that this was not her life to live. But as they passed day by day in the orphanage, as they fell into the Sea of Quanta, as they fought through the Theatre of Domination, and as they faced Finality together, Seele began to believe that she belonged.

Even if it was not her reality, she could still see the world through the azure eyes of a gentle soul.

Without that fragile tether, the Stigma now found herself back where she belonged. A Stigma Space, a dream where time is distorted. The checkered floor that once served as a refuge now became a timeless prison, where this Stigma would desperately cling to her memories of Seele Vollerei.

.

.

.

When Finality brought one era to an end, it also marked the beginning of a new era. Civilization would form once more, built up by the history and knowledge of generations of humanity. Stigmata serve as records of this process, and so as humans once more walked the Earth and began telling tales, one particular Stigma once more caught glimpses of the real world.

Now that she could perceive the world as she once did, this Stigma saw just how much time had passed. She had never bothered to keep count, and she wasn’t even sure if she was isolated for a moment or an eternity.

In this new era the Stigma kept her distance, watching from afar as generation after generation passed by­— though every now and then she would appear before whichever host was alive at that time, and offer a sliver of her power. She had little interest in meddling with the messy affairs of others, so many people who bore this Stigma lived their lives without ever knowing it was there.

This was her new reality, and the Stigma told herself that she was content to live this way. Even if Finality descended once more she would simply move on to another era anyways, so she didn’t care what fate befell her hosts. They were nothing more than a convenient means by which she could eavesdrop on humanity’s progress.

So it was until the moment when she felt her own fear for the first time in this new era.

.

.

.

“Get behind me!”

The cracks of gunshots were deafening in the ears of the crying child, but they did not scare her as much as the approaching roars of Honkai beasts. As another beast cried out, she tightened her grip on the leg of her adoptive mother.

"Shit." Natasha swore under her breath again as the rifle began to click; the magazine was empty yet not a single Honkai beast fell. She backed up until she was halted by the cracked wall behind her. Before she could even turn to run the other way, yet another monster appeared.

They were trapped.

In those final moments, countless thoughts raced through Natasha’s mind. She wondered where she went wrong, she cursed her misfortune, she fervently prayed for a miracle.

In those final moments, the crying child shut her eyes as if she were tucked in bed and hiding from the monsters in her bedtime stories. With eyes closed, she did not notice a distant gaze that fell upon her.

In those final moments, the cries of beasts gave way to silence. The air grew still, and the warmth she desperately clung to had disappeared. She slowly opened her teary eyes and saw a single figure standing alone in an impossibly black darkness.

“Am I… dead?” Still dazed from the sudden sensory deprivation, the child could only muster a gentle whisper.

No reply.

With her tiny, tender hand the crying child rubbed tears from her eyes. The child blinked once, twice, and now clearly saw the face of the lone figure.

It had her face, it had her hair. But unlike her it had crimson eyes which stared at her, as if it were peering into her soul, as if it were about to devour it any moment now.

“W-w-what are you?” The child’s heartbeat grew louder and louder in the silence as she stumbled onto the ground, breaking into tears and ugly sobbing.

Tch. How obnoxious.

With crossed arms the figure closed its eyes and took one step forward.

“You are pathetic.”

Another step.

“Weak.”

Another.

“A coward that can’t do anything to protect what she loves most dearly.”

Now a mere couple of feet away, the figure towered over the child before her. Eyes still closed, it took in a deep breath. “But this time… things will be different.”

Crimson eyes met azure eyes once more. For a split second, the figure wondered if the child before it could hear the fear in its voice.

“Listen to me very carefully, and I promise that you and Natasha will not die today.”

The Honkai beast pulled back its limb; a massive lance which would pierce Natasha clean. She held her rifle up as a shield even if it’d do nothing to soften the blow. What more could she do?

As the lance flew forward towards her, Natasha shut her eyes tight. She did not notice that the child behind her let go of her leg. She did not see the smile that crept onto the child’s face, nor the blade which began to form in the child’s hand.

One second had passed and a grinding screech rang out, a noise like the scraping of a shovel against rock.

Two seconds had passed but the lance did not touch Natasha.

Three seconds had passed and she heard the shrieks of one, two, three Honkai beasts. Natasha tensed at the sound and looked up to see what was happening.

Ten seconds had passed, and then there was silence.

Natasha usually felt no fear when facing Honkai beasts, but this time was different. She felt fear for herself, but especially for the young child which was with her when the beasts attacked… but she never imagined that she would be frightened by the child herself.

The child that was sobbing and clinging to Natasha merely moments ago now stood in place of the pack of Honkai beasts. Silicon carapaces lay around her, violently torn apart. In the girl’s hand was a massive scythe that was even taller than her; it was a dull metallic grey with red accents and what appeared to be a single bloodied eye glaring at Natasha. It seemed like the weight of the weapon should crush the little girl, yet she effortlessly held it.

Head still turned away from Natasha, the girl spoke. It was nearly the same voice that would meekly ask for a bedtime story or politely ask for another serving of cake. But there was no trace of her usual innocence in these words; instead they seemed to drip with venom.

“Listen closely, Natasha. Don’t take my help for granted.” The girl turned her head to the side, eyes still covered by the sides of her hair.

“Take better care of Seele. If you don’t, I will know. And if you let anyone or anything harm her…”

“… I will never forgive you.”

[dixons-sunshine]

A Girl Like You (Robin Buckley x Fem!reader)

Summary: Robin had problems with finding someone who'd want to be with her. First, she liked girls, which was a BIG no-no to most people (considering it was the 80s), she was super awkward and the one girl she likes would never like her back-or so she thought. One rented movie and strategically placed note changed her mind about never finding someone right for her.

Warnings: Non that I can think of. Please let me know if I should add anything.

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"Enjoy your day," Robin Buckley told the young couple in front of her, forcing a smile at them. As soon as they turned her smile faltered, watching as the guy pulled the girl closer to him, his arm around her shoulder.

'Why can't I be normal?' she thought, sighing as she saw him give her a kiss. She wished time and time again that she could make her attraction to women disappear, but alas, it didn't. And that complicated her love life a lot.

She was used to only being able to admire from afar, having to suffer the curse of a crush in dead silence, but something about you made it different this time.

All she wanted to do was to confess to you so that she could hold you, kiss you, do all the normal things that guys could do with their girlfriends, but alas, she couldn't. Not when she would be a social pariah. Not when she didn't even know if you felt the same.

No. That was a risk she didn't wanna take.

To make matters worse, the two of you hung out on a daily basis. With you working at the convenience store down the street from Family Video, the two of you spent your lunch time together. That was how Robin got to meet you for the first time.

Her lunch time had started and she had a hankering for a bag of doritos. As she was about to pay for it, she accidentally bumped into you, making you drop all your stuff.

She had apologized profusely, offering to buy you anything you wanted as an apology, but you simply smiled at her and told her that she could apologize by spending her lunch break with you.

And that's how the daily hang outs started happening. Every day at 1pm, she would meet you at the convenience store and then the two of you would sit in the alley way next to the building and talk. It was the part of Robin's day that she looked forward to the most.

Unfortunately, you were sick today, so she decided to spend her lunch break working.

"Hey, Robin. I didn't know you were working today," Steve said, approaching the counter.

Steve has been her best friend for over a year. Coincidentally, he was your friend too, so Robin would sometimes hang out with you-along with Steve- outside of your usual meet ups.

"Yeah, I am, because someone decided to tell Keith that it was their birthday and they shouldn't have to work," Robin said, rolling her eyes and turning her back to her best friend.

Steve laughed, going to grab the movie of his choice. "Don't be so mad, Robbie. I bet if I told you why I said that you'd be interested."

"Not interested."

"Not even if it was about Y/n?"

Robin visibly perked up at the mere mention of your name, turning hastily to look at Steve.

"What about her? Have you seen her today? Is she okay? Is she dying? Oh god, please tell me she's not-"

"Robin, calm down! No, she's not dying, but she is very sick. I took her to the doctor today. He gave her a week off from work to recover. Said something about flu or something. She asked me to come and get a movie for her," Steve said nonchalantly, handing the tape to Robin.

Robin's mood instantly went from worried to sad. She was glad that you were okay, but disappointed because she wouldn't be able to see you for an entire week.

This was gonna be torture for her.

"Hey, Robs?"

"Yes?"

"Not that you want my input or anything, but go for it. I think she really likes you. And before you deny anything, I know about your crush. Just go for it. Even if she doesn't feel the same, she'd never out you. She's a good person. Do with that information what you will."

Robin bit her lower lip, debating on what to do. Should she risk everything and confess to you? Or should she just compress those feelings and keep your friendship.

'Fuck it,' she thought, grabbing a piece of paper and a pen. She wrote something on the letter, before placing it in the tape's case.

"Here you go, Dingus."

Steve took the tape from Robin, saying his goodbyes and heading outside to his car.

Robin inhaled sharply, hoping that what she just did wouldn't end up to be the worst mistake ever.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"There you are. What took you so long?" You asked as Steve stepped into your room, which was dark due to the raging migraine you had.

"Sorry, I was having a little chat with Robin," Steve said, closing your door to not disturb your parents who were downstairs.

"How is she?" You asked nervously. Even if it was only a day, you missed Robin. She became the best thing in your life in a short amount of time and that realization scared you.

You always wondered why you never had a boyfriend, or why you didn't have any sexual or romantic attraction to men in general, until you met Robin.

She was the sweetest, kindest, smartest woman you've ever met. At first it started out as a friendship, but somewhere along the way, your feelings for the girl started to blossom into something non-platonic and that's when everything clicked into place.

You liked Robin, in a way that people would deem you a social pariah if you ever were to act upon those feelings, so you tried to push those feelings down to the deepest depths of your mind. But as you hung out with Robin more and more, keeping your feelings in check became a lot harder than you expected. There were a lot of times you wanted to confess your feelings, but then you'd remember that she could publicly out you and make you the freak of the town.

And that scared the crap out of you.

"Hello? Earth to Y/n?" Steve said, snapping you out of the spiral you were sending yourself into.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"I asked if you'd be okay with setting up the movie while I go make us some snacks?" He asked, gesturing to your TV.

"Oh, yeah. Of course." You nodded.

As Steve left the room, you got up to set up the movie. As you opened the case for the tape, a piece of paper fell from it. You picked it up, wondering who this was meant for.

Curiosity got the best of you, so you opened it up. You let out a small gasp when you saw that it was for you, and the letter was from Robin.

Y/n...

I don't know how to start this, but I'm too scared to do this in real life, so... Yeah.

I really freaking like you, and not in a platonic way. I like like you, Y/n. I like you so much, it actually hurts. And I know that, realistically, you don't feel the same, but I just had to tell you.

So, yeah. Do with this information what you will, I guess. I don't expect you to like me back, and I hope this doesn't ruin our friendship. I value our friendship too much and it would kill me if I just ruined everything.

Don't be too harsh on me, please?

Robin

To say you were surprised would be an understatement. You couldn't fathom the idea that Robin liked you. She was so perfect and you were... You.

You knew that you'd be out of commission for another week or so, and you didn't wanna leave Robin in suspense, so you did what you could in that moment.

You wrote her a note back.

Just as you finished putting the note back into the case, Steve came back with the snacks.

"You're lucky you're one of my best friends, otherwise I would not have spent this much time preparing all of these snacks."

You chuckled. "I appreciate it a lot, Steve. Also, I'd really appreciate if you'd give this note to Robin tomorrow."

Steve looked at you in confusion, before ultimately agreeing. "Sure?"

"Thanks. Now, let's watch the movie."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Robin had never been this anxious in her entire life. This was the first time that she ever confessed to her crush that she liked them, and it scared her to her core. On the plus side, you liked her back and the two of you could ride into the sunset together. On the downside, well...

She didn't even wanna go down that path.

"I come bearing gifts," Steve said as he finally came to work, two hours late.

"Oh, goody. Everyone's favourite person," Robin said, rolling her eyes.

"Hey, don't be like that, or I won't give you what Y/n told me to give you."

That instantly caught Robin's attention. She leaned over the counter to see what Steve was referring to. "What did she wanna give me?"

