#and his memory lingering as dottore changes...

[poliodeuces]

dottore doodles

[kzrosa-writes]

remnants of a lost love for a ghost | dottore x reader

prompt: after four hundred years, you are reunited with your past lover, except he wasn't the same person you used to know

notes: angst, no happy ending, mentions of blood and swords, mentions of death n killing each other, dottore is an emotional mess, aether is the traveler, more angst

a/n: this has been in my drafts for almost a month... i am proud to say i finally finished it! im such a softy for dottore so it was hard to write something so sad for him 😭💔

word count: 6k

Dottore had never been one to fall in love. He always had his priorities straight: his experiments, his role as the Second Fatui Harbinger, and his pursuit of knowledge. Everyone knew Dottore as the cold-hearted, cruel and apathetic Second Harbinger, a man who values the results of his atrocious, unethical experiments over the lives of humans.

Yet, he found himself frozen in place as he stood before you, the only person he had ever loved. You held yourself with grace and confidence, striding towards him from across the snowy lands of Snezhnaya. You held your sword firmly in your right hand, the tip of the metal grazing against the ground below you with each step you took. An old memory from his past, his lover during his time in the Sumeru Akademiya, was now standing right in front of his very eyes.

Y/N L/N... You were known as the prodigious traveller who fought alongside the legendary traveller Aether — you were the Fatui's most formidable enemy, and the very person that he was meant to fight and kill.

Dottore could feel his chest tighten at the sight of you. It had been over four centuries since he had last heard of or seen you after he had been expelled from the Akademiya for his immoral and unethical experiments. You still looked as beautiful as he remembered all those centuries ago, although much has changed about you. Your once-pristine skin was now decorated with scratches and battle scars, a reminder of the battles you had fought and a reminder of how you got to where you were now. You now adorned a black rose insignia on your waist, a mark that signified your affiliation with the Fatui's most formidable rival organisation.

However, what didn't change was the burning sparks of determination and resolution in your eyes. It was something he could never forget, no matter how many times he tried to forget about you. His eyes lingered all over your figure, his gaze landing on a flower in your hair. It was a Kalpalata Lotus, the very flower Dottore had gifted you during your days in the Akademiya. He still remembered the ebullient smile on your face, how effervescent you had been when he had gifted you the flower. He still remembered all the hours he had spent perfecting the preservation process, ensuring that the flower was perfect, just for you.

He had to hold himself back, to resist the tantalising urge to reach out to you and hold you in his arms again. Oh, how he missed the feel of your skin against his own, your warmth seeping into his heart like the old days. But things weren’t the same anymore. He had to remind himself that you weren’t the same person he used to know and that things have changed throughout the past few centuries. He held his breath, attempting to rein in his emotions.

"Y/N..." Dottore called out, his voice betraying the pain in his heart.

You took a few stops closer, your grip on your sword still firm. "Second Harbinger of Snezhnaya... Il Dottore."

He felt his heart shatter into pieces at the sound of your voice calling out to him by his Harbinger title, your tone cold and apathetic. He desperately wanted to break free from his emotions and the restraints of his title, to throw himself into your arms after all these years, but he couldn't.

With a firm step forward, Dottore spoke again, his voice trembling in the slightest. "Y/N... It has been so long. Do you... still remember me?”

The twitch of confusion in your eyes was more than inconspicuous to Dottore. He felt his heart ache with vigour at the lack of recognition from you. Have you forgotten about him? All those years you had spent together in the Akademiya... did they all mean nothing to you? Was his love for you all in vain?

"We... We used to go to the Akademiya together!" Dottore said, his voice cracking in the slightest. "Don't you... Don't you remember?”

At this point, Dottore was desperate for you to remember anything, even if it were the bad memories. It pained him to see how clueless and indifferent you were, how oblivious you were to the anguish and distress in front of you.

Your gaze hardened into one of apathy. "I don't remember attending the Akademiya with a psychopathic heretic."

As the words slipped right out of your mouth, your eyes widened with realisation, as if a memory had been unlocked from within.

“W-Wait.”

Dottore felt his heart being torn apart. He let out a bitter chuckle as he felt your words stabbing into his heart like a knife. Of course, you had remembered him as the heretic of the Akademiya, just as everyone else in the Akademiya had remembered him as the heretic who performed unethical, immoral and dangerous research and experiments, all in the name of science, and to satiate his naive curiosity.

Your breath was now caught in your throat, coming out in ragged and laboured exhales. You shook your head as if you were trying to deny the reality in front of you.

"N-No... This can't be..." The sword that was in your hands was now trembling with uncertainty. "...Zandik."

There it was: Zandik, his real name, one that meant 'heretic'. He couldn't hold back a bitter scoff at the sound of his old name, a name he had tried so desperately to forget, along with the painful memories of his past.

Despite those painful memories, he can never truly forget the memories and times he spent together with you. The memories of your shared time in the Akademiya were now playing like a montage in his head; the images and memories of laughing together, studying in the library together and working on projects, talking about your favourite academic theories and philosophies... He remembered how close the two of you were, how he could make you laugh easily, the lunch breaks you two spent together by the lush field in Sumeru, and the jokes you shared. He remembered the evenings you spent together by his side while picking flowers in the forest, the soft whispers of love and comfort shared with each other, or the stolen kisses in the dimly lit corridors of the Akademiya... how could he ever forget those memories? His heart longed for those days again, when life was much simpler and when all they had to stress about was deadlines.

Now that he was finally in front of you after all those years, he was unsure of what to do. Dottore was on the verge of breaking into tears, his heart swelling with longing and despair at the sight of your disbelief. With shaky hands, he slowly reached for his mask before hesitantly taking it off, revealing his crimson scarlet orbs — a sight you could never forget despite all the years that had passed.

He slowly took a step forward, trying his best not to scare you away. He had to be closer to you to convince himself that you were really there and not just a hallucination. He wanted to say so many things, mutter many apologies, beg for your forgiveness… but nothing could escape his lips.

It took all his willpower and strength not to succumb to his own desires and longing to reach out to you and break down. Rather, he just stood there, staring back at you with a mixture of hope and despair, two opposites of the same spectrum. He took a deep breath, bracing himself for what he was about to ask of you.

“Y/N… Do you… Do you still have any feelings for me..?”

Your eyes widened in shock, your breath hitching and your grip on your sword tightening more than ever from his unexpected question. You stood frozen in place, unable to move or respond. You had no idea how you were supposed to respond to such a question, especially after finding out that your very enemy and opponent… was the very man you used to love deeply with all your heart and soul. The Fatui Harbinger who had been trying to stop you… was your old lover.

“I-It's… It's been too long.. Zandik. We haven't seen each other… ever since you'd been expelled.”

He closed his eyes shut for a moment, recalling the painful and bitter memories of being expelled and thrown out of the Akademiya, shunned and mocked by everyone. He recalled the feeling of being torn apart, the day he lost everything… including you. It was a day he could never forget, regardless of how much he wanted to. He took a deep breath before opening his eyes, taking one more step further.

“Indeed… It’s been way too long…” He repeated your words, his voice close to a mumble.

He could almost feel how tense you were, how vulnerable and distraught you were. He knew that this was the best opportunity to strike, to end her, to get his mission over with. But no matter how much he screamed at himself to go through with the plan… he couldn't find it in him to do so. He couldn't help himself, he wanted — no, needed — to know your answer. He had to.

“Please, Y/N…” He swallowed anxiously, trying to rein in his emotions. “...Do you still feel anything for me?”

“Are you asking me this as Dottore… or Zandik?”

Dottore's body froze in shock, the question catching him completely off guard. And yet, it was probably the most sensible thing you could ask him. After all, it had been several centuries since you had last seen him. He had changed, and you had too. You knew him as two entirely different people, and he could understand that.

He took a moment to gather his thoughts, hesitantly slightly before replying, “I'm asking you this… as Zandik.”

He knew that this was risky, that his reputation and role as a Fatui Harbinger could be jeopardised by letting his guard down in front of the enemy, but he couldn't care less about the consequences.

You, on the other hand, felt your chest tighten at his words. Your throat was tight, feeling a lump preventing you from breathing properly. Your grip on your sword slowly loosened, your hands trembling ever so slightly.

“I… I do.”

That was it. His heart stopped in his chest at the sound of those two words, your confirmation. Such a simple response, yet it carries so much meaning. It carried all the dreams and fantasies he had always imagined for the past four centuries… It was everything he could have hoped for. And yet, a wave of overwhelming emotions crashed through him like a violent tide in a stormy sea. Just like raging waters, Dottore was suffering an internal maelstrom of relief, joy, hope and desperation. He couldn't believe it. Centuries of desperate longing, of missing you, of mourning your loss in his life… and you were finally here, right in front of him.

He could feel himself slowly moving towards you, his movements in deliberate and shaky steps. It was absolutely excruciating to be so close to you, yet so far. He couldn't help himself, he needed to hold you in his arms again.

But that all came crashing down when he saw you back away, watching you as your grip on your sword trembled with overwhelming shock.

“P-Please…” You begged, your eyes glistening with sorrow and anguish. “..D-Don't.”

He stopped in his tracks, watching you as you backed away. It broke his heart to see that reaction from you, to see how you were clearly struggling to cope with everything. But at the same time, he could hear the desperation in your voice, the plea for him to stay where he was. Somehow… that gave him a small, miniscule amount of hope. He knew that this wasn't going to be an easy conversation, that this would take a lot of courage and strength from the both of you… but he was willing to do it. Anything for you.

He took a deep breath, trying to study himself before speaking again, trying his best to stay grounded and not let his desperation and longing for you show too much.

“Say it again, Y/N. Say it again without any fear, any doubt or any hesitation. Say those words again, and I promise I won't take another step closer to you.” He said, his voice trembling with each word. “Please, Y/N… I need to hear you say it again.”

You exhale shakily, your grip on your sword slowly becoming firmer.

“I… I still love you, Zandik.” You clenched your fist wrapped around the hilt of your sword, your breathing still erratic. “...But you're not Zandik anymore, aren't you?”

His heart clenched when he heard your words, the flicker of hope slowly dying out. It was almost too good to be true. He almost had it, everything he truly wanted, and yet… he knew you were right. He wasn't the same man he used to be in the Akademiya.

“You're… correct.” His voice was soft, almost inaudible. “I'm not Zandik anymore.”

There was no denying it. He was an entirely different person now, and the moments and memories you had shared were too far in the past, so many centuries ago. And yet, the fact that you still felt something for him and confessed your love to him despite all those years apart… he couldn't deny that he still had hope. The fact that you still loved him after all this time, the fact that you hadn't let go of the love you had for him… that was all he cared about in this moment.

Dottore could feel his heart clench and palpitate, his chest tightening with a mixture of love, hope, guilt and desperation. He missed you so much; he missed everything about you, from your voice to your touch to your scent. He missed the times he'd spent with his arms wrapped around you in the forest as you basked in the glory of nature during your midnight rendezvous in your favourite spot of the forest, enjoying each other's presence and warmth in the cold, chilly night air. All he wanted was to hear you say those words again. Those three words, so simple and so short yet carrying such a heavy meaning. All he wanted was to hear that it was him you loved, and not just his former self.

