♡ Jessamine’s annual tradition of writing a Dottore piece for a specific holiday/ special day!! Each year has a different theme ପ₍ᐢ. ̫.ᐢ₎ଓ
♡ Pocky Day, 2022
Pocky game with Webttore and Omega Build
♡ Valentine’s Day, 2023
A unique valentine present from Zandik
♡ Holy Week, 2024 - Requiem for the Damned
Yandere! Priest! Dottore x Demon! Darling
(Technically, I wrote this after seeing a Priest! Dottore fan art. It coincidentally happened near the end of March, so I included it in this series. What blasphemous timing…...)
The sixty-five-year-old Segment was a quiet and refined older gentleman.
He was old - the oldest of all the Segments. That was most likely the main factor that contributed to his quiet and distant nature, in comparison to his younger selves who loved to talk. Compared to the others who were deep into their research, ordering other people around and overseeing experiments, Sixty-Five preferred to sit quietly in his office or dispensary. When the others were bickering with each other, he would simply remain silent until the others resolved things on their own or just left. With that, Sixty-Five was exceptionally patient. It was different from the type of patience that the other Segments possessed, because it was patience derived from his age. Forty-Five might have begun to mellow out, but Sixty-Five was where it could truly be seen. His age clearly had some effect on him, and it was plausible that this had to do with why he covered every inch of his face.
You wondered if that had to do with why he did not seem to compete for your attention as the other Segments did. Eighteen was flustered and loud, Twenty-Five was calm but convincing, Thirty-Five was suave and charming, Forty-Five was playful and mischievous, and even little Eight would pop out from nowhere and grasp your hand to tug you away while the others got caught up in debate. But Sixty-Five? He did no such thing, so he was the Segment you probably knew the least about.
You could never catch a glimpse of his expression as he watched on quietly. At least Thirty-Five and Forty-Five had the lower half of their face visible, so you could still see some things, but that wasn’t the case for Sixty-Five. The brief moments you would manage to make eye contact (at least, you think you did) made you question what he thought about before he slipped away. It was as if he had resigned himself to the idea that this was a competition he could never win. If that was true, it was a bit… saddening.
Even more, you didn’t think he disliked you or anything like that, because when he did have your sole attention, when it was just the two of you, he gave you his utmost attention as well. Sixty-Five asked the most general questions (How are you? Are you getting enough sleep and meals? Have you had the time to rest and relax, away from his other selves?) but in a soft-spoken manner that made you feel warm and fuzzy that he genuinely cared for your responses. You remember the time he saw you sneezing, and draped the black fur he wore over your shoulders, or when he’d let you hide out in his quarters when the other Segments were fighting over you. But the meetings were never long before he sent you on your way, or someone else interrupted.
So that was why you were intent on bothering Sixty-Five until you could properly understand him! To do that, you had to successfully infiltrate his space, just like you did with the others! And that meant snooping around his dispensary to attract his attention!
The most notable thing you remembered about Sixty-Five’s dispensary was that it may not be accessed by those younger than eighteen years old. While that was probably a normal rule to have, it was a bit funny and sad, considering the only person it applied to was little Eight… But in reality, all of the other Segments utilized the dispensary, as it was a place where numerous types of medicine were stored and could be collected by the others for use on various people, as well as writing prescriptions. Naturally, because you were special, the rules didn’t apply to you, and you could come and go as you pleased throughout many parts of the lab, well, mostly the ones where agents were restricted from roaming.
The office was as you expected it - labeled medicine lined the shelves among other tools. It was actually rather nice to see the sheer level of attention to detail and organization toward the work. Well, that wasn’t much of a surprise, though. Your Zandik had always been like that. You waltzed around the dispensary to observe everything, waiting for Sixty-Five to come back.
“Hmm… I think these are the ones Twenty-Five gives me…” You couldn’t help but get a bit bored and start peeking through the bottles, eventually finding a rather discreetly hidden drawer with some stuff in it. “Oh, it is! It has my name on it! Hehe…” Indeed, it had your name on it, with the dosage instruction printed at the bottom. You found the care put into your wellbeing cute.
“Though I don’t recall ever needing to say it aloud, my dispensary is also only accessible by those who know what they’re doing, for safety reasons.” The sudden voice from behind you made you squeak in surprise, closing the drawer with a slam and spinning around, as if you had gotten caught doing something terrible. There stood Sixty-Five, staring at you.
“I- I was only looking!” You straightened up and quickly defended yourself.
“I believe you,” the Segment agreed easily. “Still, my point stands.” Cane in hand, he walked past you, deeper into his actual office, cane tapping against the floor. Your jaw still worked to refute him.