Steve opened his bag, taking out a folded piece of paper. He handed it to Robin, shrugging his shoulders.

"I don't know what it says. All Y/n told me was to give it to you."

Robin looked at the piece of paper in fear, knowing that this was about to make or break her relationship with you. Not to mention that there is a possibility that her confession to you could spread like wildfire, and then bam! Social pariah.

"Well, are you gonna read it?" Steve asked, lazily leaning against the counter.

"Not with you here. You have work to do. If you think that I did your work for you yesterday, you are mistaken."

Steve let out an overdramatic sigh, grumbling as he went to go get a box of tapes he had to stack on the shelves.

Robin let a shaky breath escape her. Her hands were trembling as she opened the note you wrote for her. Reluctantly, she began to read.

I really didn't expect this. This was a huge surprise to me. Maybe because I thought that there was no way that you would like me back, especially since I thought your taste was... different than me.

But, Robin Buckley, the most beautiful girl I know, how about we go to the arcade sometime?

Y/n

To say Robin was ecstatic would be an understatement. She was smiling so hard that she thought her face would start to tear, her heart was practically beating out of her chest and she was slightly jumping like a toddler.

"What got you so excited?" Steve asked her, having an inkling suspicion about what it was about.

"You were right. She does like me..." Robin trailed off softly, holding the note close to her chest.

"That's amazing! I'm really happy for you. Now, at least one of us isn't a single loser anymore."

"Oh, please. You don't have to be single to be a loser." Robin said, grabbing her bag before rushing out of the door.

"Hey, where are you going?!" Steve called after her.

"You know where! I have a date to pick up!" She said, getting onto her bike.

Steve smiled as he watched her bike away, chuckling to himself.

"She does know that Y/n is still sick, right?"

[unispiredunicorn2]

A THING OF BEAUTY

Pairing: V/River Ward

Rating: Explicit

Summary: V and Johnny have an interesting time in the records store before they head to the hospital to pick up Randy. The situation gets slightly tense, and both V and River realize something. Their wait turns mildly smutty.

Read on AO3

BAD THINGS

V had finally managed to shake off River by suggesting they divide their errands — she’d get the album while he took care of the groceries, conveniently masking her ulterior motives. As River melted into the crowd, oblivious to her plans, V felt the crackle of anticipation igniting her veins before pressing forward through the bustling market, her steps echoing determination.

Little did River know that V had gone to extraordinary lengths to acquire the special edition of the new Tainted Overlord album, signed by all members. She had tapped into her web of contacts, traded favors, and paid a substantial sum of eddies to secure this gift, which awaited her at the store.

V knew River well enough to realize that he wouldn’t have spent the scratch on what was deemed a luxury, especially now, when money was tight, and all of it went into necessities. She couldn’t deny the extravagance of this gift. It indeed, was a luxury, especially for someone in River’s situation, but not for her.

She had enough eddies to share and help ease his financial burdens. She had tried, oh how she had tried. But his stubborn pride was a formidable barrier, determined in its refusal to accept her help. V couldn’t fathom it fully; she couldn’t wrap her mind around the complexities of his adamant pride. She remembered all too well the days spent on the streets, her stomach gnawing with hunger and her body shivering with cold. If someone had approached her then, offering help, she would have snatched it in a heartbeat.

River and his family weren’t hungry, lacking in clothing or a roof over their heads; however, they were teetering on the edge of financial stability. The small income they scraped together barely covered the essentials, leaving little room for anything beyond mere survival. So V couldn’t understand, not entirely. But she knew enough to recognize that same pride, the same fierce stubbornness that made him refuse her help, would also make him hesitant to accept this gesture. Thus the secrecy, the careful planning, and the question that gnawed at the corners of her mind — the one she failed to find the answer to.

“So, what will you tell the boyfriend when he starts asking questions?” Johnny materialized by the stairs that led into the basement, accompanied by a swirling haze of smoke, a twinkle of amusement glinting in his eyes.

“That I know some people?” V flashed a hesitant smile. “That some gonk owed me a favor? I don’t know. I’ll think of something.”

“Thin lies for something like this.” Johnny tsked, shaking his head. “Come on, V. Boyfriend’s not an idiot. He’ll see right through you,” Johnny reluctantly admitted, a flash of discomfort distorting his features. “You couldn’t pick some dumb gonk to fuck. You had to pick a detective,” he added mockingly. “Now you’re in trouble.”

V sighed, massaging her forehead. “Are you here just to fuck with me, or do you actually have a solution?”

[thevikingwoman]

Timbermaster Beatin is one of my wol, Meryta's close friends. I really enjoyed the ARR carpenter quests, and couldn't leave these fools alone.

Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV | Words: 1542 | Read on Ao3

Beatin x Gairhard, Beatin & Meryta Khatin | early/mid HW | fluff Rating: Mature. Slice of life, Meryta tries to help, romance, re-kindling relationship, implied sex, fools in love

Distance

Meryta barely dares to show her face in Gridania, but once she does, she’s inexplicably met with support from the locals. It wasn’t something she expected, given how they treat outsiders. Perhaps she no longer is one, and it allows her to let her guard down a little.

Now she’s making her way to the Carpenter’s Guild, as she is wont to do when she finds herself in Gridania. It’s late afternoon, the sunshine casting a warm light on the wooden building, the waterwheel happily turning in the stream.

Timbermaster Beatin is there, intently focused on a newly crafted maple staff. An apprentice’s work, surely.

“What do you think, Meryta?” he says, when she approaches, casting a glance over his shoulder. “Decent, but not as good as your first tries.”

She shakes her head. “I don’t think I can be the judge of that. I’ll defer to your expert opinion, Guild Master."

“How are you doing, Meryta? I’m glad to see you here.”

“Well enough for the circumstances. The Fortemps family has been most welcoming. How are you, Master Beatin?”

“Things are fine, the new apprentices are adequate, as you can discern for yourself. I’m glad there is always new faces interested in woodworking.” He gestures at the staff in front of him.

“I’m glad the guild is well. How are you?” Meryta presses on. “How is Captain Gairhard?”

Master Beatin fidgets.

“He’s well, I suppose. Off on some mission.”

“Beatin, pray tell me you did not have another argument.”

“We did not!”

“Surely, you do talk more often, no more hiding in the workshop.”

She keeps her voice gentle and teasing, but she wants to grab the staff and beat him over the head.

“I – we do talk, but perhaps not as often as I would like. Every time he goes off on a mission – I know it’s his job and all…” Beatin shakes his head and sighs. “I simply do not know what to say. I am but working here, not out there risking my life.”

“Have you told him how you feel?”

Beatin draws in a sharp breath, and Meryta remembers to be gentle, no matter how the staff is tempting her. The sunstone will come off, surely.

“You should let him know you’re worried, at least. It’s not – it’s not a bad thing to know people worry, or do not think you’re invincible.” Or a convenient weapon to point at a problem.

“I will think of it,” Beatin says, a finality to his words.

It is but two days later when an errand takes her to the Adder’s Nest, and Meryta spots Captain Gairhard leaning against the wall inside.

“Greetings, Captain Gairhard. How are you?”

“Ah, Meryta. All is well here, we just returned last night from a run-in with the Ixhal in North Shroud. Nothing me and my unit couldn’t handle. The crab bow is performing well.”

“I’m glad to hear so, Gairhard. Pray tell me, have spoken to Beatin recently?”

“Not since I’ve returned, but do now worry. I believe things are – settled between us.”

Meryta nods.

“Good talking to you Gairhard. Stay safe.”

“Same to you, Meryta.”

She hurries to the carpenter’s guild, nods at Corgg by the door. Timbermaster Beatin is in the back, as she expected.

“Meryta? Did you find the owner of the spear?”

“No luck so far, but I have a good lead.”

“That is well.”

“I met Captain Gairhard just earlier. He is back for his mission.”

Beatin lights up, and then his shoulder slumps a little, all the more obvious for his height.

“I’m glad he is back safe – mayhap I merely wished he’d come see me all the same.”

 Here we go again, she thinks, do you really want to do this again?

“You should invite him to dinner,” she says out loud instead.

“To dinner?” Beatin almost sputters.

“Invite him to your home, make a nice dinner, tell him that you’re happy he’s safe, and that you worry. It would be nice.”

“A dinner between friends… it has been a while. I supposed he always liked my stew.”

Meryta beams and claps his arm. “I’d even make a dessert I’ve recently acquired the recipe for, these Fig Bavarois are very popular in Ishgard, for a good reason.”

“Dessert too? Yes, I will invite him.”

---

The stew is simmering on the stove. There’s a pile of raw planks against the wall, but he’s truly not bringing work home – the grain was interesting and he wants to make a shelf for his living room – but now he halfway regrets it’s there. But his work is his work, and if his friend will argue; so be it.

Everything is in order. It’s too late to cancel. Meryta’s dessert is on the counter, gorgeous and precise slices of figs adorning the tiny tarts – figs from Dravania she said, fancy like he is some sort of noble! – she has good hands and an eye for details regardless of what she turns to. No, he promised. It will be fine.

It is fine. Gairhard barely comments on the planks (and the tools too, left in a box in the corner). It’s easy, their friendship, their closeness rushing back like a quiet comfort as they talk. They talk about big things and small things, the day to day life that goes on about them. The stew was good and the wine was good too, Gairhard filling their glasses with the last of it. It’s perhaps more measured than when they were younger, but it’s similar enough.

“I regret we didn’t do this sooner,” he blurts out, like a fool. He’s already apologized, a while ago, for his temper. But that’s not what he means. The slow way they fell apart, the way he pushed Gairhard away out of his own foolish fear. The rest of these words won’t come though.

“So do I,” Gairhard says, “and this too.”

The other man holds his gaze as he reaches across the table, and takes Beatin’s hand, turning it over as he does, Gairhard callouses rough against his own. It’s careful and deliberate and slow enough that Beatin could withdraw his hand at any time. He doesn’t, and he remembers being much younger and bolder, but just as foolish.

“Gairhard, I – “

He can’t bear it, the distance, the table between them (he made the table long ago, out of beautiful rosewood), the plates and the wineglasses preventing him from pulling the other man close. Beatin gets up and around it all, and now he pulls Gairhard up and into a kiss, growing fervent and needy the moment their lips meet. Forthwith they’re touching each other, running hands up arms and down backs and tearing at clothes; far too many clothes.

Beatin is breathless and his glasses askew.

“My bedroom, if I may?”

“You may indeed.”

They make it down the corridor, hurried, kissing and he’s ravenous, but too old for a fuck on the floor; against the wall (or like years ago, on a moonlit roof), and finally they reach his bedroom. He’s neat enough and the bed is made, despite not thinking he’d bring anyone (Gairhard, it’s always been Gairhard) here tonight. He’s a fool, but he’s not alone, and with a wide grin he pushes Gairhard onto the bed.

They’re careful now, clothes slowly removed to reveal an expanse of skin. They have time, and comfort to explore, and Beatin does, running his hands over scars, old scars but not old enough for him to know. Gairhard is a warrior, and Beatin is struck that he could have been there, seen every one of them fresh.

“Pray accept my apologies,” he mumbles, tracing raised tissue across Gairhard’s chest. “I should not have let my fear for your life keep me away.”  

“Only if you accept mine,” Gairhard replies. “My own regrets are many.”

He nods and kisses him, and continues his exploration, hands on shoulders, untying laces of pants, an apology (a rebuke) for every scar he finds.

Soon enough they’re both naked and entangled in Beatin’s bed, and all excuses and worries and sorries and regrets fade away into the night, along with the time and yalms between them.

---

It is a while before Meryta is back in Gridania, months spent trekking through Dravania and beyond and changed for the journey. This time, she doesn’t find Beatin in the guild, and she’s pleased, it’s late and the stars are already blinking in the twilight sky.

She does find him in the Canopy, sharing a mead with Gairhard.

“Am I intruding?”

“Meryta, please sit.”

“What news, my friend?”

“I have some stories to tell, but first, how are you, my friends? Ah, and I hope you enjoyed the sweets.”

“They were utterly delicious. Your deft hands are truly skilled in many areas. Remarkable you also have time to save us all.”