“Please… tell me again. Tell me that you still love me, and not Zandik. I need to hear you say it.” His voice was close to an anguished whisper, a desperate plea. “I need to know that it's me that you feel something for… and not just a memory of someone that no longer exists.”

“I… I can't do that.”

Dottore could feel his heart slowly break apart from your words. A part of him had been hoping, foolishly hoping, that even after all these years, after all the atrocities he had committed as a naive scholar and a Harbinger, you would still feel some sort of affection for him. He couldn't bring himself to speak, his heart swelling with pain and desperation.

“...Why…?”

His words came out as a broken whisper as he felt the resolve and hope in his heart slowly fade away. You still loved Zandik, the old him, the person he used to be all those centuries ago. But somehow, there had still been a part of him that had foolishly hoped that your feelings for him would still be the same after all this time. He was terrified, absolutely petrified, of your answer. He knew that your answer might break him for good, but he had to know the truth.

“I still love you, Zandik… I really still do.” You said softly, your voice was wavering with pain and sincerity.

Dottore could feel his heart swelling with hope and longing, his mind racing with anticipation. Perhaps, just somehow, he hoped that you were willing to embrace his new identity.

Your hands were trembling terribly to the point you dropped your sword, the hilt of the blade knocking onto your foot. You felt your chest tighten and the air in your lungs slowly getting sucked out, holding back an anguished cry. Your lips were wobbling and your eyes were watery, beady crystals threatening to spill loose. Despite this, you managed to voice out in a choked whisper.

“Because… you're no longer the man I used to love.”

He knew he had been foolish to hope that maybe, just maybe, you would be able to accept him and embrace his new identity. But there it was, the confirmation he desperately looked for. Your words shattered his heart into pieces, ripping his soul apart with no way of mending it. He had the confirmation he was looking for about how you felt about him, that what you felt was just love for a man that ceased to exist.

“...And you cannot love the man I am now?”

Dottore’s voice was raw, weak and almost pleading. There was a hint of desperation in his words, as if he was praying that there could be an actual chance that you could still feel something for him, regardless of who he was now. That tiny sliver of hope that ached in the remnants of his shattered heart still flickered and burned passionately. But deep down, he knew you wouldn't, he knew that it wasn't possible. And yet, he still chose to ask that question, a question that could crush his soul further.

“I-I… I don't know.”

A bitter scoff broke the dreadful silence that loomed in the air. He knew what your answer was. He knew deep down that you would never, and could never love the person he was now, no matter how hard you tried. He knew that you loved a ghost, someone who no longer existed in this cruel world. He let out another sharp laugh, a laugh filled with bitterness and harshness.

“Of course. Of course you can't. I would expect you to love someone… like me.”

He closed his eyes for a moment. It was all he could do to keep his composure without showing you the immense pain he was feeling inside. He had been too foolish to hope that there was even the slightest possibility for you to love him, even if it was just a few sparks of affection, despite the person he had become.

You wanted to say something, to retaliate and to tell him otherwise… but you couldn't. Nothing could escape from your lips. You stood there, trembling and shaking, as a single bead of water escaped your lids. You clenched your fist, forcing yourself to not break down. Especially not… not in front of Il Dottore, the Second Fatui Harbinger… and the person you were meant to end.

“...I-I don't know how am I supposed to kill you now.”

Dottore's eyes widened slightly at your words, noticing how your voice was shaky and uncertain. He could see that you were struggling to maintain your composure, how your eyes were watery as if you were on the verge of tears.

“...And why? What's… holding you back?” Dottore took a step closer, his eyes locked onto yours, his chest aching with pain, and a small flicker of hope.” “Why are you so hesitant to kill me?”

You took a step back, more tears spilling. “Stop.” Your voice was shaky, coming out almost as a plea. “Don't move closer, please.”

The sound of your voice saying those words, so desperate and so shaky, caused his chest to ache and tighten further. He stopped in his tracks, watching you keenly as you struggled to hold back your tears. Dottore swallowed hard, trying to pull himself together.

“Why?” He prodded, still staying in place. “Why can't I come closer to you?”

His voice wobbled slightly, his chest aching with a strange mixture of pain and hope. He wanted to be closer to you, to hold you in his arms as he basked in your presence, but he didn't dare to make a move, not while he could see the look of uncertainty in your eyes.

“I…” You swallowed anxiously, uncertainty written all over your face. “...I can't do this, Zandik.”

Dottore winced at the sound of his old, former name, yet a small part of him ached to hear it again. He wanted to hear you say his name, the name he went by now. He wanted you to know him, not the ghost of a man who had long disappeared from this world. He took another shaky breath, trying to keep his voice steady as he spoke.

“Please… don't call me that…”

You clenched your fists, shaking away the tears that stained your face. Your expressions changed from despair to one of apathy, the sparks in your eyes slowly dying down before being extinguished.

“I can't do this… Dottore.”

Your tone was cold and harsh, devoid of any remaining emotion left inside of you.

Dottore's heart twisted inside his chest at the sudden change in your mood and tone, the use of his Harbinger name sounding almost… resentful. It was almost as if you had shut down every single emotion from your body all at once. He watched as you swiftly picked up your sword from the ground, your grip tightening on the hilt. He had no doubt that if he were to come any closer towards you, you'd attempt to slice off his head without a moment of hesitation.

Dottore didn't speak. Instead, he watched you silently as his chest ached from the complete change in demeanour. He couldn't help but miss the moments before, the glimpse of your vulnerability, and the flicker of emotions in your eyes. But now… you were everything but that.

“What do you intend to do now…?” Dottore asked, his voice hesitant. He knew that he was only digging himself a deeper grave, but he could stop himself from trying his luck further and further.

Your fingers trembled as you held the hilt of your blade, your voice soft and uncertain. “...I don't know.”

Dottore could hear the uncertainty in your voice, your inner turmoil evident. That almost let him fill his heart with hope again. Almost. But that cold, harsh tone and the apathy in your expressions held him back. He hated it. He absolutely loathed it. Dottore took a small step forward, ignoring the way your body tensed at his actions.

“What does that mean..?” His voice dropped to a low whisper. He knew he was pushing his luck, but he was desperate for anything.

“I… I can't bring myself to draw my sword onto you.”

Dottore’s eyes widened slightly at your reply, his heart warming up for a small flicker of hope. You couldn't bring yourself to draw your sword on him… perhaps there was still a chance. He took another step forward, the distance slowly closing between you two.

“...Is that so?”

“Don't move any closer.” You said — rather, you commanded. Your voice was firmer and louder, any sign of hesitation completely vanished. You raised your sword in the slightest out of instinct, but something was holding you back.

Dottore watched warily as you lifted your sword, noticing your hesitation. He took another small step forward, trying to keep his emotions in check. “And why should I stop…?”

“Please, Dottore.” You begged, desperation evident in your voice. “Don't.”

He stayed in his place, keenly observing your conflicted expressions. “Why not, Y/N?”

He knew he was pushing it, but he couldn't care less about anything else at this moment. All he wanted was you, to have you back in his life again, to have you in his arms. But your next words hit him hard, the cold and harsh reality of the situation slapping him like a hard brick.

“I'm supposed to kill you, Dottore.”

Dottore grimaced slightly, your words cutting through him like a knife to the heart. Of course, he knew this. He was fully aware that they were still enemies regardless of their past, and that they both had a duty to fulfil. But to hear you say it so coldly, so bluntly… It still hurts.

He let out a soft chuckle, one filled with resignation. “...That's right. You're… You're supposed to.”

Despite knowing this, he couldn't stop himself. You were his enemy, the very person he was supposed to kill. He had to end your life, to take away your soul from this world, and you would have to do the same. Regardless, he still yearned for you, for what you used to share. The thought of you trying to slice his head off pained him immensely, causing his thoughts to swim in an endless sea of despair.

“Then… What is stopping you?” He prodded further, taking another step forward. He was now only a few inches away from you, and he didn't miss the way you flinched fearfully at the proximity.

“I… I can't.” You finally managed to speak, your voice a choked whisper. Your grip on your sword tightened to the point your knuckles were stained white. Apathy and indifference were painted all over your face, your eyes lacking their usual spark.

Dottore stayed silent, his heart and mind racing frantically. Hearing your hesitance rekindled the sparks of his hope in his heart that had been hastily extinguished, with hopes that they would flicker and burn into a bright fire of passion. You said you couldn't kill him, but why? Why couldn't you do it? That gave him hope. Your hesitance gave him the hope he had desperately prayed for, the hope that you still had some feelings for him despite everything.

“...Why not? Why can't you kill me?”

“Don't test your luck, Harbinger of Snezhnaya.”

Your voice came out in a harsh, yet firm command, your eyes showing a flicker of anger. Your emotions were all swirled up together, and you were unable to discern between how you truly felt.

Dottore chuckled faintly, a weak grin on his face. He knew you were close to snapping, but he had to try. He had to see how much he could push you before you broke before him, and he had to do everything he could just for a chance.

“Test my luck? No need. I already know you still care for me.” His voice was firm as he took another step forward to him, your shoes touching.

You took a step backwards, your breath hitching as you clutched onto your sword.

“Stop it.”

“Why should I? After all, you're hesitating to kill me. You care, don't you? I know you still care, Y/N.”

He watched as your eyes twitched slightly, as if you were in an inner state of turmoil. He knew you, he knew you were torn between your duty to eliminate him as his enemy and your lingering feelings for him. He knew he should stop… but he couldn't.

He walked closer towards you, his gaze firm as he locked eyes with you. “You're frustrated, aren't you? You want to fulfil your duty and hurt me… but you can't bring yourself to do it, can you?”

You gritted your teeth, taking more steps backwards. Dottore could hear the soft scraping of metal from your blade as you dragged it against the floor, your eyes staring back at him with a sharp, intimidating glare.

“What's wrong?” He taunted. “Why are you backing away from me?”

Finally, you felt your self-control snap. Every vulnerable emotion you had pent up inside of you completely dried up, leaving only anger and resentment.

You drew your blade to his throat, your stance firm. Your eyes were cold and devoid, as if you were a completely different person.

“Stop it, Harbinger of Snezhnaya.”

Dottore let out a soft exhale, his eyes widening slightly as he felt the cold tip of your blade prodding at his throat, a reminder of the situation and predicament you both were in. The deadly look in your eyes caused him to wince slightly, dreading how different you became after everything. You radiated a dangerous aura, absolutely merciless and angry.

“...And what if I don't?”

He felt the tremor of the blade on his neck, a clear sign of your uncertainty. He knew he was walking on thin ice, but he knew he was close. Just a little bit more…

“I could end your very life right now, Dottore.”

Your words were firm and sharp, like a cold blade close to piercing him. You felt a bitter taste in your mouth every time you spoke his Harbinger name, a constant reminder that he wasn't the same person he used to be. He wasn't the naive scholar of the Akademiya, but the merciless, cold-hearted Second Fatui Harbinger, although he seemed anything but that in that moment.

“Come on… Why are you hesitating?” Dottore continued to taunt you, trying to gauge a reaction out of you. “I'm your enemy. You're supposed to kill me.”

You clenched your jaw, pressing the tip of the blade further onto his throat. You watched as tiny beads of red liquid trickled down his neck, his shirt stained with his own blood.