“I know what I’m doing. Well, at least a little bit.” You trailed behind him playfully.
“Then, can you recite for me the names of everything here? When to use them, and when not to use them? Possible reactions to the medications?” Even with the barrage of questions, Sixty-Five was going easy on you.
“… No?” Sure, you might know a bit considering your time in the Akademiya, but it wasn’t as extensive as his. You tilted your head to the side, with a smile he could never be mad at, not that he was anyway.
“It seems you’ll need to do a bit more studying,” the Segment replied, but he sounded more amused than anything, from the way a small chuckle escaped him. Of course, he was only teasing you. He was old enough to know the rules wouldn’t be able to keep you away.
“Well, if you’re the one teaching me, I’m sure I’d learn pretty quickly.” You nudged his arm with hopeful eyes. You were so close, you swore you could see red eyes peering at you behind the blue glass of his plague mask. Were those eyes intrigued? You really hoped so. But just after a few moments, Sixty-Five briefly placed his hand on top of your head before pulling away.
“I’m afraid I wouldn’t be much of a good teacher. Perhaps Twenty-Five would be better help.” As you expected, he gently redirected you elsewhere before finally taking a seat at his desk, cane set to the side.
“That’s not true,” you insisted, hovering by his shoulder as you paced around him with a pout. “I have a feeling that you’d be the best one.”
“You flatter me, dearest.” His appreciation sounded genuine, but it was not enough to keep him from beginning his paperwork. Because deep down, Sixty-Five truly believed that he was not a target of your affection - in a romantic manner, specifically speaking.
All of Zandik’s Segments had their own perspectives on a variety of things - their own perspectives on you as well - their own incompletions that held themselves back from loving you the way a regular, changing human would be able to.
In Sixty-Five’s eyes, you, too, were his beloved, the one he cherished. And yet, he did not dare seek you out, not when the younger Segments occupied much of your attention. Naturally, he was a smart man. He may have tried to hide it, a mask covering his face that was starting to wrinkle, dressed neatly from head to toe, keeping aging skin away from prying eyes. Sixty-Five didn’t even want to look at himself, much less have you, of all people, see him. But there was no question: he was quite a bit older than the others, if the name he was referred to by didn’t already give it away. And well, that meant that he was most likely not a candidate for your love interest.
Sixty-Five didn’t blame you for that, no, of course not. It was to be expected. An old man like him had little to provide that the younger ones couldn’t. A man who wallowed in regret for the past. And you were so lively and beautiful. It was only natural that you should be around someone who could keep up with that. Reflecting the original’s feelings, he had come to terms with that the moment he was created. So, Sixty-Five accepted the role of quietly watching on, quietly guiding you along if you needed him before slipping away. Even if he couldn’t have your love - the soft kisses and more that you gave his other selves - he was content simply seeing you smile.
… But that didn’t stop Sixty-Five from wishing that you would love him, of course. That you would still choose him despite everything. All of the past regrets and failures that had accumulated within him, the connection he had lost out on for the majority of his life, and which he had greatly yearned for despite his age.
Meanwhile, you didn’t have most of that information. You were just trying to get him to pay more attention to you… because you did love him. You wondered, could anything you do bother him? If you tried hard enough, could you at least pull some more emotion from him? Maybe, just maybe, the Segment would allow you to slip that mask of his off so you could see his true face?
You weren’t going to try and hide it anymore. You raised your hands and reached to him slowly, very deliberately, making sure the Segment saw your advances, and yet he did nothing. With a pout, you quickly got bored and stole the top hat from him.
“Dear me, whatever shall I do?” He brushed the top of his head, now unusually empty, that still boasted fluffy and soft locks of hair. You would have reached out and brushed against them, if it weren’t for your exasperation. You placed Sixty-Five’s hat back on him with a bit more force than you should have, before you basically dove onto his lap.
Now, that definitely surprised him from the way his body tensed up. But your weight wasn’t unpleasant - it was comforting. The way you snuggled into his chest, albeit a bit grumpily, stirred something within the sixty-five-year-old. His arms couldn’t help but reach to support your body properly before you slipped off him.
“Sixty-Five, did I do something wrong?” Your tone was terribly sorrowful, and that immediately set the Segment into motion.
“No. No, of course not, my dear,” he murmured, before just barely grazing your cheek with his fingers.
“Then why do you always avoid me? It’s been ages, and yet, you haven’t let me kiss you even once. No, wait… Forget about the… intimate things,” your voice lowered shyly at that part before raising in volume again. Sixty-Five felt some gratitude for the mask hiding his growing blush. “You’re always very kind to me, looking out for me. But you never want to stick around or let me talk to you for long… Why? Did I upset you somehow?”