Gairhard chuckles. “Thank you Meryta, what he’s not telling is that they were delicious for breakfast the next day. We never did get to them that night.”

He winks at Beatin, who blushes deeply and fidgets with his glasses.  Satisfied, Meryta leans back in her chair.

“I am pleased you enjoyed. Anon, let me tell you of the Moogles who live in the skies…”

[mitigatingacademics]

{10.13.2024}

'Snackle' boxes because vacation priorities.

Law school applications are DONE.

[I didn't get to cross this off the list as soon as anticipated because I failed to realize that the third of the three remaining applications *also* required a supplemental writing submission. Not to panic, though, as it was merely an inquiry about how one would make online classes work for them. A few edits to the document prepared for another school asking how one would make time for 30 hours of study a week and we were good to go.]

Issue 5 is completed.

[Thank God, because I can't handle any more of John Marshall and friends *actually* trying to argue that 'necessary' is definitionally interchangeable with 'convenient,' 'beneficial,' and 'useful.' Words have MEANINGS, sir. There's literally nothing to prevent you from handing down whatever stretch of judicial interpretation makes the Constitution say what you want it to say. So just do that. There's no need for this insulting gaslighting re: 'Does 'necessary' really imply 'necessary'? ...indeed it does?? ...and, like, when you talk about these 'approved authors' who have a 'common use' of 'necessary' to mean 'merely' 'convenient' *or* 'essential' (which are FAR from the same thing!)...who are these people?! ... Nevermind. It doesn't matter.

Issue 6 calls upon Wickard v. Filburn which is one of the first foundational SCOTUS cases that really got me interested in Constitutional law. It will be nice to have something I'm looking forward to in order to help motivate me post-vacation.]

Robespierre is packed.

I owe one to my regular coworker who, back from his own vacation this week, consented to stay over and wait for a very late train when *I* was actually working the shift that would usually be the one to stay. We hadn't seen railroad drama like that in quite awhile. The scheduled 3am got in about 8'oclock. It sat behind a freight train with cars on fire - cars once removed, toppled over and blocked the main - requiring heavy equipment to clear the right of way.

This caused *all kinds* of problems for us and our passengers, not the least of which was what to do about the connecting bus that takes connections from three different trains. Coworker was the real MVP. It's because of him that I was able to get all of the things accomplished.

Super honorable mention goes to fav coworker who sent, via her husband, a souvenir for me from Disneyland! It's this *STUPID CUTE* Mickey ears train conductor hat. As much as was possible at that given moment, my day was absolutely made. Pics to follow.

Was so busy with aforementioned accomplishments this morning that I missed Liz on Meet The Press. She was fantastic, per usual. I love her the way she loves that blouse she's worn at her last five public appearances. 😂

I so appreciate her tenacity and consistency both for all the good her work is doing generally and so as I have no reason to be embarrassed about the personal statement I submitted to five different law schools telling them she’s my inspiration.

I've packed enough clothes to be away for a month and snacks like they don't have food in Tennessee.

Must be time for a road trip!

[etchofsqetch]

If there really is some underground culture of cheating and debauchery, it would look something like this:

All of the husbands would know, and either be okay with it; because they were doing it too (as in behind their wife’s back;) or, were perfectly okay with it because they were perverts themselves, or into threesomes, or both. Society in general would be more relaxed towards this sort of behavior, and it would therefore rub off on the children. None of that would matter because kids don’t have the capacity to really make sense of sex until after high school. It may be happening younger these days; but when I grew up it was senior year in all the movies I watched.

I bet I could tell what the sexual preferences of the husbands are based by on how they partner with their wife. For example, a husband who allows his wife to have over whomever, whenever I would say would not be as gay as the one who likes it when his wife brings over her guy friends, and is probably fine just watching when they do stuff. Granted these group things rarely happen in real life, I find it interesting to think that what people talk about leads to this thought process, keeping words like “gay”, “retarded” and “stupid” at the center of one’s foreward thought processes.

This centralized thinking about one or a few things seems to be similar to experiments performed on humans back in the fifties and sixeties. Which may not be too farfetched for certain areas; but most towns wouldn’t have the organizational capability as those in larger cities. Less government emoloyees, and less money for communications equipment would make it harder for smaller towns to communicate amongst each other quickly and securely. So the groups themselves would be confined to those living in a certain community. Those who live close to each other and have children for example, who go to the same schools as one another, shop at the same supermarkets, etcetera.

The sort of trust required to enter into a relationship of this caliber takes time to build, so the odds of allowing someone into one of these communities would be reduced; due to the fact that communal sex is common amongst the members of these groups, we should remember that acting carnally, habitually breeds base instinct in one’s thought process as the first option. It simply becomes more convenient for the brain to choose the route that happens the most frequently. When decisions are made quickly using these base instincts we see a trend towards violence as a solution. When community is involved in persecution of individuals who disturb this peace, solutions and made together and need more data in experience to even determine if these punishments help or hurt the individual.

For example, public shaming of a person will just make that person a shameful person. As one who hangs out with successful people usually becomes successful, it could be easy to destroy someone with insults and slurs that make this person focus on what a bad person they are. It is much more difficult to congratulate someone you hate that it is to shame them; but, imagine what it would do for them. The point obviously isn’t to cure; so anything that would make the person insecure would work.

The commonality of this actually happening would only make sense in communities that choose to rehabilitate their own members. It must be observed for the hypersexual and this anarchist type of community to have any correlation to each other; whether one begets the other is merely conjecture at this point at least to my knowledge of the subject. In fact, all of these thoughts are kind of new to me. I seem to be hearing a lot more on television now than when I was younger talking about sex as though it’s not something private and special. I was getting old when I turned 24; I doubt I have much to worry about at my age now.. 😂

From my personal observations, these hypersexualized societies only exist on the tv, or internet as fantasies to be sold to the lucky individual who happens to be surfing his phone like some dreadlock haired Hawaiian on the tides at Kahului bay in Maui. Most people tend to hide their sex lives and portray themselves as individuals who prefer sports and outdoor entertainment. It’s mostly for show or to fill in the time between work; but that’s a subject for a later date. Work culture.. I love it; but it’s ultimately more challenging to pursue art, especially if one wants to make a living from their creation(s).

It’s amazing to see how so much of this correlates to Hollywood.. I wonder what it’s like to live in Beverly Hills..

[bioticlaw]

Can You Tell Me Who I Am?

You wonder if zealots ever find themselves in the same position as you: lost in a paradox without a clear path. When you look at him, you see salvation, but in that salvation, you also see ruin. The Doctor gives, and the Doctor takes away. You picture yourself kneeling before his feet and feel nothing, yet you can’t see yourself following anyone else but him. Then what are you supposed to be?

PAIRING: Dottore x Reader, minor Scaramouche & Reader

CONTENT: yandere Dottore | gender-neutral reader | human experimentation, unhealthy relationships, master/pet, emotional/psychological manipulation, conditioning, religious themes, implied sexual content, dom/sub undertones, canon divergent but spoilers for sumeru archon quest! Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. ( ~10k words )

NOTES: finally, after nearly two months, I can finally share what I've been brainrotting over :')))) is there a plot?? not really tbh the demons just won. this is disgustingly self-indulgent but I'd still like to dedicate this to @eanul-rambul and @hiperacid2 for sitting through my madman ramblings and making this story possible!! this can be read by itself, but if you'd like, the prequel/first part can be found here! much love, enjoy :3c // @houseofsolisoccasum

DARK CONTENT UNDER THE CUT | READ ON AO3

The people of Sumeru do not dream.

The Akasha terminals harvest it all from them to create a singular massive brain for the collective to take knowledge from. That was what the Doctor told you on your journey from Snezhnaya to the land of wisdom. As expected of him, he figures everything out without batting an eye. He never makes mistakes and he is never wrong, so what he told you can’t possibly be a lie.

A walk through the Akademiya confirms his initial findings as well. The people of Sumeru do not dream. They live in ambition and convenient, unlimited knowledge, far more valuable than a mere dream can be. It’s not your first time meeting such personalities. The longer you work with the Doctor, the more people you meet, including some of the Harbingers he doesn’t seem too particularly fond of. He seems to have a fondness for relying on your ability to judge a person. From their strengths to their weaknesses, he has you remember all of them should they decide to turn against him later.

Even if you don’t understand why he wants your insight (human emotions aren’t your area of expertise—very far from it, in fact), you have no reason not to trust him. It will become useful in the future, he said. You can do that for me, can’t you?

You can, and you will.

They say that dreaming is when the human mind becomes the most vivid. It’s where Sumeru’s knowledge all stems from: a collective mind of sorts, bountiful sciences for the academic mind to pursue. The Doctor was particularly interested in this system, so he’d taken the Akasha terminal you were given to study more closely. It wasn’t a request.

It also wasn’t something you were going to decline. It wouldn’t have made a difference regardless. With or without the terminal, just like the people of Sumeru, you do not dream. Your day ends with a period of nothingness before the new one begins and gives you a mission to complete, as per routine.

Still, you believe it is quite inconsistent with typical human behaviours you’ve observed. Every person has a dream, don’t they? Some dream of travelling the world and getting to adventure much like the golden-haired traveller and their flying companion. Some dream of a happy life for their families, and some dream of exacting revenge on certain people.

But you don’t. You don’t have a dream, though you suppose if you were ever asked about it, you’d say that it’s to serve the Doctor. It’s what you’re made for. You kill anyone he tells you to kill. You guard him from the shadows, ready to slit the throat of whoever dares lie to him. You follow every order and every whim because it is your duty—your ‘happiness,’ you think—to do so.

You always have, and you always will.

Your gaze flits over to the Doctor who stands before the giant automaton, the Shouki no Kami, that looms over him. Thanks to his insistence, the project has been progressing just as he’d like. You remember his crazed words when the idea came to him, his words an epiphany and almost choir-like among the dullness of machinery. Warmth rises to your cheeks as you watch him engrossed in his work, lost in his own world. It’s a sight that’s familiar to you, a constant in each day you spend with him.

How strange, you think. This must be the sensitivity implant he’d put in you. Not too long ago, he had expressed his interest in your responses to foreign stimuli. You weren’t made aware of when he would put it into motion, so this is entirely new. Is this what people refer to as fondness? To feel nothing but a semblance of joy when you watch someone close to you?

You try not to dwell on it and return to the task at hand. The Doctor had stationed you by the entrance to the workshop, close enough to reach when needed and not too close to disturb him. Ready to be at his beck and call, just where he likes you.

It’s quiet in the workshop save for the dull whirring of the cogs and wheels overhead. It almost fascinates you how such dreariness can exist in a lush and vibrant place like Sumeru City. The workshop, despite its hollow grandness, doesn’t seem like an optimal place to be productive. You find that it’s not that different from his laboratory back at Zapolyarny Palace. There, the windows show you nothing but snow and frost. Here, all you see is metal on every corner, drab and colourless unlike the city and its lush outskirts.

You suppose the Doctor is simply not like other people. He doesn’t need to feel the sunlight to have a change of mood. He doesn’t share their composition, either; this much you know thanks to the nights where he’d lay himself bare for your recalibration. It’s one of many secrets you keep for him.

Something hits the floor with a loud clang, making you snap out of your reverie. Right, you have a job to do. He hates it when people zone out. His patience has been running thin to begin with thanks to the ‘tedious and menial’ conversations he’s had to have with other researchers. Aggravating him further is nowhere near the decision you must choose to make.

While you always do as he says without question, doing nothing proves to be possibly the most arduous task you’ve done. You don’t feel anxious or afraid—you can hardly feel anything at all, but you’re lost, so to speak. It’s out of routine and order to only be on standby.

“—Why don’t you escort the grand sage to safety?” His voice breaks the silence and echoes in the chamber, bringing you back to the present. “I unfortunately have my hands full and can’t see to it myself. Could you do that for me?”

There’s a lighthearted tone to his words. He must be excited to finally make use of the puppet he’s been working so hard on. In just a matter of a few seconds, the long-awaited plan is going to come to fruition and as always, you will be there to witness it.

“Of course, Doctor.”

(Anything.)

“Come back to me when you’re done. I’d like you to stay close in case any… complications occur.”

