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musings-of-miss-j · 8 months

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no rest for the wicked (nor the foolish)

part five: in which the doctor extends an olive branch (of sorts) while childe and signora demand your cooperation and a certain someone laments your absence

a harbingers x gn reader series!! (includes dottore, childe, arlecchino and pantalone x reader. the rest of the harbingers will most likely not be romantic interests)

notes: very very slowburn, reader has an attitude and a touch of social anxiety, crack, fluff, vague flirting and emotionally constipated yet unfairly pretty people pining for you

warnings: blood and organs

as always, inform me if you find any pronoun slips!!

series masterlist

word count: 4722 words

author's note: next part will probably be out in the next two days :) please enjoy some weird mfs being simps in the meantime

* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚** ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚** ੈ✩‧₊˚*

The Doctor was sitting at his desk reading over some files when you walked into the lab, his free hand holding a vial of bubbling golden liquid suspended in the air as though he’d been in the midst of something and got distracted by the paperwork. You idly wondered if the liquid would evaporate if he let it sit like that for too long while you briefly searched the lab for your cloak. You frowned when you didn’t find it. Where else could it possibly be? Dismissing the issue for now, you rolled up the sleeves of Childe’s coat yet again and checked on the fungi you were growing in petri dishes. If your hypothesis was correct, they’d mutate into the Tri-Lakshana fungi when exposed to concentrated Dendro energy, but before you could test that the samples had to grow. Which they were doing a fabulous job of; one strain in particular had completely covered the bottom of the petri dish, and you quickly transferred it to a larger surface to continue growing. A crow squawked from outside one of the laboratory’s enormous windows, and a cursory glance revealed it was one of the many that had taken to visiting your chamber’s window for food. It was easily identifiable from the purple stain across its claws; the wolfhook extract you’d used to mark them was clearly holding up well.

So was the all-cure you’d taken that morning; reliable as always, it had reduced your headache to a tiny buzzing in the back of your skull, and the only thing that caused you mental pain at the moment was the thought of Signora and her unwelcome invitation.

You chewed over the less-than-appealing prospect as you rummaged through the cabinets for a whopperflower stamen. The gala was bound to be uncomfortable, with the Harbingers and their political allies in attendance. You still hadn’t the slightest idea what had come over Signora to invite you; as far as you were concerned, you had absolutely no business being part of such an event. Not to mention the fact that you wouldn’t know anyone there, save for Childe, the Doctor and Signora, but you didn’t seek them out for conversation even in day to day situations, much less in galas where they’d no doubt have important people to chat up. All in all, the entire situation made you a little queasy, and you finished extracting the whopperflower nectar with an anxious sigh.

You turned to take the bottles of nectar to the cooler, only to jump and stifle a yelp of surprise when you found the Doctor standing right in front of you. Honestly, what is it with these Harbingers and startling me?

“Doctor.” You acknowledged him with a nod. He leaned in closer still, resting his hands on the countertop behind you and effectively trapping you between it and himself. You were immediately struck by several revelations at once; the Doctor was significantly taller than you, tall enough to block out the light from the ceiling lamp and throw a shadow over you, and he was so incredibly close. For whatever reason, you suddenly found it a little hard to breathe.

“You left a few documents on your workbench last night.”

Your brow furrowed slightly. “Did I?”

“Yes,” he confirmed wryly, dropping a stack of paper on the countertop behind you. You transferred the bottle to one hand and picked the papers up with the other, a twist of nervousness settling in your stomach when you recognised them. You hadn’t meant for the Doctor to see these.

“Ah, yes. I’ll take them back with me today.”

“Perhaps you’d like to explain why you have a comprehensive procedure for creating an artificial Vision in your possession,” he drawled, folding his arms across his chest and tilting his head to the side as he watched you. You swallowed.

“It was a… pet project, I never pursued it to completion,” you replied, hoping he’d leave it at that.

“It’s quite the blasphemous study, don’t you think? Trying to recreate the power of the gods?”

“Hence why I never completed it.”

“These lovely notes you left in the margins state otherwise,” he remarked, tapping the paper with a gloved finger. “In my laboratory, no less.”

Oh dear. “I-”

“I’m sure you’re aware of the rules, my dear student,” he cut you off. “Any experiments you wish to carry out on my premises must be approved first. And this”- he tapped the stack of paper again- “was never submitted.”

You felt an embarrassed flush rise to your cheeks. You’d been caught red-handed. Dottore found himself more interested in the blush on your cheeks than your questionable research. Sadistic as he was, watching you scramble for an explanation was rather enjoyable.

“My apologies, doctor. I let my curiosity get the better of me.”

“You have a recurring habit of doing that,” he replied amusedly. It occurred to you that he didn’t seem particularly angry. You fiddled with one of the buttons on Childe’s coat.

“I acknowledge it as one of my faults.”

“So very righteous of you.”

“Not particularly, considering I do nothing to remedy it,” you muttered sheepishly in response. The Doctor chuckled. He has a nice laugh. Appalled at yourself, you bury the thought deep in the back of your mind in an attempt to forget you’d ever conjured it.

“Well, well, well. It seems my apprentice has a rebellious streak after all.” He grinned lazily, stepping back and resting his weight on the countertop behind him so you could slip past and store away the nectar to cool.

You feel yourself flush anew. Archons, this is horrifically embarrassing. “Once again, I apologise for acting without approval.”

“And if I don’t accept your apology?” Dottore asked, more to see you squirm than anything else.

“I suppose I’ll conveniently vanish from the face of Teyvat without a trace, doctor.”

He let out a surprised bark of laughter. “Why, are you implying I’d have you killed?”

“Well, consider this: your interpretation is ultimately a reflection of your subconscious,” you replied, shooting him a lopsided, slightly uncertain smile over your shoulder. This was unfamiliar ground, joking around with the Doctor, and you were afraid to overstep. He returned the smile with twice the intensity and amount of teeth; you caught a glimpse of his fangs.

“If that is true, then perhaps you’d do well to watch your mouth.”

You turned away to hide your widening smile, chuckling softly under your breath. Exchanging barbs with the Doctor was proving to be incredibly fun.

“Would you like me to offer you a third apology?”

“I’m feeling generous,” he replied, amusement evident in his tone. “I’ll forgo causing your disappearance in exchange for your assistance in an experiment.”

“Deal,” you agree with a mock-serious nod, shrugging off Childe’s coat when the sleeves slipped past your fingertips for the millionth time. It wouldn’t do to have them in the way, and besides, the lab was warmer than the rest of the palace. “What’s the procedure?”

Three hours later, you slumped over the marble workbench with a groan. Blood stained your arms all the way up to your elbows, and your favourite turtleneck was utterly ruined. The experiment was a lengthy, gory process; the removal of organs for individual study. Though you were hardly one to shy away from getting your hands a little dirty, this was a little much even for you. You’d gone through thirteen scalpels alone, but at the very least the liver, brain and kidneys you’d extracted were perfectly intact and more than suitable to be experimented on. You wished for an immediate solution to your agonising back pain after holding yourself stiffly over a corpse for hours, though; you couldn’t even keep yourself upright, your forehead pressing against the cool surface. It helped with the headache that was gradually squirming its way back into your skull.

“Tired?” The Doctor asked, sparing your collapsed body an amused glance. He was somehow perfectly fine, much to your indignation.

“I think tests on my organs would reveal unprecedented results at this moment,” you grumbled without lifting your head. Your hair splayed across the marble, which you recognised as a potential source of contamination yet wholeheartedly dismissed in favour of giving your aching muscles a rest. Dottore tugged off his bloodied gloves, watching you with a bemused smirk.

“That can certainly be arranged,” he replied, baring his teeth in a shark-like smile. You shot him a withering glare then fumbled with the chain attached to your belt to check the time; your pocket watch smugly informed you that it was close to midnight. A muttered curse slipped past your lips, foul enough to make even Dottore raise his eyebrows behind his mask and do a double take while you ruminated over the unpleasant possibility that the dining hall would be closed at this time, and you idly wondered if dried jueyun chilis would serve as an adequate substitute for fresh ones (you knew perfectly well they didn’t even compare, but deluding yourself was an infinitely more appealing prospect at the moment.) You heard the clinking of jar lids, specially sealed with an anti-moisture formula developed from the pollen of Nilotpala lotuses.

“Add a little slime condensate to the brain,” you muttered into the countertop with an absent-minded gesture of your hand.

“My, my, how brazen of you to issue orders to your superior.”

“Please add a little slime condensate to the brain, doctor,” you quipped back with enough sarcasm to make the title sound like an insult.

“No,” Dottore replied pleasantly, sealing away the liver and kidneys. “It’ll disrupt the ion concentration and water content.”

“That would be true if I said concentrate, but I didn’t. Slime condensate is dilute enough to not interfere with the neurons' cytoplasm, but it’ll keep the brain fresher.”

“Very good,” he said approvingly. He’d heard you, and he knew you were right, but he’d wanted to test you. “You retain your focus even in subpar conditions.”

“As expected of any scientist worth their salt,” you said wryly, lifting your head to rub your eyes and grope along the countertop for your glasses. You were a little miffed that he’d felt the need to test your understanding of such a simple concept.

You rubbed your eyes again. “Doctor, can you see my glasses?” You asked, squinting to observe the array of equipment strewn across the workbench.

“No,” he lied, twirling them between his fingers and watching you search for them. You clicked your tongue with dissatisfaction, leaning in closer to the workbench’s surface in an attempt to see more clearly. Dottore bit back a chuckle.

“Oh, damn it all. I could’ve sworn they were right here…”

“Can’t find them?” He asked, an obvious lilt of amusement in his voice. You looked up, narrowing your eyes at him.

“You have them, don’t you?”

“Ah, you saw through me so quickly,” he said, sounding simultaneously impressed and disappointed. “Am I really so obvious?”

“Hand them over,” you demanded, holding out your hand.

He grinned so wide that you saw the flash of white from his teeth even with your vision blurred.

“Such a shameful manner to adopt with a superior,” he said with a shake of his head.

You rubbed your eyes and let out an exasperated huff. You could sense a shift in your dynamic with the Doctor, but clearly he was the only one who knew how to navigate it, leaving you disoriented and unsure of how to respond.

“Doctor. It’s nearing one in the morning, and I have to return to my dormitory. Which I can’t safely do without being able to see half a metre in front of me.”

“Surely your eyesight isn’t quite that terrible.” He knew it was. In fact, he had a perfect copy of your first diagnosis and most recent check-up in his file of you. That file had grown to concerning sizes ever since your apprenticeship began. The Doctor reasoned that it would be a scientific sin if he didn't document everything he could about such a fascinating test subject. You sighed; you had hoped it wouldn’t come to this.

“Please give me my glasses.”

You didn’t he could possibly grin any wider, but he proved you wrong. Despite his amusement being at your expense, you still found yourself thinking that his smile wasn’t unpleasant to look at. Objectively speaking, of course.

“In exchange for what?” He drawled, raising his eyebrows behind his mask.

An indignant flush rose to your face. In your defence, it was late, and the Doctor really was being an ass.

“In exchange for your DNA cloning not to be tampered with,” you fumed. “It would be a shame if someone were to denature the enzymes. Or accidentally alter the base sequence.”

“My dear student, are you threatening me?”

“The glasses, doctor.” You held out your hand again.

Dottore sighed mock-defeatedly, rounding the workbench and making his way towards you.

“You are so terribly demanding,” he remarked. You glowered at him, arms folded, until his gloves fingers took hold of your chin, tilting your face upwards. Your eyes widened in shock as he came close enough for you to make out the detailing of his mask. “Just demanding enough for me to listen to you,” he murmured, lifting you glasses and setting them on the bridge of your nose. His grasp on your chin didn’t loosen, and he was incredibly thankful for his mask in that moment. It hid the way his eyes couldn’t help but gravitate towards your lips. You stood there frozen from shock until your limbs regained the ability to move and you stepped away with a nervous mumble; “I should be going now.” Dottore watched you hurry away with a self-satisfied smirk.

Disconcerted by the Doctor’s behaviour, you didn’t notice Childe’s sleeping form sprawled in front of the laboratory door until you tripped over him. He jerked awake as you steadied yourself.

“Trixy!” Rubbing his eyes with one hand, he clambered up from the floor and instinctively grabbed onto you for support when he swayed a little on his feet. You did your best to support his much taller body with your own.

“Eleven? What are you doing here?” You asked, bewildered. He leaned heavily against your shoulder, stifling a yawn. His movements were oddly uncoordinated, you noticed.

“You promised you’d come to dinner and you didn’t.” He was practically pouting. It was almost cute, if you convinced yourself to forget that he was a Harbinger. “I was waiting for you!”

“Why in Teyvat”- with a grunt, you pushed him off you. “What possessed you, you buffoon? Dinner was six hours ago!”

“If you keep calling me names I won’t give you these chillies I brought from the kitchen.”

“Oh, Childe,” you murmured, dragging a hand down your face. “Are you sober?”

He giggled.

“Nope.”

“Didn’t think so,” you agreed, looping his arm over your shoulder. You could faintly smell the wine on him. Red, if your nose was accurate. “Move it,” you ordered, dragging him towards the stairs. He grumbled a protest, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“You took off my coat.”

“The sleeves were too long,” you replied, carefully navigating the stairs with him in tow. Surprise, surprise, it was far from easy to descend a spiral staircase with an overgrown Harbinger who refused to look where he was going leaning against you. “Eleven, for Celestia’s sake.” You rapped your knuckles against his skull to get him to look up. “Raise your head and tell me where your bloody dorm is.”

“Trixyyy, don’t yell at me,” he whined into your neck.

“Focus, Eleven. You’re drunker than a single father on a Friday night and you need to rest. Now exert a little effort and tell me where your dorm is, or Archons help me I’ll leave you right here in the hallway.”

His incoherent mumbling echoed through the empty corridor, the palace eerily silent save for your footsteps and breathing. The foggy glow from the lamps glinting off the silver in the walls and throwing large shadows across the floor only added to the unnerving atmosphere, and you found yourself slowly getting nervous. With a muttered curse, you decided to drag him to your room instead. You knew where that was, at least.

It took entirely too long to reach the door to your room; Childe was not only ridiculously tall, but also heavy and resolutely uncooperative. You fumbled for your key with one hand while the other supported his limp body; after a moment of struggling with the chain at your belt you managed to get it unhooked and unlocked the door, dumping Childe onto the nearest armchair.

“Damn you,” you muttered.

“So mean,” he protested, staring up at you as you made your way to the bathroom. He really wasn’t that drunk; a little tipsy, sure, but he was definitely playing it up. If it got him an ounce of your attention then he’d gladly throw his dignity to the four winds, shameless as it was.

“Don’t move,” you instructed him with a stern look before disappearing into the bathroom. He heard rushing water and concluded you were probably getting rid of the mysterious blood stains all over your torso.

