#and dottore being dottore

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

(maybe part one hehe) what if Ajax couldn't transform out of his Foul Legacy form after crawling back out of the Abyss. his claws hurt, body aching from the climb and various freshly-healed wounds. but he's out- he's back, the sun of Snezhnaya shining and glittering on the snow like diamonds- which means home can't be that far away, and with it, safety and warmth. he doesn't question why he feels so empty, even knowing home was almost in his grasp. perhaps it's the exhaustion- yes, that must be it. a little rest and he'll be right as rain. but when he finally reaches home, his family simply screams at his monstrous appearance, his siblings hiding behind his mother and his father brandishing a blade at him. Ajax tries to tell them, tries to cry out that it's him, Ajax! but his father simply yells and forces him back, pressed into a corner until marching boots arrive at the house, the Fatui agents led by a masked man with blue hair and a cruel smile. Ajax shrieks and sobs as Il Dottore drags him away, Abyssal form somehow no match for the mad doctor, and his family watches in relief and hatred. with a harrowing cry he tries to call for them, first his father, then mother, then his siblings. but eventually he only calls for one person- you, his cherished childhood friend who always protected him from bullies and the harshness of an icy world. did you even know he was alive? were you sitting in your room, consumed by worry? Archons, he didn't even want to think about the anguished expression you made when you were concerned. with one last sob, all fades to black as Foul Legacy forces his body to shut down. years later, you've become a Fatuus, the loss of your best friend closing off your heart to the people around you. you're certainly not the most sociable agent, but your work is precise and meticulous, often tasked with trading forms back and forth between the Harbingers. you've gone to Il Dottore multiple times, but this is the first time he's in his lab when you're looking for him- you've heard that no one is allowed inside unless given permission, and quietly you shift your feet, staring at the door until you finally work up the nerve to knock. a voice from within ushers you inside, and you shove open the door, papers clutched in your hands. Dottore greets you, characteristic grin splashed across his face, leaving his experiment to take the papers from your hands. as he's flipping through the forms you silently peak around him, eyes widening ever-so-slightly when you see the enormous creature on the operation table, dark blood splattered with stars seeping from various wounds. it's breathing heavily, tiny whimpers slipping out at every movement, and suddenly the monster's head lolls to the side and claps its gaze onto you. the beast lets out a strangled cry, struggling at the restraints and letting out pained yelps and whines whenever it moves, and instinctively you back away. Dottore turns and tsks, showing you to the door and shaking his head towards the creature like it's a disobedient child. you try to ignore the heightening screams as the doctor gently shoves you out the door and waves goodbye, and you begin walking back to your station, shaking with fear. in the lab, Ajax sobs with grief as you leave, the doctor standing over him and shaking his head, before the sight of a syringe in his hand beats Ajax's Abyssal instincts back into submission.

[fatuismooches]

Every time recruits were assigned to a Harbinger, they were required to give a speech to the new agents. It was simply the way the Fatui worked - everyone must be made aware and dedicate themselves to the Tsaritsa's will through working for the Harbingers. The experience varied from Harbinger to Harbinger - if one were lucky enough to be with the Captain, they'd be filled with a sense of pride and bravery, if they had the misfortune of working for the Balladeer, well... one could guess how that goes.

Dottore's orientations were also anxiety-inducing, no doubt, considering the kind of reputation he had. Most recruits prayed day and night not to be selected to work for him. It was a very popular rumor about how easy it was to end up as a test subject of Dottore's. However, what many recruits quickly realized was that... working for Dottore was not as bad as many claimed.

Sure, some segments were definitely more difficult to work with than others, but it was actually preferable to working for certain other Harbingers. Just continue to produce results, and you'll be fine. Surprisingly, there were a sizeable amount of agents who adored Dottore. They would rave about him at any given opportunity to anyone who was willing to listen, and that didn't even include their signature handbook. It was also said that if you truly impressed him, he wasn't picky about rewarding you. Unfortunately for new recruits, they were still unaware of this and were left to shiver with their hearts in their throats, awaiting their impending doom.

Even worse for those poor souls, was that a habit of the segments was that they were notoriously late to these meetings, diving deep into their research and discarding it until the last minute. You learned this through idle conversation with one such segment, Beta, who especially despised this baptism.

"So... you just stood there and gave a speech to them?" You couldn't help but find the idea very funny, considering the kind of man he was. "What are your speeches like? Are you motivational, Beta?" He scowled at your teasing and focused his frustration on his latest creation.

"I don't have the time to waste on foolish things."

"Isn't it a good thing to encourage your employees?"

"This is the Fatui. They know what's expected of them," Beta scoffed as if he hadn't turned certain agents into flying robots in the past.

"Aww, but it sounds fun! I would wanna talk to them like that," you sighed. Most of the time the agents would bow, stutter, and quickly make themselves scarce when they saw you. Certain ones would just stare at you in awe silently as if they couldn't believe their eyes, and then scribble something in their notepad. You were unsure of their motives.

"There's a reason why Prime has never attended one himself ever since he created his first segment. All of us fill up our schedules to avoid it," the segment grumbled. He was the one stuck with the duty today. You only hummed in amusement.

"So when is the next screening of new recruits?"

"Tomorrow morning. Hmm, Omega's turn this time too. He's best at these things, anyway." You smiled as you had a very good idea.

"I'm going to go!"

"Are you now? Have fun." Beta responded dryly. Now that he thought about it, if you were so eager, perhaps he should have brought you to do most of the speaking.

"I will. I'll get them to be the most motivated Fatui agents there is!"

—

For a small group of people, they were starting their mornings with possibly one of the most frightening experiences of their lives. It was only natural for them to whisper to each other, all huddled up.

"I wonder if the rumors about Lord Dottore are true. Is he going to dissect us if-"

"You know what I wonder? What segment of Lord Dottore we'll get assigned to. I heard-"

"He has segments???"

"Apparently, he cloned himself at different stages of his life, so we'll deal with numerous versions of him."

"... As soon as the time comes, I'm putting in a request to transfer out of here."

"And that will be your biggest mistake. Lord Dottore is far more generous than you lot make him out to be."

"Pardon?"

"Lord Dottore is quite frequently praised by many agents around here. You just haven't heard them yet. Furthermore, he'll always appreciate results, regardless of your actions." The Dottore defender passionately gripped his chest. The group looked unconvinced.

"Are you sure they weren't under duress or something...?"

