Mrs. Dottore 🦋

23 ` she/her ` infp ‘ dottore yume since 2018 https://mrsdottore.carrd.co i also like to draw and mainly write for dottore i go by minji or butterfly / 🦋

[minjitorre]

imagine a man who tries to extend his life with any means possible while his lover was cursed with immortality due to being from khaenri’ah

both want what the other has, one craves death while the other yearns for immortality and it’s what made them choose each other, in life and death all they had was one another.

totally not an idea form my yume where she’s immortal and from khaenri’ah

[kaiixserzin]

More of My Love

`ੈ♡˳ OG Zandik (85) x Multiple Gn!Readers (Segments) *ೃ༄

ੈ♡˳ 1.4k words ┊ Fluff *ೃ༄

ੈ♡˳ Masterlist *ೃ༄

author's note ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

in my world, og zandik is still alive and well, but he's stuck at the age of 85. you cannot convince me he is dead, ok? lets all hold hands and cope. also dont see much stuff about reader having segments too (like it just makes sense to me).. btw im turning my prev fic into a mini series, so be on the look out for that ^^ rqs open pls pls pls i need ides LOL :3!!

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥` cw: canon typical violence, basic dottore warnings, you also have segments in the same ages w dottore's, injuries, blood, mentions of scars, experiments, you and dottore r both crazy for each other, slight suggestive stuff, but sfw

The segments are an important part of Il Dottore's success, as the 2nd Harbinger of the Fatui.

They help him assist in many different projects and experiments, proposing their own ideas, and delivering various, unique, perspectives from each and every segment that exists. All have their own tasks to complete, own tests to conduct, and roles to fulfill— offering more than what Zandik could possibly ever achieve in his lonesome, as much as he would hate to admit it.

Though they have their creator to thank for each individual's existence— having given the autonomy to do whatever they could have possibly wanted, having their own thoughts, opinions, hobbies and interests, as long as they comply to Zandik's restrictions and assigned duties— they rarely cared for the original.

The human, more fragile and weak version of themselves. They pale in comparison when it comes to Zandik, this 85 year old body full of wrinkles and aching joints, barely able to walk by himself without a cane.

For his creations are created without any weakness in consideration— only their own minds could make them succumb to their doom. Stuck in a capsule of time, in a body and brain that will never grow, they remain who they are for as long as they live.

Perhaps that is why they resent Zandik the most.

Envy for his humanity? The capability to breathe? To bleed, just like him?

How preposterous, why would they ever wish for such weaknesses?

And though they have to listen to every word he says, the resentment stays within them, simmering until it toils their hearts.

Either Zandik is well aware of this fact or not, they will follow through whatever remains in his restless mind; not because they are free to choose so, but because they are obligated to.

That isn't really the case for you, though— more specifically, your segments.

Zandik loves you, very dearly so, of course he would make segments of yourself— only with your permission. They busy themselves with various tasks, very much like his segments; conducting research, carrying on duties that is now extended to them, and do all the things that Zandik's segments couldn't, and wouldn't personally do, such as interacting with other Harbingers and Fatuis when it comes to proper business meetings that needed a representative in Il Dottore's name.

The respective ages of his segments clings to yours like incessant pests, always asking for the presence of another of your segment before they proceed with the experiment. And of course, similar to you, they would always indulge in their desires; inevitably dragged into their whims, no matter what it was.

Your segments adored his segments, it was as if they were especially made for them— to calm whatever unwanted thoughts that would creep into their minds, let the flames of whatever ails them that lingered, vanish into smoke, as they hold them in their arms and make them feel the love they all so crave from you.

And Zandik wasn't exactly spared from their affections.

They all so adore Zandik, whether it was his segments, or the original. Gathered around his bed, laying and taking up every spot as they coo and reach for his body, touching every inch of his skin and pressing loving kisses. They touch, hold, and cling onto him at every given opportunity, tracing your lips to places where they know is most sensitive, and pleasing for Zandik, massaging him at areas they know that aches the most, lending him warmth from their loving, artificial bodies, in the unforgiving, harsh coldness of the palace.

It doesn't matter if it was wrinkled or scarred from various experiments and surgeries, jagged lines, and patterned neatly, records of past tests, yet they'd all hold the same loving gaze that he has grown to yearn. It was almost laughable how they'd always magnetize towards him, grabbing his arm and taking his cane away, letting him lean the weight of his body onto theirs and walking with him no matter how the long distance he wanted to go.

They'd trail behind him like lost puppies, vying for his attention, pulling him away from his most important work. It was unfathomably distracting, yet he could not resist it— those alluring voices that would put his mind in an endless trance, listening to whatever they have to say as they— because how could he not? It was just another version of you, of course he has to listen.

How impossible, he'd think when he sits on his office desk, with your segments surrounding him, doing whatever they pleased with him, lingering for as long as they wished to. But it was always so difficult to refuse their love, not when he was drowning in happiness only a mortal could wish to obtain.

Pampered, loved, and treated as if he was treasure, and not merely an old man that was dancing at the thin line of life and death.

"They're hogging you so much," It was just another day in his office, where you'd pout and cross your arms as soon as you walked in, eyeing your segments, who were all kissing his skin despite the massive pile of papers on his desk. Waving away your segments dismissively— ordering them to do their jobs, whilst they stuck their tongues out you, cursing you off, but still complying— much to their dismay, "I can barely get you all to myself without them always pawing at you like starving kittens."