To your eternal horror, when you emerged from the bathroom La Signora was lounging in the other armchair by the fire smoking a pipe of some mysterious substance you were quite certain you’d smelled in the Jade Chamber before. Perhaps Lady Ningguang and La Signora had similar smoking habits.

“L-lady Eight?”

She turned slightly to shoot you a knowing, dangerous smile after darting a look loaded with meaning between you and Childe passed out drunk in the other armchair. You blushed scarlet from your neck to the tips of your ears, clearing your throat and towelling your hair dry.

“A pleasure to see you again, my lady.”

“Is it really, little one?” She countered, surveying you with her one visible eye and taking a long drag from her pipe. “I seem to have come at a bad time.”

“Not at all,” you insisted. “Lord Eleven- well, I tripped over him while exiting the Doctor’s laboratory. He seems to be fairly… intoxicated.”

Signora hummed, resting her chin in her hand and tapping her manicured nails against her cheek as she watched you dry off your hair. No doubt you’d been preparing to go to sleep.

“Is there anything you require my assistance with, my lady?” You ventured.

“Yes, as a matter of fact,” she replied, calm and unhurried. “Come here.”

You stepped towards her.

“Closer, little one.”

Another couple of steps.

“Perfect. Now…” She rose from the chair and held you by the shoulders, manoeuvring you into it instead. Setting the pipe aside, she bent over to scrutinise you thoughtfully, tilting your face to assess how you looked at different angles and in different lighting. Truly a work of art, she thought. You held your breath and sat as still as possible, your back ramrod straight.

“Lady Eight…?”

“You have nothing to wear for the gala. We’ll have to remedy that,” she murmured, tapping her finger on your cheek. You weren’t surprised that she knew the contents of your wardrobe in the slightest; the Fatui probably knew things even you didn’t know about yourself yet. (You were right).

“You’d look ravishing in red,” she mused.

“I’m sure your opinion on such matter is indispensable.”

“Quite right,” she agreed, moving away from you a little. “And my opinion is that we should dress you in red.”

“As my lady wishes.”

Childe had had quite enough of listening to Signora fawn over you, and chose that exact moment to get up and stride over.

“I think blue would be a better choice,” he interjected. You shot him a disbelieving look.

“You put on quite a convincing act of being unconscious, don’t you, my lord?”

Signora appraised him coolly. “Nonsense, Childe. Red.”

“Blue,” he argued, grazing his knuckles across your jaw. You shivered.

“Let us discuss this in the morning,” you suggested, moving to get up. Both Childe and Signora pushed you back down while glaring heatedly at each other. The air crackled with tension you could identify but not recognise; the two were clearly locked in some battle of wills.

“You should wear something blue, Trixy.”

“The gala is still months away-”

“Red is a much better choice. You agree, don’t you, little one?” Signora interjected, stroking your hair.

“Objectively speaking, it’s hardly relevant nor important what colour I wear,” you pointed out.

“Nonsense,” Signora said dismissively. “You’ll be the gem, the star of the gala. Of course it matters.”

Childe nodded, as much as he hated to agree with Signora. You massaged your temples.

“That’s simply not true. Lady Eight, you told me yourself this gala is an event reserved for the maintenance of the Fatui’s connections. My personal appearance doesn’t factor into the equation in any way, shape or form.”

“Maybe our enjoyment depends on you,” Childe said with a grin, taking your hand and brushing a kiss across your knuckles. Oh, Archons. He’s completely drunk. Utterly sloshed. You were beginning to feel a little cloistered with both of them hovering over you, making nonsensical claims and debating irrelevant points.

“Blue.”

“Red.”

“A coin toss in the morning will decide,” you announced firmly, rubbing your eyes. It was appallingly late, and you knew waking up for the Doctor’s seven am lab session was going to be an evil experience. You really weren’t keen on making it any worse because two Harbingers couldn’t hold back their egos over something as trifling as your outfit.

Of all the ways to establish superiority, why did they have to pick one that involves me?

“My lord, my lady, please allow me to see you out,” you continued, rising from where you were seated. Childe pouted.

“I’m drunk, Trixy. You have to nurse me back to health.”

Signora clicked her tongue derisively, and you mentally agreed with her. With a sigh, you rummaged through your medicine drawer for the tonic you’d concocted for hangovers. Though you weren’t a big drinker yourself, during your Akademiya years many of your friends indulged in the bad habit of drinking themselves half-blind (usually Kaveh and Dehya) and you didn’t have the patience to deal with their slurring words and careless behaviour. Hence your useful tonic. You shoved a vial of it at Childe.

“Drink this,” you ordered.

“What is it?”

“If you want to be ‘nursed back to health’ then drink what I give you without asking questions.”

He shrugged and knocked back the tiny vial in one fell swoop, grimacing as the bitter taste settled on his tongue.

“Is this poison?” He exclaimed, wrinkling his nose in distaste. Signora rolled her eyes.

“Yes, you fool,” she said contemptuously. “The little one had the utter gal to poison you in front of a Harbinger. That’s absolutely what happened.”

He muttered a derisive comment or two under his breath while you tried to push him towards the door. When he didn’t budge an inch, your patience finally snapped.

“Damn it all, won’t you leave, both of you?! I have more important matters to concern myself with than an overgrown child and a tempestuous mistress!”

Stunned by your outburst, they both left without another complaint. Childe even uttered a ‘Sorry, Trixy…” as the door closed behind him. You locked the door, stomped over to the bed and went to sleep without even bothering to fully dry your hair.

You regretted that in the morning as you wrestled the unkempt, tangled strands into a semi-acceptable state. Panic prevailed; you didn’t have anything stored away to eat for breakfast, and a trip to the dining hall would definitely make you late. You cursed the Doctor to the lowest ring of hell, making a mad dash to grab a bite to eat anyway; it was his fault you woke up so late, keeping you in the lab until after midnight. You nearly crashed into Anya in the hallway in your haste, and you called out an apology that was quickly swallowed by the chatter of recruits and their footsteps. The dining hall had never seemed so far away, and you kept stealing glances at your pocket watch as you leaped down a full flight of stairs and all but tripped through the enormous doors, making a beeline towards the tables with the intention of wolfing down a leftover slice of pie at the very least. Damn it all. Even your precious morning tea was forgone in favour of scrambling back to the door and attempt to make it to the lab in time.

But you didn’t even make it to the door; a hand grabbed the back of your coat (Childe’s coat, really, that you’d thrown on in a fit of desperation) and yanked you away from the door.

“What”- you whirled around and were met by a rather familiar masked face inches from yours. The strange woman who you’d taken to calling ‘Arlie’ as a nickname. “Release me this instant, I’m late.”

She tsked, pulling you closer by your collar this time.

“Where have you been?”

You shot a desperate glance at your watch. In all fairness, her irritation could very well be justified; you often took dinner together and chatted over dessert at least every other day. Besides, the sheer authority she exuded was enough to make you feel rather guilty. You hadn’t been to the dining hall in nearly a week, surviving off jars of reheated soup and candied amakumo fruit. Clearly your presence was more impactful to Arlie than you’d thought (she thought it was rather obvious; going to the trouble of a disguise just to indulge in conversation with you should’ve been an adequate indicator).

“It’s been an awfully busy week, Arlie, I’m sorry,” you said hurriedly, licking a few crumbs from the pie’s crust off your fingertips. Much to her relief, her mask concealed the way her eyes immediately latched onto your mouth and tongue. The room felt a little hotter all of a sudden. “I really must be going, the Doctor will have my bones on a silver platter if I keep him waiting any longer.”

Arlie rolled her eyes. As if she’d let any harm come to her little pet, by the hand of Dottore or otherwise. Nevertheless, she released you.

“I’d like to see you at dinner today.” It was more of a warning than an invitation. You were too rushed to protest her patronising tone, and you rather enjoyed the meals you shared too.

“You will,” you promised, and then rushed out of the door towards the lab. She watched the white velvet of your coat disappear with a slight frown; now how could she get you to stop wearing that fool’s clothes?

The door to the laboratory was hanging ajar. Thoroughly unusual, but you were fifteen minutes late by then and a lapse in the Doctor’s obsessively maintained habits took a backseat. You stepped into the lab with as much dignity as you could muster, determined not to look guilty; everyone was late now and then, the Doctor could bloody well suck it up-

A pair of hands grabbed you by the shoulders and dragged you the rest of the way into the lab, shaking you vigorously. With an irritated, surprised yell, you tried to shove away the assailant, and when that didn’t work you resorted to your trusty glare.

Oh. The man looked remarkably like the Doctor. The same curly, silver-blue hair and stubborn set to his jaw. And the same curve to his top lip.

The jarring similarities made you pause and scrutinise the man a little more closely.

“Who are you?” You asked bluntly, frowning as you tried to remember if the Doctor ever mentioned having siblings. You could hear more voices coming from further inside; tiptoeing, you caught sight of several more Dottore-like people. So definitely not siblings, then. The not-Doctor tsked, then shook you hard again to regain your attention. “Who are all of these people? Why do you all look like the Doctor?”

At the sound of your voice, all the Dottore clones went scampering away through exits you hadn’t even known existed.

“Where were you, you disagreeable fool?”

You stared up at the clone who still hadn’t let go of you.

“I’d like an explanation as to why there are apparently multiple copies of my supervisor.”

“You’re every bit as nosy as Prime said…” he muttered.

“And who, pray tell, is Prime? Is that some sort of a code name for my Doctor?”

“Quite right,” a familiar, drawling voice responded. The clone tensed up then hurried off, leaving you off-balance and stumbling. “You are late. Inexcusably so,” the Doctor said, watching you steady yourself.

“Why are there seven clones of you?”

* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚** ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚** ੈ✩‧₊˚*

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bts5sosempire · 1 year

Text

the tyrant (vi); side two

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: sukuna ryomen x reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 3,443

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: old time period, mention of arranged marriage, polygamous marriages, slow-burn yandere, power imbalances, peer pressure, anxiety attack (beginning, it's mc), superstition involved, etc.

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: "you were the apple of Sukuna’s eyes, the one who brought him solace and everything. The only thing you were incapable of was giving him a child, an heir he wished to spoil like he did to you."

𝐚/𝐧: so I finally churn and did the other half, I didn't proof read this btw. For now letting y'all simmer in this one. Pls like, comment down below for tagging, and reblogged if you like! Thank you for your patience lovelies! 💖✨️

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Your heart was hammering that it resounded loudly in your ears, and you could feel your blood rushing through every part of your body and veins. You were scared. Sukuna quickly departed after the revelation and reveled in your horrid expression; he had made it clear what his intentions with you were; this time, it wasn't just a fleeting dream you could avoid. It's a reality now. You quickly dismiss everyone to go on break, much to their appreciation, and then throw yourself into an abandoned room where no soul is around.

Once inside the room, your legs give out just in time as you drop onto the floor while screwing your eyes shut tightly when your body goes through rapid temperature changes. Your anxiety keeps spiking up as you struggle to breathe correctly; one of your clammy hands grips the collar of your kimono in pain while the other is blindingly holding the door shut. To prevent anyone from coming in and seeing you like this.

You waited until your anxiety went down and your throat was not encasing itself like a boa. The inside of your mouth tasted dry like chalk, yet it was slimy. Even your body glides in light sweat when you can feel them forming on your forehead too. It feels pretty hot now despite the cold air inside the room. The fabulous cape on your shoulders reminds you of Sukuna's presence, and you tear it off and throw it as far as you can in a fit of weak anger. The sudden anxiety attack left you tired when you tried to move further inside the room but couldn't and just hopelessly lay still against the door.

Your stomach gnaws in discomfort, and the sourness pools inside. You tried to steer your mind away from Sukuna, and it's hard. The problem seems to arise after another when you think you have taken yourself out of it. Your mind reels that there's nowhere to hide anymore; this is too much for you to bear at the given moment.

Cursing at yourself, tears pools around your eyes, and your vision blurs for a second. Wiping them away before they can fall only enables the dam to be broken; once one falls, all starts to cascade down your face. The quiet sniffles and hiccuping down your voice echo around the vacant room quietly; you cry over many things, but the fear of losing your individuality and becoming Sukuna's scares you the most. You don't want to submit to someone like him.

Your bracelet was the only thing that gave you peace and comfort, knowing that you still had complete control over your anatomy. Your rights to your life, but he had to take that away from you, didn't he? Using your sleeves to wipe out the tears, you fiddle with the bangle and see it is polished when turning it around on your wrist. You unclasped the lock and saw the small door on the inside was sealed shut. If Sukuna thoroughly modifies your bangle, then the residue of basil should be gone too.

Without much thought, you gradually pick up your bearing and act normal again, like you didn't experience any turmoil. Once you go back out there, you have to face everything again. You're sure that mouths were already flapping around with rumors and stories of the stunt Sukuna had pulled prior. Looking at the forgotten cloak that pools on the floor, disgust fills your red-rimmed eyes. There was a heavy sigh from your lips; you pondered whether you should leave it there to be found by someone else or pick it up and hand it to someone to give it back.

If you were to wear it again, you would have to meet him and return it in person. You don't want to see him; the fear of him subsides only a little bit, and it is slowly replaced with bitterness. Graciously picking it up, you decided to find the nearest available servant. "You two there," You call out when opening the door. Your presence startled two maids that jumped up in fright, and they quickly bowed before sticking close together. "Take this to Lord Sukuna," handing the cloak over to them; they took it from your hands gently despite being hesitant to do so while trembling at the mention of his name since everyone was afraid of Sukuna.

When you're out of sight, two young maids do what they are told when walking out of the long corridor. One suddenly said, "Did you see Lady (Name) eyes? I think she was crying." It piqued her friend's interest, but they shook their head. "I didn't see it; I'm too nervous to look at her."

"I guess it was confirmed earlier when Lord Sukuna came by to visit Lady (Name); nobody was close enough to hear what they were saying, but as soon as his Lord left..." The first maid was continuing to whisper to her friend until a figured pop around the corner.

It was Uraume, and both shut up instantly and properly greeted Sukuna's retainer. Uraume barely acknowledges their existence and walks on to help you with decorations. It was until they spoke loudly for only those two to hear, "It would be in your best interest to be careful about what you utter around. Every day, heads roll around in the execution yard."

That was enough for them to walk away faster.

Sukuna stares at a 3d map in front of him; it shows the whole region of Japan, but he's more concerned about the mountains. Up in the hills were the Heiyan people, native to the harsh nature there. For as long as Sukuna knows, they have been a thorn in his side. They are nothing but vicious in his eyes, deluding themselves from the path of advancing modern technology. The Heiyan are known to be strict with their traditional values; they rarely derive from their beliefs, as they don't even mix their blood with other people, only their own.

Sukuna wanted rare ores from there, but they made it difficult for him to gather as they had pushed him away. He knows that marriage is always a topic when dealing with anything political. The chieftain of the Heiyan, Cheif Mozuru, was a stubborn man. The only way to access the land was to marry one of his four daughters, but Sukuna was also a mule, perverse in his thought that they weren't worthy of him.