"Well, I've met his spouse once too! And [Name] was as kind as-" The poor agent was interrupted by laughter.

"Spouse? The sun would sooner shine bright in Snezhnaya than Lord Dottore ever being married."

"Is he even capable of love?"

"It's not a lie. Many agents who work for our Lord know them! In fact, they-"

"Ahem! Attention everyone!" A voice sounded in front of the room, that was... definitely not Dottore's. There stood a person who was... definitely not Dottore either. The room went completely silent as they gazed upon your rather proud form.

"You all were expecting Dottore, but I, [Name], will start this thing off first!" The glint of your wedding ring became all too noticeable for the new recruits as your eyes scanned the crowd. "Oh, hey! You're that guy I gave directions to a while back! You really did transfer over, huh!" You gleefully waved to him as he scratched his head, in both embarrassment and honor, and the agents suddenly had a feeling that the man was not lying about Dottore's marital status.

"Anyway, I'm gonna ask you all the question I know you're all thinking about. You're absolutely terrified of Dottore, aren't you?!" You pointed at them while their throats were dry from the situation. After a few seconds, they glanced at each other before nodding awkwardly. You only chuckled as you puffed out your chest.

"Well, I'm going to erase all those fears right here, right now. As the person who knows him better than anyone, I can assure you he's a great Harbinger to work under! And to do that... I'm going to give you all a crash course on Dottore's segments! So go on, ask me anything and I shall deliver!" Your resounding confidence was met with blank stares, save for the new inductee into the fan club.

"Are they really Lord Dottore's lover?"

"Well, they have to be... no one can just walk around casually claiming to be married to him."

"I mean... if someone like Lord Dottore is able to fall in love, then he can't be too bad, right...? We should listen to them."

One by one the nervous agents asked you a variety of questions - how to deal with them, how to tell them apart, what to do if they were annoyed, a few quirks to look out for, the kind of work efficiency he valued, the kind of sweets they most favored when it came time to pacify them- the more you spoke, the more engaged the new recruits got. You were rather proud of your skills.

"And if that wasn't enough motivation for you, do it for him!" In the end, you pulled out your one and only pet, the strange blue fox creature who blinked at the crowd who was loudly clapping for some reason.

"You know, I feel a lot more confident about working here!"

"I told you all, you just didn't believe me," the one fan said, still over the moon. But even amidst the commotion, a pair of shoes neatly echoed throughout the room, causing everyone to nearly fall silent at his presence.

"Oh... that's Lord Omega, right? His mask is black." Said agent got elbowed by another for speaking, as they all bowed lowly in respect. The segment was more interested in what you were doing here.

"... [Name], what exactly is the meaning of this?" The segment studied you carefully - despite your sweet smile, he didn't exactly have the best feeling about this.

"I gave them a speech of course! You need to motivate them more, you know? For the results you love so much! I just decided to do your job for you." Your lover stared at you and then turned his attention to the group who were standing stiffly.

"Is that so?"

"Y-Yes, Lord Dottore."

"Then you are all dismissed." The group blinked before quickly shuffling out of the room, mostly in awe at how casually you spoke to the Harbinger. You really were married...

"Just trust me Omega, those guys will be some of your most hardworking agents!" Omega looked at you thoughtfully - their demeanor did seem much better than when he spoke. But he still had a lingering thought that bothered him.

"[Name], you didn't tell them anything potentially... inappropriate, did you?"

"Inappropriate? O-Oh, of course not, Omega. I merely boosted their spirits into working for you!" You smiled, ignoring how his gaze was boring into you.

"That's all?"

"Yes, that's all!"

"..."

"..."

"Well, actually, I-I may have told them about the sweets thing again- hey- don't get closer!"

[bl00dalchemist]

He’s running away from los wiwis

[ellalalala]

Listen, I'm not here to dictate how you should interpret Dottore's character, I'm really not; but the one misconception about him that really kills me is the idea that he's a "sadist who experiments on people for fun". Where in the world did people even get that from?

Here's the truth: Dottore experiments on people because he thinks he should. Because, if experimenting on someone will get him the results he desires in his endless pursuit of knowledge, then he will not think twice before going through with the experiment regardless of how cruel it is. Tighnari, while recounting his conversation with Dottore, says, "he never came off as malicious, but an utter lack of compassion permeated throughout our conversation". That's who Dottore is - someone lacking compassion for people, someone who sees himself as greater than the others (whilst also seeking recognition in his homeland, but that's a separate can of worms that I'm not opening today). Dottore won't think twice about how his subjects feel because he does not care; there is no pity nor excitement, only a need for results, answers. So... the next time someone says he's a sadist, just keep this in mind: he's literally not.

[hellsitegenetics]

Hello hellsitegenetics! I gotta tell you, you are my favourite blog in this digital jungle and your work really brings a smile to my face (: it's very cool, keep it up! Every time I see the phrase "string identified" i imagine a robot voice saying that (as a lead up to an output) which makes it very funny when it appears in a reblog - just wanted to tell you that. Anyways, I actually have a real question for you: What's your favourite "string identified" so far?

Greetings from a biology nerd!

String identified: tgtc! gtta t , a at g t gta g a a g a t ac (: t' c, t ! t t a "tg t" ag a t c ag tat (a a a t a tt) c a t t aa a g - t at t t tat. Aa, acta a a a t : at' at "tg t" a?

Gtg a g !

Closest match: Neoneuromus ignobilis isolate Gutianshan chromosome 5 Common name: Dobsonfly

(image source)

[callibee]

[aeroblossom]

my roman empire is archons and their child whom they 'failed'. characters with doomed, dark fates, seeming as if they'd never been looked upon by their god. the ones you read about and wonder why their archon did not protect them or pay attention. venti and rozalyne, ei and kabukimono - quite literally, rukkhadevta or nahida and zandik. arguably, egeria and focalors, considering focalors bore the brunt of egeria's sin.