When you return, a couple of mechanics are tinkering away at the automaton. Finishing touches, you assume. You’re not entirely sure what the process entails. The Doctor hasn’t told you much about this project. All you’ve had so far is bits and pieces of information, namely how this is meant to be all for who the Doctor and his fellow Harbingers refer to as Scaramouche.

They’re a total anomaly, nonexistent in your memory, never seen and never known. You wonder if there’s a reason why you’ve never come face-to-face with it. He tends to tell you whatever’s on his mind, not seeking for you to be a conversationalist, but as an echo chamber. Maybe it’s his segments that know of this Scaramouche character.

While it’s not unusual for the Doctor to keep certain things from you, it raises questions that will go unanswered. Trust has always been an unspoken agreement between you and him. As his servant and his guard, his creation, there is nothing you won’t do for him. You’ll figure out a way to cut down every Archon alive if he so wishes it. But does he not share the same sentiment? Are you, ultimately, just another one of his disposables? Does he not trust you after all this time?

(After all the steps he’d taken to keep your lips sealed and you completely, utterly his?)

“I’ve called for the subject,” he says with a chuckle. “He’ll be arriving any moment now—”

“Let’s just get this over with,” comes a new voice you don’t recognise.

“Heh. You’re right on time.”

When you turn, you see a young man dressed in Inazuman clothes and a large hat adorned with gold and red threads. His face is twisted into a scowl that contradicts the softness of his features. His brows are furrowed as he glares at the Doctor in visible disdain. Nevertheless, he reminds you of ice and porcelain statues in Snezhnaya, carved for everlasting beauty and grandeur.

It is now that you realise that he is here—the new god himself in the flesh.

The missing puzzle piece, the sign of a new beginning. If that is who he’s meant to be, you believe that he will be fully revered without fail. If this is the one to worship at the altar, sacred offerings and prayers would be made day and night, pleading for their god’s wisdom.

With your constitution, your priorities do not lie in faith, but elsewhere: in recalibration and maintenance, in servitude and protection. There is much you don’t understand about religion, but is he not the very image of a being worthy of worship? An inexplicably beautiful, powerful being who holds the honour of succeeding their Greater Lord Rukkhadevata? A replacement for the Lesser Lord Kusanali, who is deemed beyond lesser in researchers’ eyes?

Scaramouche is cold and callous, but is that not how gods should be? Domineering, easily able to strike fear into their subjects? The fact holds as he stops beside you and gives you an irritated glance. Already is he regarding you, a stranger, with so much disdain, or something more malicious. You’re suddenly overly aware of your talons—sleek, black metallic, lethal—and the alarms ringing in your head. Accordingly, you deem him a threat to be kept under surveillance.

“This is your new pet project?” Scaramouche scoffs. “You’re declining, Dottore.”

As if he can feel you ready to act, the Doctor dissuades you by blocking you with his arm. A wordless warning. Despite finding it an unwise decision, you let your hands hang limply by your sides and return to your normal posture.

He’s right. He always is. Only he gets to decide who the enemy is. This Scaramouche is not an enemy, but evolution itself; something that transcends science and the mortal realm. You cannot ruin something he worked so hard for.

“I’m sorry, Doctor.”

“Perhaps you should wait for me to give you a command,” he says dryly. Though he appears to be smiling, you know better than to trust that his ire has fully dissipated. Clasping his hand on your shoulder, he nods at the other Harbinger. “This is my assistant, but let’s save the pleasantries for later, shall we? Go on, now.”

Steam rises from the surface as the metal plates of the automaton’s mask slide open. Although the automaton is only at half of its height, it encompasses nearly half of the room and casts a shadow in its wake. Scaramouche climbs into the cockpit with grace and agility, evidently familiar with the standard procedures.

You watch as the mask closes, sealing the sixth Harbinger inside. The Doctor patiently makes his way to the automaton with the Electro Gnosis held between his fingers. You hear chatter from the crowd behind you and murmurs that echo throughout the workshop, all in anticipation of what will take place soon. Not long after, he inserts the Gnosis in its rightful compartment and steps back.

Soon enough, Shouki no Kami comes to life. Electricity bursts in hues of amethyst and violet and sparks run across its surface. The insignia at its centre glows far brighter than anything you’d ever seen. You feel its strength with your eyes alone, as do your fellow witnesses. You realise now that you behold the birth of an almighty being, one ready to take fate into his own hands and overthrow the false god.

(You’ve never seen anything more beautiful.)

—

Dottore doesn’t play favourites, but if he were asked to pick a favourite thing about you, he would say without a doubt that it is your unquestioning compliance.

He’s fully aware that it’s how he encouraged you to be, but he’d be a fool if he didn’t acknowledge it. Trust is not earned so easily, even if years pass and one hasn’t wronged the other yet. Despite having sworn loyalty to the Tsaritsa and by extension Pierro, there isn’t a single member of the Fatui he’d trust with his projects.

But you, the one he made, the one he changed; you stand above them all.

It’s an entertaining sight indeed to see you fall and get back up time and time again with a new life, a new memory and the same ever-present constant: him. No matter what he puts you through, on the operating table or on dangerous missions, you trust him with your being. Your faith and loyalty are in his hands, binding you to him for as long as he’ll need you. Perhaps, in some way, you see him as more than your master. Feelings are fickle things and unimportant to him. Inquisitiveness and uncovering the world’s secrets are all he needs, but you—

You are a different variable.

You put your fragile life in his hands and let him keep you in his possession. You guard him like a loyal hound to the leader of its pack. Even if he can simply use his segments or remake you, it’s quite hard to imagine a life without you behind him. You’ve become a long-withstanding presence he can continue to study and rely on under the guise of diagnostics. No longer are you the meek little thing shyly watching him from the sidelines. No longer are you his benefactor who naïvely believed his lies about medical research and evolution. You’re an entirely new person, but one fact remains true all the same.

You are his, before and after ‘death.’

With you constantly dutifully close by, it hadn’t taken long for some of his fellow Harbingers to take an interest in you. It infuriates him to remember the wicked smile on Pantalone’s lips as he mentioned how much he was willing to spend on you. It’s worse to remember how Childe would tell you anecdotes of his travels in an attempt to convince you to join him. The memory never fails to make him huff in irritation every time it comes up.

How absolutely imbecilic. Is it not clear enough that you cannot be taken from him?

Dottore wasn’t always one to make rash decisions. He’s meticulous and calculated, sharp and precise. But to hear those idiots imply their desire for you made his blood boil for reasons unclear to him. There was no other way he could have dealt with the inexplicable rage surging in his veins or the warmth that bloomed in his chest. As long as you need him to live, and as long as your heart is locked behind a code only he knows, no one can take you away from him.

Since then, he’d given you another strict order. It was admittedly a selfish and conceivably unreasonable one that he made clear. You are not to interact with any of the Harbingers unless he is also present. It seems to have worked well for the most part. They don’t ask about you as much as they used to, as much as they are dying to know of your whereabouts.

It’s satisfactory enough. He can’t have you falling into less-than-capable hands. After tearing you down and putting you back together, there is zero chance he’s letting it all slip away. You know it fully well, too, that there is no other place for you to go except with him.

Unlike the average person, you lack innate desires and greed. With or without an incentive, you’d never leave him in favour of something or someone else. What reason would there be for you to do such a thing?

None.

You have never failed him. You can’t fail him, regardless of if the probability of success is slightly above zero. If you somehow deviate from your chosen path and escape him, finding you won’t be difficult. He has the agents to subdue you if necessary and the concoction to keep you pliant. While he’d prefer not to have a single blemish on you, it may be just the right choice with the right intention.

But there won’t come a day when he’d have to make that decision. You won’t fail him. As long as he has you in his grasp, you will never leave him. As long as he stays the subject of your fealty and the cause of your existence, you will never leave him. The reassurance alone is enough to ground him once again, his anger dissipating out of his mind like smoke in the wind.

Bringing you along to Sumeru was just another part of his routine. As far as he knows, you’ve never stepped foot outside Snezhnaya both in your past and present. He could practically see the cogs and wheels in your mind turning as you observed the horizon for reconnaissance. He wasn’t very keen on letting you become too curious, but for once, he’ll consider allowing it. It was fascinating, he thought, to see you try to mask your awe with apathy.

For the first time in years, you were human, and just a naïve little thing eager for adventure.

Dottore isn’t quite one for the arts. He can appreciate beauty where it’s done, even if the words of an artist matter very little to him. It’s too abstract, he finds. There is freedom in knowledge, but there is also discipline—something that artists lack in his eyes. Yet he wonders if the poets were right to liken their subject to a warm summer day. If seeing the glimmer in your eyes and your parted lips is how his mind interprets art to be.

(Are those worshippers right, in the end, when they swear ‘til death do us part’ to their lovers?)

He saw that wondrous expression again in the Joururi Workshop.

There was a lot to behold in those chambers: Shouki no Kami lighting up to life, the purple lightning streaks running across the surface. In the midst of it, all he could focus on was not the result of his success, but you. The face of an awed spectator, the face he’d see in the devout. He didn’t think too long about it, however. A sudden wave of annoyance crashed over him and so he took his eyes off you and back to his creation. He didn’t care how long you were in that flabbergasted state. He didn’t care for trivial things, he thought, albeit more bitterly than he’d anticipated.

There are a lot of things he could (and has) stripped you of. Your innate curiosity is not one of them. It’s not as if he could’ve stopped the questions in your mind from rising. He didn’t tell you much about the collaboration with the Akademiya. It wasn’t necessarily his intention to leave you in the dark about it, but when he thinks of your reverie again, he decides it was for the best.

Scaramouche is considerably more… sentient than you are, and Dottore is a careful man. The way you stared at that puppet was telling enough. The fewer interactions you have with him, the better. You picking up his opinions and attitude certainly isn’t ideal. Of course, he has a plan in case something like that were to happen, though he’d prefer not to use it.

He’s grown fond of the current you, after all.

Though a natural sceptic of fate and divine intervention, today the heavens have taken the victory. They mock him and laugh in his face, at his expense, as his beloved pet project grows fascinated with something else before his very eyes. As much as he hated to think of it, it was inevitable that you’d meet Scaramouche one day. Despite the other Harbinger having acknowledged you once (just to insult you, he thought indignantly), the more pressing matter at hand isn’t Scaramouche.

It is you.

He figures he’ll have to get you under control soon, if not now. Yet at the same time, the scholar in him questions. What would you think of the new ‘god’ from what you already know of devotion? What would you pray for at the altar in the throes of desperation?

Would you still look at him with the same loyalty and—dare he say it—love if your ‘heart’ lies in someone else’s hands?

He’s never been one to let his emotions take the reins. He leads himself with rationality and logic. Reason is a bigger priority than sentiment, he finds. And yet, he fully resents the implication of you finding someone else to belong to other than him. It is irrational to think of it. Keeping you in his clutches comes as easy as breathing does. With your body inside and out under his control, it leaves little to no reason for you to need somebody else.

As fun as it is to nudge you back in the right direction, he isn’t always as cruel as he seems. You’ve always been an inquisitive thing, which is why he has you record all of his musings and disorganised thoughts. You care about his work and you guard his laboratory in his absence like the perfect guard dog. Letting you wander about is relatively harmless, but he’d prefer to be able to keep his eyes on you.

The snowy mountains and frosted ground of Snezhnaya are all you know. In Sumeru, there is fauna and flora that you’ve never seen. Scaramouche is one of them. With him being a deviation from what little you truly know, it definitely wouldn’t take very long for you to develop some sort of fascination for him.

Were it someone he knew who wasn’t at all a threat, Dottore would’ve let it slide. He doesn’t find Scaramouche a threat per se, but the situation raises concerns regardless. As apathetic as you are to most occurrences, you won’t stay that way for long. What he saw on the journey to Sumeru is proof enough. After so many years, you could feel once more the wind in your hair as you breathed in the scent of the ocean. You could feel the sun’s rays warming your skin in ways Snezhnayan skies never have.