The War Demon has taste, but he wouldn't lower himself to be with them as they expect him to change too. They also wish for him to convert to their beliefs, and much to Sukuna's dismay, he rejects the notion on the spot. Now they are at war with each other.

But there was exciting news that was brought to him the other day by a spy who he had happened to bribe. The spy was no further than an agent from a neighboring rival, Totsuwa Iriyu. The man was marrying the second eldest daughter to secure a treaty. News of Sukuna trying to get access to the land was probably the main reason why Totsuwa decided to strike. Totsuwa was often an overzealous man, having been trying to pine down Sukuna's title for the longest as he knew. And for another reason.

Sukuna was the reason why Totsuwa's father died in the first place—he framed the poor senile man for converting power secretly and trying to raise a coup d'etat against the former Emperor.

"You should be thankful that your father had passed away peacefully." Sukuna chuckled lowly into Totsuwa's ear with the intent of throwing salt to the wound. The blood of Totsuwa's father drips down the Sukuna's face onto Totsuwa's garb. The son could only watch with eyes wide with shock and terror as his father's corpse, hollow vacant eyes with their mouth wide loose, reflected in his eyes. The blood that seeps from the open slash across the torso dyed the tatami mat red.

Sukuna then patted the latter shoulder a few times and stood up from his one-kneeling position and out the door. The blade shines brightly from the moonlight despite it being coated in droplets of red.

With the death of Totsuwa's father, Sukuna was granted more of the Emperor's grace for taking such a jaded person out, making him unstoppable. If it was known, the Totsuwa household name fell from grace as they were no longer invited to be a part of the Emperor's insiders. Soon, more fell off their seat, and only a few remained behind. The Gojo, Geto, Zen'in, and a newly formed clan, the Fushiguro.

To add more history, Sukuna was the one who put Emperor Hoshu up on that seat by assassinating their younger half-brother, Hoshen, during a power struggle.

Sukuna then gazes to the side of the table where his cloak lays. Two hesitant maids returned it, saying you ordered them to return it to him. What Sukuna had done may have spooked you. Returning his items is like returning his undesirable affection, as always; this is nothing new to him. He already got a grasp on you; all he needs to do is tighten it and let you submit yourself into his palm and accept his pampering.

"Doctor," Sukuna spoke up suddenly, and the physician almost toppled their pills to the side with fright. "How long would it take Lady (Name) to conceive?"

"Depends; in the meantime, she shouldn't consume anything such as medicine and concoctions for at least a week. Feeding her anything may disrupt the blood flow and cause a clot in her system, as her body needs to be recovered naturally." They nervously explained to Sukuna, who was considering their words.

Sukuna: "If she can't consume anything now, is there a way to speed up the process?"

The doctor ponders momentarily, "There might be a way, but it's a slippery slope." They look around the room and then pause to stare at the door for long seconds, then cup their mouth to whisper at Sukuna. "There is this rumored famous witch doctor among the locals, especially for the ladies, that they can cure any afflictions."

"Surely you're not jesting me? I'm a man who believes in advanced warfare and science, not superstitions." Sukuna gives the man a dubious gaze that tests the physician, "What (Name) suffered from is internally inside her body, not spiritually."

The doctor rapidly waves their hands, "You're mistaken, My Lord! It's also not about spirituality; they can also cure the body and let it return to its natural state physically. What you say about Lady (Name) is accurate; if you wish to remove the coldness that makes her unviable, I suggest you visit them!"

Sukuna pinch the bridge of his nose; he regrets even asking and should wait for your time limit to be up. "You do understand that you sound like a cuckoo, right?"

"This is ridiculous," Sukuna muttered under his breath. His red steed snorts and clomps its hooves against the pebble ground to agree with their master. In front of him two days later, he decided to visit the shaman's house ground. He had left the estate in secret, not without informing Uraume to keep an eye on you, and traveled a few hours out of his domain by horse to throttle up a pathway to a steep mountain.

There were no signs of life when he arrived, so much for being a famous shaman. Climbing off his horse, he ties the reins against a tree stump. Sukuna went further inside the location, his piercing red eyes scraping any signs if anyone was residing in this place.

The only thing that was presentable in front of him was a red door, and inside were countless candles lit. Sukuna heads inside with slow, studious steps that not even a trained ear can hear him. Hand at the hilt of the sword that was strapped by his side.

The further he walks in, it reminds him of the time he was targeted or willfully let himself be away by an enemy into the danger zone. Sukuna could feel a presence coming close to him, and the hand that held the hilt tightened.

With a quick draw from the scabbard, a ting resounds in the air through the available space of the building. Sukuna turned around with precision and let a full swing as his blade rested neatly against the stranger's neck; just a few more centimeters and their head would be swiped clean off and hit the ground. "Who are you?" Sukuna demanded, his red orbs locking onto the person, not phased by his overbearing attitude.

"Is this how a guest greets the owner of this place?" The person scoffs. They raise a finger and push the sharp edge away from their neck. "Although you're not the first nor likely be the last to do so." The shaman had had multiple occurrences of almost getting their heads chopped off due to virtually having little to no presence. "I'm quite impressed that you could detect me, Lord Sukuna. " They ask, "What special occasion has brought you here to my humble adobe?" Their tone changes to sweet and sultry in an instant.

"I've heard you are a good witch doctor from an acquaintance of mine," Sukuna starts, and the shaman only hums before guiding Sukuna to follow and sit on a pillow across from them.

"Who exactly did you get it from?" Sukuna gives the doctor's name, and they roll their eyes sarcastically, "I see it's that moron." Getting comfortable with themselves, they propped an arm up the table and lay sideways with their hips and curve showing. They give off an androgynous physique. "If they led you this far to me, I guess I could help. What is the problem?"

"It's about my wife," Sukuna curtly replies.

"Ah, that fair maiden?" They gave a knowing look, and Sukuna knew the shaman thought of you. Sukuna didn't miss how the unhidden admiration of mirth in their eyes was so bright it could be a night sky. He is slightly agitated by that acknowledgment. "Lady (Name) is quite a character, I looked up their star chart, and it was filled with many things. She has quite a life, I should say."

"I came here for help, not to idle." Sukuna's voice got gruff, and the shaman cleared their throat and recomposed. "Recently, I have learned that she doesn't have fertility issues but was caused by something else, and before you run your mouth, it's not anything relating to your superstitions ideology. She causes it herself semi-permanently."

"And the cause is?" They inquire with a raised brow.

"Basil. Basil seeds, she doesn't consume them, but wears them." That's all that the shaman needs to know where it's heading. It's uncommon to stumble upon women making them sterile to prevent unwanted pregnancy. The shaman had come across a crisis like this a few years ago prior.

"You wanted me to remove the cold affliction in her body?" There was a slight smile from them, but it was daunting. "I could, but there is a heavy price to pay."

Sukuna: "How much do you need?"

Shaman: "It is not gold being used for this transaction; what do you think the womb that creates life is equivalent to?"

[At the same time.]

It was quiet at the manor, with a few more decorations; it should be complete. There was a proud breath of air exhaling from your chest; all you need is to finalize everything and report to your mother-in-law. The thought of Hanami made you feel disgruntled, "Everyone, please take a quick break before we continue." A murmur of thanks filled the air.

"Let's go, Yumi," taking a walk; you were chatting with her, making small jokes here and there. Occasionally Yumi reminds you that she represents a simpler time when you were still young and didn't have this much weight on your shoulders.

"Is Concubine Asuna this dense?" An exacerbated pitch voice raised in the courtyard. You can hear two quiet sniffles; it belongs to a woman and a child. Concubine Asuna held her weeping son in her arms as two higher-upper consorts bullied them.

"She's a person with no backbone, yet dares to be courageous," another concubine snide, "even the boy doesn't even look like Lord Sukuna. Do you think she slept around?"

"Probably," the same annoying voice quip back and laughs at the thought. "Plain and undeserving too. Hey, take off your outer layer, or these servants will."

"Under whose order?" You stepped in, and the two concubines, along with their subjects, froze when they saw you walking toward them with a cold, menacing gaze that could cut a person down.

"We were just teaching Concubine Asuna manners Lady (Name)," the concubine with the pitched voice sputters out; they kept their head low, and so did everyone else. No one dares to look at you in the eyes except for Asuna's child, that looks at you with comprehensive, wondering grey eyes. You represent Sukuna.

"And by sullying Lord Sukuna's name and one of his heirs?" You tilt your head to the side with a questioning gaze, and there is a click of your tongue when they start denying with nervous laughter. "I was standing not that far away from here and heard everything, so you say I am deaf?"

"That's not what we're implying, Lady (Name)!" The second concubine cries, lifting their head to meet you, with no other excuses; they spit out the first thing that comes to mind. "You're just bullying us since Lord Sukuna favors you!"

This made you laugh. "Oh? Interesting. Should I bring it to His Lord, then?"

The second concubine put a hand over her mouth and sped away; the first one could only watch with disbelief as she was abandoned by one of her supposed allies. She sneers at you with hatred and then follows suit. "Are you alright?" You ask. Asuna only nodded. You grab her by the arm and pull her up, "You should be careful."

You then eye the little boy who is no older than three. They looked at you, blinking a few times, and then continued. "Mommy, this is the princess on my book cover!" They point at you in happiness, and you look down at your garb.

"Danzo, that's not the princess," Asuna turned to you and mouthed a sheepish sorry.

"Yes, it is!" Danzo ripped their hand from their mother's hold and tried to wrap their chubby arms around your legs. They cheekily smile at you with their round, flush faces.

You were surprised that you didn't know how to react. Since you couldn't see the bewildered expression on your face, Asuna found you decent despite the stigma everyone labeled around you. You were hesitant as you are relatively flustered coming into contact with a child. Asuna noted that this was the first time one came to you willingly. You pat Danzo's head softly like you're handling a fragile glass. Even if it is maladroit, Danzo melts at the contact; their smile becomes buttery as little flowers float into the background. If they could sink into your clothes, they would.

"You can let go now," You bumble out, and they tighten their grip. Danzo rubbed their face into your legs as they let out a muffled 'no.' It was rare to see you be socially awkward, something so innocent as a child.

"Danzo, you need to listen, or you won't see Lady (Name) anymore." The boy gives their mother a stink eye before loosening their grip. Asuna pulled her son to her side.

With Danzo gone, you return to your normal state.

"My son and I should get going; sorry that you have to see such a sight," Asuna apologizes, and you brush it off with a hand, indicating it is alright.

"If they ever-" There was a ringing in your ears as your vision suddenly blurred in front of you in slow motion. Even sounds sounded such a damper. Your body was heating up, and you felt a searing pain shooting straight through your abdomen where your womb lays.

Staggering forward, everything went dark. The last thing you hear is Yumi crying out your name, and Asuna throws herself forward to catch you.

[The Shaman's place, current time.]

"Are you willing to trade one of your own for the health of her womb?" The shaman asks again. Preparation was already made, but they give another glance at Sukuna for confirmation.

Without hesitation, Sukuna answers.

"Yes."

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#fan fiction #jujutsu kaisen #masterlist #jjk x reader #jjk sukuna #anime #jjk fanfic #sukuna ryomen #sukuna x reader #jjk #yandere fanfiction #yandere fic #yandere x reader #yandere #yandere sukuna ryomen #yandere sukuna #yandere sukuna x reader #sukuna ryomen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader

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enchanterium-fan-account · 11 months

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Hopefully by now you’ve all seen the gorgeous dark Winx dolls Enchanterium redesigned the past few Halloweens. And what are the Winx without their eternal nemeses, the Trix??

Witches Icy, Darcy, and Stormy have been there since the earliest episodes, trying to steal the dragon flame and looking fabulous while doing it.

These three were the first Winx related dolls Barb and Alex redesigned on their YouTube channel, and they started by “kicking off the 3 part series with neither of our favorite of the three, Stormy.”

These are some of the concept sketches, and personally I love all of them. But let’s get to the final result.

“Sewing for this doll was, as per usual, a very painful process, because the first outfit failed me completely. I had a sketch, a vision, I had sewn everything together, recorded a nice and simple tutorial, and it was underwhelming to say the least. Not witchy enough, not Stormy enough. *sigh* Back to the drawing board.”

“My first thought was dramatic, stage-like smoky eye makeup with bold eyeliner, and you can see I started from that. But then I thought, “Alex you do this kind of makeup on every doll recently.” So I added more red on her cheeks and cheekbones to look even more dramatic.”

“I wanted to achieve a red fade from fingers to elbows, but we decided she will look better with natural fingers, so I’m painting it to look like a glove. I think it’s a nice tribute to Stormy’s original design from the first season.”

“I like the variety of extras that we made for this doll. We can style her with the staff and the lightning wings, or put on her cloak and make her more mysterious.”

youtube

The Trix dolls are interesting because they all have some body part mix and matching lol. And each of them get a magical weapon! For Stormy, she has a cool staff and wings made of lightning coming out of her back.

Barb and Alex may favor Darcy and Icy, but surely there’s some Stormy fans out there. Show your girl some love and watch the video! And if you like it, consider subscribing to the Enchanterium YouTube channel!

#winx club #winx stormy #the trix #trix stormy #dollblr #doll customization #enchanterium

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sunnysam-my · 6 months

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Hazbin Hotel redesign ideas p. 1

Unfortunately I don't really have time to draw rn, but here are some ideas if anyone is looking for inspiration.

THE VEES:

They follow lates trends so they won't stick to the outfits and technologies from the times they died. We even see that Vox changed his screen (head) to more modern, flat TV screen.

Valentino:

He is a moth that realises poison that's basically a date-rape drug. His wings are hidden, looking like a coat, which makes no sense, a cloak, cape or sleeveless coat would look better. He is a pimp who died in 1970s. Val was Hispanic when living. Apparently, he has bad eyesight.

He is supposed to be a moth, but I don't really see it much, and the furr around his neck, that's a part of his body, just looks ridiculous. I would design him after some actual poisonous moth.

Cinnabar moth - The cinnabar is slate-black with two red spots and two pinky-red stripes on the rounded forewings. Its hindwings are pinky-red and bordered with black. The caterpillars feed on poisonous ragwort leaves. The poison from the leaves is stored in the caterpillar's body and remains even when they are an adult. As adult they leak the poison when they need to. Cinnabar moths can be seen flying during the day and night.

Six-spot burnet moth - day-flying moth that flies with a slow, fluttering pattern. It has glossy black, with six red spots on each narrow, but long forewing. They release hydrogen cyanide when attacked.

Personally I would go with Cinnabar moth, but make the spots heart shaped, and leave his inner outfit without the accessories (the suit with the white pants and golden heart belt). I would also leave his general body type but definitely change the neck furr ring, because wtf is that? I would play around with his glasses since he is supposed to have eyesight problems.

[Edit: Actually, I would make him a combo of both moths and make the furr ring his hair, because he is bald without the hat!?!?]

