summary: the gods were sick and twisted. for five hundred years, he believed he was fated to be alone. he had long accepted it—embraced it, even. that is, until a midwinter night when that elusive red thread finally appeared on his finger. but as much as he wants to ignore it, the pull of a soulmate simply cannot be ignored.
genre: soulmate au, canon compliant for the most part, forbidden love, slow burn.
warnings: fem!reader, age gap, lots of worldbuilding for snezhnaya & the fatui & fontaine, dottore is his own warning, angst and romance, none others that i can think of off the top of my head. each chapter will have its own warnings, it is self-ship coded, and i will take liberty with dottore’s known lore.
status: incomplete. updates sporadic, at least monthly.
taglist: 50/50 (CLOSED. if you would like to be on it, still comment here—i’m going to periodically go through and remove people who don’t interact, and then i’ll add you)
notes: sigh i wanted to give my beluved a little series. this is something i’ll be working on in my free time for fun, so updates will be sporadic, i was gonna post the reincarnation fic butttt that one is a little too dear to my heart ALL SEGMENTS THAT SHOW UP IN THIS SERIES ARE MINE ‼️ i created them, do not take them to use for yourself.
00. THE SEGMENTS
01. MIDWINTER
02. JOY
03. THE COLOR PURPLE
04. THE FAMILY JEWELS
05. AN INEXORABLE DEATH
06. RISE OF A KING, FALL OF A QUEEN
07. A WARM WELCOME
08. THE DOCTOR
09. THE TIES THAT BIND
10. GENESIS
11. DOWN THE RABBIT HOLE
12. SPIT IN MY FACE
13. ALEA IACTA EST
… TBA
SIDE STORIES
THREE TIMES THE SEGMENTS MET YOU WITHOUT REALIZING IT, AND ONE TIME THEY DID.
✦ synopsis: knowing your obsession with trinkets, toys, plushies etc. what would your lover get you as a gift?
✦ a/n: includes Durin, Lohen, Varka, Dottore (maybe a little cringe, but to be cringe is to be free)
𑣲Durin
• Actually he as well is enthusiastic about collecting stuff like that. At the beginning he didn’t really understand the obsession, but it caught up to him too!
• As a gift Durin would get you a lego set so you can built it together. The fun part in building is that you’d watch him struggle to break apart two small lego pieces that were never meant to be attached.
• After so much effort, its done — you guys place it on the shelf where there are many other finished pieces all of them holding different memories.
• Its like a memento that he too who was branded as a monster only capable of destruction, is deserving of love and attention.
𑣲Lohen
• By very untraditional means Lohen somehow got you a rare set of calico critters as a gift. When you’re about to ask him how pretty boy here distracts you with cheek kisses.
• Its extra cute because the little figures are wearing wedding clothing. With some work he’d make them into matching keychains!
• He attached the little groom calico to his leg thigh strap and bring it anywhere. Lohen would be careful so it doesn’t get damaged risky but on long missions it gives him more motivation
• He’d also give atrocious side eyes to anyone who dares too look at it for far too long with malicious eyes
𑣲Varka
• Behold before you stands a bear plushie with abs! Varka says he wanted to get you something to remind you of him.
• You named in Varka jr because of the clear resemblance.
• It all giggles till you started cuddling with the plushie instead of him (“No more mr nice guy” drunk Varka to the plushie probably..)
• Grown ASS man, he would genuinely sulk if you actually do continue to cuddle with it despite his best attempts at wooing you into his strong arms.
𑣲Il Dottore
• He’d find your obsession for cute things intriguing, he doesn’t get it, like at all. Nevertheless, you’re his love so he finds excuses to all your silliness.
• Dottore doesn’t buy you a gift, he builds it himself instead. A coquette looking automaton with lace ribbons.
• The automaton itself looks like jewelry box but it has other purposes too apart from storing stuff. It is also a two-way communication device.
• This was one of his easier innovations, Dottore says atleast, now come sit on his lap while he invents new ways to terrorise Teyvat.
Desperately clinging to your fics for comfort at this point LOL
✦ Ageless Metamorphosis
OG Zandik x immortal Reader witnessing him in different stages of life with segments. Reader is gn. Warning: Longer fic idk why I wrote this
When Zandik was scarcely 18, he sat across from you as a junior Trainee Dastur.
Tepid sunlight cascaded over an endless sea of book spines, towering rows undulating like hypnotic waves. If the sound of your quill scribbling across the parchment paper were akin to the sound of splashing waves, then Zandik would wish to stay on this shore. You amended his notes, and the junior sat silently, nervously adjusting the golden trims of his emerald uniform when usually vanity meant little to him. However, with you, things were different.
“I see now why you wanted me to read it,” – you told him. “I believe this outline holds merit. I corrected some basic equations you wrote down, but I can say you're on the right track.”
His hands clench into fists in his lap, knuckles whitening with suppressed excitement. Was it foolish hope, or had you truly begun to believe his work on longevity might stand in defiance of Eleazar itself? Even so, you cautioned him gently, reminding him that the Akademiya’s six cardinal sins were not transgressions his supervisors would overlook:
“You should've been my supervisor,” – he quickly interjected, arms crossed. “At least, a senior co-author. Are you truly certain you intend to leave after graduation?”
Alas, your wistful smile confirmed you had already made that decision.
Though Zandik inclined his head with due respect, the cast of his lowered gaze betrayed how bitterly he cursed fate once more. Had he only belonged to the same academic year as you, he might have shared so much more with you: his scholarly frustrations, sleepless research, the burdens of looming deadlines, and endless debate during field trips amongst the dunes of Deshret’s old kingdom. Lamentably, a young heretic like him could only covet an equal like you.
You are far more intimidating than he expected. You sat there so calmly, pen moving across parchment like this is just another Tuesday. Yet when you stand back up, offering a gentle tap on his shoulder, Zandik’s face broke into an unfiltered smile he rarely wore in his scholarly career. It transforms his usually intense ruby eyes, rendering him to look exactly what he is – a mere young boy.
