#haeresis

[simperator]

the papas as stuff that’s happened to me at work as a receptionist

Nihil

the same old man who flirts with me every time i see him scolding a guy my age when he was hitting on me saying how men have become such pigs

Primo

a family losing their dementia-ridden grandfather so i had to call security and after an hour pf all of us looking for him we found him chilling in the garden

Secondo

being offered copious amounts of alcohol by guests hosting a party and leaving me shots of pistachio liqueur in the breakroom, leaving me to go back to work drunk

Terzo

the 75 year old italian man who's in the gym every day and attends every zumba class and being the crush of the elderly women. gave me a box of chocolates when i left for another office.

Copia

my coworker finding a mouse in the basement, doing absolutely nothing about it, filing a report saying “there's a mouse in the basement” and us making a pet out him.

[runkakerurun]

ouh.... what about #34 with Dana... and #41 with Koji, for the character ask game

(@dearest-darling-pharma)

YAY YAYYY OK UHM

#34 with dana;

i think shes definitely more likely to keep trying! even if it isnt necessarily in her best interest.

she can get fixated on the way something should be and get upset with trying to consider or come up with other ideas when the first one was Supposed to work.

#41 with koji;

he wants to earn things for sure, and i think really where he feels it the most is def in more abstract concepts, or varied areas like his career!

he trains really hard and although he doesnt necessarily get down on himself for a bad game— things happen— he never wants to take any of it for granted and throws 110% of himself into everything.

[musingmelsuinesmelancholy]

“Deeds of the Art Magical may forge, intensify, differentiate, or disrupt the bonds o f phantasmal emanation, thereby re- presenting their sentient qualities. Where Will, Desire and Belief perfectly frame the emanant trajectory, enchantment achieves realisation in the form o f hypostasised Eternity. This is accomplished by the congressive formulae of Light oo Void, the particulars of the Grand Triangulum, and the manifest strength of the Phantasmal Body.”

“Implicit within these maxims is the principle that every successful enchantment of the Art Magical produces a distinct emanation of Light, Shadow, and Void interweaving Totality. Knowledge of this maxim assists the Wise in determining how the Magical Fire is to be kindled, what serves as its best fuel, its immolative nuances, and its ultimate duration. This principle also embodies the mindful considerations o f magical trajectory and perpetuity. Accordingly, Operations of the Art are formulated not merely by need, inspiration and ingenium, but also in consideration of their radiative proclivities and points o f reception. This encompasses the knowledge that the light so produced exists not only as a presently-manifest form, but also as a distant artifact in futurity.”

Daniel Schulke, Lux Haeresis

[hellfire010]

i’m gonna move eddie to my multimuse. every other day there’s something going on in this fandom. good night! 💜

[lailoken]

'The Prayer call'd Raising the Temple of Lumial Azh'Run Being the Sacrifice of the Manifest Unto the Sovereign of Sentient Luminosity'

-

"Zazai, Zazai, Azra lyr-A-I!

Come Forth am I unto the Mount of Sages.

Ellu Sabbas Malachtai!

The Four-Horn'd Altar I raise

As dreamt, for the Sacrifice of One.

Azra-Lumial-Azrun!

By the Horns of the Holy,

I stand as One with Thee in the High Place.

By the Lamp of thy Power self-kindl'd,

The Good Earth I fashion as the Vessel of First Radiance.

Uplifted is thy Shrine in the Wilderness:

One Flame, Kindled On High for the Dominions Below,

One Fire, to Purge the Shells of Creation,

One Light of Lights now.reveal the Seer's Way.

The Abyssal Column I raise for the Sacred Dominion of lyr,

Scrib'd in flame with the Word of the All-Manifest:

By Sign and Cipher illuminate the Book of Flesh

With thy Gold-tipp'd Quill.

Bless Thou the Body of the Present Moment,

Establish in perfection the Temple of Man

As the Dominion of Fallen Light,

The Eyes ordain'd as the Hidden Shrine of Thy radiance.

Let the Bequest of the Field of Arte

Sing in Procession thy Glory,

The Black Effigies of thy Earthen Retinue awaken:

Perfume and Balsam of the Desert Coffers,

By Flame and Smoke bear.forth my heart's own prayer.

Fire of the Virgin Taper,

Shine as the Blood-Radiance of my Hidden Sacrifice.

Noble Blood of Heredity,

Reveal the effulgent. Seed of Celestial Emanation.

Insatiate Seed of my Desire,

Enflesh the Dark Children of the Aethyrs.

Azra-Lumial-Azrun!

By the Horns of the Holy,

I stand as One with Thee in the High Place.

By the Lamp thy Power, self-roused

All I See I claim as Mine.

Zazai, Zazai, Azra Iyr-A-I!

Ellu Sabbas Bathuli!

∞

As the immediated, terrestrial embodiment of 'fallen' Light, Our Lord is enshrined in magical lore as Rex Mundi, King of the World. Embodying 'descended' attributes, his power is also the Apotheosis of the Infernal, being the Devil 'raised' from the Abyss unto the station of Illuminated Man, the Attainer of Radiance in the Kingdom of Flesh. The Altar of High Worship is thus collocated within the body as a series of 'Luminous Shrines', being zones of power for the manifestation of the differentiated rays of Fallen Light."

—

Lux Haeresis:

The Light Heretical

'I: Eye of the Lamia'

by Daniel Schulke

[nnolstrves]

feel like utter shit tbh im kind of fucking Unwell over a bunch of stuff written by one of my friends (who i briefly dated in 2020) and could definitely use a hand or two! lol anyways i feel like my insides are being metaphorically scooped out and/or vomited up this only happened with like four other fics EVER and ive been reading since 2010. sighs

[brightgnosis]

The infinite tracery of luminous emanations and abyssal chasma […] comprise the Phantasmal Order; its anatomy is embodied by sentient bonds of interconnectivity, which, when perceived by the Seer, assume the form of intelligences. Intertwining all creation as a vast and phantom lacework [… which …] may be glimpsed in part by way of the Sight of the Wise. This subtle conjunction of luminous, umbral, and voidful architecture likewise interpenetrates the Subtle Flesh of Man, which we reckon in sum as the Phantasmal Body [P] Deeds of the Art Magical may forge, intensify, differentiate, or disrupt the bonds of phantasmal emanation, thereby representing their sentient qualities.

From Lux Haeresis: The Light Heretical, published 2011; Daniel Schulke (My Review Here) (My Ko-Fi Here)

[canisalbus]

Haeresis

[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?”

[silverofthunder]

i decided to share a rec list of some of my fave fics. my "to read" list is still long and i wish i could read so much more but as the time is limited... well, you know. heck, people literally have whole masterlists i could recommend but anyway, i wanted to give a little shoutout to some of the fics. there are some super duper great writers in this fandom and i can't tell enough how much i appreciate your work. my humblest thank yous to all! ❤️

Haeresis Heiress by GhulehVous || mature

if you want to read some family-centered shenanigans, this is your fic. dad!Secondo is surely something you didn't know you needed - though in this case, the path to parenthood is not that smooth. 😊 lots of humor and awkward situations so far!

In the Darkness of Your Dreams by @the-curator1 || 18+

demon!Copia makes me melt. he's so sweet, i want him to protect me, too. 😊 beautifully written piece. ❤️

In Cold Blood by @da-rulah || 18+ (dark fic)

absolutely great. this is creepy but in a captivating way. reading this was like watching some horror movie. this surely would be an amazing horror movie.

First Bite by @ghuleh-witch || 18+

Dracopia, do i need to say more? what a delicious little treat. 😏

Winter Chill <> The Date <> Question Marks <> Couple Skate by @kissingghouls || 18+

i loooooove Mary Goore in these. all are such a delight to read, you will fall in love Mary if you already aren't in love with them/him.

Napping in the Clouds by @ramblingoak || SFW

aww, such a cute steampunk family-centered piece. Secondo and little Copia are so adorable!

Blinded by @lilspacewolfie || 18+

love the devil!Terzo concept and and this is just delicious. beautifully written. (i definitely need to read more...) ❤️

I Knew Nothing But Shadows by @writingjourney || 18+

a masterpiece. such a beautiful, raw story that really hits all the spots within you - honestly. it feels like words aren't enough to describe this. just wow. ❤️

Ribbons & Ties by @anamelessfool || teen and up

such a great world-building, lovely story about Terzo and Omega's relationship. ❤️

[simperator]

Haeresis Dea - Chapter 4

AO3 Link

You have something to tell Terzo, Secondo has something to tell you, Copia has something to tell Secondo- nobody shoot the messenger.

You never were so keen on folding laundry.

Another week, another Saturday you’re stuck folding an entire Clerical staff’s laundry when you could be doing literally anything else. Normally this task would be done whilst you were hypothetically kicking and screaming, or sneaking off to a breakroom, but you were absolutely flying through folding these cassocks. You hummed a mindless little tune to yourself, your gaze transfixed in a daydream.