Contrary to what he’d initially told you, he never ‘took away’ your sensitivity or implanted a new one. All it took was small doses of anaesthesia and a new command—subdue anyone who lets their touch linger on you for too long. It worked for a while, but he decided to slowly lessen and eventually stop those doses. That was for your benefit as well. A new research question, one could say. How would someone unfeeling handle new sensations all at once? How touch-starved would you become?

Would you seek him out just like you used to?

Unfamiliar sensations inadvertently affect your mind, and you’ll learn once again what you crave more or desire less. He remembers the night you fully became his, all in mind, body and soul. How pliant you were and how you never ran away even when things became too much. How the most featherlight of touches would have you caving in, melting in his hold. He knows you like the back of his hand. He made sure that he would be the sole one who gets to be this close.

Yet for reasons he just can’t fathom, his plans of keeping you all to himself had gone awry.

Months have passed since the incident, and he finds himself equally infuriated thinking about how flustered you were when Childe dared to touch you. It was a minuscule gesture, not one you were unfamiliar with—a hand on the small of your back gently urging you in the direction you were supposed to go. For some reason unknown to him, it managed to fluster you somehow. Your eyes widened and you stumbled over your words, much to the younger Harbinger’s delight.

Incredibly irksome was what it was.

Dottore never denies that he is a selfish man. He won’t deny that he missed seeing your expressions from torture to bliss, either. Your reactivity was what he liked most about you. Here, he contemplates whether to put you under that treatment again. He doesn’t want to do it so soon, not when he wants to see it all coming back to you. Robotic and unfeeling is what people expect you to be, but what he misses is the vividness of your emotions—your fear, anger, sorrow, and joy.

“Isn’t it fascinating to discover something new? To feel something new?”

Yes, this is for your benefit and his. You’ll get to learn what it’s like to be a being of science, someone who dares to challenge the divine with pure knowledge. You’ll get to feel what you have lost, and he’ll get to watch as it changes you for the worse or the better. It doesn’t matter what the outcome is; you are ultimately his to own, his to toy with. This is just like any other experiment. It should be.

Regardless, it is hard to keep the annoyance at bay. It’s unclear how Scaramouche is going to interact with you. Between your endless patience (sometimes he wishes you’d just snap and show him what he’d missed these past years) and Scaramouche’s lack thereof, there is no clear vision of what will happen. It wouldn’t make sense to send you back to Snezhnaya so hastily, either. As far as he’s concerned, your presence is imperative, and who knows what’ll happen if he isn’t there to watch over you?

“Troublesome little pet,” he mutters. You’ve distracted him from his work again.

—

Pardis Dhyai tends to be a lively place. Scholars walk past each other at the plaza, some sit together on the grass and chat about what is on their minds. Crowds are hardly foreign to the Doctor, but he prefers to have his privacy. The more you visit here, the more you begin to think that you are the same way.

Today, however, the crowd is nowhere to be seen.

The indoor gardens are barren with only you as its visitor. No conversations can be heard in the background. Birds chirp a cheery tune beyond the forest and the running water flows in the fountain endlessly. You barely make a sound as you continue your exploration, observing the flowers you’ve never seen back in Snezhnaya. Hills of ice and snow hardly make a suitable environment for these florae, so it comes as no surprise that botany here surpasses home. It’s pleasing to the eyes, far more colourful than the glow of blue lights and drab walls you typically see.

The Doctor is busy in a meeting back at the Akademiya with the Grand Sage and a couple of other scholars. With the reasoning that it wasn’t something that required your attention, he’d given you permission to wander about as long as you returned before the meeting ended. It wasn’t an unreasonable request. Some of his matters are confidential, even to you who tend to be a witness to most. It doesn’t happen often, and when it does, you don’t find it an abnormality.

Still, much like that day in the workshop, doing nothing proves to be a most difficult task.

Despite the idyllic scenery that surrounds you, you feel hollow. Quite the oddity—you’ve always presumed that this is what romantics seek and what artists hope to immortalise on their canvases. Yet with the unfamiliar things spread throughout the room, nothing particularly strikes your fascination. Flowers are delicate little things and your fingers are razor sharp—you can’t touch them if you wanted to. A part of you is curious about what soft touches to the skin would feel like, touches that aren’t inspection or painful.

You stop yourself before you can reach out for one of the roses. You’d prefer not to end a life without reason. You solely harm and kill those who try to harm the Doctor in one way or another. Sometimes you’d bring them to him yourself and give him a new subject to test on. It depends on what he asks of you.

The bells above the door chime. You rise on alert, razors extending from your fingertips and ready to strike. As you whip your head around, you find that it’s not an assassin, but a subject you had met days prior.

Scaramouche stares at you with an unimpressed look that borders on disgust. “What trash heap did he pick you out of?”

“He did not pick me out of a trash heap,” you reply, suddenly irrationally irked. “I don’t have memories of when we met. All I know is that he saved my life.”

“And you believe him?” His brows knit together in visible annoyance. “The second of the Harbingers, spending his valuable resources on you? Don’t make me laugh.”

“I have no reason to doubt the Doctor.”

He scoffs. “You’re hopeless.”

After deciding that he doesn’t harbour any intention of hurting you, for now, your claws retract on their own. Not a word is spoken as you keep your gaze trained on him. He walks around the garden, seemingly deep in thought and regards you no more than a handful of times. He’s much different up close than he was back in the giant machine. Without the armour, he reminds you of the Doctor’s other segments; built flawlessly with a life to him that you can’t fathom yet.

“Dottore. Is he your god?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re kissing the ground he walks on. Is that how he trained you?”

It’s not something you’ve questioned a lot in your years of servitude. A master is a master and you are his pawn. What is there to be curious about?

“It’s the least I can do for him,” you answer after a pause. “Forgive my rudeness. I don’t see how this is any of your concern.”

His hostility raises your caution and you watch warily as he approaches you. You don’t break eye contact either, blankly staring at him until he speaks up again.

“Don’t you think?”

“I still fail to see why you’re asking me such trivialities.”

Though Scaramouche likely meant the question rhetorically, your curiosity is piqued nonetheless. You are capable of thought. You are capable of judgement, and you can see how someone is feeling just by observing them. What else could you possibly ‘think’ of?

You’ve always followed orders without hesitation. The Doctor’s time is valuable; if there’s anything you wish to know, you learn of it when you’re off duty. It isn’t a regular occurrence. He has you by his side at all times and gets irritable when you wander off. You aim to please him. You aim to be the best weapon in his arsenal, so you’ll follow him for as long as he’ll let you.

(Is that what ████ would have wanted?)

“Hey,” Scaramouche snaps. “I’m talking to you.”

You return the unimpressed look. “I was contemplating your question.”

“So?”

“I’m afraid I can’t give you an answer.”

“Figures.” He rolls his eyes, dropping the issue. “What are you doing here anyway? Aren’t you supposed to be his favourite pet?”

Pretending the jabs were never said, you decide that he’s at least harmless enough for you to be honest. “I’ve been dismissed for the time being.”

It’s hard to predict what he’s thinking. The expression on his features is unreadable and leaves a strange sensation trickling down the length of your spine. Heaviness tugs at where your heart should be. You remember now—this is what you felt when the Doctor expressed his disappointment in you. Scaramouche glowers at you for reasons unknown, arms crossed over his chest much like the petulant children you see on some journeys.

“Is there a problem?”

“A problem?” He huffs a sardonic laugh. “It’s right in front of me.”

This is irregular. You’ve been trained to handle every situation possible, but for the first time in a while, you’re at a standstill. Thousands of possibilities can come from this encounter. Violence is a part of them, but considering Scaramouche’s status, it is the very last on the list.

“I don’t understand you,” he says, exasperated. |You have your own life ahead of you, but you choose to serve someone who doesn’t bat an eye at you. And you can’t tell me why you do it.”

“It’s my purpose.”

“Is it really?” He gives you a once-over head to toe then clicks his tongue, deciding that he’d gotten what he wanted out of you. “Whatever. Don’t tell him you saw me.”

Scaramouche’s words shouldn’t matter. He doesn’t know you inside and out like the Doctor does. He hasn’t repaired you with his own hands. But his questioning continues to leave you unsettled, mind wandering in directions it hasn’t been before.

You’ve never thought much about life without the Doctor. Your soul already lies within him, found itself a home within his ribcage. Your subservience is voluntary. Even if the Doctor wasn’t your saviour, you would still see him as one. Even if you didn’t owe him your submission, you would still give it to him.

He is your saving grace, your maker, your one true companion. He’s all you have. For as long as he’ll allow it, you belong to him. You are his weapon. You are his subject. You are his toy. You are his, just as you’ve always been.

Scaramouche must be doing this to get under your skin, and you are but a fool who’s allowed it to happen. You keep your glare trained on him as he eventually fades into the distance, leaving you with more thoughts than ever.

Several hours pass before you’re back in the Akademiya. The hallways are crowded, much to your dismay, but you dutifully wait at the end for your Doctor to arrive. You’re unnoticed for the most part. Frantic mutterings and crazed discussions become white noise as you lean against the wall. Your eyelids flutter shut and a quiet sigh leaves your nose while restlessness slowly brews within your chest.

“Ah, there you are. Tired?”

You straighten up. “Doctor! I… I’m sorry.”

“Poor thing.” He smiles wryly. “Seems I’ve overworked you.”

“No, I’m alright, I was…”

“I jest,” he chuckles. “Well? Shall we go?”

The walk back to the laboratory is quiet. Your sharp glare scares off curious passers-by and scholars looking for small talk with the Doctor. Meetings with the sages always leave him in a sour mood; it’s for their benefit as much as it is for him, you think.

The lights turn on one by one and machines whir to life, filling the room with low buzzing sounds. You shift your weight from one foot to another, brows furrowing in thought. Your mind tells you to talk to him about Scaramouche, but is it the right time? It’s difficult to gauge his current mood. All you know is that the unease is similar to the last time he’d been in a meeting with the other Harbingers.

“I can hear you fidgeting,” he snaps. “Spit it out.”

As suspected, nothing ever gets past him. You heave out a sigh and regain your composure, not wanting to worsen his disposition. While he’s never had an explicit rule that forbade you from interacting with the other experiments, you wonder if your interaction with Scaramouche would be considered overstepping. The uncertainty of the consequences dawns on you, sending you into a state of inquietude.

“I met Scaramouche again today,” you admit, relenting. If this is forbidden, the Doctor may have mercy on you for the first offence you were unaware of.

Attempting to gauge his mood doesn’t yield much of a result, but there’s something in the air that borders on impatience and anger. His posture, however, is relaxed as he assesses the situation on his own. The atmosphere feels tense—as tense as those pesky Harbinger meetings he’s always complained about. You can’t read him like you can the others. He never lets any vulnerability show, not the smallest tell or twitch.

“I assume he had some things to say.”

You hesitate. “He asked if I had a god.”

The noises from whatever he’s tinkering with abruptly stop.

“And what did you tell him?”

“I couldn’t give him an answer.”

He exhales through his nose, his shoulders rising and falling with the heavy breath. “I see. Don’t indulge him next time… I’d prefer it if you stayed close to me or in the laboratory.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

“One last thing, my dearest hound. You don’t need a god.” He peers over his shoulder, glancing through you from the corner of his eye. “You need me.”

—

Is he your god?

The question echoes in your head for days. It demands an answer each time the mysterious Balladeer crosses your mind. The books you read in your leisure hold no answer for you, either. Theories upon theories and centuries’ worth of history could not prepare you for the inquiry. As much information as you’ve gained, not a sliver of it helps you. If anything, more questions are raised—those of the mind and soul.

You’re well cognisant of the fact that you’re no longer human by definition, with some of your organs being synthetic. Your arms are not flesh but obsidian and the rarest metals, sharper than blades crafted by the best smiths. Cybernetics have been implanted into your eyes and your ears, enhancing your abilities as a living weapon.

But are you truly living? You follow the Doctor and sing his praises, but do you do it because you want to, or because he trained you to?

Is he your god?

The breathtaking view of the Shouki no Kami flashes before your eyes again. Everything spoken and written by the Doctor about the upcoming project echoes in your mind. Then, the image changes to those with the Doctor—him in your view as you lay pliant on the operating table, him inspecting your hands with a relaxed expression. You hear voices of the past. Voices that belong to him as they say how you were on the brink of death when he’d graciously saved you. You don’t remember anything before your ‘reawakening,’ so you trust him—they must be true.