“I'll take your words of encouragement at face value. Otherwise, I hope not all long-lived individuals such as yourself dispense polite encouragement to humor naive mortals?”
“Maybe when I reach several centuries of age, Zandik. I am not that ancient yet.”
When Zandik was 25, you watched him work tirelessly in Dar Al-Shifa’.
With a notebook in hand and chalk in the other, he scribbled tirelessly on the board in front of him. A crease formed on the bridge of his nose, right underneath his glasses. A white medical lab coat has replaced his once-pristine Akademiya uniform.
"If I adjust the plasma conductivity here... no, this won’t do," – He mutters to himself as he scribbles furiously. Realizing he was far from alone in this room, he felt self-conscious of you watching him after hours again. A habit of yours lately, one he proudly memorized, even when your footsteps were soundless and your breathing undetected. "Oh! You're still here. Great, I will wrap it up to show you my progress."
You watch him fuss and mutter over cellular samples of the recent Eleazar patient. Simply resting your head on your palms, you remained seated by a medical table behind him. Any attempts to convince him that he was way overqualified for this run-down hospital remained futile.
"If it keeps me afloat, then so be it. And it’s not like I can scavenge better opportunities elsewhere after my expulsion," – Zandik's shoulders tensed slightly, chalk dusting the fingertips of his gloves. "They're building a new wing for experimental treatments. More patients with Eleazar are coming in… This would be the perfect opportunity to experiment on the condition. What do you think?”
You paid little heed to his pleas. Instead, you busied yourself checking the formulas written on the board here and there. Then, without warning, you turned to stare at him with such profound astonishment:
“... You wear glasses now.”
Zandik blinked at you. An embarrassing exhale escaped him, a sound halfway between frustration and affection. He abandoned the chalkboard entirely now, walking over to where you sit – "You're avoiding the topic again, aren’t you? I do not ask you out of whimsy, dear. I want to hear your opinion first and foremost. Always have."
But both you and Zandik could already guess what you would utter. You knew these parts of rural desert villages. People here do not look kindly upon those who meddle with Eleazar, nor upon anyone who tampers with the ancient Khaenri’ahn machinery buried beneath the sands. To do so was akin to cursed omens. You shook your head: “Do something reckless, and they will exile you like Sumeru city did.”
The young man crossed his arms – “And is concealing your true age and origins from the villagers not equally reckless of you?”
Your eyes widened before your gaze drifted away in solemn silence. Indeed, neither of you was innocent, and the doctor sighed before leaning closer towards you.
For seven years, since that golden afternoon at the Akademiya, through his exile, to your frequent visits to this remote hospital, the young doctor would gaze at you with an encumbered yearning. His desolation from Sumeru city was his burden alone, yet somehow, you’d return after him to ensure his well-being. Perhaps the shared disdain for the Akademiya’s taboos was what brought you to him as a senior, but to the young man, you were an image of everything he’d hoped to achieve. Was it immortality or change? His brilliant mind couldn’t grasp for an answer.
"You think I care about exile?" he asked, voice low but intense. "They cast me out once already for pursuing forbidden knowledge. I was hoping that maybe after seven years, you'd see me as more than a puny junior. We can go together, it doesn’t matter where, even in the worst possible outcome.
Silence followed.
“... Eh? It's been seven years already?! Since when?!”
You were helpless despite your seniority, Zandik concluded.
When Zandik was 35, he proudly bore the title of the 2nd Fatui Harbinger before you.
The luxurious Fatui facilities dwarfed the desert hospital; his excitement is ever maddening despite the decades. You, however, remained ageless and unchanged beside him.
"You're looking at phase one of an artificial electrolyte solution," he said eagerly, gesturing to glowing vials on a lab table while you two toured his new laboratory. "Based on Khaenri'ahn bio-tech but adapted for human physiology. This allows for a better preservation of the segments I told you about."
He presented his first progress with confidence. Imitating ancient Khaenriahn alchemy as a framework for creating clones resembling him was a new idea, finally entering experimental phases rather than remaining theoretical. You, in the meantime, wandered the polished floors of his lab, a heavy Fatui coat draped over your shoulders as you read his notes on transferring embodied experiences and memories.
“Mortality is nothing but a shackle, and for a segment it would be no burden,” – you remember he said.
“Why would it be a shackle, Zandik? Immortality is more cursed when a person acquires it. After all, a human mind cannot comprehend so many centuries without any side effects.”
“And would you consider your longevity a curse, then?” – He dared you, but you fell silent.
He leans back against the lab counter, arms crossed as he studies your unchanged face. An eternity of familiarity in this world that keeps moving without you, while everyone you’d know and love would pass and fade away.
"The segments would gather information from different times and different perspectives. Yet here I am at my height as a Harbinger, feeling more contempt than ever. None of it bears meaning if you're just going to outlive me by centuries."
Once more, you offered him that easy, distant smile: “You have much more to achieve than pursue me throughout centuries. You are a scholar after all, so I can only advise you so much as a senior. Besides, you now look more mature than I am. Had we remained at the Akademiya, most would mistake you for my senior instead.”
Naturally, a scoff escaped him. Lately, you’ve been using quips about him looking older than you. He hovers close, hand cradles your jaw with careful, gloved hands as if cautious you’d vanish like a mirage in the desert he once fled from.
“If I'm to tear down and spite this decaying world,” – He whispered. “...I can't imagine wanting eternity with anyone but you. Be it through my own flesh or through my segments."
“What if multiple clones of you existed, which one of them would be the closest to the real Zandik?”
He takes another step closer, close enough now that if either of you breathed deeply, your chests might brush: "Does it matter?”
Burdened with decades of unspoken admiration, the Harbinger leaned in to seal his lips with yours. And tragically for you two, you leaned in.