Secondo, Secondo, Secondo.

Almost as if you’re the protagonist in some rom-com you’d normally turn your nose up to, you let loose a satisfied sigh. Imagine it, having an infantile little crush on him all because he’s being nice to you. Part of you wants to kick yourself for letting such flighty emotions creep over your thoughts but unfortunately, the thoughts replayed the time you’ve been spending with the middle Emeritus brother. The way he understands your frustration with the injustice of power in the church, the way he makes you laugh, the way his gloved thumbs rubbed over your hands…

Anyone could see it, you’ve got it bad. Not that it would be a problem, but unlike most other organised religions the Unholy Church of Satan welcomes intimate relationships and marriage-adjacent rituals among clergy members, so it’s not as though your infatuation is punishable. Well, to the church at least. Sat on the desk in your dormitory is another letter from your mother, you don’t read them too closely anymore, but something something “Always mind your vocation” something something “Saving yourself”. The other postulants laugh it off as puritanical nonsense, you make a solid effort.

One of the sisters in the clerical commons, unbeknownst to you, has been watching you as you absentmindedly breeze through what is otherwise one of the more tedious chores Novitates are saddled with. “Wow! Look at you! It’s not even noon and all the cardinal’s cassocks are done!” she chirped brightly. This snaps you out of your hormone-heavy haze. “Hm? Oh! Yes, I suppose so…” It is all over your face that you’re out of it, and it seems it wasn’t going unnoticed to her. She gives you a mischievous smile. “Any uh…” You immediately lost interest in speaking in favour of daydreaming. “Anything on your mind?”

“No…” your reply is sickeningly melodic and extremely unconvincing. You’ve been receiving many of these prying questions and knowing looks from people you knew all across the clergy, but no one dare rush the process of romance, especially with the knowledge of the papacy and the subsequent Prime Mover ritual. Prime Movers were a concept that always flummoxed you. Perhaps it was just your upbringing, but you never understood why Papas and clergy members don’t honour the sanctity of marriage. Of course, it goes against their doctrine- but the idea of an entire ritual to initiate oneself as just a Papa’s personal baby-making machine and not their life partner always felt heartless to you. Even the name, Prime Mover, felt strangely perverted in comparison to ‘spouse’, even if on a primal level they serve the same purpose. Deep down, you’re sort of happy Nihil pays you no mind by that fact alone.

You banish the thought of Prime Movers, the idea that people are rooting for you to become one, the fact that they are rooting for you to become Secondo’s. You’re sure there must be some impossible qualifications one must meet in order to be chosen to birth the apocalypse, qualifications that you do not fit. Besides, if they’re not even going to make you a Sister, no way in hell you’d be anyone’s personal child bearer. All of it seemed… immoral to you. Maybe your mother’s letters have merit after all. “Sister.” It was Imperator’s voice. She was standing between the two of you in her typical sneak-up-behind-you manner. Remembering your little conversation, Sister Imperator looks you in the eyes and offers you a curt nod. “Novitiate.” The recognition and respect felt good but not good enough to dispel the foreboding nature that following Imperator around wherever she went. “I must speak with you about preparations for something important. Privately.” Your fellow Sister looked to you, somewhat of a twinge of guilt on her face while you felt the familiar anger begin to bubble up inside you. ‘Let me guess, something I’m not good enough to hear? Too fuckin’ stupid?’ Would never dare to say this out loud.

“Coming, Sister Imperator.” Her voice was well-experienced in hiding her meekness. Sister Imperator wordlessly begins walking away with the Sister trailing behind her. As much as you were up in arms about the seemingly impossible hoops it takes to earn any respect, you admire Imperator’s ability to command people without a single word. It would be somewhat blasphemous, but a common sentiment among the clergy is that Sister Imperator would be an infinitely better leader than any of the Papa’s have been for decades. Mama Imperator… you silently hope to see the day.

Once again, you’re left alone while important matters are going on, like a child. Sighing, you gather up all the laundry into one basket and begin the trudge to the cardinal’s suites to deliver their cassocks. It’s a long way, up many flights of stairs, but a small part of you gets excited to see the cardinal’s wing of the cathedral. The lights are big and brighter, and the carpet a bit softer, it’s all just a bit… nicer, for cardinals. Go figure. Cardinals are usually busy during the day, debating Satanic laws, supervising and ordaining priests, and administrative work- so you rarely have any run in’s while you gently place clean cassocks on their beds.

Life seems to be anything but rare for you because the next door over the sleeping quarters was unlike the typical neat, clean, professional interiors you’re used to. Posters of secular metal bands hung on the walls, a leather jacket hung lazily over a chair, and a single kazoo was the crowning jewel on the otherwise messy desk. All of this was certainly not becoming of an Unholy cardinal, you stare off into space trying to figure out who in the clergy would have a room like this. “Good afternoon, Novitiate.”

A beat passes while your face distorts into one of unabashed irritation. “Good afternoon, Cardinal Emeritus.” You turn to him, forcing the best smile your muscles can fake. He smirks at you with that same, fucking smug look on his face. “Oh please, Terzo is fine. You’re on a first-name basis with all of us, right?” He chuckles at his own joke while your face grows hot with anger and embarrassment. “Your black cassock is on your bed.” The words fall out of you while you desperately try to scurry your way out of his room. “Wait!” He laughs out the word.

“Wait-” the second time it’s softer. Stopping in your tracks you let your ears prick, you’ve never heard Terzo Emeritus use that tone before. “Don’t go, Sister…” his tone apologetic, still with an air of teasing thick in it. His piercing green eyes look into yours, rife with remorse but his half-smile says otherwise “I’m… I’m sorry.” You swallow, continuing to step back. “It’s alright.” Terzo snorts. “No it’s not, you’re as red as this cassock.” He’s being nice to you, genuinely sweet. It’s confusing, he might as well have sprouted wings and flown off. “Thank you for eh, bringing the black one by the way red isn’t really my colour.” You exhale in the place of laughter, smiling at his little attempt at a joke.

“Really, Sister. I’m only joking.” Eyes dropping to the floor, you bite your lip. Oh no, are you going to have a heart-to-heart with Terzo of all people? You set down the laundry basket. “It’s okay, I’m not even a real Sister. Tease me all you want.” A part of you immediately regrets snapping at him but you try and convince yourself he deserves it. “Sorella… don’t be that way.” He purred, approaching you tentatively. “Just because Papa Nihil hasn’t said the magic word doesn’t mean you’re not a Sister to me.” His hand makes its way to your shoulder.

You sigh, now feeling even more guilt for the vitriol. “And what do Brothers and Sisters do? We tease!” Shoulder squeezing, you begin to smile at him, totally not of your own volition. Damn it, he is charming. “You’re not some shrinking violet, I know you can take it.” He playfully punches your arm. “And you can dish it, come on, Sister, do your worst.” Unable to hide your shock you let out a laugh. “You mean to insult you?” “Yeah! Come on, no one’s watching!”

Asmodeus, Belial, Satanas, whoever was listening at that moment you thanked a thousand times. Finally let Terzo Emeritus get a piece of your mind, for every time he teased you, every shit-eating grin, every condescending look. “You talk so big for someone so short.” It’s true. Terzo was the most, vertically challenged Emeritus brother. Superior or not, he was still only a couple of inches taller than Imperator, which was not a generous amount. He blinked at you a couple of times before letting out a few small laughs, which crescendoed into bigger ones. You couldn’t help but laugh too as threw an arm around your shoulder. “See? You’ve got some claws! No wonder my brother likes you so much.”

Your laugh fades into a surprised smile. “Really?” The word came out more girlish than you would’ve liked. “Oh yeah, talks about you all the time. How admirable it was you were sticking up to him like that for Copia.” His voice was mockingly poetic, your nose scrunches in annoyance. “Father Copia.” “See?!” Terzo clasped his hands together. “That! That there! That is why Secondo likes you and that is why I tease you. You’re not some sheep who goes along with whatever people say, you got fire! Passion!” You tuck a stray hair behind your veil sheepishly. Not only has it knocked someone down a few pegs, but it’s also made someone you really fancy like you.

“Speaking of passion, when you’re done with delivering cassocks, Secondo wanted to speak with you in the library. Wouldn’t tell me what about.” Your eyes lit up, mind already reeling about what it could be. Picking up the laundry basket you tried to hide your excitement. “Ah! Okay, I’ll just… finish with this then. Thank you, Terzo.” He smiled at you. A real, genuine smile. Turning away from him, you only have a few more rooms left. You hear Terzo’s footsteps enter his room, the door shutting behind him. You thought that’d be the end of it but he just had to have the last word. “Be sure to bring protection!” Fucker.