He hissed sharply as he felt the cold edge of the blade press onto his skin. He knew that he was crossing the line, but he was too far gone now. All he could do now was gamble everything away. From now on, it was all or nothing.

“...Then why aren't you doing it?”

Deep inside, he was starting to wonder if you would go through with it. You had everything set up: the blade against his throat, him in a vulnerable state, and authority over him. But in his heart, he still had hope. Dottore still had hope in you, that you would spare him and slowly accept how things were.

His hope and happiness were ephemeral, shattering and crashing almost as fast as it was formed when you bit back a sharp cry and shut your eyes as you slashed your sword on his shoulder. You dropped the blade, hand trembling from the aftershock.

Dottore had expected this, but he didn't expect the sharp sting that suddenly flared in his shoulder, causing him to gasp in agony. He exhaled sharply, his anticipation replaced with a wave of pain and hurt.

He gritted his teeth as he tried to ignore the stinging pain in his shoulders, letting out a shaky chuckle. “There… You did it, Y/N. You've injured me… So why haven't you killed me yet?”

“God damn it, will you stop?!”

Your sudden scream was sharp and piercing, catching Dottore off guard with your outburst. You clenched your jaw in anger, trying to maintain your composure. You kicked your sword that you had dropped away.

You exhaled sharply as you turned around. You slowly walked away from him, before turning back to face him once more.

“...Don't make me regret killing you… when I had the chance.”

Your words and tone were bitter and harsh, filled with resentment and apathy. You looked at him for the very last time, looked at the ghost of a man you once loved, and looked at ‘Zandik’ for the very last time before walking away. You held your breath, trying to bite back the tears that were desperately threatening to spill.

Dottore was shocked by your sudden words, taken aback by your bitter and harsh tone. He watched as you turned away, walking further away from him. Each step you took felt like a stab through his heart, bleeding with his agony and despair. The sight of you walking away hurt more than the deep scar you left on his shoulder.

He wanted to call you back, to stop you from leaving, but he knew any attempts would be futile. He tried to obviate the need to call out to you, to reach out and stop you from leaving, but his heart swelled with sorrow and regret. Instead, he stood there, watching you walk further and further away, leaving him with a feeling of emptiness and hopelessness.

He felt like his heart was being torn apart, ripped and shredded into pieces. He could see in your eyes that you still cared for him, even if it was just a little. He was thankful, truly thankful, that you had spared his life… but he knew that this decision of yours would forever haunt him until the days of his passing.

He struggled to keep his emotions buried away, to hide them away. But seeing you walk away like that… he felt a drop of water drip down his chin, followed by another. Soon enough, an incessant stream of tears cascaded down his cheeks, dampening his shirt. He felt his shirt being ensanguined with his own blood, the wound caused by your blade crying out with tears of blood.

With that, all his defences slipped away as he dropped to his knees, his vision blurred and his eyes watery. It was absolutely agonising, almost soul-crushing, to accept that you had walked away and left him for good. Dottore felt his body and soul overwhelmed with the feeling of helplessness and sadness, almost unbearable. He had lost you, his everything, and he had no one to blame for it… but himself.

He sat on the ground, his body shaking with silent sobs as he allowed himself to break down and lose himself in agony and despair. He had never felt this way before, completely alone and utterly heartbroken… it was killing him inside. He had lost you, the only person he genuinely cared about, the very person he had been trying to keep himself alive for, the only person… he truly loved.

Amid his breakdown, he happened to catch a glimpse of a silver-blue object on the ground, lying just a few meters away from a shiny metal on the ground, presumably your blade that you had discarded. Clearing his blurry vision, he gazed at the object, and his heart broke and shattered further.

It was the preserved Kalpalata Lotus he had gifted you.

Dottore froze, his eyes widening in disbelief as he saw the Kalpalata Lotus lying on the ground near your discarded sword. He felt another wave of overwhelming pain and heartbreak wash over him, his heart clenching further at the sight of the flower. It was a painful and gut-wrenching reminder that he had truly lost you.

He crawled on the ground, picking up the flower in his trembling hands, holding it delicately as if it was something precious and fragile — which it was. Dottore slowly lifted the flower to eye level, studying it as if he were trying to ingrain it into his memory. He noted the smallest, little details about the flower — the blue petals, the silver veins and its delicate shape. It was all too familiar, all too painful, all too much.

A fresh wave of tears spilt down his cheeks as he held onto the flower like it was his lifeline, the only thing anchoring him from this pain, the only thing keeping him from completely falling apart.

Dottore clutched onto the flower in his hand, the memories of you flooding his mind like a violent stream, each one more painful than the last. The thought of never seeing you again, never talking to you again, never holding you again… it was too much for him to bear.

Dottore knew that he was destined to fall like this. He wasn't the strong, cold-hearted, and merciless Second Fatui Harbinger right now. Instead, he was the young, naive scholar from the Akademiya again. The man you used to love… the person you loved with your whole heart and soul. Right now, he was Zandik, not Il Dottore. In this moment, he was the heartbroken, young boy who had experienced the pain of losing the very person he loved all over again, just like four hundred years ago.

— masterlist ・ navi ・ request rules

[shizuturnspages]

Genshin impact yandere.

About A Love That Won't Wake, and if the reader is in a vegetative state or brain dead, what if she is pregnant?? This kind of drama would be interesting

Can you also add more characters? :D

Thanks

A Love That Won’t Wake: Mother of a Future That Never Was

Synopsis: You are gone. At least, in the way that matters. Brain-dead. Your body remains warm, but your soul—the part that laughed, cried, and fought—no longer stirs. And yet… you are still carrying life within you. A child. The baby of one of them. Or perhaps more than one. None of them know for sure. But it doesn't matter. Because every one of them believes it should be theirs. Now they stand over your motionless form with twisted hope, their love for you consuming everything: sanity, morality, even the future of the child who never asked to be born into obsession. Pairings: [Separate] Yandere Diluc, Kaeya, Childe, Dainsleif, Dottore, Cyno, Scaramouche, Wriothesley, Zhongli, Alhaitham, Kaveh, Ayato x Brain-dead Reader

Diluc – Grief Beneath the Hearth

He sits beside your hospital bed every night, reading to you.

He reads children’s books now. His hand gently rubs your belly, fingers trembling. “It’s ours,” he murmurs to himself, “I know it is.”

No test was ever run. He refused it. He refused to let anyone near you.

His hatred of your stillness is silent, suffocating, and it burns like embers under snow. He swears that when the child is born, he'll raise them in the light you'd never see again—and that he’ll never let them feel the emptiness he now lives with.

Except… he has a plan.

He’s building a home in the mountains. One no one can reach.

Just him.

The child.

And your silent body forever preserved.

Kaeya – The Perfect Family Fantasy

Kaeya laughs when he hears the news. Not because he finds it funny—but because fate is so cruel, it almost feels like a joke.

“A baby?” he whispers to your body. “Are you giving me a second chance…?”

He talks to your stomach like it’s the only one who still listens. The only one who might still love him someday. He says things like:

“You’ll look just like her. I’ll make sure of it. I’ll dress you in blue and tell you stories about the moon.”

But he’s not sane anymore.

Kaeya has dolls made that look like you. He dresses them in nursing clothes. He teaches the dolls how to “hold the baby.”

To him, it’s not a baby.

It’s you, reborn.

And he won’t let them take either of you away.

Childe – Father by Force

He swore he wasn’t ready for kids.

But the moment he found out, everything changed.

Now he’s a father. A widower. A lover robbed of his wife.

“You’re not dead,” he snarls to the doctors. “You’re just… sleeping. She’ll wake up. She has to.”

Childe's convinced your condition is temporary. He builds a nursery beside your bed. He trains every day, vowing to become strong enough to destroy fate itself if that’s what it takes to bring you back.

And if he can’t?

Then your child will be his legacy.

A little warrior.

A little killer.

Just like their parents.

Dainsleif – Hope as Rotting Memory

Dainsleif speaks to your stomach more than he does your face.

“You were light,” he whispers, stroking your hand. “And now… your light still lingers. In them.”

His obsession is quiet. Methodical. He keeps you hidden far from civilisation, deep beneath the earth where time itself is forgotten.

He sings lullabies from a nation that no longer exists. He carves lullaby runes into your walls.

He tells the child inside you:

“You’ll never know pain. You’ll never see death. I will build a kingdom for you.”

But your body is fading.

He knows it.

He watches for signs of decay, panicking each time your heartbeat wavers.

He will raise your child, even if he must turn them into a vessel that wears your face.

Dottore – The Birth of a Second You

He’s already started cloning the fetus. Just in case something happens.

He keeps your body hooked to life-support machines. He replaced your heartbeat with an artificial one. He created a synthetic womb that mimics yours. There are multiple fetuses now.

He’s experimenting with which one resembles you the most.

He’s already chosen names.

He sometimes lies beside your motionless form, holding your belly and whispering:

“This time, I’ll raise you right.”

And when the child is born?

He won’t know whether it’s your child or his experiment.

And he won’t care.

Cyno – The Law Can't Touch Him

Cyno carries your picture in a locket and guards your room like a priest at a temple.

The child is proof—proof you loved someone, even if you never said who. That unknown eats him alive.

He interrogated every man you were close to.

None survived.

“I’ll find out,” he mutters. “If not in this life… then the next.”

He keeps your pregnancy secret from the world. If Sumeru knew, they'd take you from him.

But no one will.

Because he is the law.

And you are his sentence.

Scaramouche – The Puppet's Broken Family

He never wanted children.

Until now.

Now he thinks maybe, just maybe, if the child is born, you’ll be reborn too.

“I’ll rip myself open if it means giving you breath again.”

He talks to the child as if you can hear him.

“If you’re mine, I’ll love you. If you’re not… I’ll love you harder. Because that’s what she would’ve wanted. Right?”

He paces constantly. He hasn’t left the room in months.

And he won’t.

Not until you wake.

Or until the child cries and you don’t.

Wriothesley – The Prison of Love

He pulled strings to get your body moved to a sealed medical wing beneath the Fortress of Meropide.

There, no one can interfere.

He sits beside your bed, talking to you as if you're asleep.

“We’ll be a family. Even if you're not awake for it. Even if you never hold them.”

He tries not to cry. He fails.

Sometimes, he rests his head on your stomach and pretends he can feel the child kick.

He calls it his second chance.

But he’s terrified.

Terrified that when the baby comes, it’ll cry… and you still won’t open your eyes.

Zhongli – Memory’s Gentle Tyrant

Zhongli mourns with poise. He weeps like a statue might weep—quietly and without motion.

But the child changes something.

“They’ll carry your legacy,” he tells you.

“They’ll be an Archon in their own right.”

He’s already begun preparing a shrine.

But it’s not for you.

It’s for the child you left behind.

Alhaitham – Cold Logic, Heated Grief

He refuses to believe it at first.

Then he spirals.

He isolates the hospital. Blocks access. Analyses DNA behind locked doors.

“Logically, the baby should be mine,” he tells your silent body. “But logic doesn’t matter to a corpse.”

Still, he never leaves your side.

Your last breath, your last creation—he won’t let anyone else take it.

Kaveh – A Crumbling Father-to-Be

He cries more than anyone.

He can’t even look at the baby bump without sobbing.

“I didn’t… I never got to tell you how much I loved you.”