Velvette:

Velv is a fashion designer and critic, she is also an influencer. She keeps the Vees together and their image fresh on the internet. She's a British black woman in her early 30's. Originally her appearance was supposed to be doll-like, but that was changed to 'it-girl' and a 'bad bitch' with a darker aesthetic.

Velvette's outfit is reminiscent of Val's (heart belt, coat with hearts, black stripes on arms) but darker, especially her sleeveless coat that imitates his wings. Since Valentino is already going to be darker (in my idea) and she is a fashion influencer it would make more sense for her to be brighter.

Main thing I would change about her is her skin tone, hair, and Harley Quinn themes left from her old design.

When creating very human like characters it's important to actually get the racial characteristics right. Her ashy skin and "curly" hair just makes it look like they didn't know how to draw a black character. I would give her a different texture, something between 3A and 4B. A hairstyle like heart shaped space buns would be so cool, but even if not, her styl in a poster in the background is already better than the ponytails.

When it comes to her style I would get rid of pom-poms shoes and fingerless gloves. Her outfit for meeting the overlord was pretty okay, but I would change her other outfit. My inspiration would be PidginDoll's design, because he makes fabulous outfits and makeup looks for all bodies, genders and races, but I'll keep the 'goth' (it's not goth, it's just a little bit alt, mostly skulls) theme.

Blue accents like makeup would work great with her brown skin and would reference Vox.

Vox:

I genuinely think he has the best design in the entirety of the show, I would barely change anything. His outfit is similar to Alastor who he is trying to imitate, but he wears a tail suit, which is way more formal and elegant than any other suit, trying to showing he is a better, modern version of Alastor. I've seen some people got rid of his hat and gave him a tail made out a cord for fun, but other than that his design is good. Not too much details and not too little, tells us a lot about the character.

Maybe less stripes, because apparently Viv loves zebras or something. /hj

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel redesign #hazbin hotel criticism #hazbin hotel critical #the vees #hazbin hotel valentino #hazbin hotel velvette #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin hotel fanart

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wings-of-ink · 5 months

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Pls I love how you answer angst and it's all dark and gloomy and then there's this cute emoticon at the end ^_^ and suddenly it makes all the worry go by sheer power of cuteness, you are so real for that

I'm gonna pull the "chaotic neutral" on an angst galore and humbly ask for ROs reacting to MC coming to them looking all pretty (gn) and asking RO how do they look only for the RO to find out MC is going on a date.

...and what if MC after seeing ROs reaction smiled gently and said "Well... It's for our date, actually. If you would have me"

(hehe did I got ya? Thought I'd ask some irredimible angst?)

Okay, you did actually get me with that! LOL Totally turned it around at the end, and I made a very unglamorous noise.

I don’t know why, but I always gotta get my little smile in there somewhere, lol. Even if my eyes are a bit watery. ^_^

As for your adorable ask (assuming at least some feelings or romantic words have been exchanged between RO and MC of course):

Oswin:

Big lump in his throat off the bat. MC looks wonderful, and they're going on a date with someone else? He smiles through it and nods emphatically. “You look amazing. The lucky person will be well-pleased.” Has he misread everything between them?

At the reveal: His knees actually buckle. “Our? Our. *OUR* DATE!?” His heart is absolutely pounding. “What do you…what should I wear?” MC will need to help him out with that one.

Zahn:

There’s some genuine enthusiasm there when they tell MC they look gorgeous - because they do. They’ve always thought that about MC. They shine inside and out. Maybe that’s why they confused the things stirring between them. But they’ll be happy for MC and cheer them on.

At the reveal: Zahn has a smile that would make the sun jealous. They run and grab MC’s hand. “Let’s go! Let’s go right now!” They have zero idea where they’re going…

Duri:

“Well that’s hardly fair. Are you trying to tease me? It won’t work.” *pouts* (it’s working) *Walks around MC studying the outfit. “You look delicious as ever, but is this person really deserving of such a feast? Never fear, I have just the thing. We’ll borrow Zahn’s ratty cloaks - trust me on this - you’ll still make a statement.” *If MC allows this to run its course, Duri will deck them out in the most atrocious outfit they can make with the items on hand. MC is probably wearing a basket on their head.

After the reveal: They go quiet for a long moment. “Well, of course, I knew that. You can’t fool me - ha! …What in the stars are you wearing though?”

Rune:

Swallowing their feelings. Checks MC out, straightens their collar (it wasn’t crooked), smooths the wrinkles (there weren’t any), and gently fixes their hair (it was fine). “You should already know how fabulous you look as well as I do. You’d be enchanting even if you wore robes of grass and leaves.” They fidget. “If…if you aren’t sure about this person - be careful…and I’d also like to take you out too, if you’ll allow it. I apologize for asking like this.”

After the reveal: The smile takes over before they can stop it. “Well played, I’ll admit it. I suppose that’s a yes to my request then?” MC gets a nervous laugh out of them. Is that a tinge of red on their cheeks?

???:

“Date!? Well, that isn’t fair, I’ve been flirting with you for ages and we haven’t been on a date yet.” He takes a flower from a vase and slips it into the outfit or tucks it in MC’s hair. “Here’s an idea - I go with you and you can show me how a date works. I’ll make some notes and I promise not to glower menacingly at your date.” *He’s lying* “And…yes, for the record, you are a vision. Always.”

After the reveal: “No need to change your plans on my account, MC! Go on then, and have your fun - tell me how it went tomorrow.” He pushes MC to the door. “Don’t stay out too late, aim for the throat if they get too fresh with you.” *Door shuts, MC is made to wait a few minutes before ??? comes back out with a big stupid smile.

Thank you for the Ask, Anon! This one was a lot of fun! ^_^

#god cursed if #asks #twine if #if wip #twine wip #interactive novel #if game #interactive fiction #gc ro reactions

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athenodora-sulpicia-writer · 8 months

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Vanessa ives - where we meet at a ball and she ask us to dance, she never got our name and follows us home to find out we are the daughter of Evelyn Poole. So we start seeing Vanessa behind our mothers back and maybe if you could add some smut between us and vanessa?

Forbidden Love- Part 1- Vanessa Ives

A/N: Hey @wandamaximoff2823 thank you for your request, I'm so sorry for the long wait, I've been really struggling to get back into writing but better as never I suppose 😅, anyway I hope you enjoy this and that it was worth the wait.

Warning(s): Scars, smut, mentions of neglect/abuse.

I was never one to be interested in the intricacies of the aristocratic ways of the upper class but mother had asked me to be here and what ever mother asked you to do was never a simple request but a very firm order.

I entered the lavish estate of a Mr Dorian Grey, unescorted of course, how scandalous. A butler or perhaps he was a servant came and took my cloak and directed to me where all the fuss and chatter was coming from, so I followed the sound of champagne induced laughter and discussion of who owned the most properties in the countries, which took me to a grand ballroom which was filled to the brim of upper class Londoners, an orchestra and the walls were completely lined with portraits, show off.

I weaved my way through the large doorway that lead into the ballroom a feat which would have been easier if everyone was deciding to take up the space. I'd originally dressed to blend in and not draw in to much unwanted attention, who would have thought that wearing dress of gold and white (the opposite of what my mother would have ever approved of) would have caught so many stares and glances.

A server came to me with a tray of champagne and though I was usually partial to a class or two I knew I had to keep my mind as agile as possible for the task my mother had sent me to do. I was told to not get to close to Miss Ives but just enough to use some effective Nightwalker magic on her mind, this should have been Hecate's job not mine but apparently according to mother "Hecate had her own tasks" I would have used the chores or enslavement but I'd rather not have a gash from the tip of my cheek to my chin so I kept my mouth shut.

For a moment as I was thinking a man approached me and I could already smell the alcohol from a mile, this would be wonderful not, I snarled for a moment at the thought but as the man was now in reach of me I returned my face to its natural composure.

"What's a charming dove like you doing all alone and without a chaperone?" This man, who looked old enough to be a someone who should start writing their will, asked me. Who looked like the usual upper class prick, my least favourite kind of mortal irritation.

"That is none of your concern sir, now if you wouldn't mind walking off to go and compare your assets, though I'm sure yours are lacking by the looks of things, with the other gentlemen I'd be most thankful." I said the man with my best 'I'm super important' voice but when the man didn't leave I know that my word choice may have been a little too much.

"How dare you speak to me in such a way," The man snarled at me and was quick to grab my upper arm harshly and with so many people in the room it would be easy to not notice or ignore what he was doing. "Now judging by your dress I'd say your still a maid, so why don't you be a good little heiress and have a drink with me on the balcony," Damn this dress I just wanted to wear something that was the opposite of the scars on back and now I was being mistaken for a maid because of it, just fabulous.

As more time passed and I hadn't responded, the man's grip on my upper arm was becoming painfully tight and even for someone like me, I couldn't hold back a wince.

"Ah cousin," I heard a feminine voice call out and upon hearing the voice my head turned abruptly to the direction of the voice and then I saw her. She had raven black hair, sky blue eyes and pale ivory skin and was wearing the most fabulous black and red dress I'd ever seen and she was walking over to me. Well that's half a job done and half a job failed.

Once she stood by my side she began to speak again, "Thank you for keeping my cousin company Sir," She spoke to the man who still had his hand on my upper arm, "But now that I am here I believe she is no longer in need of your company," Her voice which originally was soft and compliant of any woman in this room and now become more natural almost steely.

I could feel the man's grip tighten and I knew who was about to say something but for whatever reason after he made eye contact with my ravenette saviour he let go of my arm completely and walked off without another word. My first reaction was to rub at my arm, even if I knew it would heal within a minute or two.

"I Apologise for the cousin lie but I can tell when a woman is uncomfortable." She spoke to me with a kindness I knew would be there if she knew who I actually was. "My name is Miss Ives," She spoke again with a slight bit more formality, extending out a hand for me to shake and suddenly I was grateful to the creme gloves I was wearing because if I weren't she'd probably be able to sense exactly what I was.

"No apologies needed, It's a pleasure to finally meet you Miss Ives." I spoke with the same slight formality as she but then I soon thought of the implications of my words and I began to internally kick myself for making such a slip up, my mother was going to kill me if I messed this up.

"To finally meet me?" She looked at my with a smile and odd confusement in her expression. "Why have we been intending to meet one another before today?" She asked me curiously with a slight chuckle to her voice which was somewhere between being eerie and joyful.

"Not at all, I simply meant that," I paused for a moment to think of a better excuse for my slip up, "I've heard your name on people's lips before, it's nice to put a face to the name, Miss Ives." I said coming up with something that I thought was a decent enough excuse that would hopefully appease her curiosity.

"Oh, I didn't know I was a topic of gossip," She spoke again and though she was trying to feign ignorance I could tell she had noticed my slip up by the way her eyes looked at me and how her pupils darkened with triumph at her victory.

"Well anyway would you care for a dance?" She asked me her tone lighter with an undertone of something that was perhaps mischief, as she gave a slightly bow and extended out hand, facing upwards, to me.

"Well people do like to talk," I was very quickly scanning the ballroom for a quick escaped to the exit and when I found it I took my chances, "I must be going Miss Ives, good evening." I said the formal goodbye and quickly left through the small gap that had been left to the exit and retrieved my own cloak and quickly began to set off back up to the manor we were staying in that was slight ways away.

As I walked under the nights dark sky at a brisk pace, I thought of how I knew my mother would be anything but pleased at what she would see as a display of my incompetence at not completely her 'simple' task but I also thought about how what she didn't know couldn't hurt her, a policy I very much enjoyed using with my mother. Though if she were to ever find out I knew I'd probably be crucified upside down with no last words being allowed.

Not long later I made up back to our home, a manor that was slightly outside of central London. I walked up the stone steps that led to the large front doors which i opened with a heavy gust of wind which came when I turned my wrist in just the right way and I walked inside oblivious to anything else as I took my cloak off and threw it somewhere I didn't care to check.

As I walked further into the foyer at the front of the manner, I started ragging the gloves of my arms and unpinning the mass of my that sat atop my head. It felt euphoric when my hair cascaded down my back because finally all the weight was off the crown of my head and sighed out in a pleased way not caring for all the bobby pins that were fall the marble floor and making a clattering sound.

For a moment all I thought I could hear was the clattering of my bobby pins on the floor, which was a lovely relief because it meant that my mother possibly my sisters weren't in the manor or they were at least asleep, either way I was happy to not be bothered by any of them.

As I just about started to walk up the overly elaborate staircase upstairs, I heard a bang and then a mumble and quickly whipped my body around to the direction of the sound which just happened to be the front doors and then I saw her, Vanessa, well this is just fabulous.

"Miss Ives, what on earth are you doing here?" I asked feigning confusion and innocence as I walked down the few steps I had just walked up. I then walked over to where Vanessa was, in the middle of the foyer, taking in her surroundings of the dark and quietly frankly disturbing manor.

"You never told me your name," She began to say, the meaning behind her voice was obviously detached from what she was saying to me as she was to focused on surveying her new surroundings. "What possible reason do you have for being here?" She asked me finally making eye contact and her steely gaze was hardened and distrusting.

She must be able to feel the aura of the manor, Hell she probably had a pretty good idea about who lived here which meant she probably knew what I was. "Miss Ives I know how it may look but..." I began to say to Vanessa before I heard the creaking of floorboards coming from upstairs and as the noise grew closer the sound of footsteps accompanied it.

A horrible sense of dread filled my chest because I knew that it was just the wind or if it was a person, as I suspected it was, it wasn't one of my sisters, it was my mother. I didn't have much time to think and I'm not sure what compelled me to do it but I quickly faced Vanessa agin and twisted my wrist in her direction and a gust of with pushed her against one of the far walls and quickly I consumed her in enough mist to make her invisible.

Just as I turned back around to face the staircase but before I was able to regain my composure, my mother was at the top of the staircase in one of her robes and her hair pinned. "Oh mother, hello," I spoke trying calm my voice down as to not give anything away.

"Y/N you've returned, I assume the task I sent you on was a success then." She phrased it in a way that anyone would think it was meant as a question but I knew she didn't mean it as one, she never did.

"Yes mother," I spoke with my head bowed, lying through the skin of my teeth, praying she wouldn't notice my lie. "Lucifer's bride had a bit of a manic episode at the party and fainted," I explained to my mother whilst trying to come up with a believable lie, we were expected to refer to Vanessa as Lucifer's bride, the thought always made my skin crawl but I'd never let it show.

"Good, I'm pleased to hear," I eternally sighed of relief when my mother spoke like she had know idea that I had lied to her and I was grateful for it. "Well I shall retire for night now," She then finished saying as she walked back the way she came and the sound of her footsteps soon disappeared completely.

Once my mother was gone I couldn't even give myself a moment to enjoy my victory as I know Vanessa was still stuck the wall and covered in mist. I quickly ran other to where I cast her off and released from my nightwalker magic, to which she fell from the wall gasping for breath.