The high of you admitting you were longing for him this whole time was quickly brought down by the glum expression you wore. By focusing on all of his doubts and regrets, he had ignored what was right in front of him - you. He took this course of action because he wanted to make himself nearly invisible to you because of his own feelings, instead of taking yours into consideration as well.
My, when he put it like that, he was no better than the others.
“I… No, you did not do anything wrong, and you did not upset me either.” Sixty-Five calmly decided to tackle this one by one. “It is purely my fault and responsibility, as well as… other circumstances that resulted in my actions, that I believed were in your best interest and were not meant to offend you.” The sadness on your face cleared up a bit, but you were still perturbed.
“That makes me feel better, but it is a lacking explanation… What do you think my best interests are, and what were the circumstances?” Your hands pressed against his chest for support as you peered at him for a proper answer.
“I know you yearn for an answer. However, you do not need to concern yourself with my troubles.” Still, his urge to protect you remained. He’d rather not have to explain the hoops and circles he threw himself through to you.
“That’s not very fair. I want to. Didn’t you say before that I’m good at helping others?” You sat up straighter and leaned forward as much as you could without the snout of his mask poking you.
“I know it isn’t, and I know I said that. But all I humbly ask is that you forgive me for my behavior.” A part of you was charmed by how direct yet gentle Sixty-Five’s words were, so easy to sway you. You could never pull something like that out of the younger Segments.
“I’ll… let it slide this time. As long as you let me stay with you whenever I want now.” The tension in your shoulders disappeared, and the feeling of Sixty-Five’s fingers grasping your thighs to keep you positioned comfortably became more apparent.
Finally, you kissed the golden beak of the Segment’s mask, a small display of your affection toward him. And even though the sensation didn’t exactly reach Sixty-Five, he felt it anyway.
—
You found yourself coming to Sixty-Five when you wanted to complain about things.
He was possibly the best listener out of all the Segments, mature and wise in a way the others lacked. He would patiently let you rant your heart out until you got tired and flopped onto his shoulder, then provide his opinion and advice (if needed) in a respectful manner.
And that was the current situation as well.
First, it was the festival, but Forty-Five had started to take you to other places as well. This event was the biggest one yet - a social gathering (that all of the Segments usually dreaded, but now it was bearable as you would accompany him) that had a special theme of wearing masks. A masquerade ball, you think he called it. Logically, it was perfect as your face would be hidden, so the Segments would worry less about your safety.
The problem was that you had to learn some basic party-going knowledge, and that included formal dancing. The other problem was that it was becoming a chore to learn, despite you initially being interested in learning. Naturally, all of this was explained to Sixty-Five.
“Eighteen doesn’t know what he’s doing, Twenty-Five kind of does, but he isn’t interested or all that good. Thirty-Five and Forty-Five tease me every time I step on their feet. Then I threatened to go ask Pantalone for help instead, and then they laughed at me some more. And Eight… is a child. What am I supposed to do now?” You let out a large sigh as you explained all of this to Sixty-Five, while he listened patiently.
“Didn’t you say once before that if I taught you something, you would learn quickly? If you asked me to be your instructor, I would not refuse,” Sixty-Five replied, hands positioned on his cane, which made you perk up and look at him.
You kind of assumed that he and the original Zandik could not handle such activities anymore. But despite his age, Sixty-Five still walked with life and poise, a straightened back with his hand crossed behind it, cane hitting the floor in steady beats, compared to the original, who… could not match such grace anymore, to say the least. So that meant he might be more skilled than you gave him credit for (and less teasing about your lack of skill).
“Really? Really, you would help me?” You clasped your hands together and cuddled up to the Segment with big, pleading eyes.
“Of course, if that is what you would like.” Although he was a man of few words, they always managed to comfort you. He set his cane down to the side and took your hands in yours. The chorus of excited ‘thank yous’ died on your lips when his fingers intertwined with yours, and the other rested on your side. His large, gloved hands were warm and inviting, yet strong and in control. Your other hand fumbled for purchase on his body before Sixty-Five simply took hold and placed your hand on his shoulder.
“I will say, however, if you’re looking for something fast-paced, it is unlikely for me to be able to teach you that. Right foot back. Left to the side.” He was perfectly composed as he instructed you.
“No… No, this is nice. Thank you.” You ignored the faint warmth that crept up your face, and your gaze wandered down to your feet instead. But suddenly, the Segment stopped all movement and let go of your waist to place his finger underneath your chin.