He starts building a crib. Then burns it. Then builds it again.

He wants to protect the child.

But he also wants to scream at it for surviving when you didn’t.

Ayato – The Strategic Widower

He files papers. Prepares the nursery. Calls it a “calculated tragedy.”

But it’s not.

He broke the day you did.

Now all that’s left is the child. The heir to your legacy.

His obsession turns political. He names the child after you.

Then makes laws in your name.

Maybe you’ll never wake.

But your legacy will never die.

[crowttore]

Another day, another try - Dottore x reader

Note: self-indulgence is self-indulgent. A 'fuck it we ball' kind of fic. Not proofread. Context: upon turning 25 and being unmarried it is customary where I'm from to 'receive cinnamon' which can either involve being tied to a pole and doused in it or well, the more peaceful option. Tags: Dottore x reader, pure fluff, established relationship, birthday fic, 900 words Minors DNI

It was just another day.

The same frigid winds howling outside. The same ungodly hour that the alarm went off. The same heavy boots trudging up and down the corridors. The same gruelling tasks looming ahead.

It was just another day.

There was no trace of your lover, and you weren't entirely sure if the memory of him crawling beneath the covers were from last night or weeks ago. Lazily running a hand along Dottore's side of the mattress to feel for any lingering heat told you little. Pockets of warmth rarely lasted long here.

You'd see him once you made it to the labs - maybe bring a cup of coffee if he had indeed worked through the night. Changing into your usual uniform was swift, movements practised and polished to minimise exposure time of your skin to the cold.

It was a workday. It was just another day. Dressing up would be an inconvenience - no one would think you looked wrong or tell you to go change out of your uniform, the lurking dread was unfounded.

When the closet snapped shut it startled some part of your brain awake, awareness crashing over you. Something was different.

A faint trace of spice lingered near the closed door (didn't Dottore usually leave it open?) leading to the living room. Not the usual spice that seemed to be so fully ingrained in Dottore's skin that no attempt at erasing Zandik could purge it. No, this was sweeter, warm all the same, but alluring in a different way.

As you advanced, hushed voices and hurried steps carried through the dark oak, making your breath hitch as a surge of panic went down your spine. Logic was all that drove your hand forward through the mist of dread, grasping the doorhandle with the same conviction as the reassurances that your childhood had been laid to rest.

What met your eyes on the other side was...

Not exactly an everyday occurence, but familiar all the same.

The small huff you struggled to contain had several heads turning and all manner of garnet eyes and equivalents aimed at you, expressions ranging from frustrated to disappointed to somewhat smug.

In the midst of carefully controlled (probably not) chaos, was Dottore. His back straight and a scowl on his face as he tried to get the attention of his segments once more, no doubt too busy putting them to work to have noticed your presence.

Two younger segments were attempting to put up 'decorations', one sitting on the shoulders of the other (both of them completely ignoring the stepladder you had tucked into a corner for reaching the top shelves). Hushed strings of colourful curses filled spilled from Beta's lips, most of them condemning the fact that he was stuck carrying Iota.

A few others had been busy wrapping a few boxes up in colourful fabric, scrambling to cover up what you assumed to be presents the moment you entered.

But what truly caught your attention were the copious amounts of smoke rising from the kitchenette and Omega's ornaments clinking together as he and another segment were busy trying to get it out the window.

Dottore tensed briefly as your hands slid around his waist, the feeling of his subdued chuckle sending a pleasant tingle through you.

"Thought I specifically said I didn't like celebrations.." your words were hushed, not wanting to disturb the relative peace as all the segments had returned to their tasks.

"No," Dottore corrected, turning to face you, "you expressed a disdain for how your family would celebrate you."

Despite the slight annoyance, you couldn't help but smile as he wrapped his arms around you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "You're family too," you teased, feeling the familiar heat of his presence wash over you.

A click of his tongue had you peering up just in time to see how he rolled his eyes, "Don't get smart with me, chosen family is an entirely different matter."

You caught the scent of cinnamon lingering on his shirt, keenly aware of your growing hunger, "if not today, when else would I get away with smart-mouthing?"

Dottore merely scoffed, shooting a glare towards a clearly amused Omega, "As long as you don't make it a habit, darling. Now, go sit," he gently pushed you towards the table as one of the younger segments eagerly set out plates and lit the candles.

"Weren't you supposed to be in a meeting with Pierro?" You glanced over your shoulder, eyes widening as Dottore brought over a tray of (slightly burned) cinnamon rolls as well as fresh fruits.

"I was," he conceded, "but I sent Omega in my stead."

Before you could ask, the segment supplied an answer in his usual purring voice, "And I sent an agent to tell The Jester we had things of greater importance to take care of today."

Your lover's annoyance was thinly veiled as all the segments snickered, various comments along the lines of 'such as pampering our dearly beloved on their birthday' being added by them, the terms of endearment swiftly spiralling out of hand as they tried to outdo each other.

Today wasn't just another day. At least not entirely. But you found that you didn't really mind.

[tomatopers]

...dottozhu...

It's around 3am, Baizhu has come to the pharmacy side of his building to investigate a sound. Summary: Baizhu finds his old Akademiya sweetheart

"Zandik? Is that... you?"

"They call me Il Dottore these days."

"But you are still Zandik, no?"

"...I don't know anymore."

"I see. Well, come over here then. I don't bite."

Baizhu reached for Dottore's mask, only to stop when the harbinger recoiled.

"I've seen what's underneath already, you know this."

"I feel... better, with it on."

"Ah, let's leave it on then. It's perfectly okay. What brings you here?"

"I was in the area, thought I should drop by and see if you've dropped dead by now." (Lie. He was all the way in Sumeru but had a sudden urge to visit the first [and only] person who ever loved him) "I'm looking forward to studying the effects of that contract you made once you've kicked the bucket."

"You don't mean that. If I had to guess, I'd be so bold as to say you missed me."

"Know your place."

"Oh, I assure you, I do."

Baizhu smiled, and it felt like the Akademiya all over again for Dottore. His smile hadn't changed, even after all these years, though... he looked tired.

"Have you found immortality yet"

"I'm afraid not. I haven't given up, though. You know me."

"Knew. I knew you."

"Oh please, you think I wouldn't notice your efforts to keep tabs on me? I haven't gotten rusty just yet, my dear."

The affectionate name sent shivers down Dottore's spine. Why hadn't he kidnapped Baizhu again? It would be so easy to lock him away in Snezhnaya, to covet him like a treasure. The pharmacist was too cunning, though; He'd find a way to escape or die trying. Dottore pointedly ignored the idea that he himself may still have a touch of empathy in him.

"I've been caught, how disappointing. Have you noticed-"

"The 'anonymous' donations? The unlabeled gifts left at my door? The Fatui guards whose patrols seem to often pass the courtyard below? Or perhaps the few times you've visited yet not entered?"

Dottore couldn't stifle a laugh, though it was surprisingly genuine.

"You truly haven't lost your touch. Have you considered my offer, then?"

"You already know the answer. My calling is here, Liyue is my home."

"You could find a new home"

"Zandik, it's getting late. I, of all people, need my rest."

Dottore slowly nodded, turning to leave. Baizhu watched him trail towards the exit, before making a rather impulsive decision and calling out to him.

"I wouldn't... be adverse, to you visiting at a normal hour."

"Hmm..." Dottore pretended to consider it, though he was fully taken with at the idea immediately. "If I have time, I may."

They both knew he would. After all, neither of them had found a better companion than each other.

I like the idea here that there is something similar to lingering feelings, but in the way they never found someone better fit to be a partner, intellectually, than the other. To match with someone as well as they did at the Akademiya was rare in itself, and perhaps they never fully let go of that. Also, as I tried to emulate, even in conversation Baizhu is able to keep up with Dottore, to surpass him even. While it is a little ooc for Dottore to be this civil with a desire, I like to make this capability of Baizhu's one of the things that Dottore most likes about him. The reason Dottore leaves Baizhu in Sumeru is because he can relate to the drive to pursue knowledge (ooc, but referencing the denial of having a little empathy left). While it would be more convenient to lock Baizhu away in Snezhnaya, the pharmacist being free prolongs the memory of how he was in the Akademiya, and allows Dottore to perpetuate the idea that Baizhu has not drastically changed.

[levvthan]

Not all paths lead to good places | Dottore/Zandik x F! Reader

18+ CONTENT BELOW - MDNI Ao3 link → click here

words: 7,428

summary: Grief, your father had passed. Your sour relationship was not one to be cherished, yet you'd never felt more alone. But then, you met someone. A shoulder to lean on, a new connection, a new relationship. He was everything, at first. But he was keeping secrets, he was... a heretic.

!! content: toxic relationships, implied trauma & smut, angst, slight fluff, violence, manipulation, mentions of death, graphic description of gore, suspense, reader had family issues

Snezhnaya.

He’s dead ... was the only thought that played through your mind as you gazed down at the grave of your father. 

His funeral had taken place half an hour ago, and everyone else had already left for the wake. The recluse graveyard was now eerily deserted and silent. Despite the cold biting at your fingertips, seeping through the fabric of your coat, you remained. 

As you stood over the freshly placed soil, you breathed in and out shakily. Your father's remains laid six feet underground. The unbearable aching within your heart ate away at your soul, you cursed yourself for mourning him. But, no matter how difficult your relationship was, no matter how much hatred you held for him, you couldn’t change how you felt.

A faint crunch of snow underfoot snapped you from your thoughts. You turned your head just enough to glimpse the figure beside you, silent, still. They said nothing, yet you could feel their eyes on you, watching.

After a quiet moment, you glanced over your shoulder at the man standing there, light sapphire hair falling gently around his face, his pale skin tinged with a soft flush across his cheeks from the cold. His eyes met yours, deep crimson, sharp, terrifyingly beautiful. The sheer intensity of them made your breath hitch.

“May I?” The man asked, his tone polite and almost hesitant. 

All you could do was stare. It didn’t matter who he was or why he was there. You stood in a quiet haze of melancholy, letting the wind’s icy howls speak in your silence.

Without a word, he knelt and gently placed a flower atop your father’s grave. His movements were slow and deliberate, a sincere action that felt almost intimate.

“He hated flowers,” you choked out, the words thick on your tongue as a flood of memories surged to the surface, bittersweet, like the sting of winter air in your lungs.

The man’s hand hovered over the flower’s stalk, lingering for a moment before he allowed it to rest. “It is a sacred plant, a Padisarah,” he said softly, breaking the quiet. “Years ago, the people of Sumeru would gather them and create incense, offering it to the gods.”

As your gaze lingered on the flower lying atop the grave, your mind drifted. Thoughts of the gods swirled, their power, their ancient wisdom, the mysteries they held. 

“Though I take it your father wasn’t a religious man,” the man asked, his voice cutting through the quiet. “And neither are you.”

You stole another glance at him, a strange sense of connection stirring within you. His sapphire hair swayed gently in the breeze, the soft movement contrasting with the intensity in his eyes.

“No, not religious, neither of us,” you replied, as you gestured toward your father’s grave. “He couldn’t even respect another soul, let alone a god.”

“Then, your relationship was not one to be cherished?” the man replied, his tone knowing, as if he could tell.