"Miss Ives," I quickly got down on the floor as she was still gasping, "Miss Ives you must leave, if my mother or sisters find you here you will never leave," I tried to encourage her off the floor and I eventually got her to her feet but she wasn't leaving. "Listen, I understand your in shock and still recovering but you have to leave right now," I kept urgently encouraging her to leave but it wasn't quite working. "Vanessa!" I shouted her name and this finally snapped her out of wherever she'd been in her head, she made eye contact with me once before running out of the manner and disappearing and all I could do was finally sigh in relief. What a night. __________________________________ So I've had to split this request into two parts because it was getting a little long. Anyway, thank you all for reading, I hope you all enjoyed and until next time fellow readers.

Tag List @ateliefloresdaprimavera @cissyenthusiast010155 @multifandomfix @multimilfs

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beansprean · 2 years

Text

My Exchangeapalooza gift for @memosminifridge !! See it HERE on A03 and check out all the other fabulous entries HERE!

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID page 1: 1. Wide shot of a park at night, bunches of trees in the background with a asphalt path winding up towards the viewer, last a bronze statue of a man with a dog. A few streetlights light up the area and Nandor and Guillermo appear to be alone as they walk down the path toward the viewer, save for a lone gray squirrel climbing down the trunk of a nearby tree. Nandor, flaring his cape out dramatically as he walks, turns toward Guillermo and complains 'What is the point of walking around with no destination?' Guillermo, walking beside him with his hands in his jacket pockets and looking like he's explained this multiple times already, replies, 'It's good for you to be outside and get some fresh air, Master.' Nandor scoffs and says 'This fresh air smells like doggie doo-doo.' 2. Close up on Nandor as he notices something to his left, raising his eyebrows and letting out a surprised 'Oh!' Guillermo stands on his opposite side and looks over curiously. 3. Close up on a nearby tree trunk, which a gray squirrel is curiously peering around the side of. Offscreen, Nandor coos, 'Look, Guillermo! A squirrel!' 4. Reverse shot. Nandor squats down in the foreground with a cheerful grin and soft eyes, gently reaching out a hand while saying 'Hello, little friend!' Behind him, Guillermo stops walking and watches with a fond smile. 5. Close up on Guillermo as he pulls out his phone, which has a photo of Armand on the case, and points it toward Nandor. He smiles, blushing slightly, and thinks 'Cute...' to himself. Offscreen, Nandor continues talking to the squirrel: 'I'm sorry I do not have any nuts for you.' 6. Close up on Nandor's beckoning hand, the squirrel creeping cautiously closer. Nandor squeals, 'Guillermo, look!! He likes me!' 7. Wide shot of the scene with Guillermo in the foreground, starting a video on his phone with a smile. Nandor is still squatted down with his hand held out flat, making kissy noises at the squirrel, which is almost close enough to touch. 8. Repeat. Nandor flinches back as the squirrel suddenly transforms into a pale black-haired vampire with pointed ears, wearing a gray cloak. The vampire leaps out, claws raised, one hand wielding a stake as he cries 'Nandor the Relentless!' In the foreground, the scene is repeated on Guillermo's phone as he looks up in shock, mouth dropping open. /End page 1

ID page 2: 1. Shot from behind Nandor's head as he raises a hand to protect himself. The other vampire raises his stake with a manic grin and cries 'At last I found you! Prepare to-' 2. Repeat. The vampire it cut off as a cell phone with an Armand case suddenly flies in and smacks him in the cheek, whipping his head to the side. 3. Reverse shot. The assaulting vampire is in extreme closeup in the foreground, holding a clawed hand to his cheek and snarling, 'Oww... What the?! Control your familiar!' He glares past Nandor at Guillermo, who is cast in dramatic shadow but for the round shine of his glasses. He has his right hand posed downward from his expert throw and his left hand unzipping his coat. The background behind him is dark and emitting a scary red aura. Nandor, the top of his head small in the frame between them, looks back at Guillermo nervously, though it's not clear who he's worried for. 4. Close up on Guillermo's eyes, cut in shadow but for a streak of light horizontal across his eyes. One frame of his glasses is opaque and glinting dangerously, reflecting something red. His visible eye is squinting in a controlled glare. He snaps, 'Not a familiar.' 5. Jacket now flaring open and a stake clenched in his right hand, Guillermo takes a step and leaps forward, vaulting easily over Nandor, who falls backward in an effort to look up at him. The background is bright red and streaked with white action lines to match Guillermo's movement. 6. Guillermo lands with both feet planted on the enemy vampire's chest, knocking him backward and raising his stake to strike. 7. Guillermo gives the vampire no time to react, slamming the stake down into his heart as soon as he hits the ground. Guillermo holds how down by the throat with his free hand, one foot planted on his shoulder and the other knee holding down his arm, which has already dropped the stake he brought. The vampire screams, head wrenched back to face the viewer as a grisly spray of blood erupts from his chest. It's over in seconds. His cries die out with a muttered 'Curse...you...' 8. Shot of Nandor, laying back propped up on his elbows, watching the scene with shock, face flushed purple. Offscreen, Guillermo mutters to his victim 'Yeah, yeah yeah, just die already.' and stabs him again. With a choked 'Guh!', he does. /end page 2

ID page 3: 1. Full body of Guillermo from Nandor's POV as he stands up, bloody stake dripping from his right hand as he wipes gore off his cheek with the back of his left. There is a spatter of blood on the opposite cheek. He scowls down at the dead assassin and says 'Jeez, who even was that guy...' The background is a besotted bubbly pink. Nandor sits up a little higher, arms straightening. A duplicate of himself floats up behind him in a haze of pink bubbles, staring up at Guillermo with flushed cheeks and the words 'I desire you carnally' floating above his head. The real Nandor jerks back into awareness as Guillermo asks, 'You okay, Nandor?' 2. Nandor accepts the hand Guillermo offers to help pull him up, spluttering 'Of course I am! The only reason I did not bludgeon that assassin myself is because it is beneath me.' 3. Standing again, Nandor busies himself with brushing dirt off his robes, ignoring his feelings as usual. He snaps, 'Thats what I have you for.' Guillermo aims a fairly besotted smile his way regardless, tucking his stake back into his jacket interior and agreeing, 'You do ' 4. Repeat. Guillermo zips up his jacket and turns his head casually away, remarking 'Well, I guess we should head home? I've had enough fresh air, I think.' Nandor looks up suddenly and watches him with flushed cheeks, fiddling with his rings. 5. Close up on Guillermo from Nandor's POV as Nandor suddenly reaches out to cup his chin and wipe the drop of blood off his cheek with a thumb. Guillermo freezes, eyes wide and gaze fixed in another direction. 6a. The background turns a bubbly gold as Guillermo looks up at Nandor, eyes shining hopefully, face flushed pink. Nandor's hand lingers to stroke his cheek with the backs of his fingers. 6b. Reverse shot of Nandor in close up, aiming a proud, gentle smile at Guillermo and saying 'Thank you, Guillermo. I am...very lucky to have you by my side.' 7. Medium shot of them both on a mottled green background as Nandor pulls his hand back. Both hover uselessly as he looks away anxiously, eyes wide and a silly smile coming over his face. Guillermo looks similarly, hands hovering around his midsection and wide eyes looking away, unable to resist grinning. 8. Repeat. Nandor's arms go right at his sides as he straightens, snapping to attention with his eyes on the middle distance. He says, 'Anyway, let's go.' Guillermo's hands both clasp together at his waist as he similarly snaps out of it, wide eyes on the middle distance as he agrees, 'Yeah! Yup.' They are both blushing furiously. /End page 3

ID page 4: 1. Shot of Nandor from Guillermo's POV as Guillermo's hand pops into frame, palm up. Nandor looks up at him as he says 'Stick close, okay?' 2. Reverse shot of Guillermo from Nandor's POV, hand out, smiling easily with soft eyes as he continues, 'You never know...there could be assassins anywhere.' 3. Reverse shot of Nandor as he smirks, raising one eyebrow and holding out his own hand, palm down. He says slyly, playing along, 'I suppose you have a point there, Guillermo.' 4. Close up of their hands as Nandor places his large fingers in Guillermo's grip as if ready to step out of his coffin, Guillermo curling his own fingertips around him as if to beckon him closer. The background is a burst of green and gold bubbles. Nandor asks, 'You will protect me?' and Guillermo responds, 'Always.' 5. Full body shot from behind as Nandor and Guillermo make their way home, hands clasped together between them and looking at each other with fond, loving smiles. Before them, the path splits around a bright street lamp and goes into opposite directions, but they walk on together. In the bottom corner, a small wooden sign splattered with blood reads 'End'. /End ID

#wwdits #nandermo #mlm #guillermo de la cruz #nandor the relentless #blood tw #violence tw #what we do in the shadows fx #what we do in the shadows #my art #fanart #image described #no actual squirrels were harmed in the making of this comic strip

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actual-bill-potts · 1 year

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Re: your post about how elves should be weirder

I actually headcanon the elves as having a very different hair texture to humans, kind of thinner (as in like the individual strands are thin) and more like the hair of some other animals, like it has the kind of texture that makes it possible to spin into thread better than human hair (my understanding is that you technically can spin human hair if you really want to, but it's more difficult than with most kinds of animal hair, and the texture of the resulting yarn and anything done of it just isn't gonna be as nice and soft). Maybe it depends a bit, like some elves may have hair that's very woolly, and others have a texture that isn't quite as good for spinning but still works pretty well

Obviously in Lúthien's case which is the only canon case (iirc) of elven hair being used like that, her whole project of spinning and weaving a magic cloak and rope out of her own hair was a matter of necessity, but even so I think it's fun to imagine that elven hair has a texture that makes it nice fiber for all kinds of stuff. Imagine Lúthien's cloak just being absolutely wonderfully soft, like it's made of really fine wool!

But imagine also the elves spinning and weaving their hair. Maybe to giving gifts made of your own hair is considered a thing for very close friendships, romantic relationships, and between family members, like it's kind of a very intimate thing to do in a way? (...Imagine Míriel spinning and weaving a baby blanket of her own hair while she's pregnant with Fëanor. Imagine Fëanor keeping that blanket with him pretty much at all times for the rest of his life because it's one of the few tangible things he has that he knows for a fact she wanted him to have.) Maybe among some of the elves of Middle-Earth it's a common practice if you know you're about to go do something dangerous, to give loved ones some items made of your own hair as keepsakes, in case you don't return...

sorry, i got a bit carried away, i just had Thoughts :D

No no don’t apologize this is GREAT

Elves having gossamer-thin hair so it floats like a cloak around them anyway…the texture like eiderdown…some elves having very thick hair that feels safe and warm (Fingon)…some elves having thin light hair that flies about their head (Aegnor!!!)…

Elves growing their hair out for years so they can make a gift of suitable magnificence for one they love…short hair in Elves signifying either great love or great grief (or both)…Elves weaving burial shrouds for loved ones in Beleriand out of their own hair…

Míriel having woven a baby blanket for Fëanor out of her own hair broke me btw

Everything about this is fabulous

#elves #asked and answered #the Silmarillion

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fiddleabout · 2 years

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(previously on the fabulous adventures of sun summoner ava and the druskelle who’s gonna fall in love with her)

It’s their third day of walking, from one whaling shelter to another, and so far Ava has learned that the druskelle is fastidious to the point of absurdity, that she sleeps on her left side-- potentially due to the cruel burn scar that Ava had seen on the first night, in spite of the way they had both burrowed deep under their respective bearskins until their clothes dried; it starts below her ribcage on her right side and snakes down past her hip, terminating in a splotchy discoloration halfway down her thigh-- that she sleeps light but pretends not to wake up when Ava wiggles closer in the middle of the night for warmth and starts each morning with a set of fifty pushups, and that she’s proven herself impressively immune to Ava’s charming habit of chattering to fill the silence.

She still doesn’t know her name.

Ava’s halfway into a hilarious story-- in Fjerdan, just to irritate the druskelle-- about when she and Diego had managed to prank Frances at the orphanage with an elaborate plot involving a rabbit snare, a basket full of fresh mushrooms, and a piece of twine stolen from the kitchens. She’s taken a detour in her rambling, away from Keramzin and towards her first and only experience in the unsea, stowing away on a skiff in a desperate attempt to keep her little brother safe, and has been on an impressively colorful five-minutes-and-building rant about how the First Army had treated the both of them after her powers became known. She can feel her own frustration building, at the situation and at the druskelle and at the darkling, when the druskelle speaks for the first time in hours.

“--and then the lieutenant, that cunt--”

“Should you really refer to your commanding officer so crassly?”

Ava nearly trips at the sound of her voice. It’s melodious and soft, her accent rounded warmly. The other druskelle on the ship had sharper accents, thinner edges to their vowels: a Djerholm accent, urban and rich, the accent of the children of nobility plucked for elite service. This druskelle, though, has a quiet, rural accent that differentiates her from the rest of the druskelle as her dark hair and eyes had differentiated her from the rest of Fjerda.

“She speaks,” Ava manages to say after a split second. “And here I was thinking that the druskelle had made you take a vow of silence.”

“I speak,” she echoes thinly. “Only when there is something worth speaking to. Such as insubordination.”

“Don’t tell me you’re concerned with me respecting a Ravkan lieutenant.”

“You are a soldier, even if you are a witch,’ she says. She steps around a patch of snow that looks exactly like the rest, and Ava follows automatically. “Soldiers should respect their commanding officers.”

“Well,” Ava says grandly. “Forgive me for not agreeing to let my brother get sent to slaughter. Some of us have beating hearts instead of unwavering obedience to work with.”

The druskelle doesn’t respond. She continues hiking, and Ava nearly drops the bearskin she’d hauled with her for the last two days, wrapped around her shoulders like the druskelle’s cloak is wrapped around her own. An irritation builds in her stomach, itching and impossible to ignore.

“Hey,” she says sharply. “What should I have done, then? What would you have done if it was your brother?”

“I never had a brother,” the druskelle says without hesitation.

“Fine, play with semantics,” Ava says, unwilling to give up. She hitches the bearskin higher around her shoulders and scrambles after her. “Someone you love. Your best friend. Your mother--”

“My parents threw me out,” the druskelle says. She turns abruptly, quick enough that Ava nearly falls on her ass trying to stop from barrelling into her. “They took me on a carriage out into the wilderness and left me there. When I tried to go home, my entire village had been destroyed by an inferni. My parents burned in their beds.”

Ava stares at her, the bearskin heavy at her shoulders. She’d grown up in Keramzin, meaningless and unimportant and dreaming like all orphans do about parents who loved her, a mother and a father who would love her if they were still alive. It had never occurred to her, a war orphan whose only memory of her parents was them trying to protect her when the war spilled into their town, that there were parents who might cast their children aside.

“I am druskelle to protect Fjerda,” the druskelle says, fury snapping in her dark eyes. “To protect other children from losing their families to witchcraft. From people like you.”

“To protect people from me,” Ava says slowly. “People like your parents, who threw you away?”