Every time that young junior presented his work, he hoped for your approval. Every coffee break, he sat by your side but never touched. That night at the desert hospital, when it hit him that you'd never age like ordinary people, and never see him as an equal in mortal life, it became a condemnation to yearn for you more. It was his unspoken ‘I've loved you since forever’ – except for a mortal, his forever was merely decades, a minuscule blink of an eye for an immortal like you.
Still here you were, hands clutching at his coat as you kissed him back. The Harbinger only pushed on with hunger to pour all his unspoken words against your lips, grasping your body flush against him even when pulled away in search of air.
“We shouldn’t, you know why,”
He knew. But his gaze hardened with pain of the expected rejection: “Do you regard me as a small blink in your life? Do not pity now, you of all people…”
“No, no,” – you shook your head, forehead pressing against his chest as your shoulder shook. “Don’t act as if I am an untouchable being incapable of understanding love. You know we shouldn’t because I-”
“Because you will outlive me, and it will break us both?”
Your eyes glistened at the thought. The Doctor only drew you closer, his head pressing to the crown of your hair.
“Or… you wish not to meddle with a heretic and let him grow old on his own?”
Thinking about it now, you should've smacked Zandik on the head more often for such words. Instead, you yielded, if only this once, to the desire between you, letting him lift you onto the table as he devoured your breath with a hunger shaped by years of discretion. Just this once, even if it meant your refusal would fracture yet another part of him.
When Zandik was 80, you watched him create segments from various stages of his life.
The lab grows ever more fervent with work and experiments. The various fragments of his own becoming have now meticulously embodied his personality and ticks from different thresholds of his life. Through it all, Zandik himself grew older. He may not have achieved immortality to stand beside you as an equal, but you chose to remain as an enduring friend. The day when he was 35, a Harbinger in his prime, you refused him. Not out of antipathy, it was a mutual decision you both agreed to. Would a heretic allow himself to wallow in his own longing till his elderly years? Each Dottore segment will give you a different answer.
Today, a familiar chorus of boisterous chatter spills into his lab. You had arrived for a visit. The youngest of the segments, the 8-year-old little Zandik, runs quickest to cling to your legs. The 18-year-old follows suit, already eager to show you his recent essay and research notes. Perhaps some things never change.
“Easy, easy there! One at a time!” – you laugh, holding packed baklava confectionery away from 8’s grabby hands as you greet everyone with little treats from your travels. Even the 65-year-old segment cannot help but play the old charmer when greeting you with a bow of his masked head.
Old man Zandik will have to reprimand his segments to respect your personal space. What a bunch of flocking children.
“You spoil the youngest too much,” – His voice rasped as he set a cup of coffee for you. Taking his seat opposite, he kept his cane in his grasp. “But I see you are eager to correct 18’s research notes. He says if he can’t get others to advise him, he’ll have you as his supervisor instead.”
You chuckled, a cup in hand.
“Ah, doesn’t it remind you of someone when they were a Trainee Dastur?”
Old man Zandik scoffed. Of course, they inherited his bodily experiences, perhaps even their adoration is part of him. Notably, you no longer looked as intimidating as you had when he remembered you from his youth. Poised as always, you sat ever the same, physically unchanged in posture and youth. Meanwhile, Zandik aged; his hair grew longer, and his skin wasn’t spotless. It’s basic biology; his reflection did not offend him.
“You know, I think you have changed,” – The Harbinger noted.
“...Me? Do we have matching wrinkles at last?!”
“Do not mock me now,” – he shook his begrudgingly, until his weary gaze settled deep into your eyes. “You look different. Your eyes look ever more distant. I assumed it was fatigue in your eyes at first, but you are not one to skip leisurely repose.”
You said nothing. Your gaze was indeed distant, despite the ever-gentle smile.
“Maybe you should get back to wearing glasses, then, because nothing in me has changed. Which, by the way, they looked good on you when you wore them at 25.”
“Hmph, my eyesight is perfect. At least you remember the years now. It’s unlike you.”
The bickering between the senior and their junior resumed back and forth. Except that by this coffee table, it looked like an old man scolding an ignorant juvenile for being absentminded, while you chuckled and humored him over coffee.
“Then in that regard, you haven't changed at all despite your years.” – your youthful hand came cradling his wrinkled one. “It's like I'm looking at the same 18-year-old I first met who sat across from me in the Akademiya library.”
The contrast was clear in your shared touch; his skin was now papery with prominent veins against your ageless one. Alas, you refuse to concede that your accumulation of decades had numbed you with inferential grief. He turned his palm upward to intertwine fingers with yours. For a moment, neither of you spoke.
“We didn’t meet at the Akademiya first.”
You blinked in confusion, “Eh? Yes, we did. You shared your outline papers and whatnot. That’s the first time I met you.”
The old man regarded you with a wistful smile, “Hm, are you certain? I recall it differently.”
“Hey now, don’t pull my leg. We were both Akademiya students, though I was about to graduate when you were still a junior. I know that much for certain!”
“Ah, you are right, you are right. Never mind, perhaps my mind was just wandering.” – Zandik didn’t insist on the topic, softly deriving a different question quickly, "Will I see you tomorrow? The younger clones always ask when their senior advisor is coming by."
“Same time, as usual,” – You stood up. “I need to check on Feofan again since his corneal repair surgery. He seems to be faring well so far. But I will see you tomorrow.”
“Suit yourself.”
With a quick peck to his temple, you scurried off without further words. His cup of coffee remained untouched till it cooled, while Zandik watched you silently depart. Once again, the heretic would rather let decades go by instead of confessing the unstated. He did not lie - he actually knew you before the Akademiya.
When Zandik was 8, you stumbled upon him as he ran away from a swarm of kids hurling rocks at him. You, of course, don’t remember it, for you never asked for his name then.
Tears blurred his vision when he ran. Scratches stung skin until little Zandik collided with your legs by accident. Fallen backward, he remembers lying there sniffling. With a stern bark, you reprimanded the street children and shooed them off. And why would you remember a fleeting encounter where you kneeled by a small kid, checking his scratches and mending him? The little child only stared at you with big ruby eyes that day, shakily explaining what happened.