The wind picked up again, swirling the snow around your feet, but it felt like the world had quieted around you both, leaving only his voice.

“He… he was troubled,” you said, your voice cracking slightly as the words escaped. You could feel the anger and confusion that had built up over the years, the ache of trying to understand a man who had always been so distant, so despicable. 

“I… I just,” You looked down, your fingers trembling slightly as you traced a pattern in the snow with your foot, trying to ground yourself.

The man beside you said nothing, but his steady presence felt like he had already seen the scars you wore.

A short while passed in silence, the air submerged in a thin layer of fog, the world muffled by the gentle fall of snow. Only the distant cry of a crow and the occasional rustle of leaves broke the stillness, leaving you both in quiet company.

“I am Zandik,” the man introduced himself, his voice steady and calm. The way he outstretched his hand felt like an invitation. His eyes remained gazing, waiting for your response.

You took his hand in your own. The gesture seemed simple enough, but something in the way he held himself suggested there was more to it, as if offering not just his name, but an understanding, and perhaps, a new bond. ∘₊✧ 3 Months ✧₊∘

The cafe door chimed, and your eyes followed the man who made his way to your table. You looked up with a warm smile, noticing the flush on his cheeks from the cold outside. Silently, you slid a cup of coffee toward him.

After your father passed, there was no one left, no family, no friends to call. He left you with a large debt. You thought you’d be alone. But, you had Zandik. Meeting him that day felt like fate, like a divine intervention. Since then, you’d met here every week in this very coffee shop, where he sat with you, listened, and offered a shoulder to lean on.

“So, how are you feeling this week?” Zandik asked as he took a slow sip from his cup, eyes watching you over the rim.

The sound of his voice stirred a warmth in your chest and sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach. Not only that, he was tall, lean, and undeniably attractive. Over the past three months, you’d come to know him not just as a comfort, but as someone you genuinely liked. And, you wouldn’t lie to yourself, you liked him. A lot. Maybe more than you should.

Every now and then, he’d catch you staring, your gaze lingering on the soft fall of his blue hair. He’d raise an eyebrow, click his fingers in front of your face, and let out a warm chuckle. “Lost in thought again?” he’d say, that familiar grin tugging at his lips, making your heart skip just a little faster each time.

“You’re staring, again,” Zandik said with a smile, one brow quirked in amusement. Just the same, every single time.

You blinked and quickly looked away. “Oh,” you coughed, trying to play it off. “I feel a lot better than last week, but… the debt’s not going away anytime soon.”

He leaned back slightly in his chair, watching you with a thoughtful expression. “That’s good,” he said, his tone softer now. “As for the debt… I’ve been thinking.”

“Would you…” he said with a nervous edge.

He reached across the table, gently taking your hand in his. Your breath caught as he looked you straight in the eyes, a faint pink rising to your cheeks.

“Would you, perhaps… like to move in with me?”

The bustling noise of the cafe noise seemed to dim around you, his words settling between your joined hands.

“I know it may be sudden, but…” he sighed, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles. “Since you might lose your apartment anyway, I figured, why not save the headache? Move in with me.”

You didn’t know what to say. The words caught in your throat. You knew he had a place of his own, but you never imagined he’d offer to share it with you.

“Are you sure?” you asked with uncertainty. You glanced at him, heart pounding. “I’m not sure if I’d be able to pay the rent… with everything going on, you know, the debt…”

The weight of your financial worries pressed down on you again, you didn’t want to burden Zandik any more than necessary, especially not when his offer already felt like so much.

“You’re not hearing me. I want you to move in,” he said, his grip on your hand tightening, hoping you’d understand what he was trying to say. “No rent, only you .”

And then, you realised. He wasn’t just offering a place to stay, he was offering something deeper, something more vulnerable.

You gazed at him, your mouth slightly open. Before you could speak, he leaned across the table, closing the distance between you. His lips met yours, sure.

It was a quiet kiss, tender, filled with unspoken promises. His hand still held yours, grounding you in that fragile moment.

∘₊✧ 6 Months ✧₊∘

“Are you coming to bed?” 

“I’ll be there shortly.”

You slowly turned away from the doorframe where you'd been standing, casting one last glance at Zandik in his office. Without a word, you walked back to the bedroom you now shared, though most nights, it didn’t feel like it.

At first, he was everything. Steady, brilliant, gentle, like the day you’d first met him. And he still was, in pieces. But as the days slipped quietly past, a creeping sense of unease began to take root.

Zandik would vanish into his study for hours, sometimes for the entire day, the door always locked, the answers always vague. You never knew what he was working on. You’d asked, more than once, but he’d never tell you. And the more he kept hidden, the more frustrated you grew.

However, though your heart sank a little more each time you thought about it, you swallowed your feelings and reminded yourself you should be grateful. He’d given you a home, free of charge, and a peaceful relationship.

So, as you laid nestled amongst the pillows and heavy duvet, your eyes began to slip shut. Sleep crept in slowly, a gentle escape from the ache of wanting more than what he was giving. You shouldn’t want more, he’s done too much for you already.

"Dearest..." A soft voice pulled you back from the edge of sleep. Your eyes fluttered open, and there he was, his silhouette dancing from the light in the hallway.

You parted your lips to speak, but no words came. You watched him in a sleepy daze, as he slipped off his shirt, then his trousers. His movements were sluggish as he acted like he didn’t know you were watching.

Slowly, he closed your bedroom door, and the bedroom was once again engulfed in darkness. You felt him climb into bed beside you, the warmth of his body so close it almost felt surreal. You reached out to him, but he denied your touch.

Sighing, you rolled onto your side, facing away from him. Zandik wrestled with his pillow, the soft rustling of fabric filled the stillness, as you wallowed in silence.

“Come here,” he said gently once he had finally settled. Before you could respond, he pulled you into his arms from behind, enveloping you in his hold. His chest pressed against your back.

Your breath hitched, the sudden closeness making you tense. Something within you shifted, and he immediately sensed it, his hold loosening just enough.

"What's wrong?" he asked. "You’re… tense.” 

Zandik propped himself up on his elbow, as he gingerly brushed your hair away from your eyes. He didn’t say anything at first, just watched you. Then, his thumb traced the edge of your cheek as solemn tears began to fall, one by one. 

Your breath caught as your eyes met his, those crimson eyes. You never quite understood how they managed to shine so bright in the dark, like they held secrets you couldn’t uncover. 

“I’m sorry I’ve been so distant,” He began, “I never meant to neglect you, my work-”

“It’s okay, Zandik. I know how busy you are,” you whispered, brushing a stray hair behind his ear, your fingers lingering just a moment too long. “I’m just being stupid, I’m thankful for you, I don’t want to burden you.”

“You aren’t a burden at all,” He hushed you, caressing your cheek.

Shortly, his lips brushed against yours, deepening into a kiss. But, one kiss led to another, and soon a trail of soft, lingering kisses moved down your neck, each one sending a shiver through your body.

“You’re always such a good girl,” he mumbled against your skin, his breath warm as his lips brushed your shoulder. “So patient, so grateful for me .”

His voice was low, deep, it sent a shiver down your spine. He held you a little tighter, like he meant every word, as he needed you to believe it too.

“Hush now, let me make you feel good again,” He whispered against your ear, his breath warm. 

And just like that, all your doubts and worries melted away, leaving you with nothing but the moment as you let him have you, all to himself.

∘₊✧ 8 Months ✧₊∘

A quiet routine wrapped in familiarity and lingering questions. Zandik would change, for a little while. He’d be more affectionate, and attentive, his touch and words warm, how’d you first met him. But, just as quickly, he’d pull away again, retreating into himself, buried underneath his work, distant and cold.

The shift was subtle, but it stung each time. You tried not to take it personally. Tried to understand. Reminding yourself to be grateful. But the space between his warmth and his distance felt colder each time. 

Am I too much for him? Am I a burden? You’d asked yourself countless times, over and over. But just when the doubt began to consume you, he’d return, affectionate, gentle, like nothing had ever been wrong. And you'd fall for it again, and again, clinging onto him like a lifeline.

But soon enough, something broke.

“I don’t understand, what more do you want out of me?” Zandik bellowed, his voice raw and shook the walls. His fist was clenched, anger rippling through every tense muscle in his body.

Then came the shatter.

A glass flew past your head, colliding with the wall beside you, exploding into sharp, glittering fragments that now littered the floor around you. The sound still rang in your ears, more deafening than his yelling.

Your body flinched, instinctively curling in on itself. He hadn’t hit you, but he didn’t have to. 

Zandik had cracked at your constant wallowing and questions. Frustration. Anger. You slid down the wall, the sting of reality sharper than the shards of glass surrounding your shivering body.

Your breath shallow. Your hands trembling. You’d been here before when your father was alive, you couldn’t believe this was happening again, not with the man who’d been so kind to you.

Silence filled the room. Zandik’s chest rose and fell with the remnants of his anger, but his eyes shifted from his clenched fist to the shattered glass on the floor… and then to you.

Curled, trembling, your expression stunned.

His brows furrowed, tension draining from his features as he realised what he’d just done. The fire in him flickered out, replaced by guilt.

He opened his mouth, but no words came. What could he possibly say?

“If you don’t want me here anymore, why don’t you say?” you choked out, your voice cracked.

It wasn’t loud, it didn’t need to be. You didn’t look at him when you said it. You couldn’t.

Your question had struck something deep inside him. He took a slow step forward, then stopped, as if unsure whether he had the right to close the distance anymore.

“I never said that,” he murmured, his voice low. But it wasn’t convincing. Not this time.

“You act like it, Zandik,” you cried, your voice rising with the storm inside you. “You push me away all the time, I don’t understand.”

Your hands trembled at your sides, the sting of tears blurring your vision. You looked at him now, really looked, hoping that he’d finally say something that made him make sense. 

But Zandik just stood there, frozen. His jaw clenched, his gaze flickering with… Guilt? Anger? Shame?

Slowly, he decided to close the distance between you both, the sharp crunch of glass beneath his shoe echoing. He knelt, lowering himself to your level.

With a shaky breath, he reached out, resting his hands gently on your shoulders. The touch was hesitant like he knew he no longer had the right, but did it anyway.

Then, he looked you dead in the eye.

“I am much like you,” he said, his voice quiet. “When I met you, I felt something I’d never felt before.”

“Then why are you hurting me!” You winced, shaking him off, voice croaking, tears streaming. 

Zandik’s eyes widened, and he immediately denied it, his hands still gripping your shoulders, as if to anchor himself. “I’m not!” He cut himself off, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t mean to. I don’t ever want to hurt you. Ever. I love you.”

The words hung between you both. He’d never said he loved you before. You could see the pleading in his eyes.

You looked away from him, unsure of what to say, not even sure if you could believe him. The words “I love you” echoed, but every instinct in you screamed for caution.

“Please, look at me,” he urged softly, his hands gently guiding your face back into view, the touch almost tender as if begging for a moment of clarity.

“You love me?” you asked him, your voice barely above a whisper.

There was a pause, a stillness where everything seemed to hang in the balance. Zandik searched your eyes like he was looking for something, that you believed him.

“I love you,” he said, his voice steady.

You looked around at the broken glass, your arm where a shard had grazed you. You looked back up at him, searching for any truth behind his words before your gaze flicked once more to the glass. Back and forth.