“Maintaining eye contact while dancing is also customary,” Sixty-Five advised as he tilted your face to meet his. He leaned in so close that the beak of his mask just barely grazed against your nose.
“R-Right!” You straightened up and did your best to keep your eyes on the blue glasses of his mask, as the two of you resumed the dance.
“Many also partake in small talk,” he added, as you just stared at him with wide eyes quietly.
“Ah, yes…” It was like everything you learned from the others slipped away from your mind. “Well then, how are you?”
“Pleasantly surprised. I did not anticipate being given the honor of having such a stunning partner tonight.” Something that you noticed about Sixty-Five was that he was frighteningly smooth in some situations, catching you off guard and sweeping you off your feet. And that was why, with heat coursing up your face, you stumbled and made the mistake of stepping on the Segment’s shoe. If it hurt, he didn’t show any reaction. In fact, he stayed perfectly still as you wiggled around in embarrassment.
“I’m so sorry, I really didn’t mean to-”
“We learn through failure. It’s nothing to cause a fuss about.” Whether he realized that his skilled tongue had flustered you or not, he didn’t say anything (unlike how a certain few Segments would). He only continued instructing you, although the conversation drifted away to things that wouldn’t make you shy.
(At the party, you managed to not step on Forty-Five’s feet a single time, which he teasingly applauded you for. He didn’t let anyone else dance with you, of course.)
—
“Aren’t you supposed to be asleep by now?” That was what the Segment said to you when you knocked on the door to his bedroom late at night.
You managed to make your way to Sixty-Five’s private quarters without being spotted, intent on making sure he kept his promise on letting you stick around whenever and wherever you wanted. And despite his words, he opened the door enough for you to stroll in.
“Well, let’s just say I was having trouble falling asleep. So instead of tossing and turning, I came to see you.” Most of the Segments’ rooms were dull and boring, but Sixty-Five’s room had some decorations, making it feel a bit more cozy. Perhaps as he grew older, he learned to appreciate finer details like that. And as for the man himself, gone was all the fancy clothing he wore during the day, save for the plague mask that still remained on his face.
Even in private, he still wore it. By this point, you had an inkling of his true feelings. The feeling of growing old and being unable to do anything about it, even after working so hard to develop the Elixir of Immortality. The feeling of realizing his regrets and mistakes, and yet being unable to do anything about them. The feeling of having to look at himself in that state.
By getting to know each of the Segments, it felt like you were unlocking a part of the original that you missed out on. Sixty-Five was also the one closest to the original Zandik; the one whose mind was preserved closest to the main. With that logic, you wondered if your Zandik felt similar shame… but he didn’t choose to hide it. Perhaps, he had managed to change.
Regardless… you wanted to see Sixty-Five. You wanted to at least try to comfort him, even if the effect could never be permanent. But you didn’t exactly know how to bring it up…
“I know what you’re here for.” The Segment closed the door knowingly as you perked up. Maybe it wouldn’t be as hard as you thought? After all, Sixty-Five always made sure you never had to do any heavy lifting. It was in his nature to watch over you. Also… he said it was very easy for him to read your emotions…
“And what would that be?” Sixty-Five didn’t answer you, only setting his cane to the side as he sat on the edge of his bed, wordlessly looking at you. You took the hint and nestled onto his lap, resting your hands on his shoulders, where his hair tickled your palms. Idly, you twirled some of it around your finger.
Sixty-Five’s hair was the longest of the Segments too, elegantly falling down to his chest. You had braided it a few times before, entertaining yourself with the fluffy locks while you sat on his lap. Some of the others would get a kick out of it, snickering at the sight, but the older man never paid them any mind, because Sixty-Five would graciously accept anything you gave him.
Your hand made its way to the back of his head, where the band of the mask lay, covered by his blue hair. Your digits grazed the strap, as if waiting for permission to pull it off. The scholar did not say anything, and he did not move - you could only see him look at you through the colored lenses. But for Sixty-Five, silence was often an answer, so you gently pulled the band over his head, and his mask came off as well.
As most people did, the first thing you noticed was the Segment’s red eyes, still vibrant as ever. He watched you with careful consideration, every feature of your face while you took in his. It was similar to the original’s in a way, tired eyes with wrinkles and lines here and there to a lesser extent, but still yours to love.
So of course, your first reaction was to smile as your eyes softened, cupping Sixty-Five’s cheek. Your tender expression caused something to flicker in his eyes, your sheer adoration despite his current state. And truthfully, that was all he needed; no words of your oohing and ahhing would match how you looked at him. He knew that very well, considering he did more for you than he spoke, and that was why he was happy to let you take control of the situation, seeing as it was truly your wish.