When Zandik died on his 85th birthday, you didn’t come to visit.
Third installment of this post, detailing the Segment 65 and the reader’s relationship, before and after the death of Zandik.
Among the Segments, you found 65 to be more amicable than the rest. He wasn't nearly as close to you as Zandik was, but 65 was the only one amongst them that heard your insults and had nothing to say on them.
Vaguely, a memory of you calling him a pest was brought as an example. He’d regarded you with less affection than Zandik did, as they all did, and you called claimed he was like a rat in turn. A pest carrying an incurable illness that affected everyone around him.
65 grunted out his nose and ignored you.
If it weren't obvious, you quite hated the segments. They were incapable of personality changes, which you believed to be one of the fundamental part of being human. If you were incapable of adapting to your environment, could you be called a being worthy of life?
THE ANSWER WAS NO.
Kindness, generosity, and compassion were core parts of you, yet you had to be the most hateful person at the same time.
Fortunately for him, 65 being the quickest (as in, within a year) to acknowledge that your concerns were reasonable in some capacity put him pretty low on the list of your enemies.
Without a doubt, your tone still turned cold when you conversed, and you still rose a fuss when 65 was offered a job that you could have easily done!
One thing to note, Zandik actually didn't like seeing you be rude to his Segments. You were glad he was practicing compassion for himself, in a way, but those creatures were not him!!
Zandik was human. More human than anyone you've ever met. He was ever changing to fit his environment and he never stopped trying his best.
Segments were an experiment gone wrong. Barely thinking barbarians that were stuck in an outdated way of thinking with no way to move forward.
Anger aside, 65 was the only one who could be in a room with you and not face insults left and right. He listened to you complaints with a level head and confirmed that you were right. He was surely born with immovable personality traits, and not all of them were good.
Perhaps it was his admission that made you get along with the best. He was the only one who admitted he was definitely not like humans.
It almost, almost, made you pity him.
Pity became a thing, a thought, of the past after Zandik’s passing.
65 wasn't the first to contact you after the incident, but rather advocated for 8 to go first. He believed, correctly, that you had a harder time barking cruelty towards a literal child than to any of the adults.
You behaved, for the most part, for the 8 year old visitor, but eventually kicked him out regardless. The child had no compassion for the situation and felt you should just yield and work for the Segments in Zandik's place. Of course, that insulted you.
Eventually, 65 decided to pay his toll. Your tears for him, for Zandik, subtly burned in his brain.
Since Zandik loved you so, 65 felt it was his responsibility to do so in his stead.
He knocked on your cabin’s door late one evening, unsure of how this would go down.
It was common knowledge you weren’t eating, relying on vitamin IV’s you stole from Zandik’s office. 45, 35, and 25 all rose quite a fuss about it, but after finding stashes you left of your money, they simply bought more. You’d meant to get that money too, but what's done is done.
Asses.
Thus, 65 brought some nutritional food items. Zandik’s report on you said you liked few foods, so he’d been selective.
“Do you hear me?”
Groans from the wood of the cabin sounded briefly, proof you were inside.
The building was utterly tiny, so everything can be heard from the outside. Walking in revealed one room. A kitchen to the right, a couch with a tiny library for guests, and a small loft that held only a bed and a nightstand, blocked by a curtain.
So of course, when you rolled over in your bed, 65 heard it.
“I know you don’t want guests right now, so I won’t be coming in, but I do wish you’d come out sometime soon.”
Gingerly placing the baggage of broths, rice, and various easily digestible foods onto your home steps, 65 continued as he was met with silence.
“It’s not healthy to stay cooped up like this. If it suits you, I’d like to take you under my wing. I'm aware you're likely against it, but you must do what you can. The Tsaritsa will only put up with this for so long.”
Truthfully, you'd forgotten about the Tsaritsa… she pays for your house in turn for your work with a Harbinger but… you aren't working with a Harbingers.
Thinking about it, Pantalone may have bent the truth or not have told the Tsaritsa you'd quit yet.
No response from you, in any case.
Work was something you were good at. You could do 50 things in just one day, so it made sense that 65 would want your help. Yet, you got the sense he was trying to trick you into it, as opposed to convince.
65 was short spoken, with a short patience. He never yelled or got openly mad, but that was just because he ceased engaging with anything that made him angry. It was a good practice, but that didn't matter to you.
Aggravating as it was, the fact that 65 spoke more than a single sentence to someone who wasn't another segment was proof of his effort.
How annoying.
I'm writing this by age, but I wonder if I should've done it in chronological order (8-18-65-25-45-35), but oh well.
Also, dont you DARE comment on if I spelt segment wrong, I have shaky fingers. I'm trying.
a few people have brought up that there is an underaged user who goes by @/ibyt3 that is endorsing a few topics listed below,
- p3dophilia
- inc3st
- Sh*tacon / L*licon
if you are able to please report them, they are only 13 and they are putting themselves at risk. i apologize and am aware people will be upset for littering tags with this but i promised a friend to make others aware. ty @feofanswife for bringing this up to me 🥹
A continuation of this post. This will detail the relationship between the old man Zandik and the Reader.
The days spent with Zandik, the original, were mostly silent. He just wasn't quite as talkative as he once was, but he somehow had a lot to say.
You wake in the morning, getting something to drink for the two of you, ran some errands, and ended up at his doorstep at around 11 on a good day. Technically, your work hours were from 1-9, but it wasn't like you had much going on in your life. Just tasks for the Fatui.
Intelligence was something you could easily accumulate, remember, but the trouble is getting people who can explain it all from before even the first step. If you were to be asked to cook an egg, you'd end up asking if the pan was metal, and what type of metal it was. Per the metal, what temperature was optimal? Per the temperature, what's the length of the handle? Per the length of the handle, how large should the flame be? Things like this.
It was just instinct. You were curious about the fundamentals of everything, and the bigger picture was often swallowed.