Two laundry firsts today. The first time you finished folding it all before noon and having them delivered to all the cardinals in under an hour. You were on fire, and so was your anxiety. What could Secondo want? The logical part of your brain reasoned that he was only calling you in to discuss clerical matters, either administrative or just housekeeping. But the small, stupid, fanciful part of you hoped it would be a secret meeting, time spent laughing and enjoying each other's company, with no pleasantries or responsibility. You were so disjointed with all the possibilities you forgot to even knock on the library door before entering, having rushed there after throwing the laundry basket back in the commons.

Secondo was sat at one of the tables, looking up at you wide-eyed as if it was a shock to see you there. You smile warmly, if not a bit awkwardly. “Hello, Secondo!” you chirped, masking any dizzying butterflies you were feeling. Still looking at you, he swallows anxiously and nods slightly. “Hello, Sister.” His detached nature puts you off a little- he looks affronted to see you. Perhaps you should have called him Father? Were you interrupting something? Is he here because he knows of your little crush and is going to spell out how disgusted he was? You try and shake off your overthinking by putting on a friendly face. “May I… sit?” You gestured to an empty chair across from him. “Please.”

You begin to approach the chair but he shoots up from where he was sitting and speed walks behind it, pulling it out for you. His 1000-yard stare is unchanging, but you’re touched by the chivalrous sentiment. “Thank you” your voice was barely above a whisper. Straightening your robes, you watch as he sits back down, taking a few breaths while twiddling his thumbs. The air is tense with an air you can’t read, and you certainly know he isn’t going to cut it. “Is there… a reason you called me in, Father?” using the formal title just in case. Secondo snaps out of whatever daze he was in, sputtering as he spoke. “Oh, no. I mean, there is a reason, but not any you should concern yourself with.”

Eyebrows furrowing, your head cocked slightly. What was he talking about? What Sister Imperator was referring to earlier? “I just… wanted to spend some time with you.” Secondo looked almost apologetic as the words came out of his mouth like you were going to shout at him after he got out the words. No longer able to hide your happiness, you start beaming at him, a soft shade of pink spreading across your cheeks. “Well, I want to spend time with you too.” He tries to hide an awkward smile to no avail.

The two of you sat in semi-comfortable silence for a breath or two before Secondo broke the silence. “No one’s been given you trouble?” His voice was low and unsure. Biting the inside of your tongue you weigh in your mind what counts as ‘trouble’, but not wanting to ruin his mood you shake your head left to right. “No.” “Not even my brother?” You smile and recount the conversation you and Terzo had earlier. “No, not even him.” Secondo halfheartedly smiles as he nods in response.

“I actually asked you to meet me because I wanted to show you something…” Your interest was immediately piqued, your brain reeling twice more than it has been all day with all the strange ways people have been acting. Secondo got up from his seat and approached where you were sitting, offering a hand. Taking it, you assumed it was a gentlemanly move to help you up but as you stood fully straight Secondo didn’t let go. His gloved hand on yours was a feeling you missed.

He led you down many towering rows of books, admittedly, you don’t spend as much time as you would like in the library outside of sitting with your friends at the tables and the sections that held your favourites. As Secondo led you deeper and deeper into the library your mind began to wander as to what could be waiting for you, but your mind was drawing blanks. It could be showing you secret ministry documents, it could be rebellious, I-must-take-you-now sex, you indulge in both little fantasies but only for a second, surprised at yourself for imagining sex with Secondo. You would not be the first in the clergy and you certainly will not be the last- which comforts the shame a little.

Secondo stopped in a row which was able to escape light, the smell of dust pungent in the air. Whatever he led you to was not looked at often, you brushed cobwebs out of your face. Scanning the bookshelf, you see nothing but old records, dating all the way back to the 1960s. If this is what he wanted to show you, it certainly was not as fantastical as you had hoped, but seeing documents older than you was kind of cool. Secondo looked at you, a mischievous glint in his eye- one you had never seen before. “Check this out”

Pulling two of the large, leather-bound records out from the shelf revealed something propped up against the end of the bookshelf, something hidden behind all these records. You look to Secondo, expectant for answers. Instead he wordlessly, and very gently, pry the square thing free. Upon further inspection, it’s about the same size as the sleeve of a vinyl. It’s kind of cool seeing old technology, most everyone is accustomed to using Walkmans and cassettes so seeing something from your childhood was amusing. “A record?” you say sweetly, prompting him.

Looking at you, Secondo smiles smugly, you note how much like Terzo he looks when he does so. Putting the record horizontally to his lips he blows the dust off, revealing colours that are reminiscent of psychedelia, with a little cartoon pope on the front. Lowering the record so it’s in both of your hands, you try and read the technicolour font on its front.

“Ghost…?”

“Mhm.” Secondo sounds almost proud. “Ghost. An early metal band, and their one and only EP from the ‘60s.” He never struck you as a music buff, but you’re happy to learn more about him outside of what you’ve gathered these past few weeks. “Cool, I didn’t know you were into old music.” Secondo shook his head, still smiling. “This kind of music really isn’t my thing, I’m more into Pantera, Exodus…” his voice, to your disappointment, trails off the minute he begins talking about himself. “But, the reason I wanted to show this to you…”

Opening the vinyl sleeve, you studied the two songs. Kiss the Go-Goat and Mary on a Cross, sound cool, but not as cool as what was wedged between the folds of the sleeve. It was one bright pink ticket for the Whiskey A Go-Go, and an old-looking photograph, with autographs of the members, signed on it. Before you could make out the letters on each signature Secondo picks up the picture and shows it to you. Strange-looking people in masks posing with their instruments, a beautiful young woman clad in green, who is lovingly facing a mop-top man in a black fur coat, sporting the skull Papa paint.

The Papa paint?

Secondo hands you the photograph, which you have brought up close to your face to examine. Wait… that kind of looks like… “That’s my father.” He cuts off your train of thought. You stare at the man in the picture before it sinks in before your world gets thoroughly rocked. “That’s Papa Nihil?!” The papal paint was the same but you never in a million years would see Papa posing with a band in a lavish fur coat. Secondo taps your shoulder and points to the woman in green. “And that’s Sister Imperator.”

Your mind is reeling. What in Satan’s name are they doing there? With this band? Together? Secondo answers all these questions for you. “My father was in this band way back before I was born to try and proselytize to the masses with our teachings. It’s how he met Imperator.” Your eyes were transfixed on him, not even beginning to believe what you were hearing. “Sex, drugs, and rock n’ roll, that was Nihil Emeritus for the longest time, before he got super into the church-y thing.” Secondo is smiling smugly, knowing he would get in trouble showing this picture to someone.

“Wow…” was the only sound on your lips. Nihil and Imperator… together… they looked so happy. “What-’ you worrying if the end of your sentence will come off as pressing. “What happened? It seemed like they were a pretty big deal.” Secondo took a deep breath, heaving his shoulders. “Primo happened. Was just… left in his dressing room one day with a note. Brought Imperator back to Italy with him and decided he wanted to take all this seriously.” Primo always struck you as the type to have been born from his mother in some Satanic rituals, with chanting, candlelight, and the Olde One himself right there with him. But… no.

“You mean he was just left there?” Secondo nodded wordlessly. He bit his lip tentatively, his face dropping into an expression you deciphered as somewhat of a mix between betrayal, shame, and grief. “I… was too.” He turned to you, eyes glistening with some unspoken sadness. “I was a churchstep kid, just like you.” your eyes widened, one hand reaching its way to your mouth is nothing short of pure shock. “Secondo…” your voice was soft, barely audible. The poor man looked like he was going to cry.

He closed the vinyl slowly, as if it would be for the last time, and put it back in place, along with the two large books. Not knowing what to make of this, you just stared at the photograph, attempting to conjure in your head the story for yourself. Nihil and that young blonde woman, meeting in L.A, young and free, and then two little babies, and now he’s Papa and Sister Imperator is as cold as anything. “So… if anyone thinks that we’re somehow better than them, just know all the Emeritus’ are is a failed musician and his two mistakes. The only genuine one out of any of us is Terzo and look at him, we’re not fucking special.”

It’s not venom in his voice, but something else. Something much more pained, as if he had been trying to tend to this wound for years. Before you had this connection with Secondo, this would’ve been plastered all over every corkboard, the topic of every conversation, and your triumphant victory. The Emeritus family doesn’t mean anything, they’re just as messed up as any of us! But, seeing Secondo like this, ashamed of his own bloodline, of himself- was the farthest thing from victory you could possibly feel. The Emeritus family isn’t the only people deserving of respect, they aren’t the salt of the Earth either. They’re just… people.