[stardustdiiving]

Me explaining in terms of strictly how I read canon I think Nahida not severely punishing the Sages is just meant to convey that Nahida, even when wronged, is not a very vengeful or harsh person and makes the choice to be kind instead, but in my mind I have this idea of a Nahida interpretation which elaborates on that where her self punishing tendencies extend to her being someone who internally downplays her own experiences constantly, and as a result has a hard time feeling she’s allowed or justified in placing a lot of blame on the Sages for what they did to her So while she is following her own philosophies regarding teaching lessons/wisdom/etc in how to handle the Sages and genuinely doesn’t want to be really angry or punishing because of who she is as a person, her decision is also influenced by the fact she’s basically blocked herself out of grappling with how to handle people who hurt her by blaming herself for said hurt instead as a coping mechanism. And like this is all just me being insane about Nahida Trauma and not something explicitly implied in canon but also I really do think this isn’t a far stretch from her canon characterization especially when my vision isn’t to conclude that Nahida needs to be angry and vengeful but she should extend the kindness she shows others to herself and also every day I get tormented thinking about she was the mental equivalent of an average human child when the Sages found her and how they basically specifically discarded her for being a child and the idea of how Nahida would pick up on + internalize that and eventually need time to unlearn it

[catscidr]

i. note — i was feeling a certain typa way because i kept coming across fics where the reader was described as busty so i wrote this in like two hours to make myself feel better lmao sue me…. ii. includes — dottore, afab!reader. no pronouns used, only descriptions of boobs/looking womanly (?) iii. cw — fluff, hurt/comfort, crack-ish bc this is a little silly, dottore is trying his best (maaaybe ooc), a little suggestive but nothing happens, talks of sex and oral, casual touching. MDNI. tldr reader is self conscious about their body and dottore tries to make them feel better lol iv. wc — 1,8k

It’s not often that you get to lay in bed with your lover; he’s always busy running around his lab, either fixing others’ mistakes or scrapping his own work to start over what he has spent so much time on. Dating the infamous Il Dottore was a challenge not many were strong enough for, but you made it work.

You would spend time with him in Haeresys by helping him with some tasks (even if they were small, and didn’t really need to be done in the first place). Handing him different tools when he’d wordlessly ask for them while neck deep in the guts of a Ruin Guard, carefully organizing old reports and documents in his desk that would never see the light of day anytime soon, and bringing him a healthy meal to eat while he worked (though you would do that yourself, because Archon forbid he actually eats on his own accord).

So, given how sparse your time together is, of course you would make it count. Of course you would use that time wisely, go out for an evening to a nice restaurant, maybe even cuddle up on the couch to binge an entire season of a show you had been meaning to watch for ages but couldn't bring yourself to because you wanted to watch it with him.

You wouldn’t dare spend your evening together in bed, wallowing in your own self-pity while he sits up, reading a book you can’t even stomach the contents of.

...Except that’s exactly what you’re doing.

You can't really help it, though. You know how he is; diligent and hardworking, a man of his craft. You know he doesn’t have the time to entertain you and your silly questions and hypotheticals, you know he’s not too fond of sweet touches and words of affection. You know this isn’t your typical relationship, but you don’t mind because you get to be with him— and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Save for when you sulk and feel so incredibly insecure and inadequate for a man such as himself.

Humans have needs. You are human, and you have needs. Dottore is a human (to some extent, though still technically human), so he, naturally, also has needs.

The issue lies in the enormous, metaphorical physical gap between you and your lover. Naturally, Dottore is essentially married to his craft, so getting any sort of action is usually out of the question. You can get a peck or two out of him, one in the morning and one at night (if you’re even awake to feel his scarred lips gently pressing into your cheek), but that’s where the list of physical affection ends.

You’ve talked about your desires and boundaries alike when you first (officially) started going out. The discussion didn’t leave out anything sexual in nature either; though the conversation was mostly led by you, while he simply nodded and pitched in with a word or two every so often.

It’s not to say you’ve never been physical with one another. But recently it’s been happening less and less, and you’ve been finding yourself in this position a lot more often; curled into yourself, lost in your own thoughts as you picked out every little detail about you that you were certain weren’t up to his standards. 

It’s only when you feel him shift next to you that you’re brought back to your shared bedroom, away from the rainy clouds stuffing your mind. 

Dottore shuts the book in his lap, keeping his right hand’s thumb wedged between the pages. He peers down at you with a curious expression, silently analyzing your suspicious silence. 

“You’re quieter than usual,” he comments, tone as flat as it could be. You crane your neck back to look up at him, the duvet covering most of your face as you wrack your brain for something to say. 

After a second of opening and closing your mouth, you finally say something. “’M just tired,” you murmur quietly, nuzzling deeper into the blankets to sell your point. He hums in response, placing his book on the nightstand next to his side of the bed and crosses his arms in front of him, brow quirked up in disapproval. Piercing red eyes stare down at you, making you hold back a shudder. Archons, you’d never get tired of seeing him without that ornate mask of his.

“It’s quite abnormal for you, of all people, to be silent when presented with the opportunity to have a conversation with me, uninterrupted” Dottore states, watching as you tense in your little cocoon. After a beat you emerge from your safety, chin just barely peeking out of the edge of the duvet. 

“...I had a long day.” You avoid looking at him, a pout gracing your lips. He huffs in response and runs a hand through his loose hair. “Long day you say?” Dottore keeps his composure intact, remembering the moments you’ve whined to him throughout the day about how completely and utterly bored you felt. 

“Mm. Long day, right,” he brings one hand down to hold onto the duvet and pulls it down, making you reach for the blanket to cover yourself up; though your efforts are in vain. “What’s on your mind.” 

The way he spoke to you sent shivers down your spine, shuddering at the way he spoke in a way he would when making a statement. 

“Nuhh... nothing. Nothing at all, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You shift in the bed to cover yourself, even if it’s entirely unnecessary. The tee shirt you wore covered you plenty, but without the duvet you just felt so... exposed. Especially with how well Dottore could read your body language; it’s like you didn’t even need to say anything (because you didn’t). 

His gaze on you never relents as he scrutinizes your appearance; your furrowed brows, your hair sprawled across the pillow- still damp from your shower- and the way your lip trembles almost imperceptibly as you hold back the urge to talk about what’s been bothering you. He hates having to metaphorically twist your arm to get you to open up, but if that’s what he needed to do to keep you sane, he’d do it over and over again. 

Dottore scoots his body down to lay in the bed properly and turns to his side to face you, icy hair cascading down his neck as he pulls you in towards him with a hand on your waist. You squeak, tilting your head back so as to not invade his personal space. 

“What’s on your mind?” he asks, softer than before but still with a demanding tone. You shrink, avoiding looking into his eyes. 

“Nothi-” 

“I’m not in the mood for games.” He says your name quietly, thinly veiled with an unspoken warning. 

With a huff you bite the inside of your cheeks, and finally relent. You speak quietly and without even an ounce of confidence, earning a sharp sigh from your lover. 