Zandik raises a brow at your statement as you begin to wipe off the multitudes of different colored lipstick stains that covered his skin, his skin all flushed and sweaty, with a smug smirk on his lips. That seemed to further infuriate you. "Oh?" He tilts his head when you scowl at the small bruise on his neck, small marks of teeth onto the flesh; the urge to laugh at your expressions growing ever stronger, "The audacity to say such things, when I complain the same when it comes to my segments."

"Hey, it was one time, okay!" You groan as you button his shirt back up, eyes narrowed— your irritation, a rare sight, serving as a delightful form of entertainment to Zandik, "They literally dragged me away, it's not my fault they're all stronger than me. My segments can't be too rough on you, because you'll fall over with just a gust of wind."

Zandik lets out a faint gasp, a hand on his chest as he acts offended at your words, though it was unbearably obvious to you that it was a mere farce, "You wound me, my dear!" Zandik dramatically falls onto the soft cushions of your shared bed, eyes squeezed shut, hair cascading down his shoulders, beautifully so. "Calling me weak and old… After all the things you've said, loving me for who I am now…"

A soft snort comes from you as you take your rightful place beside him, the bed silently creaking as you tucked yourselves under the covers, your arms wrapping around his body, welcoming the warmth that seems to naturally emits from your touch, searing through his skin and into his soul. "Okay, now you're putting words in my mouth." You sigh as you kissed his chin, watching his lips crack into a small smile, "I never said that."

"You might as well have." Zandik says, voice soft, yet his head remained tilted away from your gaze, and he hears you grumble underneath your breath.

Patting and kneading at his skin did not work in your favor, leaving you restless on your bed, with a partner that refuses to even look at you, "Do you want me here, or my segments?"

Zandik paused for a moment, tilting his head as if he was truly contemplating your question. You are unimpressed, patience evidently running thin as the seconds ticked by, much to Zandik's amusement.

"Stop being the center of attention to my segments, then I shall answer you." He finally says, with a lilt of resolution in his voice, as if there was nothing you could do to sway his mind. You pout at this.

"You know I can't do that." Quite literally, you work with them on a daily basis.

Zandik huffs, "Then I cannot answer you."

Whining at his response, you bury your face onto his neck and breathe in his scent, frowning in your untimely defeat, unable to keep up with his act anymore, "Okay, okay! Fine, I'll give you more attention… My heart belongs to you, anyways." You sigh, fingers gripping onto his shirt, letting his hair tickle your nose, and Zandik lips stretched into a mischievous smile.

With his fingers now resting on your shoulder, arms and legs tangled with yours, he hums in content. "Good, and it should stay that way."

- ̥۪͙۪˚┊❛❛ If you like this a lot, consider reblogging! I'll appreciate it very very much! Don't repost and/or translate my work anywhere. ❜❜ ┊˚ ̥۪͙۪◌

[fenkko]

how omega dottore and segment 8 ask pantalone for funding

[radiowave-ll]

what is inside dottore's hat?

[r4meatt]

𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐬...

Dottore x Dead reader.. for now.

Req: Dottore x Reader! But they look like Mizi in Zombie Stage?!

I love the idea of the reader being an assistant or lover who died??? Or went through experiments and ended up with that hole in their face and scars. Tell me what you think?

Notes: I was so excited when i saw this😭 i love alnst!! Thanks for the request too!! I decided to make it both, an assistant and lover who died AHHH thanks for the req! I hope you have a nice week @idkjenniedoe

Synopsis: After you death takes place, a young scholar makes his life mission to make you live once again. Even if, eventually, that mission passes on with his segments.

Warnings: mentions of flesh, surgery, blood, corpses i think, uncomfortable image of a bony back, lots of icky stuff in general. There's domestic fluff at the end, don't worry.

Word count~ 2.4k this is my longest fic yet yipee

Long time ago, titles were non-existent. Worth nothing in the era Zandik used to lived in.

Zandik was merely a scholar. A speck of the shadow Dottore currently was, he had no desire of recalling it.

Yet, the only thing he deemed worthy of mentioning about such time, was you.

His deceased partner.

At the time, you were both studying at the Akademiya. Living small, yet dreaming big.

Zandik considered you precious. His darling, the one who supported him and his unconventional tendencies.

You were no strange no them, nor were you opposed. There was a reason you were Zandik's perfect match. Sometimes he called you his right hand.

While others called you unhinged, Dottore simply called you divine.

One morning, you were whispering sweet things on his ear. A compliment on his handwriting, praising him for his pristine face and nice looking eyebags, maybe throwing in some formula at the conversation.

The next. You were not.

Not talking to him. No compliments. No dorky jokes. Nothing.

You could only laid dead on the ground.

ــــــــــﮩ٨ـ

You had wandered off into the forest, as usual for you. But did not return.

Something about the abyss. Some kind of creature had attacked you at the forest, then wandered off as if you deserved it.

When Zandik received the news, he didn't cry. He didn't mourn.

He yearned back for you. He yearned for your mortal body to hug his once more. Alive, and well. He sighed out of relief when such picture came to mind, yet looked disappointed when he realized...

