this is advice I've given friends directly before and I've probably also posted it but I really like giving it so here it is potentially again: do not create something for an imaginary bad faith reader.
there will always be someone who finds fault in your work. there will be people who read the messages on it wrong. there will be people who will take every compelling aspect about your work off of it so they can put in their own.
you cannot make art for these people.
you will never write a story that is free from criticism. you will never draw a piece that everyone finds appealing. you will never compose a song that everyone enjoys hearing. you cannot, fundamentally, set out to create something and only think of how you can avoid someone not liking it.
because, and this is key, there will be someone who sees every angle of your story and feels its intent in their heart and gushes to their friends about it. you will draw someone's favorite art and they will make it their phone wallpaper because they want to see it every day. someone will fall in love with your song and loop it on their way to work because it gets them through the day. and THOSE are the people your work is for. THOSE are the people you have to care about, because they love what you make for what it is - because it's itself.
if you set out to create something and file off every sharp edge, prune every thorn, you will be left with something fragile and weak, and it will be fragile and weak for the sake of someone who does not exist but that you were scared of anyway.
sharing art is complex and tangled and powerful, and anything you care enough to create deserves to flourish as itself. get sillay.
you know when you read one of the most well written well characterized fics of a character and you’re like “FUCK YES THIS AUTHOR UNDERSTANDS” and then in the notes or in a comment reply they’re like “I hope this wasn’t too ooc I can’t tell 😭” or “I’m glad this wasn’t super ooc I was rlly nervous!” like girl this may as well have been a transcript directly from that character’s head what are you TALKING about
also this isn’t author hate obv I luv you guys I just think it’s funny how this happens a lot. fic writers youre amazing <33
When I sat down to read this I was not expecting to come back looking like
But here we are, I guess. I have so many words but even more emotions, and they're hindering my communication/writing skills.
A q u a
Every time you write something, I just want to USHABKSHSIGDUEGUDYEU hand gestures. To say I wanna squeeze you or kiss you is an understatement. I wish you could read your works through my eyes and mind for once to understood exactly how I feel whenever I read any of your works because I'm not good enough at describing it the way it deserves to be described. I can put it in a simple "omg I loved it so much," but in fact, I want to scream at every paragraph cause every part of it feels like it was meant to be there. When the machine Dottore was trying to fix cracked at the same time as his heart, so did mine. I was feeling everything they were feeling and more (what can I say I'm a sensitive wittle crab) and just screaming at how beautifully the story flowed even though I wanted to pull my hair when Dottore found out you were gone. You make me feel colors when I read your works.
Anyway I'm just left here in awe with nothing but admiration for you and love for your works.
.○o。.○o。.☆ミ.。o○.。o○.
If I could enter my screen and then exit through yours, I would already be in your room like standing in place waiting with my arms outstretched and hoping to give you a big hug and then we can gossip and eat snacks i bring !!
You have truly been one of the nicest people this accursed website has given me the privilege of getting to know and its been like ?? more than a year now?? i think it has been two SKJAD I AM SO LUCKY TO KNOW YOU.
I hope you did some self care after reading that fic and sorry for taking long to reply asdj i saw it and then fell asleep before I could articulate my thoughts babe. Your kindness knows no bounds and I remember your kind words whenever I sit down to write. Thank you for loving Dottore and thank you for loving me and my works. I love you so much i am like TEARY EYED RN i gotta yeet them away
LQMEJKEJEJ Also sorry I panicked cause it has happened a few times when I write something important and then the other person is like "uh oh I didn't get the ask maybe tumblr ate it" and KSJSJENJEJ just wanted to make sure, no pressure though T-T
Also WAWAWA I literally just speak from the heart and I wish you knew how naturally it comes for me to love everything you write without having to ever force myself to be nice or just say nice things to say them.
Mwah mwah mwah so many hugs and I wanna collab with you and give your writings little arts KANSJHWH for funsies. Anyway I'm happy my words can cheer you up! ❤️ ilysm
me looking at my word doc pretending like i like the dottore scene i wrote in a 4k long word fic when it feels so bad compared to my imagination or else i will have a menty b
synopsis: It doesn't matter which name he chooses to go by; even after 500 years you will call him Zandik. Even after decades, the two of you will be tied by an invisible string. Years come and go but somehow the two of you continue to argue about the same philosophy. He calls this thing a blessing, you call it a curse.
pairing: dottore x gn! reader
word count: 5.3k
warnings: time jumps, domesticity hints, mentions of hickeys, dottore is complicated and so is your relationship, ngl reader kind of faruzan coded with the curse, proofread but while skimming.
i. spring
The first time he meets you, he finds you annoying.
Laughing about it comes so easy now even if the memory is around five hundred years old, but, back then, on the very first day that you sat down next to him – he undoubtedly found you annoying.
While answering to the name Dottore, he would never say he got attached to any particular season in the year. Every true scientist knows that change is the only permanent thing because it helps them shape and mold new creations. Chasing after change meant chasing something eternal even back then when he was simply Zandik.
Yes, he answered to the name Zandik. His classmates as well as fellow researchers from other darshans knew him. There was a certain genius that always showed itself. It was admiration that followed. Those who wanted to partner up with him or those that simply wanted a glance from him; it was a certain privilege he could leverage. But he also had unspoken rules and one of them you decided to cross.
Everyone knew that when Zandik was inside the library with more than 9 books in his hands, nobody was meant to approach his table. It doesn’t matter how many people were intended to use it; a certain sense of ownership existed. If you wanted to get on his good side, you would not bother to approach him when he was deep into theoretical research. When someone did, they would get a tense jaw, a lowered gaze and red eyes that glimmered. It doesn’t matter that everyone called him handsome, in those moments he was simply scary to look at.
He thought that this spring day would prove fruitful in answering his passionate research question. He laid down his materials; he was enjoying sketching and reimagining a new model when out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone with a Haravatat uniform approach his table.
Surely it was a mistake on their part. He placed his hand on the bottom corner and was about to flip to the next page when his hand stayed hovering above the corner he wanted to keep pristine. You were lucky he didn’t grab the delicate paper in between his fingers because he could have risked denting it when you saw down.
You sat down? At his table? When he had not 9 but 13 books in front of him and his personal materials? Haravatat students did have a certain repertoire for being particularly annoying he remembered. Others found them either too bubbly or too quiet; they were known for their ‘specific’ behaviour, loud debates and their emotional connection to languages. Zandik could respect the few individuals that actually were valuable there but he could not respect someone breaking one of his rules and distracting him from his own research.
His jaw was already tense but it fell open when he turned his head in your direction and realized you had no shame. Typical of a Haravatat student.
You sat there on the chair diagonally from him; your legs were crossed, your head was leaning against your hand and you were looking directly at him. The book in front of you couldn’t even be used as a cover up.
It was closed.
You were staring at him.
You felt no shame when he turned around.
God, were you annoying.
If he wanted his peace back, he would have to make it by chasing you off. To chase you off, he would have to engage with you.