“I can’t hear you when you mumble like th-” 

“I’m flat!” you practically shout. 

Dottore blinks back the whiplash that hit him in the face, stern expression fading into one of complete and utter perplexion. You don’t elaborate, staying quiet as a deep flush takes over your cheeks. 

“You’re... what?” 

He stares at you owlishly, for once at a loss for words. You nod, sitting up to properly articulate your feelings now that the cat was out of the bag. 

“My boobs are small! I have no ass! I’m... I look like a door!” You gesture at your chest, expression looking entirely distraught as you vent your feelings out to your lover. Your shoulders droop down unceremoniously, lips jutting out in a pout as you stare at the wall to avoid crossing Dottore’s gaze. The sound of the wind howling outside of your bedroom window morphs into what almost sounds like a laugh, as if mother nature herself was cackling at your expense.

“I feel bad when people see you with me. I can’t... I have such a bad gag reflex I can’t even take a third of your dick in my m-” 

He cuts you off by placing a hand on your shoulder, frown etched deep onto his face. If you looked closely you’d see red dusting the tips of his ears, contrasting against his hair. 

“You’re self-conscious because you have... small breasts and a... sensitive uvula?” Dottore says, his tone completely void of the confidence he usually carried. Fingers comb through your hair, light and gentle, as he thinks of what he can even say in response to your confession. 

You sniffle, looking down at yourself. The shirt you wore did little to help your smaller cup size— and as you frown at yourself, you bring a hand up and place it over one breast. “See, even my hand can cover them easily. My body doesn’t have even a little bit of curves.” 

Although at a loss, Dottore recovers from the absurdity of the situation in record time. He shifts your body so you’re now facing him, and very casually slips his hands underneath your shirt to cup your breasts. He speaks before you can, cutting off the slurry of complaints you had ready. 

“Have I ever complained about them?” he asks solemnly, forcing you to look at him. “As far as I’m aware I never have. Why bother being concerned over something so trivial?” 

His hands squeeze them gently, making you squeak in response. The more seconds pass, the more ashamed and flustered you feel for even bringing this up. As if a man of his caliber would even care for something like this, how stupid do you have to be to think of him as someone that only cared for looks?

“Well, no, but-” another squeeze cuts off your train of thoughts,” -b-but the rest...! Men like women with a fuller figure, I can’t even give you a titjob!” 

The words that flew out of your mouth made his head spin, from both irritation and embarrassment simultaneously. He inhales and exhales slowly, dragging his palms down to your ribs, then your waist, until they settle atop your hips. 

“I’ve never asked for anything of the sort,” he sighs, observing the changes in your face carefully. 

“Yeah, but-” 

“No ‘but’s. Your body is fine. It does not matter how it looks like from the outside; your organs are working properly, and you do not have any abnormalities forming anywhere inside or outside of it. How your figure looks holds little importance to me.” 

His words sink in, and you feel your invisible dog ears droop to rest flat on top of your head as you glance down at your lap, shame ringing in your ears. Dottore’s grasp tightens around your hips, demanding for your attention to be on him once again, refusing to let you sulk as long as he could help it.

“Although, putting functionality aside, do I need to remind you exactly what I think of your body? Shall I remind you how you make me feel whenever I see you parading around my office? How my body reacts to you?”

Your lips threaten to quirk up into a sheepish smile, but your shame still ate you up from the inside, keeping you from reacting. Your lover hums and flashes you a wolfish grin, leaning in towards your neck to nibble at your ear, teasing the flushed skin. 

“We do have the rest of the night to ourselves, don’t we? Want to find out just how much your body affects me, my love?”

[glassrowboat]

Dottore x Reader x Diluc poto AU

Summary: The Angel of Music's lair awaits you as painted gold arms move to welcome you in, the creak of their gears barely registering in your ears over your voice as his hand fits comfortably in yours, guiding you along. Further, further, and further into his world of unending night.

Warnings: Dottore, sexual content, smut, oral, cunnilignus, masturbating, altering of POTO canon, not proof read but Risse is tired

Word Count: 5k

The lights had been blinding as always when you had stood high on the stage, filling the air with a burning heat that licked at your skin. Sweat had dripped down your back, but there was no searing ache in your muscles from performing as your legs held you up for the painted gold faces of statues to see you in all your glory without even a speck of powder on pointed toes. For there were no silk ribbons fastened around your ankles to be seen by an effigies eyes. Your feet weren't even peeling a new layer of skin. There was only a dull hum in your throat and an ever beating heart from frayed nerves at having all those eyes on you.

On you alone.

For the stage had claimed you not as a ballet dancer who twirled with each long string of a bow, but as the star all lights were pointed to.

Just like the ones covered in glitter and gems you had pulled out of your hair a moment ago and laid to rest on the vanity you were sitting before. Your own reflection staring back at you as your fingers dance over the red petals of a rose. A gift from your Angel of Music.

You could almost hear the vibrato in his voice as well wishes fell from the lips that have taught you so well. Surely, he would be dawning a smirk, prideful as he is.

You plucked a petal, withered at the end with a dull brown that curls in on itself, and let it fall onto the floor of this overbearingly pink room; from the wallpaper to the endless bouquets surrounding you in a fog of perfume. All unaccompanied by a glass bottle to spray a charming mist into the air with a squeeze of an atomizer bulb, yet it smothered you nonetheless.

But in your hands, still perfectly polished from when your makeup had been done before the show, was black. A ribbon unlike the twisted and worn ones of your pointe shoes twisting around your finger, hypnotizing you with its delicate touch.

You didn't even notice the knob of the painted door keeping you apart from the bustling crew you would normally be shrugging through in an attempt to go change out of your costume twisting.

Not until a voice called out, one without the austere lit to it you had heard between dark stones aglow by the flicker of candles as you prayed for your father. That bright red of a rose, its scent still plaguing you, was replaced with locks of embering hair and memories of salt in the air as a violin played; waves lapping at the shore a background to the sweet melody.

“A little girl let her mind wander. The little girl thought, ‘Am I fonder of dolls, or of goblins, or of shoes.”

A poem you had learned in your tender years now sparking at the core of your memory again.

“Diluc?”

Your eyes fell on him, taking in the black coat hugging a frame that had now grown out of the lanky one you had known well from days of cuddling up together in a dusty attic on an old blanket, and white tie so pure it could be mistaken for the snow that is sure to come with the change of seasons already starting to creep in through the walls of the opera house with a chilling touch.