The druskelle’s jaw clenches, muscles in her neck working in stark lines, faint freckles dark against the flush of anger spreading across her cheeks. “I became druskelle to honor them in their death as I should have when they lived,” she says, voice shaking with anger.

“You hunt people who just want to exist so you can honor people who abandoned you in the woods?” Ava shoves at her shoulder. It’s weak-- she’s exhausted, and hasn’t eaten in two days, and the druskelle has broad shoulders and powerful arms that Ava has become more familiar with than she’d ever want to, thanks to the Fjerdan cold and the unheated huts they’ve been forced to sleep in, and she barely flinches with the effort. Ava slams a fist into her shoulder, stubborn and unwilling to give up. “I never wanted to be grisha. I didn’t ask to be this. I just wanted to keep my brother safe and then--”

A groan snaps through the air, and she cuts off when the druskelle’s eyes go wide. There’s a split second when she’s about to pick up her anger and keep ranting, and then the world cracks below her feet and she falls.

She slams into the side of the crevasse, her shoulder nearly dislocating and an aching pressure around her wrist. Her face crashes into the ice of the ravine when her momentum stops, and she lets out a pained noise through gritted teeth before looking up.

Above her the druskelle is flat on her stomach, both hands closed tight around Ava’s wrist, and they both freeze. Ava hangs from her grip, her entire body aching as it hangs from the druskelle’s hands. She could drop Ava, could just let go and let her fall into the unending dark below her, leave her here to die alone and cold in the middle of the wilderness, and no one would ever find her. The druskelle who killed the sun summoner, a hero to the Fjerdan people for killing the first hope the Ravkan people have had in four centuries..

Ava hangs in her hands and finds the same desperate need to live, the one that had burst out of her when a volcra’s claws had latched onto her on the deck of the skiff and tried to pull her away from Diego, crawling up her throat. Sunlight warms under her skin, but sunlight won’t save her here.

“Please,” she says, aching and scared. The unwavering grip on her arm aches, radiating beautifully down her arm, the only thing keeping her alive. “Please.”

The druskelle stares down at her, hands still tight around her wrist, and Ava watches her eyes narrow and shoulders somehow square even as she lays half-hanging over the edge of the ravine, and then, suddenly, she pulls.

Ava’s shoulder screams, the joint protesting the tension it’s under, until she can get her other arm up and gripping at the druskelle’s wrist and square up her weight. It’s only half a minute, maybe, before Ava is able to reach up and latch onto the druskelle’s arm to help pull herself the rest of the way up and crawl over the edge, sprawl onto the snow, but it feels like an eternity. Her body aches with the effort, but she collapses onto her side next to the druskelle and then rolls onto her back, gasping and shaking and staring at the cold gray sky.

Next to her, the druskelle flops onto her back as well, and Ava’s head rolls to the side to stare at her profile and the way her chest is heaving.

“Beatrice,” the druskelle says eventually. “My name is Beatrice.”

Ava keeps staring at her, at the straight line of her nose and the arc of her cheekbone and the sweep of her jaw. The druskelle who saved her life. Beatrice.

“Beatrice,” she echoes after too long staring. She speaks carefully, testing the way the name feels in her mouth. “I’m Ava.”

Beatrice’s head tilts to the side, precise and meticulous, until she can look at Ava. Her dark eyes are unreadable but her mouth is soft and uncertain, and Ava fights the urge to shift closer and curl herself into Beatrice’s side.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance.” Beatrice drags one arm up and offers it awkwardly across the space between them, and Ava meets her in the middle without thinking about it. Her hand is warm, somehow, despite the cold they’re lost in; her palm calloused and her thumb folding carefully over the back of Ava’s hand.

“Nice to meet you, Beatrice,” Ava finally says.

Ava means to let go, but her hand lingers. Beatrice doesn’t let go either, and Ava can barely feel the cold seeping through her kefta-- the bearskin had fallen away, lost into the ravine-- for long seconds before Beatrice pulls her hand free and stands up, only to offer it back to Ava and pull her up to her feet.

Wordlessly, Beatrice strips her cloak off and wraps it around Ava’s shoulders. She fastens the clasp and her knuckles brush against Ava’s throat, and a warmth that has nothing to do with her summoning spreads through Ava.

#s2 of s&b was all over the place but it has been jarring my feelings about #grishava #writing tag #warrior #ava silva #sister beatrice #sun summoner ava and the druskelle who fell in love with her: a fic by me that will probs never be fully written #though who knows #trying to shake off the cobwebs for chef au and needed a palate cleanser

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thatoneguy031 · 1 year

Text

Real talk? Real?? Real?!

Why on EARTH was the cast of The Owl House so drippy?!

(A sort of breakdown from someone that's only kinda sorta kept up with the show... Me, Guy.)

Spoilers too, I guess...

Look at our favorite witch-in-training, Luz Noceda. As we can all see here, she's wearing Eda's varsity jacket when she attended Hexside. Level with me, the jacket alone was enough to be a super-dope outfit, but she took it one step further and even wore matching pants, too! Heck, she even tied up her hair in a bun, for crying out loud! She kept the aesthetic of "I'm able to stay calm, but I'm not afraid to kick your butt when the time comes."

And here's another frame of yet another scene...

Luz dancing with Amity during that one Grom episode...

She wanted to look fancy while she boogied with her soon-to-be girlfriend(At the time, anyway), so she decided to wear what exactly? A tutu, and a frickin' tuxedo! Wonderful! Fabulous! It's all so wild, but you can see that not only did Luz have a plan, it worked danged-near flawlessly! And of course, she decided to wear dance shoes, as well.

And you know what?!

I'm still not done.

I'm going to be real with you here. This is where the spoilers for the end of the show REALLY, REALLY begin! If you really want to watch the show without witnessing the beauty of Luz during [REDACTED], I HIGHLY suggest that you stay away from this post, and move on with your day! Please, leave!

...Are you still here?

Are you sure you wanna be here for [REDACTED]?

Alrightie, then...

3...

2...

1...

...

Okay, you asked for it.

Don't say I didn't warn you.

Freaking. Bam. Meet Titan Luz.

This is near perfection in cartoon form. Luz looks like she told Amity's parents, "Your daughter calls me mommy, too." She looks deranged in the best way possible.

First and foremost, the cloak nearly perfectly displays everything she's done throughout the series. The glyph on her chest, the bones appearing along the tips and edges of it, referencing her "magic donor", Arin Hanson- I mean Papa Titan(...Is he just called Papa King by the TOH fandom, or am I being dumb? Since, y'know, he's King's dad? I don't know, but back to the comedic analysis).

For Hootie's sake, she even somehow has longer, puffier hair, giving Eda a wink-wink-nudge-nudge without saying a thing. Even further, her eyes turned a pitch-black with yellow irises, making sure that King himself is involved with references as well.

Y'know, this reminds me of a character that I've had written out for a while. Y'all won't see her for a long, long while, but just know that she's tied to this in a way. Backstory aside, she has this one... form, let's call it, where she kind of becomes a vampire. This aspect of her is derived from an art account I follow, I won't say who until the time comes, but she also likes using her legs as her main means of attack, not only calling back to Izuku from MHA, but to her friend who she loves dearly, like a family member.

Back to the main point, I love characters that reference multiple other characters they have a connection to without being overbearing, which is why I love Titan Luz's design. Above all else, this proves that Luz really cared for everyone that has helped carry her this far, and was willing to fight for them, even after her death. And Eda even teaches her magic the way she said she would as early as the second episode of the series, iirc. And, something even more wild, is that Luz sort of looks like Azura, as well, even using one of her quotes for the finishing blow on Belos...

"...NOW EAT THIS, SUCKAAA!"

Admittedly, I don't know much about Luz's palisman, but I do indeed see that they're a cute little snek dude! ...Like how Luz freaked out the school and her principal with those snakes in the first episode(At least, I recall it being the first episode)! Everything about Luz's design is just... It's all just. So. Good.

...Look. I originally wanted to make a fun little ha-ha post about how stylish the characters from The Owl House were, as I highly respect this show and loved it, from the moment I saw King, to the very end of the series where the Collector gave Luz and the Hexsquad the ability to travel between realms, but seeing this transformation and taking the time to dissect her Titan Form design... It really brought me to tears. Not just because the show's actually over, but because I loved it with everything I could give. The way the show handled its characters, even with the rushed development that Disney demanded(Those freaking warm toilet seats), was phenomenal, given the circumstances.

I'll make a post talking more about King and just... him, I guess, but this post is already long enough as it is. Maybe even Eda, Hunter, Gus and Willow as well, if this post really makes its rounds.

#The owl house #toh luz #owl house #Spoilers #king clawthorne #eda clawthorne #hunter toh #toh willow #gus porter #papa titan #titan luz #toh amity #luz nodeda

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wyvernquill · 1 year

Text

Finally some more Dreamling Anastasia AU!

(Obligatory link to the masterpost with all the other posts in this AU - it's also pinned at the top of my blog!)

So, it's been... a while... but I've recently finally got some motivation to write a bit more of this. Apologies to everyone really looking forward to the finale/resolution - I've decided to go all the way back to the start of the story, instead. I hope you'll enjoy it nonetheless!

(Tag list: @10moonymhrivertam @martybaker @globglobglobglobob @anonymoustitans @sunshines-fabulous-legs @dreamsofapiratelife @malice-kingdom - since it's been a, uh, really long time, please let me know if you're no longer interested in this AU/fandom and don't want to be tagged anymore, I won't mind! On the other hand, if someone else would like to be tagged in future updates, please let me know!)

---

“Sister… it’s me.”

The man on the dilapidated theatre’s stage shrugs a heavy, moth-eaten velvet coat off his narrow shoulders. It crumples into a dark semi-circle around him, releasing a dramatic cloud of dust.

“Dream… of the Endless~”

“Ah. Hm.” A somewhat fussy older gentleman in the empty space usually reserved for the audience adjusts the small circular glasses on his nose, grimacing in a polite and distinctly English way - which he has, once, after first coming to this realm and taking this form, spent hours practising in the mirror - while checking a long list in front of him. “Mr… Carter, was it…?”

“Oh, please.” The man on stage flicks back his white-streaked bangs. “Call me Hal.”

“Yes. Of course, Mr. Hal.” The gentleman purses his lips. “That was… not, er. Not terrible, I suppose. And we’re pleased to note that you appear to have… brought your own cloak.”

“Don’t get used to it. Zelda and Chantal only let me borrow it for the audition.”

“Well, it is a lovely cloak. Only, ah, while Dream of the Endless was known to have quite striking eyes, I do think that, perhaps a little less eyeliner…”

“I could tone it down, I suppose, but I really think the performance would lose something without the makeup.” Hal sighs melodramatically. “I can sing and dance too, if you need it for your… what is this audition for, actually? Play? Music hall show? Ooo, one of those moving pictures?”

“Er.” The gentleman fidgets with his cane, grass-green eyes flickering around the empty theatre. “Well-”

“Thank you, Hal.” The younger man beside him interrupts with a winning smile that only barely covers the boredom and frustration lining a rather ruggedly handsome face. “We’ll let you know.”

“Hm.” Hal, clearly enough of an old hand in the acting business to know a polite “you’re not getting the role, piss off” when he hears one, frowns, and bends down to gather up the borrowed cloak, stalking off towards stage exit right with his head held high, not deigning either of the two men with even one more look.

“...I really do not think this will work, young Robert.” The older man mutters, decisively striking through Hal Carter’s name on his list. It is the last. “None of them look even remotely like him. And the voice-”

“I know, Gil. I know.” The younger man, Hob - only Gilbert is proper and precise enough to call him Robert - rubs at his temples, as if to stave off a headache. “They never manage to get the voice right, do they.”

“Ah, if it were only that…” Gilbert sighs, setting the list down. His eyes are soft and unfocused, seeing far into a past that has long since been razed to the ground. “His Lordship, he… he had a certain air about him, you understand. An otherworldly strangeness. He was the dream-maker, and dream-made, and to look at him was to gaze upon infinity.”

A soft scoff.

“Even if we claim that he has been greatly reduced by being turned into a meagre human - no offence, dear friend - as long as he does not have some spark of endlessness about him, nobody who has ever met him would fall for the ruse. And we are attempting to con his family. I simply cannot see any viable path to success.”

Hob does not respond, for a moment, picking up one of the flyers on their table.

It reads:

SEEKING Actor, slender, pale, tall, dark-haired, in the 20-40 age range to play the role of Dream of the Endless (method actors preferred). Generous pay and further benefits await. Auditions each weekday at 6pm at the Old Whickber Street Theatre, Soho. Ask for Hob and Gil.

“We’ll find him.” Hob insists. “The perfect pretender. He’s out there, I just know it.”

“We are not the first fools who have attempted a, a caper of this sort.” Gil points out, almost gently. “None of the others ever succeeded.”

“Yes. Well. None of the others managed to find and correctly identify the late Dream’s own pouch of genuine dream-sand on sale at the black market.” Hob shoots back, gesturing at the cord just barely peeking out from under Gil’s collar. (They’ve decided it would be safer if Hob comes into contact with the sand as little as possible, and Gilbert has taken to carrying it as closely to his heart as he can manage.) “It’s hard evidence, Gil, it’s a sign, it’s our chance - and it might just be enough. The trick with a good con is really making it look like you’re giving the mark exactly what they desperately want… and there’s nothing in the world Death of the Endless wants more than to have her brother back.”

(She wants it so desperately, in fact, that she’s offering immortality to any sentient being who manages to procure Dream for her.

And, well.

There’s nothing in the world Hob wants more than to live forever…)

“Your word in- or, well, kept out of Destiny’s ears, young friend.” Gil sighs, collecting his lists and notes and the remaining flyers, tucking them into his coat and reaching for his cane. “In the meantime, how about we go down to the public house and have a bit of a snifter to wash away the memories of all those atrocious performances, eh, my lad?”

“Best idea you had all day, Gil.” Hob grins, clapping a hand on Gilbert’s shoulder. “Are you buying?”

Gilbert raises one grey brow. “At the risk of provoking a joke regarding my non-human status: in your dreams, Robert.”

Hob laughs; and, together, they step out into the winter night, old snow crunching under their shoes and new flakes beginning to drift, gradually, down from the sky.

It has been a decade since the end of the Endless’ reign.

Ten years since humanity tore Destiny’s book from his hands and burned it.

Ten years since Destruction abandoned his siblings, hiding away in his own, separate exile.

Ten years since Despair’s first aspect was killed, and another took her place.

Ten years since Delight went mad with grief and became Delirium…

And ten years since Dream of the Endless was captured, bound, turned human, and killed.

People still whisper about it. Still speculate, trade gossip and hearsay back and forth. Some insist that the Dream King yet lives, hidden away, turned human, just biding his time, waiting for an opportunity to return to his siblings.

It’s a lovely legend, Hob supposes. A fitting end and non-end, for the Lord of Stories, to live on in one… but that’s all it is. A pretty tale, which will breathe new life into a myth only for as long as it’s being told. It isn’t true…

…but now, ten years later, Hob and Gil will damn well make it so.