You weren't there anymore.

Zandik couldn’t afford to lose you. The others were fools, mindless brains controlling flesh. You were something else for him. Not just a brain, but divinity trapped in a mortal body.

And as expected, he acted up about it.

The next evening after the news, you laid bare before him on a table. Deep cuts and wounds dressed your whole body. Not even your gorgeous face had been spared from the creature's claws.

Dottore spent the whole night trying to sew you up. Trying to fix you into your body once more. The odors of antiseptic and blood latched onto his clothes and room with fervor. Dottore merely put on his mask and continued working.

The next morning, you were sat up on the table with pillows behind you. All the vaguely fresh wounds were now stitched and clean. Some parts of your skin remained tinted of other colors, caused by the amount of time it had passed. Zandik was a medic after all, not a painter.

You looked... different, yet were the very same as before.

Your eyes remained close. Zandik simply covered you with a blanket.

"You'll have to wait, my heart."

He went to take a shower.

No blood washed off, he was well covered after all as the blood remained on his clothes. But the grim smell that covered him struggled to peel off as water slid from his skin.

He went to class, as usual. The professors didn't spare him a glance, a few of them did. It was a gaze full of judgement and disdain, or atleast that's what he could tell, he hadn't slept all night anyway. Maybe it was because his eyebags were deeper than usual. He didn't care much anyway.

As long as you could hug him again, he'd do it over and over again.

A long time passed afterwards. Zandik got expulsed from the Akademiya for his weird experiments, though they never found you. Titles got passed around like fleeting greetings, and the original Zandik no longer lived.

But your body? Your body remained intact. He always made sure of it. The original Zandik had passed it around: mantain his lover's body intact. Zandik often threatened the segments if they didn't. Talking about dismantling and cutting up...

Snezhnaya's cold bit through the Harbinger's thick coat before he stepped into the building, particularly, the Tsaritsa's palace.

Dottore's hand remained in his pocket. Tight around something unseen for the eye, yet fully recognizable for him. With hurried steps, he approached to his lab.

He closed the door with force behind him. One of the segments jolted, Dottore paid him no mind.

Today, after dozens of decades...

His lover was coming back.

He approached to his lab, trying not to jump out of joy. But it was hard, if someone looked too closely, they might see that one of the Harbingers was practically bouncing out of joy.

He glanced at your body. It rested on his wall like some sort of twisted trophy. The room remained cool, freezing, for your body to remain just right.

He placed a thin sheet on top of the table that was in the middle of the room. Then carefully grabbed your body.

Your skin, in comparison to before, looked dehydrated. Dry, like its blood had been sucked out by an angry vampire. In this case, it had been just time itself.

He locked the room, put on his gloves, and the operation inmediately began.

The Tsaritsa had assigned the Harbinger with a mission, a tedious, complicated mission about some investigation in Natlan.

He would have turned it down.

Yet when he asked the Tsaritsa privately, she laughed. A small chuckle. She opened her hand, handling the small item with care.

Inside it there was a pristine fragment. Virgin and untouched by the outside world. A little fragment of pure-blooded life.. as payment.

Dottore could never turn that down.

The second he finished the mission, he came home eagerly, excited all over to give you back your life. A little piece of soul.

Inside your open chest, he pressed the little, pure fragment.

At the end of the operation, you laid back on the table. Your head resting on a pillow. Dottore sat next to you on a chair, gloves already discarded somewhere in the room.

Dottore's hands paced alongside the table, right next to your hand.

How much had it been since the "surgery"? Seconds? Minutes? Hours?... Maybe days? Dottore had been starting to lose his mind. The harsh white of the lab's light didn't make it better, and he could already feel a small ache starting to form at the back of his head.

Just as he was about to move, he noticed something. A small movement coming from you...

Dottore sat up, and hovered over you. All of his movements were small, careful, even slightly dainty. These usually weren't words you would use for Dottore, but you made him act in strange ways.

"... Dear?" He murmured gently as he hovered a few inches away from your face. Too close, too touchy.

You let out a small, almost inaudible hum. One of your eyelids fluttered slightly, as if trying to open up.

Dottore felt his whole world break down, his heart flood with a desperate amount of helplesness and.. adoration.

Dottore cradled your cheek with his bare palm. It was warm against the freezing room.

You instictively craved the heat, chased it with your head as you tilted to his hand. Your eyes remained closed, yet now a warm, puffy color rested upon your stitched cheeks.

"My.. dear doctor." You responded back with a raspy tone. Not talking after years surely affected in something.

"My heart! You're.." Dottore stood next to you as he pressed his head to the table. He hid his face, maybe because of the shame, feeling too much.

He considered himself a detached man. Yet you were the only thing he wanted to care for in this exact moment.

At the corner of his eye, he saw your finger wiggking slightly. A small piece of comfort and love, or maybe a little piece of heaven.

He gently grabbed your hand. It laced with his almost naturally, a lazy movement born from previous habit. His lips inmediately pressed against your dry skin, his voice broke for half a second.

".. You're just–" Dottore felt his breath hitch. "You're... just as divine as the day i lost you."

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـ____

"Dottie!" You called from inside his office. Dottore didn't rush to you, there was no reason now that you were here. Alive and safe for him.

Dottore opened the door lightly and slipped inside.