Almost like hands made of ice were ready to wrap around your throat.

But Diluc's were warm as he kneeled before you, hand reaching out to rest on your shoulder only to pull it back like he shouldn't have dared to be so familiar with you despite the moments you both shared. “Or of riddles or of frocks..or of chocolates.”

The flutter of your heart still stirred from the stage, twisting and turning as you looked up at him.

He was different from the boy you once knew, but he still held traces of himself from the memories you replayed in your head on an endless loop in between chatter with the other chorus girls and, dare you admit, even in the face of a blue glow that could never melt into shadows the same way the rest of your phantom did.

“Should I refer to you as Vicomte now?” You asked, remembering how the new managers had introduced him during rehearsal.

“Please, don't call me that.” The flickering light of the candle moved along Diluc's shoulders as they slumped. “It makes me uncomfortable. And there's no need.”

Not between us, is what he didn't say.

“Diluc it is, then.”

“And you, should I call you the star of tonight's show?” Diluc asked, head tilting slightly when your eyes met with his. “You did amazing up there.”

“Oh I see, so I'm not worthy of the title a prima donna yet? But no.” you shook your head, a smile quirking your lips up at his genuine praise. He had always been so quick to listen to your quiet lullabies in awe once upon a time, and that same unabashed reverence has turned back to you again.

He really did remember you despite not recognizing you- not seeing you- when he was first introduced to the troupe as a new benefactor of the theater.

“There's no need for that.” You assured him.

“Then if there's no need for titles between us, how about we share a meal. One in celebration of your wonderful performance and to meeting again?”

Your fingers tightened around the stem in your hands the moment he asked, wrangling it into something new, something misshapen. All between knuckles that were slowly turning white with each passing second. “No.”

“I'm sorry is”- Diluc’s hand drew back further, continuously pulling away the warmth he had to offer- “something wrong?”

And the stirring in your heart seemed to quell the further Diluc got.

“It's not- well..you remember what my father said, right, Diluc? That when he was in heaven he would send the Angel of Music to me.” With a sucked in breath you got out the words: “well father is dead, and I have been visited.”

“Oh, there's no doubt of it.”

The sentence echoed one that had once been whispered between you on a windy day, almost bringing you further back in time than just his mere presence brought you. To memories of dark stories and a scarf trying to fly off with the breeze and swim along the waters being returned to you as he wrapped it around your neck as you promised one day you would stand on the stage waiting for your voice to be heard by everyone and by him.

How far you've come.

The both of you.

But…

“And the Angel of Music is very strict.” You reminded yourself. The you that had become intimate with the shivers racking your spine simply at the thought of displeasing him currently running over you.

Breath falling short.

“I don't intend to keep you for long.”

“I know, it's just-”

And then he asked you to please play along, to indulge him on this even as the hole drilling itself in your stomach grew and grew. To the point eating anything in the first place sounded sickening, but you smiled at that same baby face Diluc couldn't seem to grow out of even after all these years and dared to agree.

The hair on the back of your neck stood up as he walked to the door, pushed it out of the way with one last call of “You must change. Something you can actually walk around in, preferably. In the meantime, I'll order my carriage.” And a promise you won't regret joining him as that pink door closed.

Painted lilies staring back at you as gooseflesh awoke on your skin.

A lock silently clicked in place without you even noticing.

Then, a voice seemed to blare over the room, blowing out the candles around you one by one. From the vanity your red rose laid upon to the one next to the dressing screen you had only just been behind to change (trying to discard the heavy costume you had worn on stage), hands occupied with fixing the tie to your robe. Darkness took over, leaving you in the music of the night.

“He's insolent, my muse. Just a boy who hasn't even fostered the voice you now yield, but there he was sharing in my triumph.”

The sneer you could hear in his voice was recognizable and well known after all the times other ‘young suitors’ as he liked to call them dared to cross an invisible line he drew. One you still couldn't tell if it was etched in the grains of sand or hammered into concrete, but either way, daring to pass, it was as risky as a gambler asking for Aphrodite’s kiss.

“He didn't mean any harm.”

“I would say trying to step in the way of your spotlight for a chance to greet you is pernicious at best.”

Like the panes of a window leaving shadows along the floor where the sun casts its rays.

“Look, I'm sorry. I wanted to tell him no.”

“But your soul was weak, I take it?” He asked with the same snark you've grown accustomed to from him. At this point it was almost a comfort after hearing him make remarks about the inability of the crew, Carlotta, and the new managers who had just taken over all while a stained glass image of a god you bowed your head to watched over you.

A holy gaze keeping you safe as prayers for your father whispered on your lips and a flame sparked as you lit a candle in his name, but in here it was only you and a fog slowly creeping in.

Dottore always was one for dramatics.

“Forgive me, teacher.” You said at last.

A hum filled your ears, just as the fog rose higher and higher, blocking out the endless bouquets that had been filling the room more than the gaudy furniture could even dare to try.

He spoke of Diluc basking in your glory, but here he was doing the same with your trepidation.

All you could do was wait for the other shoe to fall, or-

“Only this once, my muse.”

Or to have a hand held out to take yours. Black gloves and golden claws shattering the illusion you were semi alone in this room as the mirror fell away for Dottore to pull you inside. Arm wrapping around your waist to keep you close as a melody filled your ears; blocking out the sound of Diluc rattling the doorknob to check on you as panic swells in his chest.

“I am your Angel of Music.” Dottore said as he cast a sidelong glance towards the door, his hold on you tightening. “Come to your Angel of Music.”

With a crescendo, everything else fell away.

All with that same fog following you, drowning everything else out. Leaving the world above the murky depths you were pulled into distorted by refraction. Blocking out the last words you could have sworn went something along the lines of: “Who is in there with you?”

You couldn't even register the concern lacing each word, not when all your nerves were set alight. Yet the raucous beating of your heart, a drum that has long since been used and abused, finally soothed as Dottore pulled you along.

“Come now, and sing once again with me our strange duet.”

A haze passed by all at once with golden arms clicking as gears in need of a good oiling moved, fingers intertwining with your own, and the splash of water as a rowboat that looked as fickle as glass dipped under your weight when you climbed in.

All with the assurance “I have you” as you were flooded by the Phantom’s song.

His voice echoed off the walls dripping with a moisture you would rather not think about, slipping between the cracks and over dewy cobwebs with a raw texture. The talent of a man who taught himself all he knew in the silence between the shows put on in the light as his shadow cast across the stones down below.