Likely, this was the reason you came to like Zandik. He wasn't a heretic or mad man to you, he was just a crazy smart scholar with worries about human things like life. He was reduced to a basic, human, man.
As for the segments, you had different thoughts. You didn't see anything to gain from digging into the hearts of sub-human clones. They didn't have all these complex human emotions to you that you could boil down, they were just frozen in time.
People forget, even though you were a bottom of the barrel scholar, you are still a scholar.
Complex pieces have been written by you, for personal use, about how Zandik developed, as observed through segments and conversation.
The younger you go, the more intense they are. The youngest could be pardoned as just childish, but behind that forced composure and effort to match his colleagues (himself), was a child in constant tantrum over all the unfair treatment he endured. To want to capture such a rough time for him… you didn't get it.
Wisdom came to the old, at least, as the more years Zandik got, he was able to reflect more. His cruelty had time to seep into his head as I realized that perhaps the reason he was this terrible was because his hatred was vastly complicated. Obviously, he'd already known this, but the idea that he didnt actually like harming others was… foreign.
Refraining from intruding on his thoughts, you had furiously written something regarding this in your essays.
How could anyone in this world expect to give when they themselves have never been given anything? Part of being kind is doing so because personal experience reveals that receiving kindness feels good. Spreading positivity, or whatever the hell. Zandik knew that something was missing, but he mistook the missing parts for an abject belief that he was just horrible. He must've known in his older years that what he was missing was environment. Kindness.
Evenly spread, the worst segment was definitely 35. Young enough to be sardonic and cocky, old enough to recognize he's being a douche. The worst one, by far.
Optimism is your thing though, and people are just paintings, each brush stroke is a day. The earlier layers being stained in red means less to you in face of the current Zandik’s efforts in self improvement. It was an investment you found worthy. He knows, you know he knows.
Papers on people weren't the only things you wrote. Currently, you were rather invested in early to mid-tyvat development. Geography wise, not historical. You didn't know much history, truthfully.
Zandik was old. You knew you didn't have much time and it hurt. He was… a friend, you believed. Yet, his hands weren't like yours, nor his eyes, nor his speech. Despite issues with the brain as one ages, Zandik has done well to fight off such problems.
Yet when you see he holds his pen differently to alleviate the pains in his hands, you get worried. Ocular vision has degredated to a surely aggravating degree as well. On rare occasion, Zandik will hand you things to read aloud for him. When he asks, his speech is more melded than his segments, what with their youthful articulation.
Zandik is facing old age, and both you and he knew it. It was a fact of life, but facts are often pushed to the brink by scientists.
“This essay… you've been thinking of some dark things haven't you?”
Zandik expressed his opinion on your latest piece, using the deceased and artificial wombs to renew a person body, with a tired concern. You loved that concern.
Death was the worst of it, but witnessing Zandik change like this was the payoff you were looking for, in a way. He seemed worried about you. The same as you worried about him.
You mentioned it at the beginning of the essay, you relay, but most of your biological works ought to just be science fiction. Blame it on inexperience, but you were unable to see a reality where such work came to fruition. You just didn't have the wits.
“It’s possible. Elixirs for life rely on finer pieces, but starting the body from scratch would be effective too. You do realize that no one would comply with this study, though?”
Letting the conversation fall for a moment, you went silent.
…
It would depend on the person, you reply. A mother would do it for her child, a spouse for a spouse… a friend for a friend.
At that, Zandik fell silent too.
Recent years has produced a more reserved Zandik, but even he was still just as curious as his younger years.
“I see… and what of a person's ambitions? Everyone has things they wish to do.”
Catching in between the lines, you smiled gently, keeping your eyes on your work. Zandik has never cared of other peoples ambitions, but he wasn't talking about other people, was he? He was asking you directly.
Perhaps, you reply. If you were in the shoes of one such sacrifice, you say, you'd just ask the recipient to do a few things. Plant a few trees, donate to charity. Some bullshit like that.
“And what if it didn't work? The deaths would have been for nothing.”
Correction, your death would have been for nothing.
You didn't see it that way, you spoke. Plus… the person you have in mind is definitely going to hell. The procedure takes two of the deceased, so if it came to it, you’d be willing to take the life of another if it meant you'd stay with them when they inevitably died.
“Hmph… a real wolf in sheep's clothing, you…”
Short laughter and a smile was the only response you could muster.
“So, what sort of person would it take for you to do such a thing?”
Zandik had turned in his rotating chair to ask you, he was being direct, and in you'd repay the favor.
Meeting him face to face, you gave your response.
A really great friend…
For a brief moment, there was a light in Zandik’s eyes. Following it…
“Too bad you have none of those!” before whipping around to face his desk once again.
You burst into laughter, no, you insisted, don't be like that!!
Zandik was just so shy, you had the giggles for almost an hour. He almost kicked you out!
This was the kind of man Zandik was. His many years left him quite some time to reflect on his life. With this reflection came a more gentle heart. Perhaps it went from obsidian to granite, still a hard rock, but you were proud of him regardless.
All in creation deserves to be loved, and there was no one person more deprived of any affections than Zandik himself.
Even if you never got him to say it back… you loved Zandik, and hoped full heartedly that he understood that in his final moments…
A little authors note, all the comments on my previous post made me so joyous. I like being reminded and encouraged, since I have pretty bad memory loss issues. I only lock in when I’m really happy, so I was quite pleased.
There will be writing for all the segments as well, if I retain my head for that long.
Some would say the idea of loving someone born to fit the role of a heretic would make you almost, if not, just as insane as the heretic himself.
That didn’t bother you.
The man you had chose to spend your life with had a beautiful mind. A talent for creating and solving conundrums just for the sake of it — just because he could.
At first, the nature of his methods unsettled you; but that was a long time ago when the two of you met during his time as a very awkward, very antisocial reclusive student in the Akademiya.
Getting close to him was probably harder than the entirety of the material you had spent countless nights drudging through — but the endless cold shoulders and snappy remarks were worth it when he had willingly decided his place to sit was now next to you.