People always had a tipping point. You swallowed hard, feeling the knot in your throat loosen, just enough to allow the words to spill out. “I love you too,” you cried, the tears flowing freely now as he pulled you into his arms, his embrace tight, seemingly desperate.

“I’m sorry for lashing out,” he whispered against your hair.

In his arms, you felt a fragile peace settle, but beneath it, the quiet, lingering uncertainty still gnawed at the edges of your mind.

∘₊✧ 9 Months ✧₊∘

You’d managed to rebuild whatever part of your relationship had been broken with Zandik. He had apologized relentlessly, time and time again. And, there had been a notable change in his behaviour, yours too. You felt happy, much happier than you’d been in a long time.

But there was something that remained, a curiosity that had been eating at your mind. The memory of that moment when he’d shared something vulnerable, etched into your mind, you couldn’t let it go any longer.

“Zandik, may I ask you something?” you asked, tone unsure as you sat beside him on the couch. He was flipping through a book, clearly engrossed, but at the sound of your voice, he paused.

“Of course,” he replied, flicking through the pages one last time before closing the book and setting it down on his lap.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady the nervousness bubbling inside. “What did you mean, when you said that you’re… much like me?”

Zandik’s expression shifted, his eyes narrowing slightly as though he hadn’t expected you to remember that. He didn’t answer right away, and you could see him gathering his thoughts.

“I’m sorry if it’s a touchy subject,” you said quickly, shaking your head, already regretting bringing it up. 

He hesitated before responding, his tone nonchalant, as if brushing it off. “We… have experienced similar things, is all.” With that, he reached for his book again, as he tried to return to his comfort zone.

But something inside you stirred. The need to understand, to know more, to piece together the puzzle of him that still seemed incomplete. Without thinking, you stopped him, gently setting his book back down before he could open it. 

“Where your parents… also…” You began, but the words caught in your throat.

Zandik’s gaze softened just for a moment before he shook his head, the lines of his face tight with something unspoken. “I don’t wish to talk about it.” 

There was a short pause, and for a moment, the silence between you felt almost suffocating. Then, Zandik spoke up again, his voice a little softer than before.

“Come, I want to show you something.” He sat up and extended his hand toward you. Hesitantly, you placed your hand in his, and he pulled you gently to your feet.

He led you through the house, whirling you down the hallway to his office. It was familiar yet full of things you hadn’t quite understood about him just yet.

You sat across from his desk, your eyes hovering over the chaos that was his workspace. You knew Zandik was a scientist, but he’d never gone into specifics about what exactly he worked as.

Rummaging through his desk drawers, he reached for a tattered book on the corner of his desk. It looked old, almost worn to the point of falling apart. 

“This is what my father taught me,” Zandik said, running his hand through his hair. He slid the book toward you, allowing you to flick through the pages. The scribbles and notes all made little sense to you, pages filled with formulas, diagrams, all sorts. It was like looking at a different language.

“Your father was a scientist? Like you?” you asked, voice filled with curiosity and awe as you took in the chaotic brilliance of the book.

“Yes,” Zandik replied, brushing his hand through his hair once more. “That book is what made me who I am today. Everything I learned at a young age, I scribbled it down.” 

You smiled softly, continuing to flick through the pages, feeling a strange sense of intimacy in the moment. Zandik had never really talked about his work with you before, and had kept it almost entirely to himself. And now, here he was, showing you his first ever notes.

“This is amazing, though, I don’t understand any of it,” you laughed softly, gently closing the book and sliding it back toward him. 

He nodded, taking the book back and tucking it into the drawer of his desk. But his attention quickly shifted, as he started to rummage through the contents of another drawer.

Curiosity tugged at you. As Zandik continued to search, you stood up and wandered over to the nearby bookshelf. You’d never had the opportunity to explore his office. Your eyes scanned the many science non-fiction books lining the shelves, he had quite the collection.

You let your fingers brush over the spines of several volumes before your gaze landed on one particular book. Something about it called to you, though you couldn’t quite place why.

You reached out to pull it from the shelf, but to your surprise, it wouldn’t budge. Frowning, you tried again, giving the book a little more force, but still nothing. It was as if it was glued in place. You tried to push it back in, thinking it might be stuck, but instead, the entire shelf shifted, a click echoing in the room.

The shelf slid to the side, revealing a hidden door behind it. 

The tension in the room all of a sudden grew thick, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that this moment was far from ordinary.

The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end, as you felt Zandik’s shallow breath against your skin. He didn’t move, didn’t speak, he simply stood there, just behind you. You could feel his eyes on you, staring. 

You swallowed, your throat tight as you dared to speak. “Why do you have a hidden door?” you asked, your eyes never leaving the passageway behind the bookshelf. 

For a long moment, Zandik didn’t respond. The silence stretched on, and you couldn’t help but feel a surge of fear.

Finally, he stepped beside you. He didn’t answer your question immediately. Instead, his eyes flickered to the hidden doorway, then back to you. He pressed the book which you’d toyed with, and the bookshelf shifted back into place. 

The expression on his face was unreadable, but there was something dark, something guarded.

“This house was once my family's home, this was once my father’s office,” Zandik said, his voice firm as if choosing his words carefully. He ran a hand through his hair once more. “He used it as a laboratory, and so do I.”

You blinked. “But… you said you were from Sumeru? And… we’re in Snezhnaya.”

The silence that followed was heavy, unsettling. You side eyed him closely as you tried to piece together something.

“I am from Sumeru,” he finally replied, his tone nonchalant. “But I never lived there.”

You blinked again, piecing it together as you processed his words. But you couldn’t help but feel something was off.

However, you brushed it off, not wanting to dampen the atmosphere any further. “So, that’s where you are when I can’t find you, a secret lab?” you recalled all the moments you’d wandered the house calling out his name.

He nodded, but then the air around you grew heavy again. “Why did you keep it a secret?” You asked.

Zandik shrugged, “I didn’t hide it from you, you’ve seen it now,” he replied lazily, as though it was the most casual thing in the world.

You stared at him, the lethargic response not sitting right with you. The words were on the tip of your tongue, but you bit your lip and swallowed them down. You didn’t want to cause a fuss, not now.

∘₊✧ 11 Months ✧₊∘

The market was busier than ever, as you walked on through browning an array of stalls, feeling lighter than you had in months. Your debt had been completely cleared, and you had even managed to save up a decent amount of Mora. 

With your and Zandik’s first anniversary coming up, you felt a surge of excitement. You wanted to find the perfect gift for him, something grand that would express just how grateful you were for everything he had done for you.

As you wandered from stall to stall, one booth in particular caught your eye. ‘Sumerus Finest’, is what the sign read.

It was filled with a variety of mechanical trinkets, all intricate and beautifully designed. Each piece seemed to hum with a kind of scientific magic, and you immediately thought of Zandik. 

You approached the stall and picked up one of the items, a delicate, clockwork bird that seemed to flutter its wings when wound up. It was stunning and would look gorgeous in Zandik’s office.

"How much for this?" you asked the elderly shopkeeper, who was studying the trinket with a smile that reached his eyes.

"Six thousand Mora," he replied, his voice full of pride.

You nearly choked at the price. Six thousand? You hadn’t expected it to be so much. Still, the bird was perfect. You forced a smile, trying to hide your hesitation.

"Would you consider three thousand?" you asked, your voice tentative as you tried to haggle. "My boyfriend would really love this. I want to get him something special, for our anniversary."

The old man chuckled softly, clearly amused by your attempt. "Ah, I see. But this piece is finely crafted, young lady. Six thousand Mora is a fair price for my work."

You shifted uncomfortably, unsure of how to proceed. "Four thousand?" you added, "He’s a scientist, and he’d truly adore something like this."

“A scientist, you say?” The old man's voice took on a thoughtful tone, and his eyes sharpened with a new kind of interest. He paused his work, giving you his full attention. “What field does he specialize in?”

You raised an eyebrow, a little taken aback by the sudden shift in his interests. “I don’t really know the specifics, to be honest.”

The man’s gaze flickered from his work to you, his curiosity piqued. “Is he into biology? Chemistry? Engineering, perhaps?”

You let out a nervous laugh,  “All of it? He’s into a lot of different… sciencey subjects, but I’m not sure what his main focus is.”

The elderly man’s fingers tapped rhythmically on the surface of his desk, his gaze fixed on you with passion and intrigue. “All of it you say? That’s truly grand. There’s a chance I have heard of him. What’s his name?”

“Zandik,” you replied, shrugging slightly as if the name didn’t hold any particular weight.

Suddenly, the old man’s eyes widened slightly. He didn’t speak for a moment, as if processing the name. Then, slowly, he looked at you, his gleeful expression faltering.

“Zandik…” he repeated, his voice low, as though testing the name on his tongue. His posture straightened, and he seemed to study you more closely. "It’s not a common name, you know. Not many people go by it, not many at all.”

You felt a strange shiver crawl up your spine, though you couldn’t pinpoint why. “Uh, yeah, I guess not,” you mumbled, feeling the weight of his look. “It’s unique.”

The old man didn’t respond immediately. He glanced at the mechanical object in your hands, but it seemed like his mind was elsewhere now, focused on something deeper.

Finally, he exhaled slowly. “Zandik…” he repeated under his breath once more. Then, with a slow and deliberate motion, he set his hands across the desk in front of him. “You should be careful. Not all paths lead to good places. Some interests… and discoveries… they change people in ways you may not expect.”

You blinked, unsure what to make of the unexpected warning. The shopkeeper's eyes boarded into you as if he was trying to tell you something.

“What do you mean by that?” you asked, frowning. “Do you know him?”

With a sigh, he shook his head slightly, almost as if he regretted speaking at all. “Four thousand, then,” he said, quickly changing the subject, and pointing at the trinket in your hands. “Only for you, though. Don’t let anyone else know.” He winked, finger over his lips, mimicking a shush. 

You swallowed hard, unsure of what to think, but before you could ask any more questions, the man handed you the object now wrapped in cloth and turned his attention to another customer.

∘₊✧ 12 Months ✧₊∘

The days were quickly slipping by, and your first anniversary with Zandik was just around the corner. Soon, you’d be celebrating a milestone, but there was something that kept gnawing at you. 

Despite that unsettling conversation, things with Zandik remained well. There had been a few bumps along the way, but that was to be expected. No relationship was without its flaws. You’d come to accept that Zandik, for all his quirks, was simply who he was. And you loved him all the same.

It was a quiet Saturday evening. You were curled up on the couch in the living room, enjoying the soft flicker of the lamp as you relaxed. Zandik had just emerged from his study, his usual focused expression replaced with one of ease. He stretched, his eyes meeting yours with a warm smile.

“Hello,” he greeted, voice low and inviting. “I’m going to take a shower. Care to join me?”

You blinked, surprised by the sudden suggestion. He was already slipping off his shoes, looking as though he hadn’t thought twice about it, and there was an unusual glimmer of affection in his eyes.

You nodded and stood up, stretching as well. “Go on ahead, I’ll be right there.”

As you made your way to the bathroom, the faint sound of the shower running greeted you before you even stepped inside. The room was filled with steam, and the soft mist swirled around you as you entered. Zandik already standing under the flow of water, his back to you.