He placed his hands on the either side of his book, he leaned in slightly to get a better look at you. Animals did this all the time – they showed signs of hostility. Humans, as the ultimate animals, were no different. Perhaps this would be enough to activate you own instincts and chase you off?
…
It wasn’t.
You were still looking at him.
Analysing him.
You were after something.
“What do you want?” Just because you were here, it didn’t mean his voice would change. Your presence should have no effect on him similar to that.
He was hoping you would answer fast but you just continued to look at him. Then, you uncrossed your legs in a frustrated motion and you shook your head. How annoying.
Just what was it that you wanted?
“I will not ask you what you want again. Leave if you have nothing to say.”
That seemed to strike a nerve. Because for the first time in a long time, someone glared at him. You crossed your legs again and scowl was on your face in a matter of seconds. How animated; how easy you were to read like a creature. You approached his table. You looked at him; so why were you annoyed now?
“Listen, I don’t have a lot of time to entertain your foolishness what-” suddenly, your hand stretched out and your index finger was pointing at him.
“You!” How dare you point at him? His jaw grew tighter and his shoulders tensed. You had not right for this.
“You! What does it mean to be human?!”
…
Excuse you?
His shoulders fell down and he leaned back with laugher. Not only were you annoying, you were absurd. Who does that to anyone? Who does that to him?
But sure, he supposes he could entertain your little question. His laughter stops and he straightens up.
“To be human means to chase change.”
That is what he has been doing all his life. That is what brought him here. Why do you blink up at him like an unimpressed mushroom boar? Is his answer not good enough for you?
You stand up and pick up your own book.
“So disappointing. I thought a genius everyone mentioned would give an answer not underlined on chapter two. As if chasing change could mean being human. Do you really think change is something you can catch? Absurd.”
He wasn’t absurd.
You were.
How dare you act like this? How dare you simply turn around with a bigger scowl on your face and walk away from him?
You didn’t even give him your name and you dared to accuse him of being absurd? Haravatat students will always be so odd. And did you have to do it in a full library so everyone would get a front row ticket to your theatrical show?
Ah yes, Dottore is sure even when reminiscing.
You really were annoying on the first day he met you.
ii. summer
“Can you believe he actually implied that she was ugly and then got offended when she dissed him proving she overheard it? And now, suddenly, mister ‘I am rich and your family is poor’ is disappointed because she won’t marry him?!”
Perhaps never wanting to find out your name would have been more beneficial to him? If he only dubbed you as ‘that-one-library-weirdo', he wouldn’t be listening to this right now. But, Zandik compares it to the months when he hadn’t know you and he realizes doing his experiments in front of this giant machine was more lonely back then.
The grass and the night sky, a small flutter of the wind that made the corners of his papers turn up; it suddenly feels more full...this place that you share. Somehow, he found out your name and general passions from other students. Then, when you approached him in the library table again without saying anything, he allowed that too; furrowed brow and all.
Then, the two of you had to acknowledge one another in the hallways with a head nod, or a small wave or an occasional ‘hi’ uttered softly.
He isn’t quite sure when and how the two of you started sharing a few notes, sitting next to one another in the same elective the next semester or even going out for food and drinks.
He once said it was odd and you told him that is the whole problem with his philosophy. Change just happens; you cannot catch it as it unfolds. You said it would always be that way because humans functioned for eons with it. You said he should think of it as a natural law and he would have, had you not decided to suck on the straw of your drink so loudly the hair on his head stood up.
Still, this was a welcome change to him. He tends not to dwell on it too much; after all, those thoughts were your job.
Yes, he let you sit in the grass next to him while he fixes up this machine.
Yes, he didn’t completely tune you out.
And, yes, he might have told that stuck-up blonde man in his darshan that you were in fact not single. It isn’t like lying and manipulation were out of his character; Zandik swore he would get what he wants and reject anything he deems unworthy. That blonde man whose name he didn’t even bother to remember was unworthy of you. Simple as that. Nothing more.
For the first time since he was a simple child, Zandik felt like he had made a genuine friend. Having to share a table with the two of you both annoying him would have been torture.
The new mechanical part needs 5 screws. One. Two. Three.
“Zandik, are you listening to me?”
Four.
“Yes, yes – I don’t know why you called that man a ‘standard’ of romantic literature if he acts like that.”
The fifth one. The last one is always the worst.
“I don’t have time to explain that again. I have something more important to tell you.”
“Mhm.”
If he could just get it to fit right and make this work, he would be at the end of his experiment. Just a few more twists and-
“I am leaving Sumeru tomorrow morning.”
He halts. The screwdriver stands still not having finished the mission assigned to it. Something inside the machine cracks and for a second Zandik wonders if that noise came from inside of his own body. Shouldn’t he be mad? Upset? This is the first time you’re telling him about it. Wait, if so, it must be a silly trip that is meaningless and so insignificant you forgot to mention it.
“Oh, are Haravatat students setting up camp somewhere again? Your darshan really likes to have bonding experiences.”
Zandik continues to twist the screw; the machine failed but he will see this through to the end. Looking up at you when he already knows the answer from the silence that settles between the two of you would show his weakness. Zandik has no weaknesses anyone knows of. Zandik has a prideful disposition he will keep up regardless of what happens.
“It is just me...remember how I said this romantic book is fascinating? I didn’t mean the romance of it; I meant the ruins that are described only briefly. They’re too detailed to not exist somewhere in Natlan! I am sure of it! I got permission to make them my thesis. Isn’t that great?”
You never talked to him about your thesis plans. He was forced to listen to 5 hours of why the female lead’s arrogance was important in the novel but he wasn’t privy to something more intimate of your plans.
He didn’t tell you much about his childhood and judgments of his villagers or classmates. He didn’t reveal anything significant about himself but...that library table was his intimate space which he allowed you to occupy. Nobody else.
And this place? Do you know how meaningful it is to him? To his dreams and aspirations as a researcher? Do you know how many nights he spent on the grass you are sitting on right now just trying to get his research to work? And, if it didn’t, the hours he spent hoping and cursing at the parts?
Zandik suddenly felt cold towards you. He let you inside these intimate spaces and what did he let in return? Less loneliness? The two of you clearly didn’t connect as human beings. What does he know about you? He knows the way you write in the margins and the shapes you’d draw on his papers, he knows the way you talk when passionate – how he has to take one step to the left when you start debating a syntax issue unless he wants your outstretched hand to hit his cheek – he knows the annoying sound you make when drinking from straws; fuck, he even knows the patterns to your walks.
Was this what you truly meant when you said humans cannot catch change? The fact that just now he realized how much he knows about you yet not enough to have predicted this?
The worst by far, is that he cannot find it in himself to yell at you for how he feels. He can’t yell at you for not knowing this... He knew that everyone travels for their thesis, so, he should say he expected it.
You don’t need to know how he thought the two of you would travel to the same place but with different research objectives. Still, what else can he do besides let you go?
He looks at you. Finally. But you wish that he hadn’t. This is an expression you’ve never seen on him before; an expression that makes leaving such a hard task even when you rely on not saying goodbye.