Dottore had once likened it to a hollow building, one falling apart at the seams all thanks to its unsteady foundation, but you? You, the very thing that inspired his song, had come in and filled that shell of a home with comfort. Blankets over the windows to keep the cold air out, rugs padding over the hard floor, and a place to rest; one without the worry of rats creeping their way into our home.

Dottore never explained why he called it “our home.”

Not even as his masked face turned towards you and you were left questioning if that black and white porcelain could hold an expression of fondness.

“Surely you know how to get out of a boat yourself.” Dottore teased, even as he helped pull you out with one last unsteady lurch and splash of water under your feet. Droplets tickling your ankles.

“Apparently not.”

“Don't tell me I have another thing I need to teach you.” Dottore raised a brow, or maybe both, you really couldn't tell.

“Would it matter if you did?” You teased.

“I suppose not. We can stay down here, together.” Dottore whispered with his hand ghosting along your cheek. Cold to the touch. “And abandon the garish light of day all while I teach you something new. All in this kingdom of music..”

A kingdom with only one subject, the king: Dottore himself.

“I'm not just going to purge my thoughts of the life I knew before,” danced on your tongue, wanting to escape from the confines you only tightened the hold of. Chaining it to a wall to be forgotten and discarded.

For his eyes could both threaten and adore; you already knew which would be easier to handle. And you were too exhausted to try weasel your way out of this mess you had stumbled in again, anyway.

“Softly, deftly music shall caress you. Hear it, feel it secretly possess you.” As he sang in your ear, lips and the touch of his mask grazing your skin, Dottore's hand fell from your cheek. Roamed as it pleased. Traced over your collarbones only to go lower, lower, and lower. The golden claws he's wearing toy with your robe, reflecting back your own thinly pressed lips in their radiance. “Open up your mind, my muse. Let me in. Let yourself belong to me.”

“…I”

You took too long to respond.

That was apparent in the way his hand drew back. A stove hot to the touch to tender flesh. Leaving him wounded.

“You need rest. It's been a long night for you.”

“Right…I'm not even that tired though.” Not when your eyes had a place to scour over. To soak in all the rugs placed over the mildew-claimed floors, the lights buzzing with electricity that somehow worked all the way down here, and a well loved piano sitting atop it all.

“You will be. Just give it time.”

All while that same fog that has been chasing you both filled your vision.

You didn't even get the chance to ask Dottore what he meant by that as you fell into his arms. Eyes rolling back as you were greeted by the darkest dreams a mind could imagine.

“Took longer than I thought it would. I'll need to change the percentages in the concoction then. My fault for not testing the drug when it's airborne.”

Muttering to himself Dottore carried you to his bed and placed you down. Tongue clicking as he looked at you slowly being swallowed up but the mattress he had spent countless restless nights tossing and turning in. “Can't you see? Only you alone can make my music take flight…but that boy…”

Hands that were still burnt from your earlier refusal pulled a blanket up and over your shoulders; shaking unsteadily. They might as well have actually been burnt under a flame, set alight, for they twitched like embers were ingrained into his skin as Dottore lingered near you.

Silently watching.

“Once he's gone you can help me make the music of the night. But for now, simply rest well.”

Pressing a kiss to your forehead, Dottore left in favor of his piano, desperate for something to take the swirling storm in his head out on.

It was better that way.

It gave Dottore something to focus on that wasn't his cock straining against his pants as he set the sheets of an unfinished piece before him. Notes daring to be written on the yellowed paper, crinkled and worn after all times he's dug it out only to store it away again without adding a single drop of ink. His pen always did hang in the air, threatening to add something as Dottore busied himself with tapping at the keys; feather covered back turned to you as he tried to work.

Crude, Dottore thought as he huffed at just how wrong it all sounded to his self-taught ear.

It was the tapping that eventually stirred you, forcing your eyes to crack open only to be greeted by the sight of a metal bird staring down at you rather than the mask you had come to expect. Its head tilted to the side. Blue eyes glowing in the dark.

You didn't even get the chance to mutter a confused hello before it flew off with a squawk. Soaring. Long, almost vial-like tail flowing after it.

“What the…”

Grumbling, you pushed the blankets covering you away. Feet padding on the floor as you followed after its flapping wings.

Without your Angel by your side this place seemed different. Hollow, almost. Lonely, like a burnt out candle waiting to bring fire to this world again as it fails to shine. To the point you were glad to follow the song that never seemed to stop playing in your head all the way to a hunched figure.

Without turning back to look at you Dottore said: “I see you're awake. How are you doing, my muse?”

“Like I entered a fever dream.” Which would explain this labyrinth where the daylight dissolves into darkness. All except a faint glow leaving his skin an unearthly hue. “You see the bird too, right?”

Another tap of the keys laid out in front of him rang before Dottore spoke again.

“I do.”

“At least I'm not going crazy then.”

The feathers of his jacket greeted you first, brushing along your arms as they wrapped around him. Would the bird feel the same or would it lack Dottore's warmth you clung to? Would it feel as stiff as he froze under you like deer under the glow of a blinding light.

Funny, for a man who would take a life with as little emotion as a carriage running over a fawn's carcass.

“If you were going crazy I would be sure to tell you.” Dottore strangled out. Voice so tight you couldn't help but check you weren't accidentally pulling on that strap he wore around his throat (for some reason or another), but you weren't even so much as touching it.

“How thoughtful.”

“It's less being thoughtful and more the thought you of going”- his hand pulled away from the keys to gesture at something you couldn't see- “crazed might affect how you choose to sing. Though, it might add an interesting candor as you bear your heart and voice to the opera house.”

“And to its crowd.” You teased, eyes peeking up at him, at the mask he wore, from the feathered mantle you were snuggled up against.

You were so tempted to reach out and graze your fingers over the material, to feel the cold sting grace your skin before pulling it away to reveal what lay underneath. May it be a man or a monster your curiosity begged to know. Pleading into your ear. Only for you to remember the last time you tried as he sucked in an unsteady breath. How he pushed you away, raised a hand that never fell to your cheek as you crawled farther and farther away from him until your back hit a wall behind you.

He shook then just as Dottore is now.

“Yes, them too.”

So your hand didn't dare to try again. Instead it fell to the keyboard to tap over a note or two, fiddling with it to keep your mind off the need to pull away from him- to flee- that gnawed at you. After all, if this truly was a kingdom then what subject could truly run away without repercussions?