Secondo breaks the silence by sighing, fighting back whatever emotions were straining to come out. He tries to force a smile. “Guess that must… make things better for you-” “You’re not a mistake.” Your voice was completely flat, no emotion could get across the weight of your words. Secondo is visibly taken aback by your assuredness, by your kindness. Now you’re going to cry. It all makes sense to you now, he’s not aloof because he’s superior to you or quiet because he’s busy scheming his future as Papa- he’s so convinced that his life doesn’t matter he sees no point in participating in the one he’s been given. He’s a sad, dejected little kid who just wants to feel wanted, not feared or worshipped. You take his hands and hold them tightly in yours, squeezing them tightly. “You’re not a mistake…”

Secondo’s eye water at your words, face contorting before swallowing it and going back to the resting angry face he gives to everyone. Upset by the fact he feels the need to hide his emotions and pained at how upset he is you do something a little impulsive- but you’re willing to try anything to make him feel better. Slowly, you bring his hands to your face and kiss his gloved hands. Not making eye contact, not expecting anything, just tenderly kissing his hands as a way to say “I care for you.” with no words. Secondo frees his hands from yours to cradle your face in them. “Neither are you, Sorella.”

The two of you stay like that for a while, just staring at each other’s sad, but comforting faces. You want to kiss him, you want to kiss him more than anything, but you wouldn’t dare. Not now, not in the place you are with your ordination and the context of the situation.

Secondo finally lets himself smile softly at you before pulling your head gently towards him, placing his lips on your forehead. Such a small gesture is made all the more passionate with his thumbs tracing over your face- you’re unsure if he’s ungodly warm or it’s just your face. He pulls back, to look at you, his cheeks stippled pink. Your eyes must have been absolutely sparkling at him because he couldn’t keep eye contact, looking away as his hands found their way to your shoulders.

He pats them before speaking again. “Would you like to walk with me? I don’t think I can stand to be in here anymore.” You nod, in full agreement. God, this part of the library was stuffy. This time, Secondo has the panache to hold his arm out to you, and you happily oblige by holding it in your hands. Thankfully, around this time of day people would be eating lunch, so there would be no one about to give the two of you any grief for being affectionate, even this quietly. The light through the windows is bright, warming your skin in the most pleasant way.

“I’m afraid the only place I know best is the cemetery-” Secondo says, sheepishly. Patting his arm, you smile warmly. “Show me the way.”

It was a beautiful little trail, if not for the foreboding sense of death. You knew of the cemetery growing up but you never had any reason to visit. It’s common for people to visit often or use the graveyard dirt for rituals and magick but you had never seen it in broad daylight, with brisk early spring hair filling your senses. The two of you had been walking in comfortable silence for a while now, not feeling any need to say a word- but you did have one question on your mind.

“What were those songs about? On the record?” Secondo thought for a moment, attempting to jog his memory. Nihil would never share with the Clergy, but that album is one of his greatest achievements- it is actually Imperator who implored the brothers to keep it hidden all these years. Secondo always chalked it up to the bad memory of finding having to go to Italy after his boyfriend finds a baby in his dressing room- but his father would often be heard humming some of the tunes. “Kiss the Go-Goat is about the obscene kiss, you learned about that, yeah?”

Kissing the Devil’s anus. You wince at the idea of Papa singing about such things. “Sure did.” Secondo’s tongue travels around his mouth as he tried to remember the other song. “Mary on a Cross… I think… I think that was about Imperator.” Nihil and Imperator being in love at one point is something that will never stop surprising you, but you had to admit his idea of writing a song about her was pretty adorable. “That’s so sweet,” you sigh. “I wonder if they’ll ever make a band again.” Secondo snorted at the prospect. “Doubt Nihil’s joints will be up for it, we’d have to find a new singer.”

“You like music!” you chirped naively. Secondo paused in his tracks as if mulling it over for a moment. He shook his head. “Ghost was fun, but didn’t really make us known. Probably Nihil’s fault.” It was strange hearing Papa be called for the first time. “I don’t know, the Clergy would have to get pretty desperate.” You mulled it over too, the reigned Papa singing onstage about all things unholy. It would either be the best decision the Clergy would make in its life for the downfall of the entire church. You shrug it off as just a pipe dream.

The two of you kept walking, weaving through, only briefly grazing the names of those who had died. You couldn’t help but notice that some of the headstones were tipped over, you had heard rumours of the church using dead bodies for rituals, but that was between Papa and the cardinals for sure. The thought of it makes you shiver. Secondo looks you up and down with a smile. “I’m surprised you’re enjoying this.” Your eyes meet his. “I mean, most people don’t consider a half-finished cemetery to be a pleasant walk.” He joked. Attempting to save face, you swat your hands as if trying to sweep your obvious discomfort away. “Oh no! Nothing to be scared of here! Dead bodies are just bodies! Might as well call me zombie queen!”

Secondo chuckles are your antics. “Maybe I will.” Under a particularly warm patch of sunlight, the two of you stood, taking in the air and how much the two of you appreciated each other’s company. Your mind couldn’t help but wonder within this quiet pocket of time, about that small forehead kiss. Absolutely a pleasantry, but a part of you wished it was something more. You used this pocket of time to silently pray that he’d kiss you again.

A sweet moment was uprooted by the sound of footsteps on the dirt trail, for a moment you two ignored it- assuming it was a mourner or someone gathering supplies. That was until a familiar voice piped up from behind you. “Father Emeritus?”

The two of you turned, still arm-in-arm. It was Copia, and sweet Satan did he look rough. Not rough enough for him to ignore you, offering you a curt nod and a pained smile. “Sister,” Immediately there was a sense of urgency, Copia had to have run from the cathedral to find the two of them there so quickly. “Copia? What’s the matter?” The poor, smaller priest was out of breath beyond belief, putting his hands on his knees and heaving. “No emergency well… it’s, kind of an emergency, nobody’s hurt. But it is very dire. ” Secondo’s voice dropped into one of seriousness and deep concern. “What is it?”

Copia swallowed before meeting your gaze again. “It’s Sister Imperator, she needs to speak with you. Now. It’s extremely important.” You and Secondo looked at it each other, your face read concern while his was a knowing sort of anger. “Is it about…” Copia nodded rapidly before Secondo could finish. Grumbling to himself, Secondo removed your hands from his arms, patting them before he dropped them. “I’ll meet you again later, Sorella.” He briskly walked right away from you and straight past Copia.

The two of you watched as Secondo left in a bit of a muted hurry, while Copia turned back to you with an everything-is-cool-and-fine sort of smile. You were almost offended by it. “Copia, what the hell is going on?!” you scampered towards him, the poor man still sweating profusely. “It’s er uh… nothing to do with you. Or me, really. Just… family matters.” You search Copia’s face for any sign of anything other than his usual placating nature. “Sister Imperator was calling Sisters to speak with her earlier, is that what this is about.”

Copia began to wildly fidget with his hands. “Yes and no… but I promise you it’s nothing to worry about it could just be routine housekeeping along with what’s happening now.” You’re not convinced, but he wasn’t going to break easy. “Come, come, come. Let’s walk, yes? We can just forget about all this fuss.” He snaked an arm around your shoulders and began to slightly push you forward down the trail, dishonesty dripping in his tone. You look past your shoulder to see Secondo’s figure getting smaller on the horizon. You hope for the best, but you have a sick, sinking feeling for the worst.

[romaritimeharbor]

MORAL INJURY — a non-romance genshin impact series. ♫

       act i, chapter iii        "the crow, the mouse, and the doll."

➤ CHAPTER SYNOPSIS :: the mouse bites and gets bitten.

➤ CONTENT WARNINGS :: trauma and recollections of trauma, references to self-harm (briefly mentioned, and not done intentionally—moreso done in the panic of a stressful moment), crying, reader acts like dottore in scaramouche's eyes, choking, burns, bruises, implied broken bones, dissection, general gore/graphic warning, dehumanization/non-sexual objectification (both the reader and scaramouche), reader is fucking MEAN and feels guilty about it later, blood, prescription pills. generally, tread carefully when reading this chapter.

➤ WORD COUNT :: 4.0k.

➤ AUTHOR'S THOUGHTS :: HELLO MORAL INJURY NATION!!! CHAPTER 3 IS FINALLY HERE and it is horrible and terrible. because i love angst <3 a little note, be sure to click around on the words and symbols that are underlined at the top of this post! the word MORAL INJURY will take you to the series masterlist/navigation post, and the music note will take you to the spotify playlist.

➤ TAGLIST :: @zeldadou, @umgatochamadopercyval, @starryshinyskies, @www-songbird, @pookiebearcave, @lesanyanyas, @francisnyx. contact me through messages/asks/etc non-anonymously to be added.

       After speaking to Collei—poor thing, they absently mused to themselves—they made haste in leaving Haeresys and returning to the main lab. Had they lingered even slightly too long, they were certain they’d run into its ruling segment, and they simply did not have the time to entertain his… antics.