He didn’t acknowledge your friendship until late into his teenage years, and neither did he acknowledge how much further it went after your first kiss that he had deemed an ‘experiment is social behaviour’.
He never asked you out on dates. No. He simply stole you to go and ‘do something more productive’.
The ring he spent countless days making from left over ruin guard parts wasn’t a promise ring — it was just something he ‘accidentally’ made and didn’t want to waste materials.
All of that seemed so far away as you watched the moonlight glinting off the same very same ring. Blue hair peppered with white gently catching on the ridges as you ran your hand through Zandiks hair.
You thought back to your wedding.
A small, private affair. He didn’t want the large fuss of a public ceremony, despite the Tsaritsa explaining what a big deal it was for a Harbinger and their spouse.
You thought about the arguments when he’d spend more time with his projects than with you. The way he’d wordlessly apologise by holding you in his arms, almost as if he were scared you’d slip away.
Emotions that bubbled over in both good and bad ways. Ways which were never seen by anyone else.
“It’s time.” A voice all too familiar spoke out into the suffocating silence of your shared bedroom.
It was his voice, but it wasn’t him. It would never be him anymore.
“I hope you’re aware that this opportunity is something rather extraordinary.”
Blinking, you looked up to see Omega. The cold expression on his face causing a pit of anger to fill your chest.
How could he be this cruel? This excited to violate the body of the man you loved. He created him — he existed because of him.
Yet you knew there wasn’t anything you could do; so instead, you wiped the tears off your cheek with your sleeve and stood up from the bed, looking down at Zandik who lay motionless. The silence that was once filled with his raspy breathing now louder than any explosion could compare to.
Sleeping. That’s what you told yourself.
He’d wake up soon.
He wouldn’t.
You knew that.
That awkward boy from Sumeru had faded, and along with him, so had your heart.
The man known as a heretic was no more, and all you could do was watch as three of his segments - three of the men who looked like your husband, yet would never be him, transported his body away as though he were nothing more than an experiment.
He wasn’t an experiment, you thought. He was Zandik.
Your Zandik.
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I wanted to get out some angst before I took my break because why not?
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| @liminaliia | do not repost without credit | do not feed to AI | 2026 |
.ᐟ.ᐟ : my first drabble and i'm a lil nervous so i hope y'all enjoy <3
Crickets hum outside, a soothing lullaby in the night. It’s just past eleven o’clock, and your boyfriend is running late – he works quite far from the small town the two of you live in, doing some stupid job that’s under-the-table pay. Despite the under-the-table pay, it’s laborious, and most nights he comes home complaining about something: his coworkers, some bullshit he dealt with, working overtime. It was always something.
You’re half-asleep in bed, your tired frame beneath the soft sheets and blankets, a delicate nightgown draped across your frame. You’ve been tossing and turning for the last hour, trying your best to fall asleep, though the absence of your boyfriend makes it that much harder to drift off.
At last, your eyes are growing heavier and heavier, the light breeze from the cracked window bathing your sweaty skin in a soothing balm. The summers were relentless, though it seemed to get better when the sun went down, and the moonlight drooled in through the sheer curtains.
You don’t hear the door of his truck slam, or his boots on the gravel just outside of the house, and you somehow don't hear the door slamming either. He’s home, and he’s angry.
A long, hard day at work is the best way to describe it. A failed job, his boss scolding him for some shit that he didn’t do, and to piss him off even more, he worked overtime because of some douche he works with. He knows coming home to you is the best thing for him, mostly because you’re there to use as he pleases.
It's quiet, and he realizes you must be asleep. The lights are off, not even a light above the oven flickers on. He’s used to you on the couch, waiting like a puppy waiting for its owner, but you’ve fallen asleep this time, and he doesn’t seem to mind.
A few footsteps lead him into the bedroom, and his eyes find you, his everything, sound asleep in the bed, curled into the sheets, the moonlight casting a glow over your skin. If he weren't so fucking angry right now, he would think that he died and went to heaven and found an angel in his bed, but the frustration burning at his skin keeps him in reality. Not heaven, more so hell.
The bed dips with a groan, and you’re groaning too, rolling over a little at the feeling of him climbing onto the bed, though sleep is the last thing going through his mind. You’re the only thing on his mind.
His large hand finds your shoulder, a gentle nudge has your sleepy limbs moving, and you’re on your back, eyeballs moving behind sockets as you dream, and he’s smirking at your compliance, clearly.
“So good, even asleep,” he mumbles to himself, his hand finding your face, his thumb rubbing across your cheekbone, then across your closed eyes. He maneuvers himself on top of you, though he made sure to remove the blankets from you first, carefully.
“And my favourite nightgown,” he whispers, letting himself nudge between your warm thighs, and that earns another tired groan from you, his eyes gazing at the light fabric that bunches at your hips. “All for me, huh?” he comments, eyes roaming across you.
He slowly lowers his hand, running it along your thigh, calloused fingertips brushing the skin. His tired hands were used to working all damn day, and now they were as gentle as ever against your skin, purposely pushing your nightgown up higher, letting just a sliver of your stomach show.
You make a shallow noise and shift your hips, but a quick hand stops the movement, and his eyes flick up to meet your shut ones. “Relax, baby, it’s just me,” he coos, rubbing at your hipbone, a thumb focused on the soft skin.
He groans as he looks at your lower half, his tongue running across his front teeth as a free hand carefully finds his belt buckle, swiftly undoing the clasp, and letting the leather droop. He doesn’t completely pull out the belt, doesn't even bother pulling down his jeans after popping open the button and dragging down the zipper. He intends for this to be quick – just to get his fill, not too concerned over yours.
Your back arches as you feel him adjusting himself, his eyes gazing down at you, carefully watching the way you stir. He’s analyzing the facial expressions you make; eyebrows furrowing, lips parting slightly, and he’s basking in your slight sleepy confusion.