The monarch himself picked up the pen beside him, pinched it between those pointed claws, and the notes you had just played were written down on the piece of paper laid out before him.

“Are you writing a new piece?” You asked.

“I'm attempting to. Unfortunately, I am rather distracted.”

Ignoring the way his jaw jutted your way accusingly you continued to tap at the keys. And he continued to write each note down until he told you to sit beside him

“I don't think there's enough room on that bench you're using, Angel.”

His hands were on your waist in a second, the pen clattering as it dropped while Dottore pulled you on his lap. “I said: sit down.”

You barely noticed him picking the pen back up from the ground with his fingers playing with the laces of your corset; brushing over them all the way down to the messy bow you had tied together. At the time your hands had been shaking as the excitement to be on stage had rushed through you, but now your own jittery effort was undone by one single pull of the wirey cord.

Dottore’s touch burned, even through his gloves.

“So..a new piece?” You asked.

“Yes, but I was..admittedly struggling with composing it; on my own, that is. It would be a great help to me if you played another note.” The laces were tugged at again. “Or two. Or three.”

Even as the garment fell off you, only held up by your own hands, it felt harder to breathe than before. “I wouldn't mind, really, but was this necessary?”

Dottore's eyes flicked down between you, scalding you with the red fire inside of them that seemed to only be held back by a single barrier of glass, begging to shatter under the stress. “I was undoing it to keep the corset from pressing on your diaphragm. I don't need your voice distorted.”

It was only a moment later Dottore tacked on “That's all” even as he leaned in closer to you, hand trailing up your back just as softly as the air from his lips was gracing yours. Only an inch apart. Getting closer, closer, and closer to the point you could see deformities in the mask.

Then his head fell to your neck.

“You'll help me f-” Dottore cut himself off, shutting his own trail of thought down. “For my music, won't you, my muse?”

Your hand met the piano, trying to play another note even as his hand dropped from your back and you fell against the keys. The chord cluster had your fingers curling around the white tiles; the damned bird squawked with a jump, only causing your grip to tighten at the shrill sound.

“I'm the one who interrupted your focus, so..” You cleared your throat. “Yes, teacher.”

Dottore replied back with an excellent, already clearly hard at work again as his pen moved, writing the notes you accidentally slammed down on. Black ink trailing off with every flick of his wrist as Dottore's hand slid up to where yours was keeping the corset up and pressed his thumb right over your diaphragm; fingers tickling your ribcage.

“Try to sing a note.”

Without a second to doubt his reasons you obeyed, and Dottore nodded in thought.

“Excellent, just like that. Now, remind me, I don't think we've practiced singing while enduring rough activity, have we?” He asked, head tilting ever so slightly to the side as his eyes flicked over your form on top of him.

“No.” You got out even through the discomfort pressing at your chest.

“Then it's time to change that. Don't you agree?”

“It would be a waste to turn down an opportunity to learn, right? That's what you always say.” At this point you could probably parrot the exact cadence Dottore uses as he repeats those exact words, voice controlled, a lit to it you knew belonged to a man who enjoyed having eyes on him as he made a spectacle of how smart he was, all while teaching you. Usually, Dottore would posture, flick his cape when it gets in his way - not pull you from his lap and place you down on the piano behind you.

Another slam of the keys.

You shifted, trying to get comfortable in your new found place as you tried to figure out why you thought something had been poking at your thigh the entire time Dottore had been holding you close. Had you sit with him on the stool clattering to the floor in Dottore's rush to push it away and kneel before you.

You had half a mind to comment how gross that had to be with these floors, but you were cut off by Dottore himself. “Have I ever told you nighttime has a way of heightening and sharpening each sensation?”

“Here and there.” You nodded. “But what does this have to do with your composition?”

The music sheet (one missing a title) was now cast aside, pen keeping it in place from any stray breeze hoping to pick it up and force it to fall along with the stool. Abandoned by its own creator without mercy for his hands had left it to play with the hem of your skirts; pushing them up and along your legs.

“Oh that's quite simple, but it seems my muse can't figure it out on her own.” Dottore clicked his tongue with a harsh tch. “Sometimes I swear you need everything spelled out for you.”

Ripples ran along your thigh as the cool metal of Dottore's claws graced your skin, from your hip to your ankle as he dragged your undergarments down. “I'll simply draw the notes out of you. You can just lay back and feel it all, savor each sensation.”

“Angel-”

“Oh, and-” Dottore's eyes raised from the sight of your skirts now bunched around your waist, pushed out of the way for his convenience. All to place a single kiss on your thigh that you nearly jerked away from. Only held in place due to the grip he had on you; mercilessly keeping you still even as a heat crept over your cheeks. “And make sure to use your voice.”

Your leg was hooked over his shoulder, the feathers from before taunting you as they brushed against your skin. Were you supposed to grab them or his hair? Were you supposed to yank him back and ask what this was about or let him keep leaning in closer?

The puff of air breathed out on your core answered before you could decide for yourself. And you were suddenly grateful you were sitting on the piano instead of trying to keep yourself up, afloat, as sharp teeth nibbled at your skin leaving your knees feeling weak even after all the years of ballet lessons that strengthened them. Hours of holding poses, perfecting them until you were given a nod of approval from Madame Giry, all suddenly for naught.

“I-I don't think this is very appropriate.”

“You said you'd help me.”

“Well, granted, I did, but-”

His tongue slid along your folds, tasting the very essence you exude. A long strip, a long drag of his tongue on you, and you were a goner.

A single moan ripped through your throat had Dottore's hand reaching down, fumbling with the buttons on his pants (far too many for his liking right now) to push them aside as he tasted you again, again, and again. Only pulling back long enough- giving you a chance to recover- to whisper against your folds “Don't think about anything besides me, my muse. Just me. Let me inside your mind.”

The keys pressed down, playing a soft melody every time your hips bucked up to chase after his touch; desperately trying to drag out more and more of the pleasure building in you. It was a raging fire flooding your soul, a need Dottore returned a hundredfold with a hand wrapping around his cock. Fucking it imagining it was you under him instead- bodies intertwining.

A minor, D minor, and E minor played on the piano, only drowned out by the sound of your cries and the wet sounds between your legs.

A strange duet that was wholefully one of your and Dottore's making.