For a moment, you just watched him, your thoughts drifting to the words of the shopkeeper again. You still weren’t sure what to make of them, but you couldn’t ignore the nagging feeling in the back of your mind. “Some discoveries… they change people in ways you may not expect.”

Zandik’s eyes met yours, an unfamiliar mischievous smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Are you coming in?” his voice rich and inviting. 

You hesitated for just a moment. Shaking your head slightly, trying to shake off any unease.

The warm water cascaded over you both, the steam blurring the glass on the shower door. Zandik reached for your hand, his fingers curling gently around yours. Often his touch, his hand in yours, would make you feel at ease.

But tonight felt different. Maybe it was the anniversary coming up, or maybe it was his odd surge of playfulness. Either way, you couldn’t fully push your unsettlement away.

Zandik leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear. “I’ve missed you,” he said as he caressed your back. 

You nodded, trying to smile, but the smile felt strained. “I’ve missed you too.” Zandik pressed a soft kiss to the back of your head.

The room filled with the soft sound of water dripping over your skin. You leaned back, feeling the warmth of his body pressed against yours. There was silence, broken only by the gentle rhythm of the water and the occasional murmur from between Zandik’s lips.

His hand moved slowly, tracing a path across your skin, the sensation tingling as it lingered. You could feel his eyes on you, eyeing up every edge of your body.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he whispered, his fingers tracing delicate patterns across your shoulder before slipping down to your waist. His touch was tender, and it carried an unmistakable heat, as though every inch of you was something he wanted to savour.

Your pulse quickened, your breath shallow as he continued his movements, each touch sending a jolt through you. Your mind raced, and discomfort crept up on you. You couldn’t shake your thoughts, no matter how hard you tried.

You wanted to pull away, to ask him all the questions that had been plaguing your mind, more questions about his past, about him. But just as you opened your mouth, something caught your eye. His trousers, discarded carelessly on the floor, lying crumpled beside a key. The key to his office.

That's when it clicked. A plan began to form in your mind.

And just like that, you leaned back into his touch as you moaned softly, his hard-on now evident as it pressed against your behind.

“That’s right, good girl,”

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

After the shower, you dried yourself off and slipped into your robe, feeling a bit shaky. You told Zandik you'd handle the laundry in the morning, not wanting to disturb the moment more than necessary.

You’d made your way into your bedroom, and he was already slumped over on the bed, looking exhausted but content. You climbed into bed beside him, feeling the warmth of his presence as you settled into the comfort of his embrace.

He turned to you with a smile, his voice quiet and sincere. "You know, you're the first person I’ve ever loved," he confessed, pressing a tender kiss on your cheek.

“Really? What about your family?” you asked, curious. You didn’t know much about his family, but you were sure he somewhat liked his father enough to follow in his footsteps.

However, “No.” Zandik shook his head. “You accept me. I’ve waited so long for a bond like this.”

Your heart beated softly, as you laid beside him, each breath he took growing slower by the minute. The steady rise and fall of his chest was almost comforting, though a quiet anxiety settled in your stomach.

His presence next to you made you feel safe, the presence you’d felt when you first met. You kept still, careful not to disturb him, feeling his shallow, even breaths brush against your skin.

Time had stretched, and soon enough, you carefully moved away from his arms. Your pulse suddenly quickened, and the fear of waking him surged, but his breathing was still calm, a sign he was deep in sleep.

As you turned back to glance at his face one last time, something heavy settled in your chest. He looked so peaceful, his features relaxed, a rare moment. 

The thought of what you were about to do made your stomach churn. Breaking his trust, and sneaking into his office, was wrong, but you had to. 

You made your way toward the bathroom, and there it was, the key, still resting where he had left it. You picked it up with a slight tremor in your hand, slipping it into your pocket before quietly making your way toward his office.

A nervous breath escaped you as you approached the door. Your heart raced as you slid the key into the lock, your hand shaking just enough to make the process feel slower than it should’ve been. 

The room appeared as if it always had nothing out of the ordinary. Zandik’s desk was cluttered with papers and notes, most of which you couldn’t make sense of. But, to your relief, nothing seemed unusual. Just the opened bottle of wine sat atop his desk, explaining why he was acting oddly carefree earlier.

For a moment, you figured you’d perhaps you had overreacted. Everything seemed fine. But then, the memory of the secret door crept back. That door you had discovered, tucked away behind a shelf. The… laboratory.

Your fingers brushed against the familiar spines of the books on the shelf, and without thinking, you pressed the one that had revealed the hidden door before. The shelf shifted, and there it was again, the door, just as it had been before.

Suddenly, a wave of heat rushed over you as you stood frozen in front of it. The temptation to step through it, to see what was beyond it. But you hesitated, an instinct telling you that some questions were better left unanswered. 

“Pfft, it’s only a lab,” you muttered under your breath, trying to calm your nerves. “All scientists have them.” With a final, shaky exhale, you twisted the doorknob and pushed it open.

A narrow, winding path stretched before you, leading down a set of concrete stairs that descended into darkness. Gripping the lantern that sat on Zandik’s desk, you carefully began your descent. 

The air grew colder, each step echoing in the tight space. When you finally reached the bottom, you were met with another door, standing ominously in front of you. You paused.

It’s just a lab. All scientists have them.

And then, you opened the door. It was dark inside.

Your stomach lurched, and a foul stench whacked you in the face, it was unbearable. Thick, suffocating, like death. Your breath caught in your throat, choking as you scrunched your face, the ungodly scent made you dizzy. You fumbled for the light switch, your hands shaking, desperately reaching along the walls as your lantern flickered.

Finally, your fingers brushed over a switch.

As the lights hummed to life, a sickly, pale glow filled the room. And what you saw, what you saw, made your heart plummet.

The walls, the surface slick with something dark and viscous. Shelves lined the room, each one holding jars, some cracked, others whole filled with grotesque and unthinkable contents. Human limbs, severed and raw, floated in murky liquids, the skin stretched unnaturally, peeling away in places.

Organs were suspended in glass, bloated and misshapen, their colour sickeningly unnatural. And there were things worse, parts you couldn’t even identify, faces, eyes, staring at you, all tangled in twisted, mangled flesh.

But, that wasn’t even the worst part.

On a surgical table laid an atrocity, its form incomprehensible. What seemed to be skin was pale, scarred and stretched unnaturally tight over the muscles beneath. An arm was severed at the elbow, but it appeared to have been reattached with something mechanical. The skin around the joint was red and raw as if it was rejecting the object. 

You staggered backwards, eyes darting around, desperate to make sense of what you were seeing. But there was no sense to be found.

A wave of nausea rolled through you, but it wasn’t just from the smell. The sight of it all was too much, your mind struggling to grasp what you were seeing. You were suffocating. Nothing felt real.

Then you heard it, slow, the creak of a door behind you, “Looking in places you shouldn’t is dangerous, you know,” his tone was colder than ice. You turned to Zandik standing in the doorframe. His face was a mask of calm, but his eyes, his eyes…

“Zandik... what is all this?” You quivered, knees feeling weak, the words barely escaping your lips as you tried to comprehend the nightmare before you. 

“This,” he began, “Is my work.” His eyes flickered to the grotesque scene around you, and for the first time, you saw something like that… as if he was proud.

A sickening wave of betrayal crashed through you. The feeling spread, paralyzing, as you struggled to reconcile the man you thought you loved with the monstrosity before you.

You took an unsteady step back, your heart pounding in your chest, the stench of death and decay still lingering in your nostrils. “Your work?” Your voice cracked.

He didn’t respond immediately, his eyes scanning over you. Then, with a sigh, he stepped further into the room, closer to you, the sound of his boots against the concrete floor echoing. As he grew closer, and closer.

“There’s no need to be afraid,” he said with an eerie softness, gazing down at you. “I’m still me. You don’t understand.”

And just like that, the pressure inside you snapped. You slapped him hard across the face. “Understand what? What kind of person does this? This isn’t science! This is… this is unholy! Was your father like this too?”

Silence. Zandik stood still, slowly running his fingers across the red mark blooming on his cheek. Then, to your horror, a low chuckle slipped from his lips, growing louder, more unhinged with each passing second.

You stared at him, this man you had trusted, and leaned on for over a year. It was surreal.

But, before your mind could even begin to process how to react, a faint, distorted sound broke the thick silence. Your gaze snapped to the surgical table…

“...kill… me…”

The words slithered from the mangled atrocity’s broken mouth, pleading, hoarse and agonized.

A scream tore from your throat as you stumbled backwards, arms flailing, crashing into a shelf of cold metal instruments. You collapsed into the corner of the room, eyes wide with horror, unable to look away.

“See,” Zandik said with an enthusiastic glee, kneeling before you. “It’s brilliant, isn’t it? Science!”

You couldn’t answer, couldn’t breathe. Your breath caught. All you could do was sob, claw at him, shove at his chest in desperation, anything to make him go away. But he didn’t budge, as he loomed over you with a sadistic stare.

Suddenly, his hands gripped your arms, pinning you in place. You trembled greatly beneath his touch, he leaned closer, whispering your name over and over like some twisted lullaby meant to soothe a storm he created.

But your sobs only grew louder, and messier, your panic spiralling with no place to land. Your chest rose and fell, quicker by the minute. Hyperventilating, you were hyperventilating.

And then, like a switch being flipped, his voice faded into a muffled hum. The edges of your vision blurred. The room spun.

And then, everything went black.

∘₊✧ ... ✧₊∘

“Ah… now this is fascinating.” A passerby slowed to a halt, his eyes drawn to a small mechanical trinket gleaming beneath the morning sun. It clicked softly as he turned it over in his hand.

“How much for it?” he asked, not looking up.

“Six thousand Mora,” the elderly shopkeeper replied, his hands clasped.

The passerby whistled under his breath. “Pricey. What about three thousand?”

The vendor chuckled, dry and hollow. “You’re not the first to try haggling me down. A young woman made the same offer not long ago.”

“Oh?” the passerby asked, finally glancing up. “Did she buy it?”

The old man’s smile faltered, eyes distant. “Yes, wanted to surprise someone.” He paused, thumb running along the edge of the table. “Haven’t seen her since.”

The passerby frowned slightly. “Maybe she left town?”

“Maybe…” the old man echoed. But his tone held uncertainty. As if he was pondering something.

Then, almost as an afterthought, he added quietly, “I hope she’s all right. She seemed… good hearted.”

The passerby gently set the trinket back on the stall. “You know, some people go looking for truth and don’t come back the same.”

The shopkeeper didn’t respond, only nodded slowly, eyes never leaving the item.

A/N: So the original storyboard for this was gonna be like a toxic relationship because I recently just got out of one and needed to vent. However, the plot did change. And I DID actually proof read this one hehe.

BTW, my requests are open if anyone's interested.