Zandik sometimes reminded you of stoics; the way he would take every failure and success as equal opportunity without getting derailed. But, only now do you see his red eyes glow; the way they’re looking at you while hardly blinking – like he is trying to remember as much of you as possible to carry with him.
You never could have guessed how right he was; how even that millisecond meant remembrance that haunts.
The two of you don’t say goodbye that night. You wish each other luck and promise to compete on who can finish their thesis faster.
Neither of you do.
Zandik gets expelled for how obsessive he becomes.
And you get lost to time. Lost to Natlan.
The last news Zandik hears about you does not come from any of your letters – they were only three after all. He hears from the Matra that you rushed inside a ruin and were lost forever.
The word forever always had a special ring to him; that was the first time he hated it. If you were lost forever, he would simply be better than you. He would live forever and make sure to do everything he wanted. Ample time leads to ample rewards.
Zandik, when he changes his name, abandons everything that grounded it. He throws away your letters and he throws away you. Only he knows what was harder to discard.
iii. autumn
Dottore sometimes has to stand inside of his own lab to admire his work. The vastness of it and all the success and trust he has as well as the fact his clones are more advanced than ever; it all proves just how right he was. And just how wrong they were.
Turning down a genius and trying to stop his advancement? Foolish.
Those people in the village that ostracised him? Insignificant. As well as their offspring that he never saw.
Only a few people had what it takes to contribute true research to this world. And they were lost or boxed in or stopped by something so trivial as the academia or governments.
He stands above it all. As the ultimate showcase of unrivalled genius and absolute freedom. Nobody asks him what it means to be human anymore. They don’t consider him such; and every single day he slips down the path of being something that cannot answer that.
His test subjects often shout about humanity and how he has none. He wonders if they realize how it means nothing. Seeing humans struggle and break does light up something in him. And he decided to chase that long ago.
“Lord Harbinger.”
He stays silent. Lord Harbinger is a title he refuses to answer to. Why should he turn his neck to the same words his inadequate colleagues do? If the person calling him doesn’t immediately correct himself, they know what happens next.
“I mean, Doctor!” Good. Humans knew how to adopt quickly after all. He finally tilts up his neck towards the man. He takes off the mask covering his face just so that his subordinate could see the glare.
“What do you want?”
“Something very odd is happening in quarter 7, section 31!”
“Odd? I didn’t even experiment in there recently and nothing important was placed there from my machinery.”
“We have no idea what is happening! There is a glow but no smoke or fire or anything else. We only thought it would be right to notify you.”
“A glow you say? Ah, perhaps it is a jinn lamp where a weak soul of older days slumbers. We did place the gifts of those nobles from all over Teyvat there. I told Pierro I don’t need them but he insisted I should keep them.”
He twiddles with his pen.
“That section is insignificant to me. I hold no care about it at all.” He takes a deep breath. If only it was section 37 instead. There, he was working on an experiment involving lay lines and ghostly souls.
“Either way Doctor, the light just keeps on growing and we are afraid it will expand to other sections. What if one of the nobles turned against us? What if-”
“Shut your mouth, I will go. No matter how many times I look for capable people, they never meet my expectations.”
Dottore gets up from his chair but with no zest. He saw bottles like those of jinn all the time years ago. The only thing less exciting about seeing one again are the white hallways he has to walk through to get to the room. The underling follows behind him, scurrying like a bug. Cosmically insignificant. To think that this bug’s energy will one day get the same treatment as those ghostly souls that actually matter.
He opens the door and sees a bright blue light. There is no imminent danger. Perhaps the being inside this lamp recognized another presence inside the room and they are reacting to it? He shudders at the thought of having to deal with another ex-lovers pair that vowed revenge on one another.
Dottore walks over to the source of the light. He cannot see the centre of it. It gives off a warmth however. And he wanted to roll his eyes at the way his subordinate shakes. But, his curious nature could never lay dormant for a long time.
He realizes that he feels warmth from it, but his insignificant bug feels chills. Whatever this is, it could come in handy for his experiments that require temperature changes.
Dottore reaches to grab it.
“We tried that before Sir! Nothing changed!”
Sir again. Not Doctor. The same second mistake cannot be forgiven.
Dottore’s hand grabs at the light core. He expects the feel and the weight of a marble.
But it completely disappears.
Dottore’s face drops as does his excitement. The poor underling has no idea he will suffer for both his own actions and the fluctuations of Dottore’s moods.
The room is pitch black again. There is no sound coming from anywhere. The other subordinates ran off because they thought the light was dangerous. Dottore clicks his tongue in realizing he will have to replace them all again.
Then, the bug behind him shrieks. He can hear him tumble onto the ground and run off as soon as he gets up. What a fool. He is yelling at the top of his lungs. Perhaps pulling out his tongue should teach him to be quiet.
When Dottore turns around, he feels warmth engulf his body. He digs his heels into the floor to stop himself from moving. He hears a sound he hadn’t heard in years.
“Zandik? I-Is that you?”
He can hear your voice. He can hear you call out that acursed name. Why are you here? Why are you on the floor, hunched over and kneeling?
“Zandik?”
Stop saying that! Stop it! He can feel his right hand shake; he can feel his heart beat. Worst of all, he can hear the things the other clones are saying about this memory. It is becoming a part of the collective. He can hear the collective hope and heartbreak.
“That is you. Isn’t it?”
Your voice is so weak.
“I haven’t answered to that name for 200 years now.”
He cannot find it in himself to say anything else. The other clones are creating a ricocheting cacophony inside his brain. He should have thrown out more of his humanity. Didn’t he burn those letters? Why is he suddenly remembering lines from them? Why is one of his clones crying?
“200 years..?” he can hear the bewilderment in your voice. When he looks down at you, he can see the tears in your eyes. You are afraid; they no longer hold any light.
He kneels down and touches your shoulder to calm your shaking body. Only then does he get hit by the ugly revelation that you are laughing but there is no sound. You look like you are breaking in every sense of the word; he never managed to drive his test subjects to these limits where they would lose everything at once.
He clicks his tongue. He shakes your shoulders with a grip that makes you yelp. Only then do you actually begin to cry. He takes it. He takes this breakdown over the utter lack of humanity you displayed before.
“Zandik I-I"
“Dottore. My name is Dottore now.”
He says it even if he is sure you can’t actually hear him. His voice can’t reach out to you even if he is kneeling down next to you, embracing you as a surprise to himself. You’re crying into his shoulder, slobbering and hiccupping.
You ask him what it means to be human again.
He cannot answer you. He became something else.
You say that you aren’t sure about it anymore. That hurts more than his own lack of an answer.
You should have come back in a different way. You should have come back pointing a finger at him, yelling to him about his choices. Maybe even yelling at him for not looking for you. Not like this. Never like this.
Only when you faint in his arms does he notice the cuts and bruises on your body. For the first time since he changed his name – Dottore decides to treat someone like a real doctor. His subordinates have to live with that – seeing the ruthless harbinger who terrorizes them show some care. Command it even.