You think again of the grandeur that resonated as Shouki no Kami stood tall in the chambers of the workshop. The violet sparks and the overwhelming awe you felt upon seeing it. He who wields the Electro Gnosis shall become stronger than anyone, strong enough to replace the previous god, and you may very well understand what the choir sings of.

If this is what Scaramouche can become—the Everlasting Lord of Arcane Wisdom himself—he falls under the definition of a god. At the same time, so does your Doctor. His infinite knowledge, his ability to create life, and his outstanding achievements that put him on a pedestal higher than everyone else all make him perfect.

Archons and the Adepti have hymns and ceremonies dedicated to their sanctity. Statues built in their likeness stand tall throughout the lands of Teyvat. Art and literature are made of them and their legendary exploits. You believe Scaramouche will have poems and symphonies in his honour one day, but is the Doctor not worthy of the same? Is the man who bestowed upon you a new life, a new identity, not as great as the divines, if not better?

You stare ahead at the blueprints pinned on the corkboard. Scrawled notes and rough sketches of current and upcoming projects are scattered throughout the surface. If all goes well, he will allow you to witness their creation at his hands and his segments’. Anything he does is always a sight to behold.

You don’t need a god. You need me.

Your loyalty doesn’t lie with the Tsaritsa. It lies with the Doctor himself. Archons don’t have any meaning to you, and thus, they do not have your trust. The one altar you will offer yourself to is not any of theirs; it’s the table where the Doctor fixes you. You need me, he had said. He is right and he never lies—gods are nothing, but he is everything. You believe him wholeheartedly.

“Zoning out? Great job, you just got him killed.”

In a flash, your claws dig into the skin of Scaramouche’s throat as you move to pin him against your chest. He scoffs sarcastically but makes no move to wrangle free, going so far as to lay his head against your shoulder with a smirk.

“That’s better.”

“How did you get in here?” Your voice is stern, levelled. If this was any other person, their throat would already be slit without a second thought, but Scaramouche is important. An essential piece to the puzzle that will be the domination of Sumeru, living evidence that not only Archons can wield a Gnosis. Your jaw clenches. “The Doctor won’t be pleased about this. You need to leave.”

“There it is. The Doctor this, the Doctor that,” he sighs, “I can’t understand you at all.”

“You need to leave,” you repeat. “Or I will cut you down where you stand.”

“You won’t.” Scaramouche chuckles. “You can’t.”

Your hands are trembling and a burning sensation crawls up your neck, engulfing you in the flames of rage. You can feel it—the lightning and the storms, all brewing within the confines of your chest. Irritated, you loosen your grip and shove him away, making it a point to keep your blades unsheathed and pointed at his throat.

“Hm. Are you always this rude?”

“I almost believe you want me to hurt you,” you hiss.

He grins impishly. “Really?”

“Talk.”

“Fine,” he says with an exaggerated sigh. “Tell me, hound, have you ever experienced betrayal?”

Your brows furrow. “I don’t see how this is important.”

He shrugs. The gesture, albeit minuscule, makes visions of violence run through your mind, visions of bloodshed and mercilessness. Your hand does not waver from where it points at his jugular. Unfazed, he continues, “Don’t you think he’ll betray you one day?”

“I trust him,” you cut in. “Without question.”

With a bored expression, one akin to an impatient teacher, he softly swats your hand away from him. You don’t push back, though you stand guarded—using force remains an option.

“Dottore doesn’t need you. He already has his segments,” he drawls, pretending to check the dirt under his nails. “You’re only there as a toy.”

As irritated as you feel, something in the back of your mind tells you to listen to him.

It’s not that you’re unaware that you are a test subject. Because of your enhanced durability and patience, he often seeks you out for his experiments. You’ve had plenty of substances and chemicals injected into your bloodstream. You’ve been pushed to your limits until he deems it satisfactory. You bear all the pain he inflicts on you and you melt under his touch when he repairs you himself.

Your existence revolves around him. Your body does not belong to you—it belongs to him, and he shall do whatever he pleases with it. This is the life you’ve accepted. This is your pride. This is your ‘dream.’

But it doesn’t explain the weight upon your shoulders. The anxiety lodged in your throat, the numbness spreading across your skin, the chill trickling down your spine. The sense that there is something wrong, very wrong, but nothing points to anything. All the paths ahead of you lead to him. Where are the ones without him?

No matter. You don’t exist to think.

“I’m doing my role,” you say with finality.

It’s a response you have said many times, whether to attempted assassins or lesser agents, yet somehow, the words don’t feel like they’re yours. They’re automated, rehearsed. You shake it off. Routines aren’t out of the ordinary. Following a pattern is merely a part of what you do.

He scoffs. “Fool. You just don’t get it.”

You feel like you should. You feel that there is more weight to his words than he’s letting on, but you simply can’t see this from a new perspective. What you’re doing—how you live now—is enough, and the fulfilment that comes after the Doctor’s praise is something you always aim for.

They can call you whatever they want. His pet, his guard dog, his toy, none of it matters. The only person you listen to is the Doctor. Without him, you are nothing. Without him, you have no purpose.

Then what will you do without him? When he inevitably decides that you are no longer needed, that a replacement would suffice? Every image that comes after is out of your control. The Doctor isn’t afraid of discarding things he deems useless. Would he dismantle you, hide you away until he needs you again? Would he throw you into the same pile as all of his broken segments? Would he decide to dispose of you entirely, shutting down all of your systems and turning your world into a void?

An invisible knot lodges within your throat and your mouth goes dry, uncomfortably so. Sweat beads at the crown of your head and the tremors in your hands are becoming harder to hide. The room spins and renders your vision distorted. You purse your lips, doing your best to keep the instabilities in check. You cannot show weakness. Anyone can turn against you in the blink of an eye.

“Is that all?” you speak up after a beat of silence. The shakiness in your words is more audible than you anticipated. “I will ask you one more time. Leave.”

Scaramouche watches you with an unreadable expression before he thankfully does as demanded without further argument. Your chest feels tight as you glare daggers at the door, keeping your ears trained to hear if the footsteps are going quiet as they should be. The razors on your fingertips retract. It is over.

Shaking your head, you return to the task at hand, unaware of the blinking light in the corner of the room monitoring your every move.

—

The laboratory becomes less of a frequent sight as you are given more tasks to do.

No longer are you needed to wait on the Doctor hand and foot outside the conference room. No longer are you needed to guard him in the workshop. Your time is spent lurking in the shadows, waiting for the opportune time to strike. He has you stay so close yet so far away, demanding your presence one moment then dismissing you the next.

The aberration in routine is too drastic to ignore. You’ve begun to analyse him the same way you do with your kill targets, mentally cataloguing his every action in an attempt to discover a common factor. You broke down everything he said, trying to find any hidden meanings behind them, to see if he speaks to you in riddles. Just like the attempt to search for who you were, you found nothing.

Naturally, you concluded that he is hiding something from you. He’s more adamant about being left alone while he works on a little project. His segments are the ones carrying out the tasks you are usually assigned to. When you’re not on reconnaissance, you’re left with the chores. It’s not entirely unusual for him to command you without further explanation. The tasks are simple enough, but the sudden shift brings forth unwanted anxieties.

You wonder if this is a gateway to something worse. The dismissals and growing lack of conversation remind you of someone no longer interested in what they used to love. With the Doctor’s eccentricities to begin with, nothing aids the formation of a relevant hypothesis or predicts a pattern. Some nights you’d find yourself trying to pick out past mistakes, any errors you might’ve missed, only to be met with nothing. You’d feel strangely heated—upset—being reminded of the possibility that he has simply tired of you.

You’ve always given your all in what he asks of you. If he needs someone killed, you do it clean, untraceable and unsuspecting. If he needs you to retrieve something, you make it seem like what you’ve stolen has never left. You lay yourself on the operating table when he demands it, let him inject toxin upon toxin into your vessels. You’ve been the perfect puppet for as long as you can remember, but is it not enough for him? Does he want more from you?

Maybe it’s his current collaboration with the sages of the Akademiya that is making him neglect you. Shouki no Kami is no small feat and the Doctor is meticulous. He could be devoting more of his time to perfecting the project. A burst of jealousy clouds your mind at the thought. Surely a project he’s had for centuries will be more interesting and resourceful than what you can offer him.

And yet, his demeanour every time you come across him contradicts everything you’ve suspected. He hasn’t been behaving particularly strangely. His mood is still quick to change and his temperance with the other scholars is as turbulent as ever. He still wordlessly watches you complete his orders, fingers drumming against his arm as he’s deep in contemplation. There shouldn’t be room for suspicions, but there is, and the lingering unease has started to hinder your progress.

You come to realise that perhaps this is what he’s called you here for.

The room is eerily quiet as the Doctor leers at you from where he leans against the workbench. You’re kneeling before him, eyes cast on the ground while you wait for him to speak. You don’t remember the last time you failed him, much less trigger a change in his temper. Your mind races with possible punishments he could inflict on you. Would he isolate you from the rest of the world? Would he shut you down for days on end, waking you when he decides you’ve learnt your lesson?

A sinking feeling settles in the pit of your stomach. You don’t have to see it to know his features are marred with ire, his lips pressed in a taut frown. The impatient tapping of his foot seems to accelerate your train of thought, sending tremors to your frame. His glare burns into you and suddenly you feel all too exposed, vulnerable, and it is here that you realise that you are afraid.

But the scolding you were preparing yourself for never happens.

Instead, you feel a cold and heavy object wrapping around your neck and locking with an audible click. With a gloved hand, he takes hold of your chin with a disturbingly gentle touch, tilting your head up to meet his. You feel his breaths quickening against your cheeks, excitement bubbling in his blood at the confused expression on your face.

“Just as I suspected,” he whispers, voice tinged in manic delight. “It suits you. But…”

Searing heat rushes around your neck and tears spring forth as you look up at him wide-eyed, lips parted in shock. Words die at the tip of your tongue, dissolving into nothing. Still, you don’t move or ask. You aren’t supposed to. Much like an obedient child, you sit and wait, even as you feel as though you’re going to collapse. The burn on your neck gradually wanes with time, the pain fading away but leaving behind a red trail in its wake.

He crouches down beside you and grazes his fingertips over the fresh wound, causing you to involuntarily wince. His glee is more than evident with how he holds your face in his hands and inspects you with pride.

“Why…”

“Why?” The mirth on his features immediately twists into a scowl. “Are you questioning me, pet?”

Your reply is instant and without a second thought, your mind unable to register the underlying threat in his question. “Is… Is that what I am, Doctor?”

“You are whatever I want you to be. Does that not suffice?” He presses against the wound, visibly overjoyed by the choked noise you let out. “Have you forgotten your place, pet?”

“No!” you gasp, tears streaming down your cheeks in rivulets. You don’t remember the last time you cried—you thought you couldn’t—but they flow on their own, uncontrollable and never-ending. “I’m sorry!”

It hurts. You feel as though you’re being torn apart by the neck, skin burnt and blistered at the Doctor’s will. Is this what he had wanted? Is this the foreign stimulus he needed to see your reaction to? Your pain tolerance was high and allowed you to withstand any trial he put you through. Did he take that away just to see you squirm? Just so he could hurt you himself?

For someone so unfamiliar with feelings now, everything comes back to you in full force. While you knew that the Doctor never saw anyone as his equal, the degrading act hits you harder than anything could ever do. You were proud of your duty of serving him, of being the subject he always looked for, but you are now lost in a void.

“I asked for one simple thing.” Whatever joy he previously had is all gone. The gentleness in his touch becomes harsh, fingers pressing against the collar again to rub your wound. “And my dearest little hound ignores it.”

“It hurts, Doctor, please—”

“Have I not been clear enough?” he continues, ignoring your cries. “Must I spell it out myself?”

The pedestal you put him on crumbles into pieces, surrounded by a cloud of dust and smoke. The holy light is replaced with unbounded darkness and the marble flooring is splattered with blood and broken parts. In the destruction, you see your lifeless body lying among the faceless, and all he does is watch as you wither away with his old selves.