       (‘Antics’ meaning anything from standing next to him and listening to him explain the intricacies of his work with ancient Khaenri’ahn technology and entertaining him with the occasional question to being thrown into an active battle with a Ruin Guard. He insisted that it was to keep their skills with their delusion sharp, but they personally thought he just wanted to see them bleed a little bit. Though they always emerged victoriously, they did not always emerge unscathed. They’re certain their suffering brings him some kind of satisfaction.)

       Thankfully, by the time they returned, the Sixth Harbinger was already waiting impatiently.

       "Good afternoon, Lord Sixth."

       "Hurry up," he scoffed, shooting them a wicked glare. Of course, they reacted naught. Being looked at like some kind of lab rat by Dottore was significantly worse than whatever glare Scaramouche sent their way. "I don't have all day."

       "I understand," they reassured, gently setting down their bag on the very same counter that they cleaned of blood a few hours prior. "If you would, please remove your shirt, and describe the issues you are encountering to me."

       His eyes followed their motions precisely. They wondered if it was some kind of trauma response. Nonetheless, he—shockingly—obliged their request, nimble fingers working to shed his upper layers as they snapped a pair of disposable gloves on.

       "...The issues, sir?" they gently reminded, gloved thumbs gingerly pressing into his ribs to check briefly for any wounds or areas of tenderness they'd need to be mindful of. It wouldn't be unexpected for him, a Harbinger, to be injured, so they figured it would be best to check beforehand. "Would you mind telling me—"

       A vague stinging sensation ran vertically across their lips, and they stopped. 

       "Reflexes." He smirked at the way their hand slowly raised to their now-bloodied lip. The pain didn't hit them for a few seconds, but even once it did, their expression remained boringly the same. The only indication they gave of having felt anything at all was a slight twitch of their lip. "My reflexes have been poor lately."

       A surge of rage flowed through their veins. They did their best to suppress it.

       "Lord Sixth, please take this seriously."

       "Are you implying that I'm not?"

       Agitation bubbled in their throat, but they again did their best to swallow it down and ignore it.

       "I am not..." Their jaw clenched slightly as they let out a shallow breath. They had hoped their irritance would leave with it; unfortunately, their emotions did not dissipate even a little bit. If anything, the Balladeer's smug look just made them feel worse. "I am not implying anything, Lord Sixth, but I'm sure we both have better things to be doing rather than bickering like children over your necessary bodily maintenance. Would you rather Lord Dottore do this? If so, I will gladly take my leave for the day. I will tell you this once only—I am immeasurably kinder than he is."

       "Are you threatening me?"

       "I don't know. Do you want it to be a threat?"

       His hands were wrapped around their throat in an instant. Within just those few brief seconds, they could already feel bruises beginning to bloom and burns beginning to boil their skin from his electro alignment.

       They gathered all the strength they could manage in their legs and kicked him off, forcing all of the air—not that he really needed to breathe—out of his lungs. He remained relatively unfazed, but didn't lurch at them again. Their chest heaved as they shot him a dirty look from beneath their Fatui mask, which had been knocked slightly out of position.

       (It wasn't often that they wore it. Honestly, around any of the Harbingers, they would usually just take it off. Both their name and face were well-known by now. Yet, they had diligently put it on before coming to see the Sixth.

       They could not be certain as to why. It was only inconveniencing their work.

       ...Maybe they were trying to hide, as fruitless as that endeavor was and would always be.)

       A deep, tired sigh left their aching throat. They turned away from him and laid their face against the icy wall, the bite of the cold much welcomed against the heat that had built under their skin from both anger and the recent struggle.

       "Hah, what? Are you going to cry?"

       "Do you want me to be honest, Lord Sixth?"

       The monotone exasperation in their voice surprised him a bit. Nonetheless, an amused look settled on his face.

       "Oh? If you so dare, you may speak freely, then."

       "I wasn't asking for your permission," they scoffed, standing up straight again and removing their mask mandated by the Fatui. They turned back to him, meeting his eyes with such immovable nonchalance, such tiredness that only someone who worked with Dottore for years could possibly display. "I was asking whether you wanted to hear the truth or not. You want to? Fine. First of all, you wouldn't be the first to try and strangle me, so don't fucking do it again. Try something else if you really want to kill me. You think I haven't been nearly choked to death by Lord Beta or Lord Delta? Do you honestly believe that? Secondly, you are acting like a goddamn brat. Either let me do your maintenance, or be Lord Second's science experiment again. Your choice. I have not met a single person who would rather be at Lord Dottore's mercy rather than mine, so choose, and do it fast. I don't have all day either."

       Silence. Then, a response came:

       "...Hah. You've got some guts, talking to a Harbinger like that."

       Static tingled along their flesh and danced in the air, waiting for the right moment to strike, waiting for them to say something wrong, waiting for them to cross that invisible thin line from being firm to committing insubordination.

       ...As if they already hadn't. They couldn't be bothered to care. He was acting like a child. How were they supposed to be patient with him when they'd already been spread so thinly? Either way, it was a lose-lose scenario, because surely the Balladeer would accuse them of pitying him or infantilizing him if they did continue to be patient. Being frank was simply the better option.

       Unbothered, they rolled their eyes. "I have no respect for anyone who makes my job more difficult than it already is. You aren't the only one with a hard job. You think I've got it easy? You wouldn't last a day in this position. Make up your mind, Scaramouche. Now."

       "Tch."

       "You want to be a test subject again? Fine by me. Have a good day, Lord Sixth."

       But of course, that was not the end of the Sixth Harbinger's bite. No. It never was, for as they reached for their bag, his sneer reached their ears and made their fingers twitch with rage.

       "What, like you were?"

       The tattoo on their wrist throbbed with the ache of distant, blotted out memories.

       All the nights they spent crying, wailing, hyperventilating, scratching at that foul tattoo on their wrist until their own blood coated their nails and oozed out of their raw flesh to blend with the scorching tears sliding down their cheeks and landing elsewhere...

       All of that for a useless little brat to comment on the situation like it was nothing?

       No. His Harbinger status be damned—no-one would disrespect them like that and get away with it.

       "Don't you ever"—in a swift movement that even the Sixth Harbinger did not expect nor predict, they whirled around and pressed their foot into his chest further and further until they felt something crack under the pressure—"speak of my experiences in such a foul way ever again. It was one time. You have been here, in this very same position, for five hundred years. I was in that position one time. Do not speak in such a manner ever again. I will break you beyond fucking repair."

       The Balladeer's porcelain skin burned. It was now his turn to be at the receiving end of elemental fury.

       "Fuck you," he rasped. They put their foot flat on the floor again, shooting him a harsh glare.

       "Fuck you too. Get back on the table or I'm leaving. How many times to I have to tell you? What are you, five? Are your listening ears off?"

       "...Fine."

       He begrudgingly stood up, hoisting himself up onto the examination table.

       "By the seven," they cursed under their breath. "Finally... You want painkillers or not?" They somehow still found it in them to offer some kind of pain management, though they already knew he would deny it, claiming he 'didn't need it.' "There is no shame in saying yes, Lord Sixth."

       "Don't you dare presume to patronize me. You really believe I'm so weak and—"

       As expected.

       As always.

       "Whatever. I offered, so don't go around telling people I didn't give you options."

       With that, they adjusted their grip on their sterilized scalpel and made the first of many cuts. If he wouldn't tell them what was really wrong, then they would just have to figure it out themselves—it would take longer, and likely be more painful and uncomfortable, but really...

       He did this to himself.

       The Balladeer was always a fascinating being to work on. If they were any less bitter, they would earnestly admit to being honored to have an opportunity to peer inside of him and poke around at his artificial systems, satiating whatever curiosity they might have had about him and how he functioned and—because of his creation being the work of an Archon—how one of the Seven's minds worked. As much as they may have disliked him, disliked his uncooperative nature, he was fascinating in his own right.

       (It was like they viewed him as less of a person, less of a coworker, and more of a subject to be studied. As more of a thing, a creature. Hm.)

       Scaramouche didn't bleed much. He bled, but never enough to inconvenience them. They were always able to simply pat away any blood with a tissue or a cotton pad when it began interfering with their work. He bled, but not like a human. Never like a human.

       He wasn't one, so...

       A soft whimper, a hitch of breath unnoticeable to the untrained ear drew them out of their thoughts. Their gaze briefly flickered to the Balladeer's face, fingers halting all motion. All the muscles in their abdomen tightened with an overwhelming sense of guilt and frustration.

       A stray tear rolled down his cheek. If he noticed, he didn't acknowledge it. They chose to pay it as little mind as possible, if not for anyone's sake but theirs. His eyes were hazy and vacant, as if he were recalling some other event such as this one—as if, above him, he saw someone else.