It isn’t natural. It shouldn’t even exist. Seeing humanity from a man like that makes them question everything. He goes into your room 5 times a day, doesn’t let anyone else do anything besides keep guard. And then, in between those visits, he tortures children and experiments on them with poison and toxic remains. He gets blood all over his coat and then puts on a new one when knocking on your door.
They can’t fathom it. It simply shouldn’t exist. And they start avoiding that door; because pretending like it doesn’t exist and pretending like their master is only ruthless makes it easier to live.
And when you do wake up – it is impossible to ignore how their master’s humanity makes itself known.
iv. winter
“You know I quite like this little habit of ours.” Dottore’s voice reminds you how wrong your predictions were. Since he came back earlier from Sumeru than you bet on, you now owe a large sum of mora to a certain banker.
“I was not aware that it was a habit. You just come here whenever you please.”
“There is something to come to. Be a dear and fetch another tea cup for me, would you?” Typical him. Only he would be able to say such a line; implying that whatever this was between the two of you reminded him of a home.
But, even if you click your tongue, you get another tea cup and pour him some. At least you can remember your own humanity when your cold hands touch it and suddenly warmth seeps through. As a child, you loved to do it. You would put your hands in cold rain on purpose just to feel this simple warmth. You have a habit of taking off your gloves when drinking tea, he keeps his on. He has a habit of sitting next to you in the same way he did all those years ago.
“Now, let me engage in ‘pure bragging’ as your lovely lips like to put it. Are you ready to hear of Sumeru again and just everything that I accomplished?”
Something tells you not to give him that satisfaction. So you put the cup down and point a finger at him.
“You’re more human now, Zandik.”
“How many times must I tell you not to use that name?”
“Until you figure out a way to go back into the past and change the name on your birth certificate to Dottore, and then glare at me in the library like you did when we met – I will continue to use it. That is your true name after all. Erase all records if you will, but I will remember it.”
He doesn’t think about bragging anymore.
“That library just looks more grand now, the people calling themselves researchers are anything but that.”
You can feel when he dangles a hook in front of you. Taking it would give him far too much satisfaction.
“He cried, you know.”
He grips the handle.
“I felt it, no need to mention it.”
“The youngest one, the one I was most fond of, cried when you killed all of them.”
“And some swore revenge. Are you trying to get me to focus on the feelings? You probably are, you’ve been annoying since the first day I met you.”
“And you still haven’t realized you cannot chase change. Tell me, were you surprised when she asked you that? Were you hesitant? Aren’t your clones proof of everything you ever wanted?”
“It is a shame you hadn’t gone with me.” He deflects it. “The archon would certainly like you. She too, kept asking about humanity and the lines I crossed.”
Your tea has gone cold by now. Zandik always had a way of distracting you for longer than you’d like.
“And were your answers to her something I would approve of?”
“You said I seemed more human now, is that not enough for you?”
“I am glad to see only one version of you now. I will take that as a start.”
“Unbelievable, by a stroke of luck which you call misfortune, you were granted even more time than me but you hate it.”
“We always differed in our definitions. I wasn’t blessed with this, I was cursed. I entered those runes to learn more of humanity but I was punished by my eagerness to lose my own.”
He has to roll his eyes.
“Just because you were blessed with so much time and can make a legacy like myself, it doesn’t mean you are no longer human. Would you like me to take you to see all those monsters? Perhaps some of my own research experiments?”
“You forget I am free to leave this place whenever I wish. And, neither of us have legacy.”
“Speak for yourself. You left and came back all those years ago because you said you hated me. Yet, here we are, drinking tea like always.”
“I came back because I was jealous of true humans.”
“And I pity you for being jealous of inferior creatures.”
“And I pity you for thinking you will ever leave a legacy that is fond of remembering.”
“Careful there, your hateful gaze might make me forget you love me.”
“I don’t love you.”
Dottore leans back in his chair and he laughs.
“But you do. That is what proves your humanity. Always paradoxical and complex, disagreeing with my actions but realizing I am perhaps the only human that relates to you. We call the same thing by different names; but it won’t change either way.”
“I just don’t know why I came back to you from that forsaken ruin.”
“Should we call it fate?”
“You gave it an abstract name? Does it still bother you that you never found a way inside?”
He places his hand over your own on the table. He looks at you, now knowing that the two of you were right not to exchange goodbyes that day. And you relax. There is always a memory that triggers when he is next to you, there is always that realization that he knows you as much as you know him. You share time now but you shared it all those decades ago. There is something to come back to; there is someone that remembers, calls out your name and responds to the one that leaves your mouth.
Some invisible and intricate connection always existed between you. And, you could leave, you could stand up at this very moment and travel to wherever you wish. But, you would lose that. You would lose the feeling that someone knows you and you’ve always believed that to be know is to be loved.
People learn old languages because the love those that came before. Humans have a habit of desperately clutching onto their humanity even if it is smaller than a grain of sand. And, if you must, to keep yourself grounded and to stand there until he realizes his own mistakes and humanity – you will hold onto him. It has to be worth it in the end. There has to be a reason you share his existence and were teleported back in front of him on your knees.
You just hope it means something grander that will constitute your own legacy.
v. evermore
That night, he traces the hickeys he left on your neck. It is one of the few times he takes off his gloves so that his human skin meets your own.
“Ask me again.”
“I will not ask you for another round.”
“No,” he clicks his tongue, “ask me that question.”
“Are you aware that you are more obsessed with humanity than me, oh doctor? Laughable.”
“Just ask.”
“Fine. What makes you human?”
He moves his hand down to your waist and pulls you closer to him. How could he ever ask you to use the name Dottore when his eyes have been the same all these years whenever he looks at you? You don’t get a chance to marvel at them for too long, he buries his face in your neck.
“You. Having you here keeps me human. Sometimes I think we were destined to be together.”
Nobody else knows this side of him. And in your opinion, selfish as it may be, they don’t deserve to know.
“Oh, is the genius doctor now speaking about fate and destiny? What grand words you use. We weren’t destined to be together, we were doomed to be together.”
There you go. Ruining a romantic moment by reminding him how differently the two of you look at this situation you’re in.
He groans. Perhaps you will come around one day, even if it has been 300 years since your return. What matters is that you returned to him by fate and by your own choice after travelling.
“Hey! Zandik, bite my neck one more time I will force you to sleep on the couch.”
“If we were indeed doomed to be together, we might as well make the most of it and – are you trying to bite me back?”
“Your teeth were always annoyingly sharp!”
“And the noises you made 500 years ago when drinking are still annoying to this day.”
“That’s it. Go sleep on the couch, I don’t want to look at you right now.”
a/n: legit this is so self indulgent cus it is how I imagine my relationship with this red flag would be. it isn't really toxic it is just philosophies not matching up. dottore is too fond of humanity without realizing it and i will make him suffer for it.
reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated. hope dottore anon likes it.