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he whispers as he reaches his hand down, carefully placing it in the front of his jeans and boxers, shakily breathing out as he takes himself out, his head tipping back for just a second. He already feels release wash over him at just the sight of you.
He doesn’t bother to touch you first, doesn’t even bother to get you ready at all, his mind mostly fixated on how relieved he’ll feel once he’s finished – he’s always been like this, a greedy bastard that takes and takes, and takes when he can, even when you’re quietly sleeping.
It’s a slow, deep thrust, and his head is tipping back, a low groan leaving his mouth as he holds you by your hips, his head suddenly bowing as he looks down at you. You’re making a face again; eyebrows knitting together, almost like you tasted something bad, and he’s practically chuckling.
“Atta girl,” he mumbles quietly, trying not to wake you up too much, but he can feel the way your thighs are clenching, and the way your eyes are fluttering more, a low, quiet whine slipping by your lips. He likes watching it.
You can feel it, that odd pressure and the hands grabbing your hips, your body lightly moving with each rock of his hips, and it has you slowly coming to, eyes fluttering open in confusion, an even more confused moan slipping by your lips.
“No, no, baby,” he hushes you the minute he notices your lips parting, and a large hand is coming up, a warm palm covering your mouth, and he’s shaking his head. “You’re okay, you feel good, so good,” he reassures, nodding slowly, and you’re nodding slowly, too, understanding, taking. You've always wanted this.
Named myself mother bcs I have strong maternal instincts and 8 year old Zandik fucking shot me.
[Hello! I'm writing this after this post was finished, I lost the plot with the 8 year old, sorry. Short memory. Anyway,]
Imagine that you really love the OG Zandik, that in his old age he actually let someone who is poised and gentle with him care about him. His segments all have such high opinions of themselves and just don't wish to care for the old man. Work with him? Perhaps, but they were no caretakers.
That's your purpose now, and the 84 year old feels a budge in his heart. It's small, negligible, but as he gets older he wonders if maybe it wasn't the right call to reject a more human life.
You've been so kind and generous, understanding in a way that wasn't blind, but compassionate and iron-clad. As creepy as it was, considering his age, Dottore truly wondered if you were the one.
That said, he was actually looking forward to his birthday, finally. For the past few years, you brought him a small treat and a small gift to celebrate. You've been with him in a way that truly mattered for quite some time now, and he acknowledges it.
You were a smart person, a scholar like him, someone who was wildly accepted and most people saw bright things in your future, him included.
And yet, you stayed with him.
It was later than you would have liked, but Zandik had been having some trouble enjoying things. He wasn't entertainable like his segments. Plus, his palette was discerning. You had submitted some paperwork on his behalf, completed a small collection, picked up some uniforms for the new recruits, and polished up some mechanical pieces for complex machinary before you were even able to go out shopping.
On your hip were the items you settled on. When choosing gifts, you chose things that would give someone a peaceful moments. Something nice to eat, nice to see, nice to hear, and nice to do. It just made sense to you.
A couple slices of homemade baklava, the smoothest custom pen money could buy, a few of your personal essays for him to criticize, and finally a music sheet of some pieces you edited to flow more to Zandik’s taste. He enjoyed instruments, so you learned a couple to appease him. Performing while he does his work soothes him, your notice.
Yet, what you say was not that elderly friend of yours when walking in the door…
Zandik was gutted on a table, his entrails to his left, jars of his blood to the right.
Now, Zandik didn't come to love you because you were just sooo loving you'd throw yourself down and sob. You cried, yes, but you weren't hysterical.
Still…
With a soft, humane tone you asked, what had done him in? What was the final blow?
The segments… shrugged! He fell, they said, and it just seemed an opportune time to see inside their selves. Literally and metaphorically. No point in wasting effort to save a man that would be dead in the coming years anyway.
Experience led them to believe you'd just leave, what's dead is dead, but instead you sat done, let your bag fall the floor.
Mournful, your hands covered your face as your tears began to flow. You thought you could control your tears, but than your eyes flickered to your gifts, sticking out the top of your luggage…
Zandik must have been waiting for you, too… he once said he'd actually been marking his birthday on his calendar now because he knew you'd be there with him…
And you weren't there.
He died on his birthday, having no idea someone cared for him. Like his segments often pointed out, they all were under the impression you stayed out of obligation, a pretty paid caretaker. In actuality, your pay was pretty much just given right back. You had lodgings, the cafeteria provided food. All the money you got went to help Zandik.
In confidence, you could say you loved Zandik. He was someone you respected and felt honored to be his partner in academics when he allowed. You weren't nearly as intelligent, but his chastisement was kept at a low just for you. His own little way of being kind.
As for the segments… they were at a loss. Someone like you… crying for them…? But why? The old man never gave you anything to warrant this.
Tears were shed for some several minutes, and you were slowly getting annoyed, where they all just staring at you?? You hadn't hear them move or speak at all.
Lifting your tear stained face revealed you were indeed just being gawked at. They had yet to proceed with their dissection.
And Archons… they all wore Zandik’s face… you hated it. You expressed sometime ago that, while the segments had research potential, giving them autonomy in this manner was grotesque. They'd better serve as code in a computer.
This opinion still stands.
Yet, it's horribly different. These segments… they're all you have of Zandik now. His memories and likes and dislikes are packed into each and everyone of these segments. As it stands, they're more Zandik than Zandik is…
A nightmare, that's what you called it. You'd begun pouring more tears and saying, this is a nightmare, in your grief.
While you were regretting ever letting the segments stay a thing, the segments had much different ideas going on.
Some ideas started slow… one by one, like crows coming to attention, they had come to the same conclusion.
You are such a sweet a loyal thing, aren't you? Always doing right by Zandik, treating him fairly in spite of their nature.
Older segments thought, with Zandik dead, perhaps you'd like someone older and wiser, wouldn't you? Of course you can come under his wing, he'd never turn the likes of you down.