[lotusmuses]

okay i did the sumeru archon quests almost a week ago :) so here's my thoughts:

nahida thoughts:

i'm surprised that people have said that rukkha and kusa aren't the same person when they... literally are?

i understand the whole "tree, branch, replant" analogy that they used but it's pretty obvious when kusanali and dottore chat with each other

like in the same way that we acknowledge each of the doctor's segments to ultimately still be the same person, dottore; kusanali is branch (read: a segment) of rukkhadevata (specifically the "purest" branch: the one that wasn’t afflicted with withering, the one that closest to the prime avatar of irminsul [read: rukkhadevata])

and even the whole 'dottore erasing his segments' thing was a parallel to irminsul erasing rukkhadevata. because having two (or multiple) beings of the same nature goes against the laws of wisdom in teyvat — which kind of makes me wonder if thats why one twin isn't labelled the same as the other even though they both were in khaenri'ah and originally came to the world together

i'm curious as to why kusanali is still "lesser lord" if there was never a "greater lord" in everyones memories - either it's another instance that irminsul can’t be completely changed (like the balladeer/wanderer's situation) or she's just "lesser" because she's not as powerful as she used to be and lost her memories

which isn't even that weird considering rukkhadevata literally did that during the deshret thing as seen in kasala's memories (though probably without the memory loss) it makes me wonder how many samsaras and avatars irminsul has had?

cyno thoughts:

uncle anpu??? why is the village chief not related to cyno when cyno has so many anubis associations and anubis is also named anpu 😔

okay but seriously did y'all see the way he just stared and lingered in kasala's tomb?? i really can’t tell if he's a descendant of kasala, his reincarnation, or maybe the "temple of silence" affiliation that he has was just the group of priests in general and their descendants

and i especially find it interesting how he personally seemed to contemplate a lot more than anyone else when he found out that kusanali is an active god. and after irminsul was changed so that rukkha's life is credited to kusa, he says "it has always been my duty to protect you"

always? before the irminsul thing, he never thought much about her at all. ***unless he's saying that as a priest of rukkha, now being a "priest" of kusa*** (wink wink)

anyways i love him, he's great. just wished he cared more about the desert people considering he's from the desert

other thoughts:

i thought shouki no kami would be a lot harder but instead the fatui before getting to him was the hardest thing

dottore really just left scara without a second thought rip

alhaitham i love you but i can not believe you didn’t take the grand sage role (though honestly i think that role should belong solely to nahida)

i didnt particularly care about dunyarzad like most people did

the samsara thing was so cool

nilou i love you, you're precious

dehya really just left at the end - i get that she's a mercenary but still

dori was completely unimportant rip- honestly candace was too

[fatedevour]

♢  —    @bogachs​​​​​​​​​​​ asked:   ❛ i love you . is that what you wanted to hear ? ❜ (he'll say this /very/ reluctantly and dottore will have to pry this out of him, his pride and all, but also admit you're just a romantic pantalone tsk tsk)   deadly nightshade starters: ACCEPTING  

   It  was SILLY. That was exactly what Dottore had been prying out, trying to force from the banker’s lips. And yet, actually HEARING such simple little words, had struck his chest harder than any blow he’d ever felt. His mouth felt  suddenly dry and he could FEEL his lungs inflating and deflating with each breath. Absurd. They were just words. It’s ILLOGICAL to react in such a way. It wasn’t like he didn’t KNOW the truth even if Pantalone had never said it. Even if HE had never said it.

   He hadn’t ACTUALLY expected to hear the words admitted aloud. People do not say i love you to monsters with a taste for tearing down the gods. They do not say that to HIM. Not once could his memory serve to recall any time in which those words had been directed to him.  Hatred, loathing, disgust, disdain, fear, all those were flavors he knew of well and didn’t care when they were thrown at him. 

   People ALSO don’t let blood and sin soaked hands lay hand on them without flitching from the darkness. Infuriatingly and enticingly such was not applicable to the man before him. They’d BOTH played themselves, mastermind and fools at the same time.

   There was a tight PRESSURE in his chest, and the chaos of his mind shifts from IDEAS of experiments and hobbies to a confusing cacophony of EMOTION.  It was DISORIENTING. Like a burrowing beast ripped from its a burrow or a captive animal offered unknown freedom. Wants it. Fears it. What does he do with these swells of emotion? There are no PROTOCOLS for that. He knows what to do with anger, with frustration, with irritation, with success, with satisfaction. But THIS, this warmth in his chest felt dangerous. More dangerous than lingering touches and shared glances, more plaguing than whispered nicknames. It was so warm, and it was seeming like even something as INHUMAN as him can come to enjoy its unfamiliar gentle acceptance.

   Pantalone of all has shoved aside armor with - what? Faith? Hope? Something at least-  that Dottore won’t chose to sink sharp teeth into it and rip it to SHREDS. Pantalone can say it as dismissively and aggressively as he wants, like it is nothing. But Dottore KNOWS. Knows Pantalone’s SHIELDING himself with that ACT, knows the other man is probably thinking a million ways to TRY to destroy him, of schemes and excuses despite the fact it had only been a few seconds at most. They felt like some of the LONGEST seconds in his life.

   Dottore leaned closer, closing in on ALREADY minimal space with a gloved hand lifting to grasp Pantalone’s chin between leather clad fingers. He’s pushed this far already. “  As a matter of fact, yes.  “  He confirmed before he pressed his lips against Pantalone’s with a surprising gentleness as his free hand curled around the fabric at his waist.  I love you. Already he can feel how the simple words have clawed into his brain and settled there. Just like everything else. ANNOYING how it seemed a section of his brain was being carved out for the banker. He wouldn’t change it.

   They really were going to destroy each other. Just...Not in the ways that had likely initially crossed their minds at moments in the past.

   Come to think of it, Dottore couldn’t recall having ever SAID those words either. Never received, never said. Dottore pulled back from the kiss but kept his hold, not quite keen to LET GO yet. Pantalone’s eyes might be closed but he could still practically FEEL them on him.  “  I-  “  He HUFFED, seeming frustrated at something. Pantalone’s reluctance had been CLEAR but he’d still said them smoothly. Such grace was not with Dottore.  His face purposefully buried against the crook of Pantalone’s neck.  “  Love you.  “  He finished like a forbidden secret, muffled but he knew Pantalone must have heard them anyways. Foreign words that convey truth that his actions had shown aplenty already, oddly pure truth unspoken till now.

[dikiyvter]

Headcanon post regarding: Innocence and Betrayal Rigatello-related headcanons part 2/? cw:// Violence/death ment.

this is positively incomprehensible word vomit that I’ve done inbetween sketching so take everything said with a grain of salt 

      Nobody is innocent.

      When one is a member of the Fatui, you become quick to learn that no one is truly ever on the same side as you. Comradery, beyond the surface level smiles and waves for show, is for fools who wish to end their lives with a dozen knives to the back. Giacomo has always been prepared for betrayal, and at the same time, prepared to betray, and to do so without a second thought and without a glimpse of mercy.  

              If you don’t do it, then the other will.

       Rigatello and Giacomo, for as long as the two have coexisted, have been partners. They are the winter storm to descend upon the Fatui’s enemies, Rigatello’s thunderous lightening and Giacomo’s harsh winds- and yet from the beginning the seeds of trust were nothing more than misplaced beads. There is no sunlight between the clouds and the harsh shadow of lightening, where the fragile growth of a seedling would be ripped to shreds by winter winds within seconds of emerging from the surface. All the two of them had was a careful balance; A mutual agreement. As long as Dottore would repair them, any consequences of their actions towards each other were little more than waking nightmares to be forgotten by the time the next battle came around. On the battlefield they were a team, Giacomo’s arrows striking down the enemies that didn’t fall to Rigatello’s claymore, the winds toppling fragile humans and the storm’s heavy lightning striking those that dared to come up behind the younger jester. Their balance; the thing that kept them from destroying each other. Mutual loathing. Mutual protection.

              No one can hurt you but me.               And if you die, whose left for me to hurt?               Humans are too fragile.

       Beasts need to dig their claws into meat. Teeth need to ring against bone. The primal urges of predators chained must be indulged lest they turn their teeth to the master that’s hold them bound; Weapons are built to taste blood. Such a balance cannot be maintained for long. The nature of a blade is that eventually it sinks too far; The nature of a beast is that eventually it must consume it’s prey, or else it will starve.

              Or, perhaps.

       Giacomo bows his head low as he’s pat on the head.        Rigatello burns in rage.        A tiger will not be upstaged by a juggling fool.

             It really is eat or be eaten.

       Giacomo can remember the exact moment the balance began to tip. The storm that sprung from their weapons, the blinding snow kicked up by the winds that drove his arrows, the flashes of lightning in the blizzard that sprung from enemy to enemy as his claymore struck, stone and bone and bloody screams. 

       Piercing green eyes that bore into his own that turned away uninterested when the blade of an enemy ignored snuck across his throat. 

              Without protection, all they had was loathing.

       Giacomo has never truly trusted anybody. It is against his nature- How could anything born from the mind of a madman without trust be expected to do so? All he can do is rely on balances, the scales that keep things in check. All he can do is hope to save himself when the balance begins to tip. When the dynamic begins to change. There is no betrayal-- There is only a shift. 

      Innocence. The lack of guilt. Freedom of sin and moral wrongdoing.

      When the chips are down, no one is innocent. The nature of existence is selfishness, the drive to protect yourself and your interests. At least, that is what he’s been taught. What his early years in the world have shown him. There are many things one sees as a soldier. There are many people one kills as a weapon. A man who tries to offer his wife in stead of his debt. A woman who trips her boyfriend in the escape in hopes that it will bide her time to get away. Memories of begging, to kill another and not the target, screams of hopes and dreams, yells of betrayal. Arguments as to why ones life holds more worth than that of the unfortunate collateral damage. 

      The moment such a worldview is shattered is the moment that Giacomo recalls something in him changing. 

       The collateral damage tries to fight him. A shard of glass from the broken wind held tight in shaking hand as a young man lurches, screaming for his dear companion to run as the makeshift blade sinks tight into Giacomo’s side. He’s too surprise by the action to even recognize the pain at first. This is new. He’s unused to such a reaction. The shock sends him stumbling back. Rigatello crushes the mans skull beneath the weight of his claymore. They spend the next couple of hours hunting the escaped woman down, only to find her frozen beneath the heavy snezhnayan snow. 

       Self-sacrifice, in vain. 

      Gio thinks he may begin to understand what innocence means. The selflessness of love, of a desire to protect. The belief that your pitiful life and actions could mean anything.  Giacomo looks to Rigatello and needs not wonder if they’ve ever been innocent-- Their very nature denies them such a right. 

       The man haunts him. The memory lingers. The feeling of the glass in his side. The look in his eyes. The sound of his voice. Giacomo is professional-- It’s what he’s so often praised on. The sheer cold of his gaze and his bow that knows no mercy and knows no thought other than the duty commanded of him. But there is something in him that breaks. Something that begins to chip away. It is how he begins to define innocence. It is where he begins to grow his distaste for the slaughter of such people. 

      He cannot bring himself to kill the collateral damage the next time he’s tasked with killing someone. Instead he watches with cold eyes as sob in fear, their widened eyes as he waves them away and watches them run frantic through the snow, and listens with a dull sort of disinterest as Rigatello expresses his disappointment when the show is said and done. 

              “Since when are you so merciful, Giacomo?”                “Is there truly mercy in leaving them with such brutal memories?”               “I suppose not.”

       It is three years later when Giacomo and Rigatello meet at the edge of their motherland. As the younger of the two leaves without a second glance to his companion, to the place he’s called home, he knows that this is not a betrayal. 

              The scales have merely been tipped once more.                This, too, is not a mercy.