“Devil’s Foods and Cakes? Yeah,” Beel said before he swallowed an entire cupcake into his mouth. Early let out a relieved sigh, grateful that he had been so quick to answer. Madame Screams had yet to open and the current restaurants and bakeries were just as new to them as they were to the brothers - though they were the only ones having any trouble remembering where they were.
Early stood next to him and began to reach for the package before pausing at Beel’s expression, teeth bared and not in a simple action of taking another bite. Laughing uneasily, they reached further and focused on grabbing the handle of the fridge rather than the cold stare Beel had given them. It wasn’t the first time Early had tripped up in front of them, and they wouldn’t do it again flailing for the fridge. This one was smaller, a model not yet designed for the capacity of Beel’s stomach, and they nearly grasped at empty air.
Beel had stopped looking at them the moment they stopped acting like they were going to take one of his cupcakes, and Early sighed again. How many more times were they going to slip before it got them in danger? It was easy to remember that they were in the Devildom, filled with magic and demons and evil, but it was hard to remember it wasn’t the Devildom they knew. Beel would eat their hands off if they hadn’t remembered he wouldn’t share his newest culinary adventures. Levi had nearly threw them through the wall after Early had stared at it for too long, not knowing that this was the first time they had seen it without Henry 2.0’s tank there. Even Satan had barred his door with spells after he found her scouring his beginnings of a personal library.
And with no magic to protect them?
“You look as if you’re more concerned about today’s weather than the tasks Lucifer has assigned you.”
Early jumped. They supposed if one thing had stayed the same, it was Barbatos ability to appear from thin air. They wished they could feel the same comfort and safety at his presence as they had - would? - but after the look Beel had given them, Barbatos small smile only made them feel empty. He wasn’t smiling at them, after all.
“I guess I’m just used to it…”
“Oh?”
They trailed off as Barbatos’ brow rose and Early quickly pursed their lips. Eyes darting for a distraction, they settled on the bags the butler had carried into the kitchen with them. Early pulled one close and began unpacking the items. Once, or was it soon, Early had, would, unload the groceries just because they liked to. Beel would hover, breath heavy until Early caved and snuck him a snack from the grocery run while one of his brothers, selected for dinner duty, pretended not to notice. Sometimes it was Barbatos, accompany them on errands and following them back to the House to continue their conversation, brewing tea while Early put the items away. Now, however, he simply sorted through the rest of the bags, his bemused hum and Beel’s next snack hanging between them.
“I’m not, you know, used to Lucifer,” Early tried to explain, wincing. It was so difficult to lie when the people they loved where in the same room. It was distracting and disorienting and…painful. It hurt to think about the tasks Lucifer usually gave Early. They had watched over Mammon while he fell into the middle of another scam; spent time with Levi after he’d holed himself up alone for a few days; worked as Asmo’s model after a new line of clothing was announced at Majolish. They were tasked with similar things but Mammon didn’t trust them to keep them close. Levi hadn’t been introduced to streaming yet, leaving Early lost as to what to do, and Early was sure Asmo wouldn’t be sponsored for another few…millennia. “I’m just used to chaotic families.”
Barbatos nodded, the same small, polite smile on his face. Early didn’t want to keep looking at it, but the sound of something clattering onto the counter brought their attention back to him.
They blinked.
The kettle Barbatos had pulled from the last bag was new, bright and shiny and likely never been used, but it was familiar.
There was no dent in the bottom from where it had been thrown at some point and the indicator light clicked on without a hiss earned with age, but it was the same color as the one Early knew was stocked in the lower cabinets. And the one Barbatos kept here to make teas when he visited.
The chair scraped as Beel finished his meal and Early snapped out of their memories. When Barbatos passed a cup to the other demon, Beel waved it off, and he settled it back onto the counter with a second mug. Early watched him trudge off, sorrowful.
“It will be some time before they come around,” Barbatos said, pouring hot water into one of the mugs and passing it over. Early grumbled as they took it.
“It feels like it’ll take forever."He laughed, gently, and Early felt a shiver run up their spine as his mouth curved up into a familiar shape.
"It may be sooner than you believe.”
HELP, THIS VALENTINE'S DAY I HAVE BEEN TRANSPORTED INTO A MANHWA AND THE MALE LEADS KEEP SWITCHING?!
Opening up the pages of the newest fantasy novel had you wishing for a more exciting life. Perhaps you should have been careful because the glowing light made sure to give you what you asked for. Underneath one sky, they all love you. As time passes, you will have to make a choice. Remember, choices are only for the brave and love must find you before you search for it. Out of the thirteen paths, just which one will you choose?
CHAPTER ONE OF SEVEN.
characters: diluc & ayato (seperate)
word count: 5k (2k & 3k respectively)
warnings: these are connected but you can still understand them completely separately, mentions of fainting and blood in Diluc's part, the rest of the fic is in regular font.
DILUC - THE LORD TURNED INTO A VAMPIRE THAT YOU HAVE A CONTRACT WITH. IT IS JUST A BATTLE OF HIS KINDNESS VERSUS YOUR OWN.
The first sensation you feel after waking up is soft sheets clinging to your form. They’re silk it seems, but you move your hands up and down just to make sure. These already feel more expensive than anything you have ever owned so instead of opening your eyes completely – you decide to take a peek. This wide bed, the extravagant details on the ceiling above your head and the sheer size of this room give away just how out of place you actually are. You sit up and try to hear something. Anything. This manor seems to stillness itself. Without even the faintest sounds of footsteps outside, in what you can only guess to be a large manor, you stand up. Snowdrop white clothes cling to you and for some reason your hands cannot stop shaking. A gentle knock that echoes seems to immediately respond to the shaky breath you are forced to take.
“You seem to be awake. May I come in?”
Who does that voice belong to? You have no recollection of it. You feel weaker than ever and instead of answering, your knees betray you and end up on the maroon carpet instead. The person doesn’t sound dangerous but your body is just so tired.
Someone’s boots stand in front of you now. They’re looking down, their gloved hands quickly reaching for your shoulders.
“Why did you rise out of bed in your state?”
Your state he says. If only you knew what it was that was dragging you down. Something tells you he holds the key to the hope in figuring it out, so, as he effortlessly picks you up and places you on the bed again, you look up at him. A glow flashes across his face when you do. His eyes remind you of sinking ships.
It seems like he is waiting for you to say something. But all you can ask is: “Who are you?”
His eyes betray him again. Worry so deep swims in them that you feel completely safe in his presence.
“I should have known you fainting out of nowhere was more serious than he told me it was. Have you completely forgotten everything about me?”
Yes. Yes, you have. It doesn’t matter how much your head hurts while you try to remember, no memories of him come to the surface.
He kneels down and takes your hand. Lips brushing against your knuckle. The subconscious tells you that this has happened before.
“My name is Diluc Ragnvindr. The people here know me as their Lord but you...” he trails off. Something is bothering him; he seems unsure in what to say next.
“But you know me in truth. Or, at least you have known me so. This might shock you but I have to give you my full honesty. You know me as the creature that I am – a vampire.”