“You treat this as a punishment,” he says with disappointment, breaking you out of the dreamscape you’d found yourself in. “But I implore you to consider it a gift.”

Not waiting for your reply, he continues. “A reminder of sorts. For you and for anyone who looks at you. It was quite the hassle deciding between this or reworking you entirely.” He shoves you away and gets back on his feet, slowly pacing around the room as he speaks. “I’d have to start over from zero again.”

You don’t understand. You don’t know what reworking entails, and you don’t know what he means by starting over. All you can do is stare blankly at the tear-stained ground as your body becomes static and shuts out everything around you. Only he and you exist in this void. Only he is in control.

“I made you myself. Gave you a body when you had nothing.” He stops in his tracks, hands behind his back. “And you repay me with disloyalty.”

It’s been days since you last spoke to Scaramouche. You haven’t seen him since, and here the Doctor is, punishing you for something that was out of your control. A part of you screams at you to fight back, to tell him that he was the one who sought after you, but all you can do is tremble where you stand. You want to apologise, despite your instincts telling you not to. That the Doctor is lying to you, just as he likely did before.

“Please,” is all that leaves you in a broken whisper. Defiance brings nothing. You’ve learnt it the hard way, you know you have, even if you can’t remember what it was. Briefly, you question if he’s ever taken control of your memories, forming a faux story for you to remember. The dreadfulness is enough to answer the question.

He sighs, disinterested. “As thrilling as this is, you are wasting my time. I have duties to attend to.”

“Doctor…”

“Stay here and wait for my return. Do not leave our quarters. Am I clear?”

You feel as though you’ve been through this before. Visions come to mind, but none of the vignettes play; only a sense of familiarity and hurt remain. There is something about his effortless cruelty that hovers just out of your reach and keeps you in a perpetual state of insecurity. Are you not enough? Haven’t you done enough?

Hasn’t he had enough?

Numbly, you nod, your voice wavering as you finally manage to speak, “Yes, Doctor.”

—

As time passes, you come to realise that your punishment was only an interlude for something worse.

The Traveller’s arrival in Sumeru and the failure of the Sabzeruz festival had thrown a wrench into the Doctor’s plans. More disagreements between him and the sages occurred, none of which you knew of, but his mood grew more dour with each passing moment. You haven’t seen Scaramouche since he’d broken into the laboratory that night, and there’s a nagging thought telling you that you won’t see him again, either.

He’d been defeated at the hands of the Traveller with the aid of the Dendro Archon and disappeared, presumably under their custody. Years worth of work had fallen apart in a blink of an eye. The Grand Sage and his underlings were swift to surrender to the Mahamatra himself, forcing the operation to a halt. The people of Sumeru were freed from the influence of the corrupted Akasha terminals, and ‘the good’ began to rebuild what they had lost.

Meanwhile, the ones who had been on the verge of victory were left with the scraps.

The Doctor had returned from his negotiation with the Dendro Archon with more irritation than when he’d left. As per agreement with her, he’d destroyed his remaining segments stationed throughout Sumeru. In return, she gave him her Gnosis. Though it seemed like a fair deal, it did nothing to lift his spirits. He didn’t believe in wasted effort—how could he, when it’s in everything he does?—but there was not a moment of hesitation when he decided to abandon the project entirely.

It was a clear enough sign: he saw it as an utter failure.

A part of you is curious (or worried?) about what will become of Scaramouche now that he’s no longer needed. The Doctor either completely abandons his projects or destroys them. With Scaramouche missing, will he be hunted or presumed dead? Will you come across him again one day? He’d left behind only a husk of what he could’ve been, a being at heights you don’t know he can reach again.

And now, all that is left to do is to salvage what you can from the disaster.

What used to be filled with sounds of whirring cogs and wheels is now completely silent as the machines are no longer in motion. The metallic walls haven’t changed in their dreariness and the lights flicker on and off overhead. The centrepiece lies in ruins, smothered by dust and rubble as the last of its vibrancy begins to dull completely. You can see broken concrete and shards of glass everywhere, a visible mark of what had woefully transpired in the last twenty-four hours.

It’s a stark difference from the first time you’d been here. The chambers are devoid of people and it’s daunting, more so with what remains of Shouki no Kami. The god has died before it can bless its people, leaving behind remnants of its power and godless land. What was meant to be a hall of worship had become a battlefield, a site of devastation and loss. Your gaze drifts back to the Doctor standing before the disaster.

If you had a heart, it would ache for him and weep.

You know he’d chide you for the sympathy you have for him. He’d make you remember that your ‘emotions’ are his, that he’s the sole person who gets to break you and build you back together. Still, you can’t help but feel sorrowful on his behalf. He’ll get back up and come up with a better plan; he’ll never crawl or bow in the face of an obstacle. He will move forward and you will continue to trail behind him, just like the loyal dog he wants you to be.

You’re reminded of the question Scaramouche had posed to you before—the question of whether the Doctor is your god. As it stands, you find that you still don’t have an answer for him. You don’t know what a god is supposed to be. You don’t know how close you can be to a god. You don’t know what makes the perfect god, if it’s benevolence or evil that constitutes their power.

You’ve heard stories of cruel gods: the fall of Khaenri’ah, the Raiden Shogun’s tyranny; stories about Rex Lapis at the height of his time as a warrior and those punished by Celestia. You’ve heard of the kind ones, those who created life and allowed them happiness beyond the waters. The Archons are all worshipped for different reasons: the grant of freedom, the discipline of contracts, the pursuit of wisdom and the like.

You wonder if zealots ever find themselves in the same position as you: lost in a paradox without a clear path. When you look at him, you see salvation, but in that salvation, you also see ruin. The Doctor gives, and the Doctor takes away. You picture yourself kneeling before his feet and feel nothing, yet you can’t see yourself following anyone else but him.

Then what are you supposed to be?

Your existence relies on him. Your life belongs to him. Your purpose is to be at his beck and call, by his side, beneath him, anywhere he needs you. A life without him would lead to nothing—or would it? Would you break free and find a life of your own like Scaramouche has? Your heart sinks into your bowels at the fogged outcome. You don’t know if it’s fear or ‘love’ that holds you back from thinking of freedom. You don’t know if you need it or if you don’t.

Were you to ask him what you are, he’d let the question linger and let it go forgotten. Were you to ask him who you were, he’d tell you a different story from the last, and there’d be no way of finding out what is the truth.

(Do you need to?)

“It’s about time we returned.”

The Doctor stops just by your side and faintly tilts his head towards you. He seems to be staring at something on your face but says nothing. Without another word, he marches forward and you dutifully follow him until you reach the same port you’d first arrived in.

The ship was docked and already filled with the other agents who’d gotten it ready for the long voyage back to Snezhnaya. It softly bobs in the waves as the Doctor boards, ignoring the salutes and greetings he is given. With your head down, you take post on the deck of the ship.

You feel gazes burning on your back. Behind masks, the surrounding agents are undoubtedly staring at the burns around your neck and the collar that lays atop it. A sense of shame washes over you and you instinctively bring your hand up to cover it, your eyes cast on the wooden floors beneath. It makes you overly aware of the collar’s presence, bringing back the tingles on your skin and memories of the pain inflicted by the Doctor.

He may take the collar off of you when his whims call for it in the future, but the scar burnt into your skin will still be visible. Owning you alone wasn’t enough of a tangible claim over you. Keeping your heart locked away in his quarters wasn’t enough proof of his ownership. Breaking you apart and putting you back together wasn’t enough reassurance that he was in total control.

It should all hurt you—it does—but a voice in your head tells you that the Doctor is not an unreasonable man. It’s soft, timid, and nostalgic in a way that makes you think of summer days and toothy smiles. It’s doused in affection akin to a king’s loyal servant feeling for their master. The voice belongs to a person unknown, though you feel that they’re closer to you than you think. Conflicted, you shakily exhale, the sea breeze turning your skin cold and your eyes dry.

Is he your god?

The question sounds once more, and you find that you have an answer this time—the Doctor is not your god, but if he were, then he is one who has forsaken you.

[scorbleeo]

Book Chat: Minor Detail

by Adania Shibli and Elisabeth Jaquette (translator)

Source: Google Images

Minor Detail begins during the summer of 1949, one year after the war that the Palestinians mourn as the Nakba—the catastrophe that led to the displacement and exile of some 700,000 people—and the Israelis celebrate as the War of Independence. Israeli soldiers murder an encampment of Bedouin in the Negev desert, and among their victims they capture a Palestinian teenager and they rape her, kill her, and bury her in the sand.

Many years later, in the near-present day, a young woman in Ramallah tries to uncover some of the details surrounding this particular rape and murder, and becomes fascinated to the point of obsession, not only because of the nature of the crime, but because it was committed exactly twenty-five years to the day before she was born. Adania Shibli masterfully overlays these two translucent narratives of exactly the same length to evoke a present forever haunted by the past.

ISBN: 9780811229074 (2020) | Source: Goodreads

How Do I Even Do This?

I went into Minor Detail blind and I can't tell if it was a mistake because even after being confused and afterwards thinking I got some explanation off the synopsis, I was still confused. It was until I was somewhere in chapter 2 that I finally understood what was happening. Or at least, I finally linked the synopsis with the book I was reading.

I hate to say this but this book was not for me. I wanted to feel so much emotions, it became stifling to read Minor Detail. Unfortunately, because of the way it was written, it was not easy to feel. My experience was merely reading the words, comprehending the meaning and moving on. This experience was made worse because be it the writing style or the translation, it was very descriptive writing. Unfortunately, how does one connect with the story if the extremely descriptive writing just does not allow any connection to happen? Imagine reading a textbook of a subject you have interest in, it is not unnecessarily boring, but you're just reading texts and gaining extra/new knowledge. That connection a reader likes with a book was missing here.

I'm not exactly saying Minor Detail was a bad book, nor am I saying the writing style is bad. I do like the writing style. Sadly, this book just did not give me what I was truly looking for.

Rating: ★★☆☆☆

More translated fiction here: Convenience Store Woman | Cursed Bunny | The Three-Body Problem

[lucheng-shu]

I have a query, and do feel free to disregard it should it not suit. In fact, it's hardly efficient me asking at all, and in some ways I see myself getting too attached, but I cannot seem to stop myself.

I have an associate who is interested in learning sylvan cookery, but I myself never learnt any recipes. It wasn’t my station, you understand. Could you possibly tell me any recipes that would be of use to them? Or, more generally, any that you would deem adequate. They are a talented chef, passionate, and while I could simply hand them off to a new friend ally of mine, I feel reluctant to do so. Do not worry for their ability, though some ingredients more native to the feywild may be harder to source.

What foods do you like? Writing this, I realise I don't know. I owe you to be known in that, at least.

6.11.1069, 19:13

On the contrary, I’m overjoyed you asked. Thank you for thinking of me, friend.

In my recent stay here, I’ve been enjoying more Tanxue food than usual; my dealings beforehand were mostly with courts belonging to the Gaofeng school of thought. The lovely people here have been treating me to ginger and scallion crab, and it’s simply delightful! I don’t want to fill the pages (is that possible?) with the recipe, out of mere politeness, so I’m sure that simply the ingredients will do, if your friend is truly so talented. It is not a challenge; I believe you, you would not so clearly lie to me like that. I do prattle on, so here are the ingredients:

crab (live or frozen)

ginger

green onion

clove garlic

cornstarch

corn oil (or other neutral oil)

oil (reserved from frying crab pieces)

water

oyster sauce

soy sauce

tamari soy sauce

white pepper

sugar

cooking wine

sesame oil

As for Gaofeng cuisine I enjoy, an old friend of mine would always prepare great feasts when my partner and I would visit. He needed the meat to grow, and it’s hard to get a hold of meat up in the mountain, so more often than not I would… conveniently be busy for most of the meal. Many of the disciples would cave and eat before I returned. In the end, I would be left with the pea jelly and rice noodles. That is to say, I have a soft spot for simple food like that, and it’s not such an honour down here, but when I see disciples eat chicken feet I can’t help but be reminded of his grin. He’d have it stuck in his teeth for days.