       They shook that thought off before it could spiral into something worse.

       Whatever he was recalling was not their fault, and certainly not their business. It had nothing to do with them. It was no concern of theirs. It wasn't their fault. It was absolutely not their fault... right?

       Were they being rougher than usual? Surely not, they thought, but upon shifting their eyes back to what they were actively working on... it became clear that they were.

       He was bleeding more than usual. Their incisions were deeper than usual. Either way, they would have to peel him open eventually to get better access to his systems, but... generally, they were very gentle about it. As gentle as one could be about something so grotesque, anyway. Even so, for some reason they couldn't really place, he was bleeding more than usual. Their incisions were deeper than usual.

       Oh.

       As much as they wanted to apologize, the words only stuck to the sides of their dry throat. Their hands trembled a little at the realization of what they had done to him, of how cruel they had been to him the entire time. How could their cruelty outmatch a Harbinger's? How could their cruelty outmatch the Sixth's, of all people's?

       Of course, in a job such as theirs, dissociation was a hell of a skill.

       There was nothing they could do except grit their teeth, continue, and—ideally—wrap it up as soon as possible. 

             — flower of the universe !! 🌸

       "Are you done yet?"

       He sounded so vacant, voice lacking any of the bite, enmity, or sarcasm it should have held towards them. He should've sounded different, not... like this.

       He sounded so broken.

       ...Did they really hurt him that bad? They'd hardly done anything different at all. It was always the same, they swore it was. It was the same as any other maintenance day in the lab.

       Deep down, they knew that wasn't true, that they were only lying to make themselves feel better, but there was nothing to be done about it now. They wordlessly cut the last stitch, patting away the little bit of blood that remained.

       "...I am, sir. If you don't heal properly, please come see me or Lord Dottore."

       He didn't reply.

       They reached up wordlessly, shutting the overhead surgical lighting off, hoping that the motion might snap him out of whatever daze he was trapped in. He hardly flinched.

       Wordlessly, they pulled back from him, snapping their surgical gloves off. They absentmindedly found themselves a bit thankful that there wasn't much to clean up when it came to him.

       "...Um. You can leave." They cleared their throat. "If— if you want to. I don't know when Lord Second will be back, so I would... leave. If I were you. I also need to sterilize the table, so... if you would..?"

       He didn't respond. 

       "Right. Um... I suppose I'll leave it for one of the segments, then... I'm heading out for the day, Lord Sixth."

       Guilt nagged at their conscience, and they wanted to apologize, but somehow the words got stuck in their throat and, no matter how hard they tried, could not be dislodged. So, they nodded in polite acknowledgement before quietly grabbing their things and heading out.

       A weight settled in their gut as they swallowed thickly, stumbling out of the lab and closing the door behind them. A chill immediately settled into their bones; however, they paid it no mind, keeping their head tilted down as they walked down the halls and giving no response other than a hum to any other Fatui agents that nodded their way respectfully.

       In their daze, they did not notice the looming presence they were about to run head-first into.

       Run head-first into him, they certainly did.

       A sharp gasp was inhaled through their nose, and their instinctive response was to snap at whoever it was they bumped into; before they could, however, they caught a glimpse of the person's footwear.

       Il Dottore. One of his older segments, if they had to guess based on shoes alone. They did not get the chance to apologize. In fact, they barely even had the chance to process who they were looking at and how they should go about their apology; should it have been short and to the point accompanied only by a polite nod, or should they have gone as far as to bow at the waist level? The answer would slightly vary depending on what segment it was (there was surprisingly little variance overall, but they did need to express a bit more guilt with some segments for their apology to be accepted without punishment), but they had no time to even think about how to apologize before he began to speak.

       "My, [Surname]"—they could hear the entertained smile in his voice, and in an instant, the gears in their head clicked together in recognition of what segment in particular they had run into—"terribly distracted, aren't you?"

       "I'm..." They did not raise their head. Instead, they simply stepped back, hands fidgeting somewhat with the handle of the bag they held. "I'm sorry, Lord Psi. I wasn't watching where I was going."

       Psi, twenty-third of Il Dottore's twenty-four segments, and—fortunately or unfortunately, depending on who one asked—the one who seemed to like them the most. A polite, straightforward apology without any excessive expressions of fear and respect would do.

       He was no different than any of the other segments in that he was an oddity and an enigma, someone who was not easily understood, but he was more personable than most. Oftentimes, it was him who attended publicity events in the place of the man himself. The original Il Dottore was generally not known for patience or grace. Therefore, the most logical action would be to send someone more… agreeable to such events. Psi was the only candidate for that kind of responsibility. He was no less of a threat than the others—he was simply harder to anger and easier to get along with.

       They supposed it was preferable to run into him instead of someone else.

       "Well, that much, I can certainly see."

       "Ah. Yes..." It was then that they finally straightened up and dared to peer at his face. "I should be going, sir. If you'll excuse me—"

       "Wait just a moment, mouse."

       Mouse. Mouse. He always called them that, if not their first or last name, and it made their stomach twist sickly every single time (they faintly recalled the first time he addressed them in such a way, but with that memory, they also recalled scalpels and cold metal digging into their skin that made their throat close up anxiously). It was demeaning and cruel and belittling. They expected no less from him.

       ...Yet somehow, he also made it sound fond, but not... fond. Fond, as one would speak to a pet—not fond in the way one might speak to a loved one.

       And really, they supposed that to him, they were a pet. They were most certainly not a loved one; they were simply a favored little mouse. Small, docile, and fragile in a way that was endearingly cute—a thing that could be grabbed by the tail and dragged around against its will with nothing to say in opposition for fear of angering its captor. It was disgustingly fitting.

       If they were a mouse—the prey—then they supposed that would make him a crow, the opportunistic predator who may not normally eat mice such as them, but could and undoubtedly would if he was given the chance to.

       A mouse trapped in a cage, constantly circled by crows threatening to finally kill them at any given point without warning…

       …Yes, that was accurate indeed.

       The leather of his gloves brushed against their neck, tilting their chin up to get a better look at their throat. They tried not to swallow too harshly—he'd know if they did, and then he would know that they were nervous. Then again, he would know regardless, since their pulse was ringing loud in their ears and his thumb pressed into their neck dangerously near to where he would be able to feel their heartbeat.

       He knew, and they were sure he was thriving on it.

       "...Sir?"

       "That is quite the nasty wound you've attained," he mused, withdrawing his hands from their neck, much to their relief. "I assume that the doll gave it to you?"

       "Yes. Lord Sixth and I got into an... altercation."

       "An altercation," he echoed, the very same amused tone seeping back into his voice. "I see. In that case, before you go, shall we treat this wound of yours? You would hate to worry your dear parents by returning in such a poor state, I'm sure."

       It was clear that he was not asking. They had no choice but to wordlessly nod and follow him back to the lab. 

       Upon entering, gently shutting the door behind themselves, they were relieved to find that Scaramouche had left. They really weren’t sure if they were relieved for him or themselves. Were they relieved knowing he would not have to face one of the segments in such a vulnerable state of being (though, somehow they were sure that he had done so multiple times in the past), or were they relieved knowing they did not have to face him again? It was truly anyone’s guess.

       Psi turned away from them, shedding his leather gloves and replacing them with disposable ones. They did not need to be told where to go nor what to do.

       They hoisted themselves up onto the cold, metal table (they could not manage to fully ignore the pounding of their heart against their ribcage—being on the one on the table for any reason was exceedingly uncomfortable) effortlessly, though not before leaving their bag by the door to grab on their way out.

       “Are you wounded elsewhere?”

       Their heart leapt somewhat in surprise of the voice cutting through the silence, and they chided themselves for being so tense. “No, sir. Only around my neck.”

       He hummed in a wordless acknowledgement.

       As he turned back towards them, the click of his shoes echoing eerily as he got closer and only ceasing once he stood directly in front of them, they straightened their spine somewhat. When his hands reached out to them, they tilted their chin upwards.

       They were not particularly interested in knowing what exactly he was doing; they only wanted it to be over as soon as possible so that they could leave for the day and return to the one place they dared to feel perfectly safe.

       “I hear that Beta was quite upset upon learning that you’d been to Haeresys today, yet left without seeing him.”

       They did not doubt it. Beta, the second of Il Dottore’s twenty-four segments… no, they did not doubt it whatsoever. He was very easily amused but equally volatile, and they knew he particularly liked the agents that were intelligent enough to understand even a little bit of his research; they were very possibly the first agent that would come to mind when thinking of someone who fit that criterion, unfortunately. They also knew that he was far more prone to anger than some of the others.

       They very much hoped that he was only mildly upset. If he was extremely bothered, however, he might just decide to hold them hostage the next time they visit—it was certainly not above him to do so.