His words should make you want to flee. His lips were cold, his touch felt the same as the silk sheets you woke up in. There were no questions about his honesty. But for some reason, it seems that your body and mind are not shocked by this revelation.
“I... see.”
“We are under a contract that you signed by your own will. I will show it to you as soon as you wish.”
His gaze is on your completely but his thumb seems to be rubbing circles into your knuckle absentmindedly. His touch soothes you.
“I have heard of memory loss occurring in rare instances but complete memory loss has never been recorded...” He says it more to himself than you.
“I must apologize to you. I can’t help but think that this is my fault. Please get some rest. And please eat the food that the maids bring you.
He kisses your knuckle again, lingering for a second longer this time around and he walks off seemingly angry at himself. And when he leaves the room, you feel a prick on your wrist. Two prominent marks greet you; they seem fresh. This must be what he is angry at. If you fainted after these were made, it all makes sense.
You did as you were instructed. You rested, ate the food that the maids brought up to your room and your strength was slowly returning. Not by a lot – but at least you were able to stand up and take to the dinner table that night. When you walked in, Diluc and you were seated on completely different sides of the overwhelmingly stretched out table. He seemed so gentle that morning, now he seemed distant enough to make your soul ache. Why?
You wondered if you two always sat like this. You or, well, the person whose body you took over.
“I have decided to nullify out contract until your memories return.”
You were barely eating and that made your knife stop.
“I see... but, I am afraid I do not remember anything our contract states.”
A butler suddenly appears by your side and slides the said document in front of you. It should be signed in someone else’s name, a name you have no recollection of, the name of this body you are borrowing and yet; what stands there in black letters is your own signature. Next to it is a fingerprint of red ink. Or was it blood?
“It states that you willingly signed it as I told you before. It also states that in return for your silence regarding my identity and..”, he stops for a few seconds but then continues, “and, in return for your blood every week, you get to live here with enough funds to support your family.”
Your family he says. And you have no way of knowing just who is your family in this world. Something about the whole situation seems bitter to you and without thinking you blurt out a question.
“If said contract has been nullified, does that mean I can leave?”
This time it is his knife that stops moving.
“You wish to depart from here?” (‘You wish to leave me?’ Your subconscious tells you that is what his questions really means.)
“No!”, you are quick to blurt out. “I just... I apologize. This whole situation is a lot to take in.” You completely stop eating. Diluc seems to not know how to reach you over the table.
“Sir Diluc, I have another question.”
“There is no need for you to call me Lord or Sir. You may not remember me, but I will not allow us to return to such titles. Please ask what it is you wish to know.”
“Diluc, can I sit next to you?”
The butler that still stands near you seems to let a smile show. A maid on the far end of the door reacts too.
And Diluc, in the softest voice you had heard that day, says that you may.
You don’t speak for the rest of the dinner but somehow the room feels warmer than before.
A week passes and you are unable to remember things you would title as important. You manage to remember (or your brain forces images into your mind) of hazy fields of flowers and moon filled nights. Sometimes Diluc himself shows up in your memories. At first, he is a child running around with a wooden sword and in the very next memory you see him filled with insurmountable grief. For what?You have no clue of knowing but you have decided to trust this man – this vampire – enough to believe the answers he gives you.
He says that you grew up in the same place as him but that you always stuck to the background, so much so, that Diluc admits to have no clear memory of you before you helped him by willingly giving your blood in an alley one night. He says it was your kindness of not letting him starve.
He says you were kind enough to save a monster but the few hazy memories assure you he is no such thing.
Next, you ask him how he became a vampire. Diluc had hope flash across his eyes this time. You used the word became; you must remember that he wasn’t always like this. Your memories must be slowly returning to you. Instead of confirming, the reply you give is that it is an obvious thing if you had said you witnessed him as a child running under the sun.
He says he was grieving for the death of his father and that somewhere in it he got lost. So lost in fact that he abandoned his duty for a while and ended up meeting those that turned him into a monster.
“I was towards the end of my journey and instead of turning away, I latched onto a lead to find the man responsible. For revenge. It led me to a place of evil itself. In saving that young boy, I took his place instead. I was too weak and too immature back then. I let myself be captured and they...they turned me into what I am now.”
After that week, you slowly watch Diluc lose his strength. Every day that passes, he grows paler and he avoids you more. The dinners start to become a lonely occasion with only your form hunched over a table. The candles that light up such a lonely place make your eye twitch before you take the first bite.
Your strength is returning but Diluc seems weaker than you were when you woke up on that first day.
It makes sense – this arrangement was agreed upon because of his ‘needs’. The needs he absolutely hates. Nothing hurts you more than to see Diluc hate himself while also holding back so much that it means self-destruction.
Instead of allowing that to continue – you tell Adelinde that you demand his presence at dinner. And he obliges your wish.
It only makes you mad to see how he moves and avoids your gaze. When you talk and he instinctively wants to look at you – the second he sees your neck or hands, he looks at the plate. There is no light in his eyes. His hair is dishevelled and no matter how far back he moves his chair or face, you can make out the purple under his eyes. He seems so hollow, so distant in both mind and form.
“Diluc. You will listen to me.”
“Your kindness stays the same even if you don’t remember it all. I already know what you will say and my answer is no. I will not allow you to offer yourself to me in this state. Once you remember me and this arrangement – only then.”
His servants know the que of when to leave the room.
“What if I never remember Diluc? What then?”
“You will remember.”
His answer is solidified and he continues to stab food on his fork. You can tell how it seems to be almost painful to smell and swallow. He is only forcing himself.
You slam your knife and fork down on the table and glare at him.
“You cannot guarantee anything in this situation besides your own suffering if you continue to deny this request.”
Diluc calmly puts his own cutlery down.
“My answer is still no. There are other ways to help this need of mine that don’t put you in danger.”
You sit in silence for a while.
“Diluc, I know I cannot help myself remember if I do not help you. If your...bite was what caused this, maybe it could be the way to fix it. I want to help you of my own free will, if you refuse me, you are denying me that choice.”
“Do not use such rhetoric with me! No matter how you word it, the act of taking your blood now would be vile. Eat your food so that we can end this conversation.”
It makes you mad. His stubbornness makes your blood boil and by the way he barely swallows down that food which probably tastes like nothing to him – you can tell that this blood rushing within your veins makes it harder for him.
Instead of backing down, you extend your wrist onto the table in his direction.
“Please Diluc. You’ve trusted my judgement before, trust it again. I cannot remember anything if you destroy yourself.”
You can tell that he is battling with himself and how drastically different thoughts come to him. The instinct vs. the rationality. Diluc removes his gloves for the first time you woke up in this world, he holds onto your arm and pulls you into him. He kneels down.
“I am so sorry.” He kisses your marked wrist gently and repeats his apology once again. “Forgive me for this, I beg of you.”
You don’t think that there is anything to forgive when he whispers a plea at your feet. When Diluc’s fangs sink into your skin, your blood rushes again. The feeling is warm. His love for you is so warm that your theory proves to be true.