Ten years is also, coincidentally, all that a man a few streets down from the old theatre can remember of his life.

Ten years since he was found, naked and emaciated and bleeding, in a ditch next to some countryside road in East Sussex.

Ten years of fighting his way through a life in poverty, with no family, no friends, no-one to care for him, except perhaps the birds.

Ten years of strange and haunting dreams, blurred faces calling out to him with names he can never remember later but knows are his; ten years of waking every morning with tears on his face and a longing for someplace - and someones - he wishes he could remember; ten years of a woman’s voice begging him night after night to come home to her, to them.

Ten years of being much too busy starving and freezing and barely surviving to spare even a single thought to the dying legends of the Endless.

This man turns his face up to the sky, snowflakes catching in his dark hair and on his coat like stars glinting in the night; and he shivers, his breath clouding mist-white in the air, curling thin arms around a narrow torso.

(For a moment, just a moment, his eyes glow dark and infinite, a mirror to the night sky and the endless universe beyond.)

And then, he ducks his head down into his scarf, shivers again, and continues on through the snow.

Ten hard years have taught this man better than to waste his time standing about and daydreaming.

#WyWrites #dreamling #the sandman #anastasia dreamling au #it's been 84 years......#i've got a rough draft of a scene or two after this too #endlessly busy with uni of course #and getting back into Good Omens my old love #but i've been feeling like dabbling with this au again lately so why not #and i just HAD to give you Hal doing the iconic coat drop scene #he would have been iconic as drag Dream of the Endless just saying #Hob and Gil are missing out #and the first glimpse of Murphy... I can see it in my mind's eye so clearly #him looking up at the sky with the stars in his eyes and the snow in his hair #and Death forever calling out to him in her sleep #gosh have i missed this au #can't guarantee too much more #but a few more bits are definitely in the works!

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musings-of-miss-j · 8 months

Text

no rest for the wicked (nor the foolish)

part two: in which you come to discover that your supervisor, the infamous Doctor, is every bit as unnerving as his reputation paints him (and make a new friend or two)

a harbingers x gn reader series!! (includes dottore, childe, arlecchino and pantalone x reader. the rest of the harbingers will most likely not be romantic interests)

notes: slowburn slower than my physics teacher when it comes to marking papers, crack, fluff, no pronouns but reader is referred to as 'miss', slightly suggestive, reader is a little socially anxious and a lot sarcastic

please inform me if you find any pronoun slips!!

status: ongoing, updates every thursday-saturday

series masterlist

word count: 5.8k words

* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚** ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚** ੈ✩‧₊˚*

Predictably, your eyes opened just as the first weak rays of morning sunlight shone through the window. You lay in bed a little longer after waking up, savouring the warmth, trying to decipher the silver writing on the ceiling and cursing the Akademiya for instilling the urge to wake up so early. A half-hearted glimpse at your pocket watch confirmed what you already knew; it was just after six in the morning. With no small amount of grumbling (even the rush of nervousness from sleeping in a foreign building wasn’t enough to tamper your irritation at being awake) you tossed aside the blankets (Mona’s voice in your head began to rant about the importance of having a morning routine that started with making the bed, by the Mistress of Stars, you can’t just leave them in a heap like that-)

At the very least, you had your own bathroom. This was certainly a welcome change from the Akademiya, where dorms of two people had to share one, and your gratefulness lasted about as long as it took for your bare feet to touch the freezing ceramic tiles of its floor.

You yelped. Supremely embarrassing on multiple levels, but you still think that the situation warranted the reaction; the floor must have been zero degrees. Zero degrees Kelvin. A series of colourful curses and rummaging through your bags to find your face wash later, you left the bathroom dressed in the outfit Lisa had picked out for you. Elegant and business-like, she’d called it, but you couldn’t help but feel like unnecessarily restricting was a more accurate way to describe it. You tugged at the collar of the shirt to loosen it, and ultimately gave up on the skirt. The temperature was less than optimal to wear anything that didn’t offer full coverage from head to toe, and you substituted it for a pair of black trousers and your shiny new boots. You toyed with the idea of wearing your old Akademiya lab coat but ultimately decided against it, and it was at that point you realised you were completely overthinking the matter and you’d probably been staring at your reflection in the slightly frosted-over mirror in the corner of the room for too long. You grabbed your new cloak (shopping for winter attire had been incredibly fun; you’d never owned such fabulous yet practical boots and cloak in your life) and pocketed your watch and the key to your room, then stepped into the hallway. Which was also freezing, a theme you were beginning to recognize as prevalent in every corner of the palace. Unlike the previous night, the place was bustling with activity; soldiers were rushing to and fro with weapons, piles of paper or crates of food and potions in their hands, servants in their neat uniforms quietly and efficiently dropped in and out of rooms, and you glimpsed fellow recruits with the bronze badges slung at their waist wandering around and doing an excellent job of getting in the way of everyone else who knew where they were going. The scene reminded you of the Akademiya’s mornings; full of flurrying activity and people who looked either incredibly stressed or incredibly busy or both, all clamouring to get somewhere or do something and invariably snapping at whoever got in their way. And much like your first day at the Akademiya, you had no idea where to go or what to do with yourself.

Oh, pull yourself together, you told yourself firmly. You’re not a wide-eyed first-year anymore. No one’s going to scold you.

You adjusted your glasses and tightened your gloves, stepping out of the doorway to your room. Only to be met by an increasingly familiar face and a head of ginger hair.

“Ah, Trixy!” Childe, with his unshakeable grin. He walked over, people dispersing left and right to make way for him, and clapped you on the shoulder. Since when are we that friendly? “You’re ready just on time.”

“Morning, Eleventh,” you replied with some reluctance, readjusting your glasses yet again after his overly physical greeting caused them to slip down your nose. The gesture struck him as ridiculously endearing, and he decided to elicit it more often.

“You don’t look happy to see me at all. And you still won’t call me by name.”

You rolled your eyes. “Well, you’re more than happy to make your presence known despite my lack of enthusiasm. And calling you by your first name would be a breach of protocol as per the extensive list of regulations I received upon acceptance. ” Archons, this guy was so easy to bicker with even though you knew better than to poke fun at a Harbinger, youngest or not. “Enlighten me, what is it I’m ‘ready just on time’ for?”

His grin widened.

“Your first appointment with The Doctor, of course.”

After following him through a series of winding corridors and up several flights of stairs that left you more winded than you cared to admit, he stopped in front of a door with a dubious series of stains at the bottom. You’d gathered from your pointed questions on the way here that the Doctor would be primarily responsible for supervising and directing your ongoing research. Which meant that your direct superior was now an infamous Akademiya exile. Wonderful. The door had no handle, but carved into the black wood a long block of text gleamed red. You blinked. No, it shone with a pale blue light. You blinked again. Gold. Another blink. The green of Avidya forest. Blink. Deep purple. You frowned. Yet another troublesome show of magic. You glanced up to find that Childe had been watching you examine the door. What a strange, strange man. Always openly observing without an ounce of shame. Could you blame him, though? Such an interesting face, and the emotions you let slip past your mask of collectedness were just delicious.

“Are you quite finished staring?”

“No, you’d rather stare a little longer.” He winked. “If it’s all the same to you.”

Not even your most unimpressed stare wiped the ever-present grin off his face. You briefly entertained the fantasy of telling him he had something green stuck between his front teeth, but dismissed the idea when further reflection led you to conclude that the absolute madman probably wouldn’t even care. It was slightly worrying to think that you’d developed such an acute sense of his character within a single day of meeting him, but his mannerisms were so distinct, almost as though he wanted to be analysed. It took you another moment of narrow-eyed contemplation to realise you’d been silently engaging in a rather competitive staring contest for at least two minutes; you with your brows furrowed and your nose subconsciously scrunched to keep your glasses in place so you could meet his gaze (Archons, he was tall) and him just smiling, teeth bared and eyes just barely tinged with a hint of amusement. Perhaps even friendliness. You shook your head to dispel the thought and firmly reminded yourself that no matter how silly this man may seem, he remained a Harbinger at the end of the day. Every one of his actions could very well be calculated to achieve some end goal, and even if you were technically co-workers for the time being you shouldn’t so readily let your guard down. For once, he really did have no ulterior motives, though. He just wanted to look at you.

“So, Eleventh,” you prompted, raising your eyebrows. “Do you know how to open this door, or are we going to linger here glowering at each other like that’s what we get paid to do?”

“Getting paid to stare at you would be a treat,” he fired back, his grin widening as he crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe. His suit is properly ironed today, you noted, brushing off the blatant flirting. Though how he isn’t freezing to death is beyond me. Perhaps the metabolism of Snezhnayan citizens is worth studying. More exothermic cellular processes..? No, impossible-

The door slammed open, and you leaped out of the way just in time not to have your nose completely bashed in by it. You scowled at the inscribed text and it gleamed a merry shade of gold in response. Childe, of course, remained completely unfazed even when the metal clanged against the stone wall and produced a reverberating sound that rattled the stained glass of the windowpanes. Properties of metals: sonorous, your brain helpfully supplied as the echoing ring faded in your ears and you registered the billowing smoke spiralling out from the doorway, concealing the interior of the room.

What a damned cliché.

“I hope you fools do not plan on lingering in your doorway a moment longer.” A man’s voice, disgruntled with the syllables curiously drawn out and faintly accented, sounded from inside. Childe shot you a grin and slapped your shoulder encouragingly. At least you assume that was the intention behind the gesture, but considering Lisa’s claims that you were no more socially adept than the fungi you were so fond of studying, you suppose your analysis might’ve been a tad irrelevant.

“See, you even used the same stuck-up version of the phrase ‘hanging around.’ I’ll bet a hefty stack of mora no one else actually uses the word ‘lingering,’” He snorted. “You and the Doctor will get along like a house on fire.”

“That’s a somewhat concerning sentiment when you take into account the fact that we’re both scientists.”

Childe just let loose another one of his maddening laughs and pivoted on his heel, whistling a tune as he disappeared down the stairs with his ridiculous red cape trailing behind him. Turning back to the open door and clouds of smoke, you tightened your gloves and adjusted your glasses to steel yourself before stepping inside. The door clanged shut behind even as you moved to close it yourself, and you felt a brief stab of irritation. Why would anyone design a mechanism in such a way that it elicits more noise than necessary?

Despite your annoyance, you had to marvel at the room. It was in fact a laboratory, and one of the grandest you’d ever set foot in at that; semi-circular, with curved windows that emphasised how high up the place was. No stained glass, though, nor the twisting wrought iron vines that you’d seen in many of the palace’s windows.

And oh, the number of reagents and solutions and contraptions littered across the various shelves alone was enough to excite you. You spotted what you recognized as the core of a ruin guard on one shelf, the golden frame of a primal construct, the skeleton of a spinokrak only slightly smaller than the full-size one you’d left back home, hilichurl masks… a fascinating array of oddities.

What seemed to be marble countertops (you certainly hoped they weren’t, as they’d react most vigorously with any acid spills) created a path through the lab, the surfaces crowded with flasks and beakers, most of which needed cleaning. You frowned. A cluttered lab simply wouldn’t do, and you quickly gathered up any empty glassware and piled it into one of the various sinks. This place is bloody massive. You felt giddy with anticipation at the thought of continuing your research here, in a lab with such advanced facilities.

“Do let me know once you’ve finished gawking.” Though your barely-veiled excitement was quite charming, the Doctor had no patience for such displays.

The voice came from close behind you, and you were immeasurably thankful that you didn’t start at the sound. You turned around, and there stood the Doctor.

You took the liberty of observing him for a quick moment before replying. A pristine white lab coat, a ruffled navy blue shirt and a mask rather different from Signora’s. Where hers was decorative and only partially hid one half of her face, the Doctor’s covered his eyes entirely, leaving only his jaw exposed beneath the black, beak-like point of the mask. Fashioned almost like a raven or a crow, you thought, admiring the gold detailing. The Harbingers really were a fashionable bunch, for all their faults. Dottore watched as you profiled him, taking in the tiny furrow between your brows and your calculated, shifting gaze. He was a good judge of character, and your shrewd demeanour wasn’t lost on him. Perhaps recruited you had been an effective decision after all.

“Doctor,” you stated, inclining your head slightly. “An honour to make your acquaintance.” Ah, and you were polite, too.

He stood there with his arms crossed, impassive as a statue. The mask further added to his emotionless front, and you mentally stored away yet another Harbinger’s psychological parlour trick. You didn’t make any attempt to break the silence; clearly he was assessing you and formulating an opinion just as you’d done. Where Signora’s quiet had been stifling, like the huffing of some beast down your neck, this was much more… clinical. The purpose, it seemed to you, was to scrutinise rather than intimidate. Though intimidation is a bit of a side effect when you can’t see someone’s eyes yet still feel the intensity of their gaze. You decided that this was probably how bacteria felt under the microscope, if they had the capacity to feel anything in the first place.

The Doctor took a step closer, and you resented him for being so tall that you had to crane your neck to maintain eye contact. Or whatever semblance of eye contact you could hold with a mask, anyway. Oh, well. Better neck pain than backing down at his approach. He noted that, too; you obviously had a stubborn streak that would be of great benefit during your studies.

“Hm.” He leaned in a little closer, and you wondered how he could see through the mask. You couldn’t discern any gaps in the leather. “You must be the ‘little one’ Number Eight spoke of.”

You resisted the urge to bristle, but Dottore nonetheless saw how your feathers ruffled. A scholar’s pride, no doubt; a trait he shared with you. Maybe he’d address you in that way from now on just to see you prickle with animosity. The derogatory remark clearly irked you. Of course she would’ve referred to you in such a condescending manner, and of course the Doctor would do the same. It sounded even worse in his voice, somehow; the disinterested way he stretched out the words paired with his drawling accent was a new blend of arrogance that made the prospect of scowling in his face quite appealing. You refrained, and smoothed out the wrinkles in your composure (Never lose your cool, no matter the situation, Kaeya’s voice reminded you from the recesses of your brain. Your self-control is your most important asset).

“Lady Eight and Sir Eleven have indeed bestowed me with the honour of such code-names, yes,” you replied, wrestling your sarcasm back into its cage before it overpowered the conversation and put you in a difficult position. Dottore bit back a smile. You lived up to the ‘sardonic’ title Signora had given you, too.

His face remained emotionless despite it, and you wished you could see the rest of his face. You already found it difficult enough to read people, and the mask added yet another layer of complexity to steering the conversation that you didn’t appreciate in the slightest. Although that was most likely the desired goal to wearing the mask in the first place.

“Your attitude is consistent with her description, too,” he added. You could’ve taken his response as a joke, compliment or insult, but thanks to his utter blankness you could very easily misread his intention and land yourself in an embarrassing situation. Curse these Harbingers and their wily behaviour.

“Then I suppose Lady Eight must be commended for her impressive relaying of events.”