His thumb brushed over the head of Dottore’s cock, smearing pre into his gloves as Dottore's tongue ravaged you with every bit of lust he'd tampered down over the years. Finally he was able to let it drain into you. Each moment of grazed hands, stolen glances and close calls coming to fruition as his tongue lapped at you.

Using you as a faucet to his molten need that never failed to be stoked, coals sparking with a fire burning alight, by your voice.

“That's it, give in to me. Give in to what I do to you.” Dottore barely managed to mutter between his own groans and hatred to be parted from you for a single second.

Your hand tugged at his hair, the questions you asked yourself long since tossed aside with the flame burning in your core, begging to be eased.

To be satiated.

You barely caught sight of the mechanical bird watching as your eyes rolled into the back of your head, the image of Dottore kneeling before you, head between your thighs as he stroked himself reflected back in its metal beak; warped image capturing the moment you came as the Opera Ghost himself made you sing.

You were too dazed to make out the notes you were playing anymore, only the fact they were turning in your head like a music box that never failed to draw you in as Dottore's head fell against your thigh. Slick coating his face (and parts of his mask), leaving it with a sheen he licked off as his hand moved. Hips stuttering up into the hole he made with a moan.

He called your name as he came, white sticky fluid splashing over the ground.

Blood red eyes staring up at you the entire time.

Speech seemed to turn into silence, words failing you, just out of reach of your outstretched hand desperately hoping to grasp onto anything to say in this moment. But all you could think about was how your blood was still racing.

Even when he had raised from the floor, ran a hand along your cheek, and finally kissed you you still had no clue what to say. Not even as your Angel whispered “Finally. You are so beautiful when you sing, my muse, to the point I couldn't smother your voice even when I longed to kiss you.”

Pulling you in his arms, Dottore held you close, hand running up and down your back, passing over the open laces of your corset.

“Don't you see? This is the music of the night.”

For you alone can make his song take flight.

Funny, how even wrapped up in his embrace, the heat of your release painting your thigh, you still felt cold.

And you longed for another to hold you tight.

[lovesickeros]

now that natlan is out it's tsaritsa yearning hours again because i am one nation closer to either being horribly disappointed or foaming at the mouth!

creator!reader w a little side of conflicted tsaritsa is such good food I can't not yap about it. a woman who has dedicated so much of her life to severing herself from "love" of all kinds and succeeding and. just being so confident that when she meets you she's bitter and angry and mean. because she can't stand you. she isn't supposed to love yet you worm your way into her heart anyway and you don't even know it.

especially in smth like an imposter au. she tells herself your just a tool for her to use but your treated like the Divine you really are, pampered and spoiled every step. tells herself it means nothing when she indulges you – let's you hold her hand in private, eventually let's you move aside the veil, just a little.

and she hates it. hates how easy it is to let you break down the ice she's built up for years.

all you do is smile and she feels like she can't breathe. because despite how violently she rejects love in all aspects, it always bleeds through eventually. she despises it but the way you brush your thumbs over her cheeks makes her bitter and warm and it infuriates her to no end.

she hates you and she loves you and she can't stand you and if you were ever taken from her she'd destroy every inch of teyvat if she had to go get you back.

and ironically enough I think she'd also be the one to initiate any first kiss. maybe she's still trying to convince herself it's just a fluke and itll make her realize it meant nothing, it means nothing. desperate to fix whatever you've done to her and instead it just makes it worse.

a horrible mess of a woman who gave up on love just to be confronted with it when she finally accepted it's absence.

[incorrectfatui]

Dottore: That's greatly offensive to my people.  Capitano: College dropouts?

[fatuismooches]

Playable reader but they're the only one who has a second stamina bar when gliding/swimming. When the first bar runs out of stamina, Dottore automatically switches in with a line scolding them for straining themself or light-heartedly teasing them since they need to be carried now that they are tired.

He doesn't switch in when they're sprinting though, I imagine that canonically - not gameplay wise, he's just walking behind them, watching them run around. He's marvelling at how far they've come, going from bed-ridden to jumping everywhere and running circles around him.

As for climbing? There's a small chance of triggering a rare voice-line, so small that the players who found it thought it was part of an event or a side-quest.

Dottore, sighing exasperated: "Get down from there before you exhaust yourself."

Reader, grunting in strain but is still climbing: "Hold on— I think I'm almost there, I have to see what's up here. You'll catch me if I fall!"

Dottore: "And if I don't?"

Reader: "Wha— what do you mean 'if you don't...?!"

Dottore: "..."

Reader: "Dottore? Dottie—? Dot...! You're... you're still down there, right...? I can't look down..."

MY FAVORITE META CUTIE PIE COUPLE. Reader would always try to prove to Dottore that they don't need that much help anymore, which is true... to a certain extent. It's very obvious to Dottore whenever you push yourself, so while he usually prefers to lay back and carefully watch what you do, he'll always jump in when he feels it's necessary.

"Hey, I... I was fine to keep g-going..."

"Stop being foolish and listen to your doctor."

-

"Ugh... my back hurts now."

"You poor thing, shall I carry you?"

"No! I'm fine! ...I think."

AGREED!! Dottore (or another segment) is always just a few steps behind you. He's very much content to see you explore the oddities of the world (which are so very normal and boring to him, but interesting to you after being away for so long), mentally taking notes about how much you've changed and any abnormalities in your condition. He'll watch you jump up to pick some fruits for the two of you and skip back to him. He'll watch you tussle with a fishing rod and fight to reel in some fish for dinner. He loves watching you be confident in yourself just as you once were. Of course, if any danger were to appear, then he's in front of you again quicker than one can imagine. (Gameplay-wise, it's much more optimal for the player to use Dottore while running, otherwise, they'll have to deal with Reader complaining quite frequently...)

Climbing is probably the scariest part for Reader, but they can't help but want to challenge it sometimes! It's... not the easiest, but they can do it! Especially when they have Dottore in case of anything!

...Hopefully. You're well aware of Dottore's mean and sarcastic side, even if you're not the target of it the most often. Unfortunately, sometimes he uses it to scare you out of potentially dangerous situations for your body. It's for your own good, I promise.

[a-straying]

Zandik

[chairarts]

So I really do like wanderer and all this WanLumi stuff I've been seeing but...... lately whenever i think about it my brain plays this scene from shrek in Dottores voice

[adventures-in-teyvat]

arlecchino: put a bunch of wrapped, empty presents under a christmas tree so that every time a child misbehaves you can throw one into the fire

dottore: what do i do when i run out of children