All of the memories come rushing back. It is just too bad that the same feeling takes over you once again. You faint before you get to tell Diluc just how much you remember; before you can tell him ‘I love you’ for the first time and God knows which time.
AYATO - THE STRANGE MAN WHO HIDES BEHIND YOUR MARKET STALL WITH A POLITICAL SECRET. IF YOU DON'T REMEMBER HIM - EVERYTHING HE HAS IS FOR NAUGHT.
This time, you feel something shake underneath your feet. It is light enough not to worry you about an impeding disaster, but this can never be a good sign. Especially not now when you are conscious of how the air and the temperature and the ringing in your ears suddenly feel. For some reason, your hands are full. Up in the air in front of you. You are holding something – you feel the weight. And this heart of yours is beating fast. Why? Is it because you just switched places or because this body’s heart was already reacting to something?
You open your eyes. It feels like you were blinking for a very long time. In front of you is a man with a sturdy red helmet and big moustache. How unsightly. How filthy. You would like to say he is standing in front of you, but he is leaning over; his face inches away from yours.
Could he be the cause of this fear?
“If you are lying to your official, I will have your stall seized. No, I will have it destroyed in front of your very eyes before I shackle you as an example for everyone here!”
This man is so angry that you realize it is his anger, from his feet to his spine and finally to the words he is spitting at you, that are the reasons for your fear.
“Do you know where the man who just ran through here went?”
You should be scared, but you know you will honestly answer his question. Right now, there is nobody as lost as you. You have no idea who said man is or who anyone is at all.
So, with honesty and calm, as your heartbeat starts to finally take on a more steady rhythm, you extend your hands in front of this man.
“Sir, I assure you, that I have no idea about the man you are asking about. Look at my hands. I am here selling these oranges, selling my fruit. Every single day. I truly have no idea who you are asking me about.”
The man peers at your face for a couple of seconds more before he steps back from your stall and spits on the dirt next to it.
“Tch. It looks like this dirty peasant is telling the truth.” With that, he instructs his subordinates somewhere else. You didn’t notice them before – you didn’t notice anyone before. With him gone, you are finally able to take a deep breath and curse this magic power that seems to put you in such situations. You could have been jailed without ever knowing why.
With a sigh, you put the two oranges back on the pile on the side. While you are glad you didn’t end up behind bars, it seems like there is nothing else to be glad about in this circumstance.
And just when you were about to weep, something makes you freeze. Something is grabbing onto your leg from under the stall. It is pulling or pushing – you aren’t sure. With a quiet gasp, you quickly swing your leg back to get away. The space is narrow so you end up only taking two steps before your back hits the wall.
It isn’t a creature that grabbed you – it is a hooded figure crawling out. You catch sight of their hands – they look way too soft and white to match the clothes this person threw on themselves. They share the same rags you are wearing but immediatelly you know they are just treating this as a disguise. They are hiding their identity and you can only beg that this isn’t the person those officials were asking about.
“Do not look so scared. Nobody noticed when I jumped into your stall because there was a crowd. But if they see your reaction now, they will suspect something is wrong.”
You finally see his face. His eyes look silver in the shadows and his gaze seems so cold. His voice is almost a whisper, flowing quietly and reassuring you that he knows more about this than you; it is almost like he commands you under the advice. You find yourself reassured, so you step back from the wall and approach your fruit again. Surely pretending that you are inspecting it for any dust or damage will be a normal picture. Surely you can ignore the man still sitting down in the shadows who only crawled out for a bit more space. His limbs are long and he eyes your approaching form. Maybe you should just kick him or run after the officials and report him?
With that thought in mind, you start inspecting the apples first. They are the fruit that gets damaged easily. You can tell that he doesn’t tear his gaze away from you, but you refuse to communicate with him. The less words you exchange, the better it is. You wish there were customers right now, but they have probably lessened in number because of the officials barging in. They are probably the same reason the few ones here are avoiding you. Something tells you that your peasant self will be forced to only eat a few pieces of your own fruit and two spoons of broth.
Having someone watch you do such a mundane task proves uncomfortable, but you refuse to speak a word to him. But ignoring him further proves itself to be even more difficult. Instead of leaving or saying a word himself – his hand reaches up and grabs the seventh apple you planned to expect. What an impatient man! You can already tell he will be frustrating beyond your initial thoughts.
You don’t turn your head in his direction. You only let your eyes follow him as he bites into the apple with such zest you think back on kicking him. Instead of ignoring that thought for the second time, you actually do use your foot to hit his side. He doesn’t drop the apple nor does he jump up, he just looks at you with a puzzled expression.
You put your hand out, smile coldly and whisper: “Only those that pay get to actually eat the fruit.”
You expect him to swat your hand away, to perhaps kick you back. But all you see is that his shoulders start to shake. His hand quickly covers his mouth, and with the way his hood falls back from the motion, you realize that this handsome man is laughing at you. He is laughing at you like a child would.
It makes you huff and turn around from him completely. The sunsettias deserve your attention more than him. And as you swat away at a fly that is buzzing around them, you decide to imagine him as the fly.
Even if you moved away, one step makes no difference so you can still hear his apology. It is mixed in with the same rhythm of his laughter that only lessened. You refuse to acknowledge him.
This frustrating man decides to send a gold coin rolling your way so that it hits your feet.
You sigh.
He did pay.
You should have told him that only upstanding citizens not getting chased by the government get to actually eat the fruit instead. Still, you pick up the gold coin. Your hand reaches for it before you can think it through.
“You really are fond of this street-seller persona you have. I apologize for disrespecting such a..dedicated..establishment and-”
“Leave. I do not need your apologies. This is not a persona, this is my life. I need you to leave so I can continue running this ‘dedicated’ establishment someone of your caliber clearly didn’t ever visit before.”
You look calm but the venom spilling from your tongue is enough to ruin any respectable business. You still aren’t looking back at him, but you can feel how his playful nature dies down. It feels like he just lost something important.
“I see.” Is all that the man replies with. His voice sounds devoid of emotion at that moment.
Another golden coin hits your feet. He reaches for a sunsettia in your hands and throws it out into the street. Before it hits the dirt, you hear a soft ‘I am deeply sorry.’ again, and the next second someone screams on the end of the street. Everyone looks that way; the blue-haired man puts on his hood, jumps up over your stall and he is gone just the way he appeared. Something in you, suddenly, feels sorry for not getting his name. But then you shake your head thinking you are simply sad over the fact that you won’t get to name the annoying fly after him.
After that, the sun starts to slowly set. With the new atmosphere, the old shoppers get replaced by new ones and these actually approach your stall to buy something. Kids in rags worse than your own excitedly reach for the fruit you extend. The parents behind them smile, probably wishing they could afford something more sweet and more grand to their child than just apples or oranges. But, they hope it is enough to make their child happy.
The money they extend is no gold, no silver. It reminds you of worn down pieces of metal, almost rusty. You take it as quickly as you can and wipe your hand after collecting it. These conditions of poverty make it clear to you – the man from before was of much higher prestige. Associating with him would be even more trouble than you initially thought.