       “Is that so?” they murmured, flinching somewhat upon feeling a gel’s cold bite against their wounded skin. “...I’ll make it up to him. Since I had to perform routine maintenance on the Sixth, I could not have stayed for long. Perhaps I’ll return to Haeresys on one of the lab’s less busy days.”

       “Well, he will most definitely hold you to it. Don’t make promises you cannot keep.”

       Somehow, they just knew that was a threat… a threat on Beta’s behalf, no doubt. They had long assumed that all the segments were connected mentally, though they had no real proof of that claim. They never cared to ask; it was simply always implied, a silent fact that they had been consciously aware of for quite a long time now. Moments such as these made them certain that it was true.

       They did not reply, opting for a simple hum instead.

       Moments passed in silence. Then, Psi spoke up once again after withdrawing from their body a final time:

       “You are dismissed, mouse. Take these”—he placed a small pill bottle at their side—”for the next week. One pill twice a day, in the morning and at night. We cannot afford to let your wounds get infected.’

       “Yes, sir.” They nodded. Only when he turned away from them did they get off of the table, taking the pills with them. Fear, more or less irrational in its nature yet nonetheless deeply ingrained into their instincts, still coursed through their veins. The racing of their heart had yet to settle down, and their hands trembled somewhat.

       It was with quick footsteps that they darted towards the door, snatching up their bag, before making a quick departure.

please consider reblogging, it helps me out quite a lot! written by aphelion & banner by @www-songbird. do not plagiarize, copy, ai train, or otherwise use my work -☆

[sodalitea]

I - Miracles of the White Nights [Il Dottore x Reader/OC]

For Valentine’s Day I’m sharing the first chapter of my longer fanfiction about Il Dottore and my Genshin OC Marie Snezhevna (this story can be perceived as reader insert type of thing; the characters' names play a big role in the plot and I decided to pick them by myself). In this chapter I have not provided the most detailed background of the current circumstances between Zandik and Marie, but I plan to do so in the future. I don’t really know if I’ll update it in any regular schedule, but for sure I’m going to continue this story. Meanwhile, enjoy!

TW: Minimally suggestive! Mentions of Marie's guesses about Dottore's true intentions.  Summary: Small gestures make a big difference. Due to the long lasting effects of a serious argument with Il Dottore, Marie Shnezhevna gets degraded on the lower position in Haeresys despite being one of his most reliable workers in the lab. Three months later a ceasefire is established. Zandik finds surprising but efficient way to trick her into getting promoted again. Don't repost my artworks/writings please! I'll appreciate likes, comments and reblogs. I am the author of both text and signature illustarion. ♡ English is my second language, there may occur some grammar issues!

AO3 link

I - Miracles of the White Nights

“The days in Snezhnaya seem identical. Wherever you go, you will find your hair and eyelashes frozen. It's so cold that you have to keep moving your body constantly in order to survive, even in the properly chosen clothing. Everywhere you look, you'll be surrounded by the snowy desert. If you stray too far from human settlements, your eyes will be obscured by one of the sudden snowstorms. Bunch of snowflakes will cut into your face like tiny, marvelously crafted blades. Somewhere on the horizon you may spot the outlines of deep, impenetrable, coniferous forests. You will find it difficult to stand straight due to the violent blows of the whistling wind trying to bury you alive in the frosty grave. It's worth mentioning that the typical Snezhnayan days are rather short in comparison to local nights that can last even for months. This land is harsh, but it still possesses unique, raw beauty. Those cold nights offer truly charming views in the form of multi-colored aurorae you couldn't experience anywhere else in equally rich form. The artistry of almighty Cryo Archon is undeniable, only the canvas she uses to paint her abstract compositions are painfully fake. Of course, these aren't the only charms of the Ice Nation. This country is huge and full of contrasts. What may seem surprising is this special time of the year when the sun takes control over the sky completely, so it doesn't set at all. The local population describes this phenomenon as the "Miracle of the White Nights''. Over the course of four hundred years, one could experience many of them, but they could not compare to the fragrant, inflaming nights in the Nation of Wisdom.”

Zandik, as he wasn't holed up in the deepest dungeons of Haeresys, stopped next to one of the windows in the southern part of his mansion and locked his gaze on the distance. The scarlet irises wandered somewhere along the glittering horizon, seemingly without any specific goal as the Harbinger enjoyed pervasive silence. Since he got rid of the segments, it had been happening more and more often. Sometimes he was just trying to shake off a strange feeling of lightness inside his skull. He was fed up with everything. Exhausted with the amount of delayed work. Instead of dealing with serious matters, he wasted too much time on trivial affairs such as correcting the mistakes of people less competent than himself. For centuries he wasn't relying on his employees that much and now he was just even more disappointed with them. After all, they were only humans with ordinary lifespans, without the satisfying amount of experience that would possibly match the level of Teyvat's most powerful mind. Zandik felt frustrated by the lack of quick alternatives to slow down the pace of his own work. He was alone with all of the projects he started when his other selves were still present. By the time he still handled most of the things on his own in different forms, but for now he couldn't even rely on himself truly. This would be a disgrace to him if he addressed this issue to Pierro or their Archon, since for hundreds of years he had been an exceptional professional, the master of planning and reacting quickly to every breakthrough revelation. He was always a few steps before everyone. At this stage, it was not possible for him to return to such a tedious work alone. It would be much less problematic if only deadlines never existed. Escape in thought was his way to break away from the unfavorable situation at least for a short moment. His thoughts traveled to the place where it never snowed. To the forests that sheltered a much richer variety of living organisms. The days were longer there, and the hot nights often made it impossible to fall asleep. The scents in Sumerian air could effortlessly mess with the restless minds of angry young men living for some greater purposes… For the Second Harbigner of Shneznaya, looking towards Sumeru was an involuntary, bitter flirtation with his own past. Currently he was in a place so incongruous to his homeland, but it was the only nation that guaranteed him complete freedom and support in turning his wildest daydreams into reality. It was the only place in Teyvat that allowed him to prove himself the way he was. He had everything he wanted to continue his journey and test the ideas that many would not even dare to think about… And yet, somewhere in his suppressed consciousness, he understood perfectly well that even here he was just a stranger meant to simply play his part. This time, as the man continued staring out the window, he heard the echo of someone's slow footsteps on the marble floor behind him. He recognized the sequence of these steps extraordinarily well… Those were inimitable. If only their owner walked barefoot, she would reach him in perfect silence. The corners of the Doctor's mouth turned up involuntarily.

“Marie Snezhevna,” he said without even turning towards the woman. Instead, he laced his fingers together behind his back. “Is this an emergency? At this hour I would rather expect to witness your presence in the laboratory or in your chamber.”

His voice echoed crystal clear between the walls of the corridor occupied by him and his underling. As usual, the scientist chose his words in a stiff, somewhat archaic way. Although it added seriousness and supposed politeness to his overall image, he himself seemed distant. Despite Zandik's cold demeanor, his interlocutor did not feel rejected. She was used to talking to him. Marie's interactions with Il Dottore resembled rituals based on some unwritten rules which the main participants managed to learn over the last few years. If there was an ordinary side witness there, the said unrefined observer could experience the eagerness to say that both Marie and Dottore enjoyed engaging in these subtle games.

“I will leave immediately if I interrupted something important,” the woman replied calmly, keeping her demeanor professional. Zandik remained silent for a moment, giving her no answer. This made the woman sigh heavily before she turned her back towards him to fulfill her promise. The quiet rustle of her clothes alerted the Harbinger, who slowly turned towards her and squinted his eyes hidden under the raven mask.

“Stop.”

It was an order. Naturally, the woman immediately stopped and turned her face towards him, allowing him to continue his speech. After all, she had to respect his will. He cleared his throat, seemingly offended by the whole situation.

“You wouldn't come here without a reason. Besides, I don't think it's respectful to be in a hurry when you're talking to your boss.” Indeed, he had known her for a long time and he knew what he could expect from her. He had to play it cool, precisely because — since he had fully understood his own position over the last few months – he didn't want to miss the opportunity to finally talk to Marie alone.

Since he delivered the two gnosis to Tsaritsa, he cut off almost all forms of communication with his former main assistant except her reports on the progress of her research under his command. Although the heretical scientist usually didn't care about time, now it felt like the whole eternity had passed. A really strange thing. Deep down in his heart he was a simple coward, or maybe his unwavering patience was reasonable and had finally paid off as the woman herself announced her readiness for a face-to-face confrontation? Marie shrugged her arms and shifted her body weight to one of her hips before shaking her head, sighing again with a faint smile on her lips. It was an extremely familiar gesture, as if everything before had never had the opportunity to set them apart.