"What is it, my heart?" Dottore's hand went to cup your face, and sweared he almost saw you beam. Your face dusted of a pale pink, oh how he loved to see color on your face..

"I finished a few reports," you started. "A few autopsy's you were curious on. Out of cases #381, #368, and #392, none of the autopsies seemed to follow the symptons of... blueish dots, increased acne and internal bloating. They were quite the opposite, actually."

As you talked, Dottore could merely stare at your face, and take peeks at your exposed skin, the skin that was Zandik's work years ago was now Dottore's hard-earned reward. Your face looked finely made by dark stitches. Your eyes looked a bit dull after the process you went through.

After being gone for such a long time, your body suffered a few consequences. Such as poor sight, dark noticeable stitching, and quite the raspy voice.

In Dottore's opinion... it made you look better, suited for the assistant charge he had just assigned you. Once again, as his right hand. Well, Dottore's right hand needed to look a bit twisted. That way, atleast, you're matching with your unhinged lover.

But Dottore's favorite part was still your face.

Even if your face had been somewhat twisted, he loved and lived for your blush. That dusty pink over your cheeks. It was one of the few things you didn't lose.

"Ah!", You suddenly perked up. "I also made us some coffee, extra strong for you, just like you like it." You handed him his cup with a smile on your face, the employee tag around your neck glinted as you did.

When Dottore reached for it, he grabbed it and placed it on the desk rather quickly.

"Dear, you.. this is boiling." At his words, your smile seemed to drop.

"Oh... right." You admited quietly. "It felt just right... i took a few sips already. From what you told me, i probably burnt my tongue—Oh!"

Dottore grabbed your chin with rather force. You jolted slightly before your gaze drifted to the ground, in a way that was rather... shameful. Cheeks squished between his languid fingers before you sticked out your tongue.

Dottore tried to push his thumb in your mouth, pressing it against your tongue, but you quickly pulled away.

"Dottie! No!" You pulled away with a whine as your cheeks dusted once again of a gray-like pink.

Dottore stepped away, and sighed. He then gently reached out with his hand once again.

"You need to be more careful, my heart. I know you're not used to this body. It has been a while. But still."

You let out a sigh of relief, and leaned forward as your eyes went half-lidded, staring down at the desk instead of him.

You let out a sweet, soothed hum when his hand found your cheek. Now, his fingers cradled your face with care rather than the roughness from before.

It felt so good touching you. Not just the body (he hadn't do so), but you. Actually you behind the human skin.

Dottore stepped closer as one of his hands found the small of his back.

Your name fell from his lips like a calming prayer, he felt you shudder.

"Ah, my heart," Dottore purred against your face. "You are simply.. divine."

His mask stayed on the nightstand as his face laid bare before you. It wasn't an uncommon sight. You had seen his face countless times before, yet it always felt like a blessing to enjoy his features.

The bedsheets rustled as he got comfortable against you, his warm breath rested closely by your neck. But wherever it landed, it always made you shudder.

Dottore's nose bumped into your cheek as he nuzzled his way closer.

You whined when one of his hands traced along a particularly big stitch. They still remained. It didn't hurt, but they tingled in a way that made your (artificial) heart flare up.

Dottore was always like this. Too touchy in ways he didn't seem to realize, and needy in ways he purposefully expressed.

"I like your hair," you murmured against his forehead, your lips brushed carefully against it. "It's comfortable. You should let me touch it more often."

You felt a sudden, sharp breath against your collarbone. Some kind of twisted laugh of his. "That is.. quite the suggestion, darling." The nickname curled against his lips with ease. "Do you want to touch my hair while the segments are on the lab? Even in a meeting, dear?"

Your face caught a dull pink as he said that. You let out a breathy chuckle.

"I like your scars. Stitches." Dottore said suddenly. He tested the words on his tongue, carefully, each word with slightly more touch to it.

"I feel proud when i feel, see them. It means i did a good job." He tried to let out a laugh, but all that came out was just a breath.

"... It also tells me you're alive and well," he continued, "not just.. the piece of body you were before."

"Is that good?" You murmured before pressing another kiss. This time, on his hair.

"Well, depends on what you consider good."

"Then... is it good for you, Dottie?"

Dottore's smile curled upwards out of a sudden. He didn't know where you had gotten that name from, but it always made his mood a bit more.. pleasant.

"Yes, it... it is good for me."

"Then it's good for me too."

Dottore smiled, with his face now pressed against your collarbone. He pressed a few lazy kisses on you rough, dull skin. Your hands went to cradle the back of his neck, your fingers danced and moved lazily around his hair. Tangling and untangling with care, before repeating it once again.

One of his hands drifted to you waist, and it snuck under your shirt.

The iciness of his hands met your skin. "Sensitive.." you hissed.

Minutes after, you both laid together, still and quiet under the sheets. Hands lazily laced together under shared heat, Dottore only nuzzled deeper as he slept. He was touchy even when he slept, his nose pressed against your clavicle as living proof.

Your lips remained pressed against the top of his head.

Together. Reunited once more under the warm moon glow.