Young adults were looking at how Zandik dies with no family, perhaps you'd like to be apart of his? This age is one more inclined towards familiar thougt , after all. Legacy, family unit images, pumping fertile wombs full of his children.
As for the young one, their ideas were far less perverse. They watched an old version of them die, and a youthful woman go full widow about it. At this point, you were somewhere between a mother figure and a divine figure.
However, their thoughts were interrupted by Pantalone. Obviously, he had his own ideas about the situation, but he was more type to keep his opinions to himself. In any case, the assistant Zandik loved was distraught in the room and clearly no segment was prepared or willing to help.
All fake smiles and sympathy, Pantalone coaxed you out of the room. The segments watched and said nothing, but they all wished you'd stay. Perhaps you'd cry more the incisions they made into the originals body. They wondered how ruined they could get that face, and simply by harming themselves! It was adorable!
Yet, you left, and when Pantalone returned he had relayed your wishes.
Employment stops now. You dont need the last check, no use in it anymore. Any pieces of Zandik left unused, cremate and kindly give them to you. Take the gifts, they're useless now.
Laughable, really. You wanted an intimate keepsake like that? Just what had that old man done to get you so hooked? As for the gifts, you really knew him well.
No scraps would be wasted, though, they knew. However, you would be non-the-wiser should they give you a random vial of ash. Plus, they'd get to see you get sentimental over it.
You were long gone, but what you didn't know was that the segments new fixation was you.
Even after his death, you’ll be seeing Zandik’s face an awful lot from now on.
A short story about what happens when a test subject loses the scientist that she fell in love with. (Or my grief about Dottore’s death)
CW: mentions of gore and human experimentation, spoilers.
Il Dottore x fem!reader
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She laid on the table, cold metal against her bare back. She stared blankly at the ceiling, unfeeling, unthinking. The cold sterile air left her feeling dazed, as if she was in a hyper-realistic dream, but, unfortunately it was no dream.
The Doctor was gone, she didn’t know how or why, just that he was gone, that when the world woke up that morning it was the first time in long, long years that he didn’t. Now that he was gone he would never know how she felt, he would never know that he was loved, he would only imagine her being grateful to be freed from his gruesome experiments upon his untimely death, but that couldn’t be farther from the truth. She wasn’t happy or relieved when a guard arrived at her room this morning and told her of the news, told her she would now be disposed of.
She never particularly enjoyed the physical sensations she had as she was being experimented on, but, at first, she enjoyed the knowing that she would now be apart of something, contributing revolutionary discoveries. Later, she came to enjoy her quality time with Zandik, their deep conversations as he was elbow deep in her guts that made her realize how similar the two of them were, both heretics who never valued morality and patience over reason and power, they both knew that’s how you got ahead in life, these conversations were the light of her life, something that made her feel that, for the first time, she was home.
She couldn’t help but slightly blush as her mind drifted to how he always praised her for her for her submission to his work, she was his canvas and he was the painter, the most talented painter who painted her empty white red with pain and pleasure.
She stared deeply into the white ceiling above her, almost as if expecting him to appear in the emptiness and paint the world red for her again.
She was sure she missed him, that she was sad, grieving, one might even call it, but she couldn’t feel any of it. Maybe it was all the drugs he had her on, all the modifications done to her body and brain, or maybe it was because she was never capable of feeling too much of anything.
She blinked a few times in order to ground herself back into the moment. Once she felt a bit more grounded she slowly sat up on the table. Her eyes immediately landed on his lab coat that hanged by the door, while it was perfectly pristine, she bet it would still smell like him.
She got down from the table and walked over to Zandik’s lab coat, she took into her hands as if it was the most precious treasure and she noticed a small teal strand left on the collar, a part of him, the last opportunity she will ever get to reminisce about her urge to run her fingers through his thick curls while he was still alive.
She gently lifted the tiny strand to her face with her fingers. She stared at it in a way that made her feel as if she had stopped time, studying every curve and texture, just as he used to study her.
She quickly put the hair in her mouth and swallowed, in order to keep a piece of him with her forever. She knew that sooner or later that day she would be taken from The Doctor’s laboratory to be disposed of. She was too far gone to his modifications to be let back into society without question, and she was too unstable and incomplete to be put to use in battle as a weapon, and she was okay with it. Maybe once she is killed she would see him again, maybe a small part of him inside her would help them find each other in whatever might be the afterlife.
She hugged the lab coat close to her and buried her face in it like a lonesome child would to a teddy-bear. It did smell like him, and was still warm from when he wore it.
She laid on the clean white-tiled floor and put it onto her longing body like a blanket. She imagined it was him, her Zandik that put it on her, worried that she would be cold.
But it wasn’t him, he wasn’t there, he would never come back, and she will be forever cold.
At this time, she longed for death, she longed for anything that would give her the slimmest chance to see him again, even for a mere moment. Just so she could say that she loved him, not to tie them down to a relationship, but to let him know that he was loved, and maybe so she could hear that she was too.
Maybe in another universe they wouldn’t be so doomed.
Maybe in another universe he completes their work and she becomes his most magnificent creation.
She could only wish for that.
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Goodbye Zandik you were so loved, I wish you knew how much we all love you in this community.
You've visited his grave every week to lay down flowers. He wasn't a sentimental man, Omega had told you as much, but the youngest child segment had tugged you along the first few times and insisted you visit.
It had become second nature by now.
You could no longer remember when the first time was where your tears fell onto ground that had laid undisturbed for centuries. If not for the headstone it would've looked like any other plot of land.
Since the first time you'd returned to the laboratory frozen and with swollen eyes one of the older segments, Psi, had made a habit of accompanying you. Always holding your hand and tucking your head beneath his chin. None of them wanted to risk their beloved falling ill. Neither could they stomach the thought of you weeping as alone as he had been when he'd passed.
Maybe you'd never truly known Zandik, but you knew and loved every part of him. The parts that still walked Teyvat always said how much he would have loved you too.
It was odd to imagine. But it made your heart ache all the same.