Those thoughts leave your head as someone lightly taps on the wood in front of you. It turns out to be a blonde man with warm eyes and a kind smile. He extends one silver coin to you and speaks.
“Could I please have all of the apples on your pile here. I am buying them for the children at the orphenage you see.”
You know he is telling the truth so you smile back. He isn’t wearing rags like the rest of them, he seems to be someone of a higher status who is sincere about helping others.
“Right away Sir!”
You rush to place all the apples in three bags. He is patient, but he watches you work in a similar way to that man. It is only when you go to hand him the third bag that you realize why that is.
“And here, the last one. I hope the kids down there are alright.”
“Thank you for your kind wishes. If you are really worried, you should come visit sometimes. No need to bring anything, playing with them is enough you know and...”
He trails off, grabs your wrist with an iron grip.
“Do not get in the Young Master’s way. Betrayal is the worst thing you could do.”
Before you can recover from shock and ask him what he means, the kind expression is back on his face and he is holding all three bags in his arms.
“Until next time!”
His tone is cheerful again. It makes you shiver. You look towards the sunset more beautiful than anything else today.
“The one who decides about your life is asking you a question. It seems like you feel no need to answer me, Mister Soto.”
With the sunset as the background of the scene, the blue-haired man is sitting in a small room with an infamous merchant of the city. His rags have been long discarded. With the game of play pretend completely done, he takes his authoritative position. He looks so out of place to be in this dirty hub – the details decorating his outfit only remind someone how higher he is above them.
“Why should I answer you Mister Kamisato? You have already decided what my life will be.”
“Yes, but unlike you, I am fair and follow the law before I sentence someone. The political games of you and your brother in the parliament that only enhance this country’s poverty rate are coming to a close.”
He slides the piece of paper across the table. This is what the government officials were after when hunting him in disguise. He said he followed the law when sentencing someone, not in obtaining information. Only the man guarding this room, brushing off an apple, knows of the whole ordeal.
“You are supposed to be just like us! You are supposed to see that living stock as only dirt. With this new plan, we could have had it all. So what if we lied in the parliament? What if we forged documents? You and the rest of the members were never supposed to know!”
“You have only made yourself an even grander fool if you truly think you and your brother are able to outsmart us all. Not to mention - to outsmart me.”
The merchant only has anger and resentment to fall back on.
“Thoma, escort this man to our forces. I have more pressing matters to attend to.”
Thoma walks into the room and restrains the man.
“The street seller does not remember you, Young Master. I am afraid to say your suspicion is true.”
“That is not a problem. The persona I assigned them on this assignment was executed brilliantly. Perhaps, with my words, memories can come back.”
As the night starts to fall and other sellers begin to pack up, you realize there are worse things than hiding a fugitive or getting threatened.
Your predicament is the worst one of all. At first, you counted yourself lucky when the other merchants eyed you with jealousy for that one silver coin. Then, you started to pack up your stall, but as they started to leave, you realized; you had no idea where your home is.
Where do you cook your food? Where do you lay to rest? Fuck, where do you even get these fruits from? Do you have a bed? Do you have a family? Where do you live? And where should you go?
No, that is not right. And the despair of it all makes you realize it. All these questions have answers, but they are answers about someone else’s life that you acted out. And that is it. You are an actor, something that doesn’t belong here. And yet, you feel so alive and ruined as your eyes start to tear up.
What is it that you are? Where do your memories begin and end? What is this constant fragmentation and feeling of isolation? You aren’t supposed to be here. Where is your home?
The thoughts come too quick and they keep looping. Your cheeks are wet with tears. And, even if you are the only seller left in this dirty alley, you weep silently. As if it is in your nature to do so.
And it makes you shake. This whole thing overflows within you with only fear and confusion showing their ugly nature.
But suddenly, in the darkness of it all, you feel as if the moon is extending it’s silver glow your way. Yes, the moon is colder than the sun but it keeps you company. It is solid and constant. It does not abandon you.
The moon’s rays are someone’s hands around you, rubbing soft and slow circles into your back. They’re kneeling beside you, unafraid to get dirty as you cry into their chest.
The world starts to make sense again. You can hear the person’s soft voice whispering reassuring words into your ear.
‘It is okay. You are safe.’ and ‘Worry not, I am here. I assure you.’ and ‘Cry it out.’ and ‘You always manage to get my clothes dirty like this and then you proceed to chastise me about it.’ and ‘Let me help you.’
The fact that he smells like light mint helps to calm you down further. Your whole body relaxes and your breathing gets steady once more. His blue hair and strong arms holding you, in this proximity, calms down your heartbeat.
The air is sharp but it grounds you. And his hands are still rubbing circles into your back.
“It is not fair Ayato!”
“I know my dearest. I know.”
You are not sure how you know his name suddenly. You are not sure just what it is that you are screaming about and calling it unfair. But it doesn’t matter. He is still here. Reassuring as ever. Steady as ever.
“I shouldn’t have let you join the Shuumatsuban like this. But you kept insisting.”
What is he talking about?
“And now look at us. I am a fool in love, bending the knee for you, while you do not remember me. This is the first time I regret listening to you.”
“Oh shut up. You stupid, stupid, frustrating man.”
Ayato laughs again. It is not the carefree laugh you saw earlier today, it is more bitter.
“You don’t know, but you like calling me those nicknames often. Don’t you find it unfair, darling?”
You are not sure what you are supposed to find unfair. His behaviour or yours? This whole situation perhaps? The fact that you are in the embrace of a man, reacting to his presence so strongly, when earlier today you kicked him under the stall? When you did not know his name?
And just what are you in this world? Are you really a peasant? What is the Shuumatsuban? You don’t know. Something tells you that this is limited. But even with those thoughts, you are calm.
You stop crying, you focus on him instead. Something overtakes you as you extend your hands to cradle his face.
“Ayato.”
“Yes my love?”
“I will find you again.”
You feel exhausted. But before it overtakes you completely, you seal that promise by placing a soft kiss on the underside of his lips – on his mole.
Somehow, you know, that has always been your favorite place.
And with that in mind – you slip away like the moon.
a/n: hello, please join us next time for the further instalment of this new series that was supposed to be short headcanons but i cannot shut the fuck up. i hope you liked it !!
Taglist is open. You can send an ask to be added. I plan to write 2 characters per chapter inshallah.
i just woke up and read everything you have written about my fic and -- you will never know how much your words to me and how when I sometimes write I think of you and your encouragement 🥺🥺 thank you so much. I love you 🥰🥰😭😭💛💛
I'm not gonna lie I was also writing you an ask to like tag me in your works next time so that I don't miss anything and was also screaming about how I love how you portrayed Dottore but Tumblr stopped working so I couldn't send it Hahah
👉👈🥺 i love your works so much Aqua hehe I love you ❤️
blakekathryn
dailybridgerton
andulkaphoto
yousharknotpass
ellievsbear
prguitarman
theartofmadeline
janainaart