Just like Zandik would have wanted.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨__ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ—

[mlem0817]

Tea party 🍰

[lair-of-platonic-yanderes]

Short Idea. Platonic! Yandere! Harbingers x GN! Adult! Low-Rank Fatui! Reader x Platonic! Yandere! Tsaritsa

Warning: Platonic Cuddles, platonic sleeping in one bed. A very strange idea.

______________

You were nothing special. Just a low-rank Fatui. Not even a full soldier, you were just a guard in Zapolarny Palace, and, from time to time, doing odd jobs. A glorified servant, as you often mentally joke. But pay was good enough, food was fine, you have your own room.

Then one night you wake up, because someone lay down next to you, and start spooning you. You looked back, seeing Lord Tartaglia. Harbinger looked exhausted, and already out cold. You recalled, that last few days were pretty hard for Harbingers. It seems, he either mistook your room for his, or thought yours were an empty guest room.

After some thinking, you decided just let him sleep. He wasn't hurting you, and, besides, guards might see him leaving, and neither him or you need rumours and speculations about your supposed relationship.

You woke up alone. The same day you receive a gift bucket full of pastries and an apology note for getting into your personal room and space from Childe.

It would stay just a silly little memory. But in a few days, right before you went to bed, Childe knocked on your door. He, once again, looked exhausted. He asked you... to let him cuddle you again tonight. Because last time he had the best sleep in lat few months. He was tired, he wanted some calm. But he will leave, if you don't want it.

You let him cuddle with you again. It was a strange request, but it was harmless.

"Childe's Cuddle time" became somewhat of a norm. Tartaglia visited you few times a month. He even starts to bring tea and snacks, so you two can talk before cuddling. You learnt about his family, about his protectivness of children, his hobbies. You also shared some information about you with him. You listen to his troubles, offered some worlds of encouragement.

Then one night, Childe appeared in your room with company. Signora was with him, and he looked guilty. Apperently, other Harbingers noticed, that he looked more well rested, than the rest of them, so they pressed Childe for answers really hard. In his defence, he wasn't planning on telling about you, but when his colleagues' guesses became "deranged", he felt the need to protect your honour.

So... Signora wanted to try this "magical cuddles" for herself. And, once again, you could say 'no'.

But you said 'yes'. She looked as bad, as Childe before the whole cuddling situation.

So, yes, you spend the night being a cuddle pillow for Signora.

Now, there also was "Signora's Cuddle time". And, she also start bringing treats, so you two can talk over tea before cuddling.

Now two Harbingers looked well-rested, because of cuddling with you.

It means, more will come.

Next time, you were visited by Sandrone. She brought the whole tea set and enough food to feed a small army. You listen to her troubles. She has to lay on you, but, still, you two cuddled.

Now, you have three harbingers visiting your room for company and cuddles.

Then, three became four. You sure, that Columbina just wanted to know, what the whole deal was, but, she visited you quite often. She also was quite a clingy cuddler. She also decided to use Sandrone's tea parties as your and her "pre-cuddling bonding time". Parties, that, on top of Childe, Signora and Sandrone were visited by Arlechinno and Capitano.

Soon you get two more cuddlers.

Arlechinno put more emphasis on pre-cuddling. She shared her troubles with House of Hearth kids. She liked hearing your thoughts on the matter. But, despite the emphasis, she always stay to cuddle.

Capitano didn't sleep, but he found some solace in your heartbeat and breathing.

The rest of Harbingers soon joined the line.

Pulcinella was the only one, who didn't cuddle. But he hugged, and spent hours talking with you.

Pantalone was the first one, who took you on a walk as part of "pre-cuddling bonding". And he was another clingy cuddler.

Dottore treated it as experiment. You guess. He wanted to test, how playing with hair, tracing lines and positive affirmations affect the efficiency of cuddling. Or, maybe, he wanted more, than just a hug, but didn't know how to ask. Oh, and he was the small spoon.

Pierro talked. A lot. About past, about future, about current. He also likes spooning.

Surprisingly, Pierro wasn't the last one to join this little activity. It was Scaramouche. Balladeer during cuddling actually reminded you of a cat, who clearly wanted pets, but acted not-interested and offended.

You acsepted cuddler Harbingers. Then, one night, Tsaritsa herself appeared on your doorstep. With cake. And quietly asking for cuddles.

---------

For you, the whole ordeal was just a strange but harmless thing.

For Harbingers and Tsaritsa it was one of the only beacons of warmth and acceptance in this world.

They liked you. Not romantically, platonically. You were not just a close friend, but someone who understand them, and who let them be vulnerable.

But their love, while platonic, was obsessive.

You make them happy, so they will make you happy.

Childe dealt with soldiers, who were treating you badly.

Signora silenced servants, who slacked off while cleaning your living quarters.

Sandrone sent adventures that were laughing at you to do the high risks commissions.

Columbina scared the living lights out of civilians, who were biased towards you because you were a Fatui.

Arlechinno tracked down your bullies from school and dealt with them.

Capitano broke bones of high-rank officers, who were planning on dumping all their work on you.

Pulcinella destroyed reporters, who caught a wind about you and Harbingers and were planning to write a slandering article.

Pantalone bankrupt multiple salespersons who sold you less than perfect goods.

Relatives, that wanted to leech on you, disappeared forever in Dottore's lab.

Pierro arranged for your parents a good wealthy life in any nation they wanted. Just, not in Snezhnaya...