“Of course, naturally…” she looked up at him, and then her facial features softened noticeably. “I just want to thank you for everything you did for me. I really didn't expect this. Certainly not after I caused additional problems in a very crucial situation. I made it all about myself. I think you deserve an apology for what I said, when I stated that you're…”

“Your apology is unnecessary.”

The Harbinger made a gentle gesture with his hand to silence her. He didn't want Marie to take old skeletons out of the closet. He also did not want to elaborate more about the choice of his that had a negative impact on his daily functioning. He wasn't even bothered by the earlier behavior of his former assistant anymore. Even though he still couldn't fully accept what she truly meant back then, he understood her perspective on an intellectual level. During that mission, he was caught off guard by Kusanali and he just did what was necessary to succeed. However, he could have done it all more skillfully to minimize the unpleasant side effects of the special operation. However, he did not take this into account at the time, so he was delaying an adequate response to Marie's complaints. No honest apology passed his lips in ages and he wasn't very likely to utter that magical word anytime soon.

“Follow me. It will be much more beneficial,” he gestured and clasped his hands behind his back again. Then, he started moving further into the southern nave of the mansion. He walked leisurely, visibly waiting for Marie to go after him. True to his expectations, she caught up with him very quickly. When Marie glanced at his face from closer distance, she spotted his poor state immediately. He looked extremely tired and couldn't hide it even under the mask. His skin was paler than usual and it had a sickly greenish undertone. Exhaustion would explain his growing isolation in a convincing way. His own pride was his downfall. As they walked through the corridors in silence, listening to the wind blowing outside, Marie noticed that they were approaching the sector of private chambers. His intentions could be... everything and anything.

Dottore's supposed intentions caused Marie's consternation, but in order to avoid hasty guesses, she decided to keep all comments to herself. The time on his side teached her that the worst things were usually caused by the incorrect assumptions about his agenda. Yet, when Zandik started unlocking the door to his dorm, the woman cleared her throat quietly and took a step back.

“I'll wait outside.”  

Slightly awkward smile appeared on her face. She received a reply in the form of a nod. It seemed that he didn't care about the goal that could stereotypically motivate any man to take a woman to his apartment. Overally, Zandik loved privacy, so Marie was going to respect that as well, leaving aside the obvious moral issues. The Doctor disappeared inside his apartment for around five minutes. When he came back, he handed her a small box wrapped in a papyrus. He had a gentle yet wry smile on his lips that only fools could trust. He warned the woman before she started asking him any questions.

“In Sumeru I managed to obtain some new chemical samples which I expect you to analyze, describe, and maybe even extract something completely new from them. I just require you to be extremely careful when handling them. I didn’t choose any intermediary, considering the high value of those resources… I'm strongly against unpacking them outside of the laboratory environment.”

“I see. I will do my best to keep them safe,” Marie took over the package with extreme caution. She seemed to turn pale when she heard a silent clink of glass under the packaging. She looked fearfully at the Harbringer, who rubbed the tip of his nose with his knuckles, covering the lower part of his face at the same time. It took a lot of effort for him not to burst into manic laughter. Fortunately, Dottore was an excellent actor.

“This is another urgent project that has been delayed unexpectedly, so get on with it immediately… If you can make it this evening, I might even consider promoting you again.”

The man sounded as categorical as promising. Yes, exactly, it was a great idea for Marie to return to her previous position. Of course, if only that's what she wanted. Zandik just intended to convince her to do so, being fully determined to achieve the desired effect. Among all of his employees, he memorized cooperation with Marie as the most pleasant. Moreover, he could keep an eye on her constantly to avoid particularly embarrassing accidents involving her... This woman's reliability required appropriate supervision to shine fully.

“Promoting me, you say… For how long?” Although the woman turned it into a joke, she slowly moved towards the opposite side of the corridor, remaining very careful around the package received from her boss. Since Marie was cut from the same cloth as Zandik, she also didn't want to admit that she simply missed the infamous heretic's company. “Apart from formalities, I just wonder what it is. Naturally, I will prepare the report as soon as possible!”

The Harbinger watched as the woman took up her task. It was amusing to witness her curiosity and willingness to gain knowledge. In this particular case, he had a feeling that it would herald a real breakthrough in their united research.

“I'm counting on your expertise, Professor,” he added in Fontanian as she left, before the storm of woman's black curls disappeared from his sight. He expected very quick results from this long-awaited experiment.

══════⊹⊱≼≽⊰⊹══════

When Marie entered her study room in the lab, she put the package on the table and rubbed her hands together with excitement. Sumeru was the region with the best samples of poisons. What could be inside the parcel? Small colorful frogs for the production of poison darts, medicines and antidotes, rhizomes, roots, leaves, mushrooms, insects… The tropical jungle hid countless treasures and the fact that Il Dottore himself managed the trouble of obtaining raw materials was exceptionally valuable. Marie didn't know anyone who was more familiar with the local flora and fauna. She herself might not have even paid attention to some things during her on field delegations, but now she had the opportunity to learn something new directly from the mastermind himself. On top of that, he offered her another promotion. Wonderful. Low importance tasks weren't as fulfilling as experiencing the true science. After conversation with Zandik she felt extraordinary happiness that she had not expected to return these days. The way he referred to her as Professor scratched the right part of her brain a bit too pleasantly. She was more willing to try to forgive him for scaring her to death when he destroyed his segments out of nowhere. At the same time, was this really necessary to wait so long before handing her the new project?

The woman tied her hair back and put on protective clothing, quietly humming the first random melody that popped into her head. Then, she walked over the table and began unrolling the package. As soon as she saw its contents, she felt the wave of heat on her cheeks. This wasn't what she expected… She slipped the protective mask off her face in bewilderment, and then, with wide eyes, she began to look at the containers. The bottles indeed contained chemicals, but at first glance none of the substances had something to do with the poisonous flora of Sumeru. Those weren't even standard vials from Zandik's laboratory, but some colorful glass flasks decorated according to the Sumerian manner of design and sealed with appropriate labels. Marie sank heavily onto her stool and began carefully turning the bottles over in her fingers. Maybe… Dottore made a mistake or someone miraculously robbed him, replaced the original cargo and even managed to escape with his life? Sounds a bit too silly, but it was all just women's cosmetics. Nothing really valuable to the scientist.

Rose water, kohl, aker fassi and several niche perfume oils. What's more, at the bottom of the package there was an original Sumerian halva decorated with dried fruits.

Marie tried to maintain her denial, but instead of relief, she felt a pang in her heart. At this point her face felt as if she was on fire. If Zandik planned to give it to her right after he returned and her sulks prevented him from doing so… She felt so bad about herself. Willingly or not, she blinked her eyes a few times, as for a moment her vision became blurry. He had no reason to be so generous. Maybe it was a suggestion that he noticed her getting old slowly, or maybe she should just look for some specific, new purposes for simple household chemicals? Maybe the halva was poisoned or packed with elixirs he hadn't tested before? After all, Dottore always devoured it himself and he was reluctant to share it with anyone. Or maybe Marie was just overthinking at the moment and what Dottore really expected from her was terrifyingly simple. Was it that he wanted her to try those substances on herself, like she always used to do in her job? Zandik wished to see the effects of her work in the evening, which meant there was no time for typical scientific inspection… Marie had just enough time to do her makeup. It was exciting, moving and scary in its own way. It wasn't usual to get any prosaic, non-scientific gift from Zandik.

However, if this was the only requirement to restore the old order in the laboratory, Marie was willing to do it for both of them and touch the precious part of Sumeru that he brought to Snezhnaya for her. Soon the woman's green eyes got embraced by a beautiful dark frame. Her cheeks and lips got touched with the color of a pomegranate with a golden glow. She placed the sweet scent of honey, sandalwood and rose behind her ear. She cut the halva into pieces. For now she was almost ready to face him again. It was one of those white nights, when endless days asserted their domination over the lenghty times of darkness again.

[hellfire010]

dni if you write with @sugarfm she had a crush on arthur the aardvark growing up

[santoschristos]

Lux Haeresis: The Light Heretical

Imagery by Daniel A. Schulke, from his book “Lux Haeresis” (“The Light Heretical”). cultus sabbatinoi Edit/photoshop: Mahaboka

[jessamine-rose]

Dottore definitely has a female Segment who is equally if not more attractive than him. For that reason, she is his biggest love rival amongst his clones (//∇//)

It’s easy to choose your lover over Omega Build or his Haeresys Segment. No matter how handsome or intelligent they are, the original Zandik is superior in every way possible. But Ladyttore??

Rip his s/o will be immediately charmed. Her pretty smiles, her well-endowed chest, her seductive offer of a different bedroom experience………how can one not waver before such a beauty??

As you nervously blush in her presence, Ladyttore will turn to her creator and flash him a victorious smirk. Dottore can only glare at her and assign her a new mission, preferably someplace far, far away from Snezhnaya.

If not, he can always have her terminated.