[doodledork01]

Fucked around; tried seeing what would happen if Kenny and Knifey somehow had a child, and here we are! I made the little ankle-biter in Gacha Life 2. You can draw her in your style, if ya want! (if you don't know what to do with her; you can make something where she meets her grandma; kenny's dad, for the first time?)

Name: Sydney

Age: [Unknown; you're allowed to make it convenient to the storyline ya got goin]

Species: Gatlian Cross-Breed (currently unknown to me whatever the hell Knifey is)

Gun/Gatlian Variant (currently undiscovered; until now): Grappling Hook

Personality: Skittish, and rather talkative; once you get her to open up. She has crippling anxiety that her friends might ditch her at the slightest mistake she makes. She's rather optimistic; trying to see the bright-side of things. However; due to one of her fathers being from a species biologically equipped for murder; she's extremely volatile! A ticking time-bomb, if you will. She's actually really nice, and it's easy for her to tell if something's wrong; a good companion if you need someone to talk to.

Use; if she was present in-game: Makes getting around dense forestry much easier, and the hooks can actually pierce a material if it's soft enough. Can't really pierce more than flesh or cardboard; due to Sydney still being young. If equipped; she increases the range at which enemies can be heard; you can hear chittering, when she hears a potential threat; warning the player to tread carefully. Her hooks can clasp together; forming a spear-like thing, impaling the enemy, and drag the enemy closer; whilst eliminating half of their health; if they're just a grunt. She'll often spew random facts about the local Flora and Fauna; which'll actually come in handy later. Some plants can be used to heal the players & gatlians involved, possibly upgrade the suit, and even aid in weakening mini-bosses/legitimate bosses.

Extra Information: She fucking hates how people will think she'll be nothing more than a ruthless killer; merely because of who one of her parents are. She's actually scarily intelligent for her age, and she's friendly! However; one of her fathers (knifey) tries to encourage her to embrace the killer instinct. She (respectfully) rejects that, and she's trying to be peaceful. Sydney has a habit of being jittery when she's nervous, and being talkative.

Academics (Social Life, and Grades): She's socially awkward, and gets really happy when someone doesn't pick on her for not being a pure-blooded Gatlian, or is just willing to listen to her rant about exotic plants. Her interest in plants is why she took her school's Agricultural Program up! However; speaking of her getting picked on... She doesn't want to tell her dads; because she knows that Knifey might turn a school-day into a fucking masacre if anyone hurt his baby. She actually pulls A's and B's; except in math, as her math teacher is a little bit of a bitch (and math sucks for me to).

She only has one close friend; the person she's friends with is actually fairly well-known; due to them winning multiple art competitions.

This is really good! I’m not doing any free requests right now, so I probably won’t draw it, but you did a great job creating the character, keep it up!

[pretty-little-martyr]

hi I'm sorry if this is. idk awkward but I saw your tags on that post about changing how people talk about getting gynecologic care and you might want to look into vaginismus. It's a condition that causes those muscles to tighten up often very painfully anytime any sort of penetration is attempted. Physical therapy, dilators and muscles relaxers can help but ofc its something that should be discussed with a doctor to make sure you're getting the correct treatment. ALSO! You can request laughing gas for pap smears and other invasive gyno procedures. It is something they do. Usually if you tell them any insertion at all is extremely painful it'll be offered but if not you can ask for it. Some places might be able to do full sedation but I think that'd just depend on the facilities since that would require an anesthesiologist as well

and also vaginismus is like extremely super common (iirc at least 20% of people with vaginas experience it at some point in their lives) the problem is just that nobody talks about it because well. Society. this is not something abnormal or wrong with you in a bad way, it's just a medical condition that you happen to have and need accommodations for. if that helps at all

hey thank you for reaching out fr, it's not weird at all! ive been trying to figure out if it's that or just general "pelvic floor problems" whatever that entails. im getting HRT/gender care from Planned Parenthood these days, and they have told me i would Have to get another exam/smear next year (which i am terrified about tbqh) and they've mentioned they'd give me something or other to help, probably laughing gas like you've said (which ive never actually had).

i did tell that gyno that i'd never put anything in me and that even tampons were horribly painful, and their reaction was to act like i was crazy and lying and that never happens to anybody lmao the woman literally stared at me as if she was waiting for me to say 'haha just kidding' and asked me like 3 times over if i was sure i was a virgin at my big age (21 at the time). even after i was crying and bleeding and having a panic attack they were incredibly apathetic towards me. so! yeah. to be quite honest i'm not interested in dilators or physical therapy--not to knock them, i just want my whole shit removed, so why put in that effort and (probably) gain new trauma from putting things in me, yknow? the mere concept kinda makes me ill. im considering looking into surgery sometime soon-ish. my family might lose their shit about it, but, i dont think they can stop me now that i live by myself, and unless their insurance blocks it, i should be good to go on that.

anyway. id be so down to get fully sedated for it. put me under for like 30 minutes to get all that shit done and i dont have to be present for it or acknowledge it at all thanks. also might help in general, if the muscle tightening is something semi-voluntary/if that even is my issue. ive also considered if i just have a very small hole. i think thats referred to as a neovagina? i dunno.

i really appreciate these asks <3 very kind of you and. somehow i did not really register the potential of asking a different doctor about their thoughts on it i guess ASDFGHJK i just sort of. the initial event was traumatizing enough i still sometimes have nightmares, which is super dope, and remembering it too hard makes me feel very violated, so really i try not to talk about it so much. i was super fucking stoned last night, is probably why i even left those tags jhgvbhnjkm.

tldr thank you for your kindness and i am really hoping my next exam will feature me either Unconscious or Off My Ass On Laughing Gas Or Something. if theres some chance i HAVE to keep my equipment rather than getting surgery i may genuinely look into therapies just for my own convenience but beyond that i just really ... really do not want any items up in there.

[faintlyof]

oh yeah, i had another like...full-length series dream a few days back. i really liked it so i thought about it a long time so i wouldnt forget it all but it was really really long so naturally i dont remember the whole thing. literally, it couldve had a full season of episodes or something. watching All of Us Are Dead reminded me

lets see how much i remember

dream sequence under the cut

i honestly dont remember the very beginning and the dream was laid out very much like a tv show, with details about the start getting revealed way after the fact

but it took place in a large city. a city that grew upward.

one day, an infection started spreading. a zombie-like infection. people tried to escape, but very few could actually make it out of the boundary of the city. people died in droves. absolute carnage as far as the eye could see.

i managed to survive. picking my way through buildings, trying to avoid detection, i somehow made it through the first major wave. at this point, the government had managed to barricade all the entry and exit points to the city. escape was no longer possible.

there were no connections to the outside world. networks were down, though electricity remained in some places.

i came across other survivors and we stuck together, just trying to survive. over time, it nearly became routine. until the helicopter started coming.

thinking it was salvation, survivors rushed to flag the helicopter down, but the helicopter merely dropped some things and left again. the drops typically contained some supplies, some food, some medicine, occasionally a weapon, but sometimes they were completely empty.

once, when some survivors went to greet the helicopter, a hail of bullets greeted them. trust in the helicopter fell further.

my group found a convenience store that hadnt been pillaged or damaged yet and we made a base there. it was so bright inside and the temperature was cool and unchanging. there was a sense of normalcy as myself and another girl contemplated which pasta salad to eat.

one of our guys, a real techno whiz, got to work with the registers computer, trying to see if he could contact the outside world. there were some surveillance files on it. camera footage. he found footage dating back to the day it had all started. that day there had been a network outage. a woman and her daughter had been at the convenience store and when the network went down, the woman had rushed out and left her daughter there. telling her to wait for her to call and tell her it was safe to come home. the girl, already a bit roughed up, paced by the convenience stores phone for hours. the staff tried to fix the phone, but all they could do was wait. the girl rushed out of the store when the screaming started.

there was other camera footage as well. security cameras within the store, around the perimeter, and, with some work, we were able to access other cameras along the same network beyond the store.

thats when we found something unexpected.

some of these cameras were in very interesting locations or pointed to very interesting things. like packs of zombies or groups of other survivors. and there was an external connection we could not access.

that was the first night the helicopter came to attack. they opened fire on anything that moved, zombie or otherwise. children, adults, animals, no one was spared. the helicopter began shooting into buildings as well. windows became the enemy.

we started finding camera that looked as though they had been set up recently. or set up hastily on tripods in various places.

fires started taking down buildings where survivors had made their bases, forcing them to run, often times directly into the waiting zombies jaws. or into the waiting helicopters bullets.

pieces started clicking together. the cameras, the lack of outside contact, the helicopter that sometimes helped and sometimes hurt, the herding into deaths jaws. we were being watched and, more importantly, someone was enjoying the show.

upon this revelation, our dwindling group of survivors decided to try and work our way towards the forest on the outskirts of the city.

as we made our way there, a lone helicopter seemed determined to stop us at all costs. luckily for us, a newer member of our group was ex-military and knew more in detail about this helicopter. most importantly, that this was not the average military helicopter, but a special ops one, equipped with heat-seeking missiles. we needed to disable the cameras at all costs. they could track our movements and predict our actions easily.

one large building became a battleground between the helicopter and one of our members. she was somehow faster than the missiles, but the building went down with her in it anyway. our ex-military guy left us, following a hunch, and told us to keep going and he’d rejoin us. he had figured out where the helicopter was landing and got inside.

there was a broadcast station inside, showing all the remaining survivors, showing the hordes of zombies roaming every inch of the city, showing the high fence that had been constructed just outside the city limits, and showing the hundreds of watch towers and armed personnel standing guard around the fence. names and figures scrolled across some screens, blinking out of existence each time another survivor died.

he made his way to the top floor and found the one office in use. someone was on the phone, talking about how it was almost over. the next day, the armed personnel stationed outside the city would storm in and clear the place with force. there would be no survivors.

he recognized this persons voice. it was a general he had once served under in the military. but there was no recognition is his eyes as our guy put two bullets through his brain.

he returned to us to tell us the news. we went back to the building to check for ourselves, but we knew he was right. in the end, our group had 6 survivors in the end, and as we worked our way back through the city, we picked up another 12 people. we told everyone we came across about our grim fate. soldiers would be bursting through the gates and killing everyone. we decided to take our last moments into our own hands.

we made our way back to the forest where we had hoped to stage an escape from. in this forest, there was a river. this river ran deep and strong and eventually dropped over a cliff and into some underground caves. the drop from the cliff was so far, you could only see a sliver of the water at the bottom. after everything we all had been through, everyone was glad to be able to make this last choice. how would you like to die? by rain of bullets or by quietly slipping into the water? we formed roughly two lines so no one would be alone at the end and, two by two, made the jump from the cliff

i watched six people before me before i worked up the nerve to stand at the edge. my partner and i smiled to the other survivors before jumping.

as i fell, i thought, the air is nice and cool here. it’s so much fresher than the air in the city was. i kept my eyes open and watched the water come to meet me. i braced myself for impact, dying like this would hurt, but only for a moment. instead, i felt myself become warm and the world went white. there was no pain, just that feeling of being held. i wondered how long it would take before it was over. had i hit the water and died already? but i was still thinking about how long it was taking, so maybe i had survived and now i was waiting to run out of air. it was quiet and warm and bright and i didnt feel the need to breathe, but i started to get very comfortable and sleepy.

i thought to myself, if i fall asleep, the nightmare is definitely over. and it was so warm and comfortable, like napping in a sunbeam. i could feel my body slipping into sleep, the feeling so slow it almost felt like falling all over again. ah, this is it, i thought, im dying. just another moment and it would be over.

WAIT, i thought. i didnt really want to die. through the bleary sleepiness, i mentally pushed my eyes back open. this is not my end, i thought loudly.

back in the city, the soldiers hunted down every last survivor and executed them. the zombies were left alone. soon there would be nothing left for the zombies to feed on and they would no longer be a threat. there would be incredible research done on these zombies, so much so that the sacrifice of the hundreds of thousands of people in city, while never directly addressed, was appreciated by those who remained. the footage of the survivors struggles was never released to the public and remained in the pockets of the investors who had taken advantage of the situation, though on occasion, a clip would turn up on some shock site. the city never saw human habitation again.