Scaramouche will assist in lightly pushing your parents to move away.

And Tsaritsa will make sure, that you will have every reason to stay in Snezhnaya. Stay in Zapolarny Palace, where she and her harbingers will keep you safe and happy.

[p1ll0wpr1ncess22]

Some doodles

[noquelle]

Картинка про персонажей генша, она уже старая, со времен сумеру когда еще не вышел Байчжу, как это видно. Да, я очень люблю аранар... скучаю по лучшему региону.

[cloverandstuff]

ZOMBIE STAGE ROUND 1

[artemisardw]

anyone notice how Mizi just doesn't feel as expressive or how she's clearly now more presented for the male gaze.

Anyone notice how Sua's eyes are have lost the light in them, her movements now elegant and refined yet souless.

Why does this show hurt me??? 😭

[squirby-licious]

[toastyyjams]

uhmm hi

[minjitorre]

the tsaritsa is finally here!

[minjitorre]

transcendence trailer - “sudden snow”

[fisshbones]

When you two fight: Dottore.

Tw/Cw: Unhealthy relationships, not proofread.

When you fight: 18 Who is truly trying to hold it together and not lash out at you. Your persistence of trying to help him with things annoys him to no end. Who thinks you’re getting in his way of greatness. Who immediately crumbles as soon as you are out of sight. 18 cannot stand when tensions rise and you start getting snippy with him. When you start ignoring him all together he’ll be at your door at midnight apologizing to you through it. Just let him in let 18 plead his case and move on from this whole ordeal; can’t you see how sorry he is?

When you fight: 25 Who says whatever he has to say in order to “take you down a peg.” His voice will barely raise an octave higher when arguing with you to see if you’ll backtrack from this little “outburst” of yours. Who doesn’t apologize when it’s all over. He just moves on with his day and expects you to do the same

When you fight: Omega Who is not above raising his voice at you telling you to leave the lab all together. “The lab is no place to have a breakdown” he’ll tell you. Not to mention he’ll ignore you days on end if it comes down to it. Omega, unlike his younger segment will not apologize under any circumstance. Even if he’s in the wrong he will expect you to do the apologizing. Depending on how long it’s been since the fight started he might even tell you to get on your knees and tell him why he should start giving you love and affection again.

When you fight: 45 Who doesn’t let the fight last more than a few hours at most. He’s the most level headed segment when it comes to you; only beaten by the original Zandik. He’s accidentally raised his voice at you a few times and he immediately takes a deep breath and apologizes for it almost immediately. He likes the relationship between you two and doesn’t wish to see i perish over that stupid tone of voice. He’s the fairest when it comes to forgiveness. Whenever something happens he expects whoever is at fault to apologize first, then the other will follow up with their sorries.

When you fight: 65 Who just speaks matters a factly and didn’t expect to unintentionally hurt you in the process. While he doesn’t think he did anything wrong, he’ll still apologize for it. It may take a few hours for him to say it, and it sounds like the most forced apology ever; but he rather just get this over with than let the tension linger any longer.

When you fight: 85 Who expects you two to calmly discuss the issue at hand. He has no time for mind games at his old age. If you need a breather by yourself go on and take it; afterwards he hope you’ll be able to have a quiet talk about what is going on currently. The end goal is that by the end of the night you two can be cuddled in bed together with no lingering feelings or worries about the earlier squabble.

If you enjoyed considering liking + reblogging/commenting!!

[rockingbytheseaside]

✦ Four notes, four unspeakables

[jenniemiller777]

𝕬𝖓 𝖀𝖓𝖘𝖊𝖙𝖙𝖑𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝕿𝖗𝖎𝖆𝖓𝖌𝖑𝖊 (𝕯𝖔𝖙𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖊 𝖃 𝕱𝖊𝖒𝕽𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗 𝖃 𝕻𝖆𝖓𝖙𝖆𝖑𝖔𝖓𝖊) PT 4

Synopsis - Being a secretary for the 9th Fatui Harbinger comes with its ups and downs. Pantalone likes you a bit too much, and he shows it. But all hell breaks loose when Dottore also takes an interest in you. You'll have your hands full now

Tags - OOC Dottore and Pantalone/ Jealousy/ D and P hate each other/ Part two/ Sexual tension/ Both smitten but wont admit it/Time to spice thing up a bit/ The reader actually has a voice/

Full series here

The office was quieter than usual.

Not empty—never empty when it belonged to him—but stripped of the usual rhythm of movement and purpose.

Papers were stacked with exact precision across Pantalone’s desk, ink bottles aligned, ledger books closed but not yet shelved.

He was not seated.

Neither was he relaxed.

He stood near the tall windows instead, gloved hand loosely resting behind his back as he spoke.

“And yet you continue to interfere.”

His tone was controlled.

“I have made it abundantly clear that my time with her is not to be disrupted.”

Across the room, Il Dottore gave a quiet, irritated exhale—something between a sigh and a scoff.

“You speak as if she is an appointment.”

“She is my secretary.”

“Mm,” Dottore hummed, tilting his head slightly. “And yet she does not appear bored of me.”

That made the air shift.

Pantalone’s gaze slid sideways.

Dottore continued anyway, almost lazily, as if enjoying the reaction he was provoking.

“She laughs more when I am present,” he added. “That alone suggests a deviation in preference.”