“Or perhaps you should be commended for your distinctive mannerisms.”

Your eyebrows quirked up despite your resolve to remain blank-faced. The Doctor was clearly even more sly than you’d thought, and much to your chagrin you’d lost your footing somewhat. So you reverted back to complete civility.

“Whichever course of action suits you best, doctor.”

He finally stepped away, practically radiating smugness at having won the little game of toeing the line of politeness. Arrogant bastard.

“I see. The course of action that suits me best at the moment is to discuss the matter of your studies here.”

What a relief. The letter you’d received had been infuriatingly vague about the specifics.

“I’d be more than happy to establish expectations and such.”

The Doctor traced the edge of his mask thoughtfully, and you were glad for the gesture as it served as an indicator, however ambiguous, of his thoughts.

“As I'm sure you’re aware, I’ll be acting as your supervisor for the duration of your stay, regardless of how long or short it may be.” Indignation flared in your chest at the implication of you being unable to meet the requirements. “This means any work or assignments will be delegated by myself, and any questions you have will be directed to me.”

“Your assumption is correct, doctor, as I'm well aware of your position in regards to me.”

“Yes, yes, how wonderful to hear that you have the barest inkling of what will be happening.” You clenched your jaw, biting back an equally sarcastic reply. The Doctor didn’t so much grin as bare his teeth at your visible frustration. Not teeth. Fangs. You frowned, narrowing your eyes to catch a final glimpse of the pointed ends before the smile faded from his face, and you were eerily reminded of Xiao. Oh, Archons. Please don’t let him be some sort of adeptus. He noticed your bewildered look and the way your eyes focused on his teeth as he continued. You had a sharp eye.

“However, in return for supervising and answering your queries, I expect you to assist me in maintaining the laboratory and carrying out a few of my experiments. If, and only if, I find you to be as competent as your reputation suggests.”

You made a face. So this is what the letter had meant by ‘further details will be decided upon discussion with your superior.’

“And if my competence doesn’t meet your standards, and I'm not awarded the privilege of assisting you?” you countered drily. Oh, well. If he’s going to make the first shot and try to humiliate me I might as well give myself a free reign to be as passive aggressive as I want. “What will you expect in return then?”

Another smile, wider and nastier than the last, with a sly edge that made you feel as though you’d stumbled into a trap.You absolutely had, and Dottore seized the chance to prick at your cool persona. For the sake of scientific curiosity, of course; you made for a fascinating little lab rat and he wanted to document every one of your reactions.“What do you have to offer?” He replied, his voice dropping a few octaves lower. You willed yourself not to go red.

“I can make do without a kidney. Perhaps even a lung, if the esteemed doctor finds himself dissatisfied,” you deadpanned. It was a relief that your tone and expression remained neutral, and a pleasure for the Doctor to witness your flippant attitude.

He let out an amused huff of air, his self-assured grin not wavering in the slightest. You concluded that his blank expression, however unsettling, was infinitely preferable to his conceited smile.

“Never let it be said that I am not a most generous superior. You may keep your organs,” he said in a mock-reassuring tone. “But you will be required to make yourself useful whenever I deem it necessary.”

Ah, what a lovely abuse of power. His amusement seemed to grow at your disdainful silence, and he tilted his head to the side. Like a curious cat. Like a panther.

“I agree to these terms,” you conceded after another moment’s thought. “Will there be a contract to sign?”

“Bothersome things. No, no, there’s no need for such… formalities.” you frowned, wanting very badly to argue that there was a need for such formalities.

“After all,” he continued in that amused drawl, “verbal agreements are contractually binding in Snezhnaya.”

Your frown deepened as you mulled over this new information.

“And how are the contracts upheld without visual proof of their occurrence?”

“A Harbinger’s claims are never questioned,” he replied, smug and amused and absolutely aware of the unfairness of his explanation.

“Ah. Yet another system that serves only those of the higher rank.” You didn’t even attempt to hide the derision from your voice. Zhongli would be appalled at this. “Charming,” you added under your breath.

That arrogant smile reappeared on his face at your obvious contempt.

“Yes, I quite agree.”

Oh, so now he decides to be agreeable. You glowered at him over the top of your glasses, decorum be damned, for a socially unacceptable amount of time. The Doctor stared back, or at least you assumed he did, with the barest hint of a smirk pulling the corner of his lips. Clearly he found some sort of sadistic amusement in pushing your buttons, and you disliked him all the more for it. As with Signora, you refused to be the first to speak, and the silence stretched out like toffee on a warm day with you fantasising about dissecting whatever was up in his skull that he called a brain. Not for the first time, you wondered what he was thinking and you cursed him for wearing a mask that so thoroughly hid his expressions.

“You have an admirable gift for silence,” he remarked, tracing the shape of his mask with his thumb again. At the very least, you knew for a fact he was looking at you now because you could feel his stare, but his idle statement made you raise your eyebrows and ponder what he meant. Did he mean to disconcert you with a compliment? Was it an insult in disguise? Was he mocking you?

He huffed out an amused chuckle.

“It’s quite entertaining how you insist on so thoroughly scrutinising my every last word. If you think any harder about such trivial matters it’ll be akin to throwing a wrench into the gears of your brain.”

“Too much thinking never hurt anyone,” you quipped back. “Do you refrain from thinking to such a capacity that you fear an excess of it will cause harm?”

“That’s quite enough of your attitude,” he drawled, toying with the cuff of his immaculate lab coat. You had to agree with him there; it was all well and good to balance on the tightrope of politeness and sarcasm but you’d taken a decisive plunge into the latter with your response. You once again resolved to be more vigilant and hold your tongue while in the Harbinger’s vicinity, damn Signora’s little barb to the lowest hell. This wasn’t the Akademiya, after all; if your behaviour was deemed intolerable you’d get more than a remedial essay and a lecture. Your eyes lingered on a bloody scalpel carelessly tossed on one of the work benches. You suppressed a grimace. More than a remedial essay indeed. It amused Dottore no end to think that your barbs were so quickly shut down. Your respect for authority was quite great; or perhaps you were simply on edge because he was a Harbinger. Either way, he found himself thoroughly entertained. A fascinating little lab rat indeed.

“Anything more to add, doctor?” you asked, tightening your gloves. The cold here is worse than even Dragonspine.

“You may utilise the lab freely today, only after submitting your current thesis and other research.” You refrained from innocently pointing out that the Fatui had probably evaluated everything you’d ever written before you even stepped through the palace’s gates. “Further courses of action will be determined after your work is assessed.”

Oh, how you wanted to say that technically speaking he was unfit to assess any of your work without even a degree from the Akademiya. However, contrary to popular opinion you do value a life bereft of death threats, so you merely nodded with a polite “Yes, Doctor.”

“Dismissed.”

Joy to the world, you thought wryly. “When would be a suitable time for me to visit the lab?” Is what you said.

“After tea,” he replied cryptically, his attention already diverted to one of the numerous paper files scattered across the workbench. It would be interesting to see how you’d respond to his vague time frame.

Well, screw you too. I'm not going to beg you to elaborate.

You quickly made your way to the door before you said something you’d regret. The door, however, had practically vanished into the wall. Well, perhaps that wasn’t not the most accurate statement; you could make out the seam where the door and wall met, but there was no handle. Just the lines and lines of glowing text. You could practically hear the Doctor smirking from behind you. This may well be a test to see if you had a vision or not, you realised, and it made you all the more reluctant to reveal the answer. Instead, you opted to glare at the door and very emphatically inform it that if it didn’t open you’d dissolve its hinges in a vat of acid. It worked wonderfully, the door swinging open with barely a screech, and you all but waltzed through it. These Harbingers aren’t the only self-important pricks here, after all. Dottore hadn’t expected that. For once, the unaccounted-for variable was a source of intrigue rather than irritation.

All that remained now was to find out when the hell ‘tea time’ was. And also riffle through your pockets for the little notebook where you’d sketched a hasty map of the palace’s twisting corridors. Locating the map amidst the pages, you made your way down the staircase and through the hallways. The palace still teemed with people rushing back and forth, and you had to perform some fancy footwork that Nilou would have approved of so you didn’t bump into anyone. The floating lanterns you’d so disapprovingly stared at had dimmed, and the faint sunlight dappled the floors and walls with spots of colour from the stained glass; reds and blues and purples and yellows splattered across the stone. The image of the colour-changing door to the laboratory came to mind.

You arrived at your room in pleasant spirits. The Harbingers may be an utter pain in the neck, and your employment may have been ethically questionable and at least partially not by choice, but the routine remained similar to the one you’d so carefully crafted for yourself at the Akademiya. Even the act of rummaging through the inner pocket (of your cloak this time, rather than the breezy uniform over-shirt) for your room key sparked comfortable familiarity, and you were just eagerly contemplating having breakfast when you stepped into the room to find someone bent over the fire.

Startled, you nearly dropped the key altogether.

Who exactly is that?

“I- hello?” You ventured, hesitant. The girl whirled around, looking just as startled, before curtsying when she spotted you. …What? Why would she curtsy?

“Hello, miss. I'm very sorry, I didn’t mean to give you a scare.” What a sweet voice. She reminded you of a young girl who’d followed you around the Akademiya, with her freckles and round cheeks. Now that she’d turned around, you could see the apron and neat cap she wore, and you surmised she was a servant, though what a servant was doing in a recruit’s room you had no idea.

“It’s… quite alright,” you replied awkwardly, tugging off your boots. You hadn’t anticipated running into a stranger in your room, and now your little fantasy of living a routine was quite effectively shattered. It left you unsure of how to proceed. “Not to be rude, but might you inquire why you’re… in my room?”

She blinked up at you, clearly confused.

“I was tending the fire, miss.”

You glanced at the crackling flames.

“Yes, I can see that. Thank you very much,” you added hastily, not wanting to come off as impolite to this sweet young girl. “You’re not obligated to, though. I think there’s been a misunderstanding. I'm just a recruit”- you gestured to the bronze talisman dangling from your hip –“so you don’t think it’s necessary for you to worry about this room.”

The girl frowned at the talisman.

“But Lady Eight said this room was to be carefully managed.”

That rendered you just as puzzled as her. “Did she really?”

The girl nodded fervently. “Yes, miss.”

You considered telling her that there was no need to do so, but you couldn’t very well tell her to disregard the orders of a Harbinger. A very perplexing order indeed. Why would Signora insist on this room being tended to? As far as you knew, recruits didn’t receive such services. You decided to ask anyway.

“I'm assuming you’re not usually asked to take care of recruits’ quarters?”

The girl hesitated.

“You- You’re right, miss.”

“How strange,” you commented, walking over to the window to crack it open. The paranoia of lighting a fire in an enclosed space never left you after learning about incomplete combustion and carbon monoxide poisoning. “You don’t need to trouble yourself,” you told her. “But so you don’t get a scolding from your Madam, you can come and have some tea here under the pretence of cleaning and such.” you winked. “A little secret between us, hm?” You would’ve preferred for her not to come in the first place, but you didn’t want to land her in trouble. You could endure a little agonising small talk, you reasoned to yourself. You didn’t think the girl could look more mystified, but your suggestion left her with wide eyes and furrowed brows, her fingers clenching at the frills in her apron.

“What’s your name?” You asked instead, finally deciding to unpack properly. Unzipping your bag, you felt a rush of relief to see that none of your glassware had cracked despite being tossed around. You mentally thanked Xiao for the protection charm he’d given you as you carefully took out your tea set. Alhaitham and Dehya had relentlessly poked fun at you for packing it, but the cool, smooth surface and the curve of the porcelain offered yet another source of stability that you were thankful for.

“Anya,” she replied, her voice quiet and hesitant. She started towards you as you placed the teapot on the fire, hands outstretched as if to take it from you and do it herself. You firmly guided her to the empty armchair instead, attempting to offer her a reassuring smile. Making people feel relaxed in your presence was far from your forte, but an odd desire to protect this girl was building in your chest.

“That’s a lovely name, Anya,” you said, attempting valiantly to soften your voice as you sifted through your extensive collection of tea leaves. I’ll have to make them into teabags soon. Anya didn’t respond, picking at her clothes and avoiding eye contact. You were probably making her anxious by not letting her do her job, but it felt wrong to have someone tend to you, especially someone younger than you were. Of course, like the pretentious scholar you were, the only thing you could think to add was the interpretation of her name. “It means ‘favoured by the gods.’”

She looked up at you then. “Yes, miss. I know.”

“That’s expected,” you conceded with an awkward smile. “But I'm not a very good conversationalist, and that’s all I could think to say.”

Anya giggled under her breath, and a wave of accomplishment washed over you.

“Really, Anya,” you insisted. “I'm not comfortable with the idea of you cleaning up after me in my own room if none of the other recruits receive the same services. So if you’re ever assigned here again then don’t hesitate to make yourself at home, yes?”

“Madam wouldn’t like that.”

“I assure you what your Madam doesn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.”

She looked a little scandalised by the notion.

“How about we strike a bargain?” you suggested, pouring out the tea. It was a perfect amber colour, and you allowed yourself a moment of self-satisfaction as you handed Anya a cup. “To ease your conscience, you can help by dusting my bookshelf whenever you’re asked to tend to my room.” You nodded towards the currently empty bookcase, gratified by the knowledge that it’d be filled with your beloved books soon enough. “Surely your Madam won’t protest if I'm the one who won’t allow you to do anything more?” You threw her another wink as you lifted your teacup to your lips and settled into the other armchair.

“I suppose…”

“In fact, I could speak to Lady Eight and resolve this misunderstanding from the root,” you mused, watching snow pick up outside the window.

“No!”

Mildly alarmed at her vehement protest, you appraised her curiously. Anya immediately averted her gaze back to her hands in her lap, twisting the fabric of her apron. Hm. Perhaps there’s a job she’d like to avoid by accepting this one.

“Alright,” you replied, forcing yourself to sound more amicable. You felt like a fox trying its best not to scare off a rabbit, which was ironic because you were more often than not a fox snarling at wolves to keep away. “But keep our little agreement in mind, won’t you?”

She nodded, her frown easing and the downturn of her lips fading slightly. “Yes, miss.”

“Lovely.” you tipped back your head to drain your teacup, savouring the last dregs of flavour before returning to the task of emptying your bags. Your books didn’t fit quite as neatly as you’d liked in the bookcase, so you left a stack of your favourites on the nightstand. You let your mind wander as you went through the motions of tidying and sorting. Anya started to help at some point, silently and out of the way, properly hanging up your new coats and folding your trousers neatly enough to fit even Noelle’s standards, and you let her so that you didn’t further embarrass her. And also out of consideration for your own draining social battery. Meandering through the task in silence with the snow flurrying outside and the fire crackling merrily, you felt yourself relax. Until you remembered that you still had no idea when the Doctor expected you, and a glance at your pocket watch revealed that it was past what you would consider lunchtime.

“Anya, do you know when the Doctor takes his tea?”

* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚** ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚** ੈ✩‧₊˚*

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