Pantalone’s smile did not change.

But it sharpened at the edges.

“Your definition of ‘preference’ is remarkably self-serving.”

“And yours is remarkably delusional.”

A pause.

Then Pantalone turned fully.

“Do not mistake her politeness for interest.”

Dottore’s visible expression—what could be seen above the mask—shifted slightly.

Amused.

“I do not mistake anything.”

A beat.

Then, quieter:

“She is intelligent.”

Pantalone’s gaze flicked toward him again.

“Yes.”

Another pause.

Dottore added, almost as an afterthought:

“And attractive.”

That earned him a long, very pointed look.

Dottore did not seem bothered.

If anything, he seemed entertained by it.

“She processes information quickly,” he continued. “She questions things instead of accepting them. That alone is rare.”

Pantalone exhaled softly through his nose.

“She also works herself to exhaustion if not monitored.”

“That is not a flaw.”

“It is inefficient.”

Dottore shrugged slightly.

“It makes her interesting.”

That word lingered.

Interesting.

Pantalone did not respond immediately.

Instead, he turned back toward the window.

The conversation, for a brief moment, lost its sharpness.

Because beneath all of it—there was the same uncomfortable conclusion neither of them wanted to fully acknowledge.

She was not easily replaceable.

Not in work.

Not in presence.

Not in attention.

And worse—not in interest.

Dottore spoke again, quieter this time.

“This is not like usual arrangements.”

Pantalone’s expression tightened faintly.

“No.”

A pause.

Neither of them liked that answer.

Dottore tilted his head.

“We are not in control of the outcome.”

That sentence landed heavier than either of them liked to admit.

Because it was true.

And neither of them was accustomed to truth standing outside their influence.

Pantalone’s voice lowered slightly.

“She will decide.”

Dottore gave a faint hum of agreement.

“And neither of us can ensure the result.”

Silence.

For once, neither filled it immediately.

Then Pantalone said, almost calmly:

“That is… inconvenient.”

Dottore’s reply came just as flat.

“Yes.”

A knock interrupted the moment.

The door was already open.

She stood there.

Holding a small stack of folders.

As usual.

Perfectly placed in the rhythm of the office without realizing she had become part of it.

Pantalone moved first.

Immediately.

Any tension from moments ago vanished behind practiced composure.

“Come in,” he said gently.

Then, softer—“You didn’t need to bring those personally.”

“I was already passing by,” she replied, stepping in.

He crossed the room to her in a few unhurried strides and took the folders from her hands with care.

His fingers brushed hers briefly in the process.

“Thank you,” he said. “As always.”

Her shoulders relaxed slightly at that.

Then—she noticed Dottore.Standing off to the side.

Watching.

A faint tilt of his head.

And then—a small, almost playful wave of his fingers.

She stiffened.

Immediately flustered.

Heat rising fast in her face.

Pantalone did not see it.

Dottore’s mouth curved faintly behind the mask.

Pantalone, meanwhile, gestured toward the chair in front of his desk.

“You can sit for a moment.”

“I’m fine—”

“You can sit,” he repeated, still polite, still soft, but leaving no real room for refusal.

She hesitated—then lowered herself into the single plush chair positioned directly in front of his desk.

Dottore leaned lightly against the desk edge nearby.

Pantalone stood just behind it.

Framing her without meaning to.

Or perhaps meaning to very much.

She looked between them, suddenly uncertain.

“…Am I in trouble?”

Dottore answered first.

“No.”

Then, after a beat:

“Not yet.”

She blinked.

Pantalone shot him a look.

Pantalone ignored him and turned his attention back to her fully.

Something shifted in his posture.

Not dominance.

Not control.

Something more careful.

“…We wanted to speak with you,” he began.

A pause.

Then corrected himself slightly:

“About… moving forward.”

Her brow furrowed.

“Moving forward?”

Dottore sighed lightly, as if deciding patience had officially expired.

“He means this is becoming complicated.”

Pantalone exhaled quietly through his nose but did not correct him.

Dottore continued, stepping forward slightly now.

“We like you.”

Simple.

Direct.

“No correction needed,” he added. “An absurd amount.”

Her expression faltered slightly.

“…Oh.”Pantalone’s gaze flickered briefly toward Dottore.

Warning.

Dottore ignored it.

“And,” Dottore went on, voice calm but sharp underneath, “it has become inefficient to continue competing in this manner.”

Her stomach tightened slightly at that phrasing.

Competing.

Pantalone spoke now, more carefully.

“There are limits to what can be… shared.”

Dottore gave a small nod.

“We tried.”

A beat.

His voice dropped slightly.

“It nearly resulted in physical violence.”

That made her eyes widen.

“…What?”

Pantalone did not look pleased at the admission, but he did not deny it.

Instead—he spoke quietly.

“So we have reached a conclusion.”

Her grip tightened faintly on the arms of the chair.

“…Conclusion?”

Dottore straightened slightly.

“You will choose.”

Silence.

The words landed cleanly.Unavoidable.Her brows knit together.

“Choose what?”

Dottore blinked once, as if the question itself was unnecessary.

“Between us.”

Pantalone added quickly—slightly too quickly for him:

“There are no obligations or expectations regarding the outcome. We simply—”

She cut him off.

Cleanly.

Immediately.

“Neither.”

She stood there in front of them, arms crossed tightly over her chest, breathing uneven—not from fear, but from frustration so sharp it practically radiated off her.

For the first time since either of them had known her—she looked angry.

Not flustered.

Not embarrassed.

Not quietly overwhelmed.

Actually angry.

Pantalone blinked once.

Slowly.

As if recalculating everything he thought he understood.

Dottore tilted his head slightly, watching her with an unreadable stillness.

“…You didn’t understand the question,” Dottore began carefully.

She cut him off immediately.

“I understood it perfectly.”

She stepped forward half a pace, still holding that tight, frustrated posture.

“You asked me to choose between you.”

Pantalone’s brows lifted slightly.

“Yes.”

“And not once,” she continued, voice sharpening, “did either of you ask what I want.”

Silence.

Dottore opened his mouth.

She immediately pointed at him.

“No.”

He paused.

Pantalone exhaled faintly through his nose, as if already sensing where this was going.

She continued anyway.

“What if I don’t even like you like that?”

Both men went still.

Dottore’s posture shifted first.

“…You do.”

It wasn’t a question.

She shot him a look so sharp he stopped speaking.

“And what if I didn’t?” she pressed. “What if I was just being polite? What if I was just—just doing my job? What if I was—”

She hesitated, then added quickly:

“What if I was a lesbian?”

There was a beat.

Then both men spoke at the same time.

“…What?” Pantalone said.

“…Are you?” Dottore added, suddenly far too alert.

She groaned in frustration.

“No! That’s not the point!”

Dottore relaxed—slightly—but not fully.Pantalone, however, looked faintly unsettled for the first time.

“…I see,”

he murmured.

“No, you don’t,” she snapped immediately. “Because you don’t know anything about me.”

She turned slightly now, pacing one step as her frustration spilled over.

“You’re asking me to pick one of you when you don’t even know basic things about me.”

Her gaze snapped back to them.

“What’s my favorite color?”

Silence.

Dottore blinked.

“…I don’t recall you stating it,” Pantalone said carefully.

She let out a humorless laugh.

“Exactly.”

She pointed between them.

“What am I allergic to?”

Nothing.

“What’s my favorite food?”

Still nothing.

“What movie do I rewatch when I’m tired?”

Silence again.

Her voice rose slightly now, not shouting—but firm enough that neither interrupted.

“What song do I hum when I’m stressed? What do I do when I can’t sleep? What did I want to be when I was younger before all of this?”

Nothing.

Not a single answer.

Her arms tightened across her chest again.

“And you expect me to choose between you?”

Dottore tried again, softer this time.

“That is not—”

“No.”

The word snapped cleanly through the air.

He stopped.

She shook her head.

“No, don’t do that. Don’t explain it away.”

Her breathing steadied slightly, but her eyes were still sharp.

“You don’t know me.”

A pause.

Then quieter, but no less firm:

“And I don’t know you.”

Pantalone’s gaze flickered at that.

She continued, voice steady now, controlled anger replacing the earlier spike.

“You think you can show up with gifts, and charm, and attention, and I’ll just—what? Fall into it?”

She gestured vaguely between them.

“Like some kind of prize you win by being the most persistent?”

Dottore’s fingers tightened slightly at his side.

Pantalone said nothing.

She stepped forward again, just slightly.

“I’m not that.”

A beat.

“I don’t work like that.”

Silence stretched again, but this time it felt different.

Less heavy.

More… exposed.

She exhaled.

Then looked between them one last time.

“If you actually like me,” she said quietly, “then you’ll stop treating this like a competition.”

Her gaze hardened again.

“You’ll get to know me. And I’ll get to know you.”

A pause.

“And if, after that, I still like either of you?”

She shrugged one shoulder.

“Then we can talk.”

Her hands dropped from her arms at her side.

“I need to get back to work.”

No one stopped her.

The door clicked shut behind her a moment later.

Silence returned.

Thicker than before.

Pantalone stood perfectly still for a few seconds.

Then—very slowly—he exhaled.

“…Good lord,” he murmured.

A pause.

“That woman…”

Dottore hadn’t moved.

But something was different.

His posture was still.

His head slightly tilted down.

And then—very faintly—he laughed under his breath.

Not mocking.

Not amused in the usual way.

Something sharper.

Stranger.

“…Fascinating,” he murmured.

Pantalone glanced at him.

“…You are smiling.”

Dottore didn’t deny it.

Instead, he adjusted his gloves slightly, as if trying to regain composure that had already slipped.

“She’s correct,” he said simply.

Pantalone’s eyes narrowed slightly.

Dottore continued, quieter now.

“We approached it incorrectly.”

A pause.

Then, almost reluctantly:

“And she is… considerably more compelling when she is angry.”

Pantalone sighed through his nose, looking toward the closed door she had vanished through.

“…Yes,” he agreed softly.

Then, after a beat—

“She is going to be significantly more difficult than anticipated.”

Dottore’s head tilted again.

A faint, almost dangerous edge returning to his tone.

“Yes.”

A pause.

Then, softer—

“I like it.”

‐--------

I hope yall enjoyed this chapter! I need some ideas on how to go from here.

Taglist @stoopah @dcroo @minjitorre

Please read!!