This was your first “real” kiss, if you’d exclude the ones you placed on his mask, his hands, his ears, the top of his head… So you were all too excited to kiss Sixty-Five with fervor and excitement, more than he could keep up with, but returning in his own way regardless. Ever observant, his hands rubbed against your back, as if reminding you to pace yourself before you become breathless before him. Ever happy to let you set the tone, while he followed and guided, content to bask in your presence.
“… Thank you,” you panted after you peppered every inch of his face that you could with kisses, intent on making the most out of the opportunity.
“I should be the one thanking you instead.” He held you close while you let out a noise of disagreement. But you were content, because maybe, just maybe, you managed to quell certain feelings of his.
In the end, considering Sixty-Five was the closest to the original Zandik, he would be the last remnant of what Zandik was like before he passed, so maybe that was why you cherished him so much.
This is a little snippet of what I've been working on. Only two chapters so far and I have no idea what the title of the fic is going to be but I'm looking forward to posting it someday~
Guys (i say to a probably empty room) do yall wanna see silly doodles and drawings from my Time is ever so fickle work? Specifically of Zandik and mc (or well my oc in her spot since i have a soft spot for her?)
Is that smth yall would like? Myb I could attach them to the chapters they came from
For example my current wip or random doodles of them
Low-key they just occupy every avaliable space of my brain and I feel like exploding having nowhere to put these ideas
A collection of moments between you and the Doctor during his stay in Fontaine. Something hangs heavily between you, and part of you begs that it's curiosity. You know yourself better than that.
"The game of the gods. Infinite possibilities." -- Vladimir Nabokov
TLDR: Chess, banter, growing affection, and an exciting offer from Il Dottore's 65-year-old segment keep the rubber band of fate taut.
Il Dottore x Fem!reader — Part 2 of “You Shirov that?”
(5.5k words, slight TW for childhood abuse/neglect)
You were unsure as to whether it was hope or your understanding of his personality that strengthened your conviction that Il Dottore would return the next Sunday.
Lo and behold, he did.
In fact, he had arrived before you. The pieces before him were unplayed, so he couldn’t have been here so long to get bored. You had dressed more suitably for the weather, wearing a long coat that had once been your mother's over your usual outfit. The Doctor, on the contrary, was wearing the same outfit as last time. Does he have multiple outfits? Does he wear the same piece of clothing every Sunday out of routine? So many questions. Perhaps he didn’t need to change clothing. After all, in your flurry of research on him once you had gotten back to the Institute, his segments were inorganic, and it wasn’t that much of a stretch to assume they were missing some of the more inconvenient physical traits organic humans had.
That was it, actually; there was much more information on what he did, rather than what he was.
In the past week leading up to this meeting once more, you’ve had more than enough time to come up with what to say, formulating conversation topics and perfectly sly jokes, but as you gaze upon him, even in the distance, your mouth dries up, and the words slip off your brain as if it were smooth. You almost don’t even want to play chess today, if not doing so meant he might engage in further conversation. The thoughts you’d been having had become so distracting; in fact, your supervisor pulled you aside on Wednesday to ask if something had happened. They weren’t all chess-related; sometimes they were about how his gloved touch felt, the low rumble of his laugh, or how the veins in his neck tensed in anger. Fuck.
Never before had you met a man so powerful and intriguing, and you didn’t want to waste the opportunity he gave you. Well, maybe it wasn’t completely about him just being powerful and intriguing. Perhaps there were… other… factors. You weren’t ashamed of it, the attraction. You had taken enough basic psychology classes during your time in the Akademiya to understand it wasn’t quite under your control, and that suffocating those feelings did nothing but harm yourself, as long as you kept quiet about them, of course. They were quite inappropriate, but as long as you went in with boundaries in place— all would be fine. Perhaps you could gain a useful professional connection, if nothing else.
“Good afternoon,” you expressed, putting your hand out.
The fabric of his gloves is unnaturally warm as he grips your hand firmly. (slightly too firm, even) Vaguely aware of chess decorum, you tried to enforce it though you had never attended a tournament. Chess was your hobby, something that didn’t have the pressure to impress or win forced upon it.
“You were quite impressive last week.” The Doctor compliments, face unreadable behind the leather of his mask, voice slightly amused. His anger you pulled from him last week you had expected to transfer to this encounter; however, nothing about him seems resentful of your win. “Not only concerning chess,” he adds slowly.
The board had been turned around today, making you white. Black, you thought, was better because it allowed one to gauge one’s opponent's style early on in the game. “The plague doctor mask is a bit on the nose, I would say. Most people would have figured it out.” A stiff laugh punches from you as you make the first move.
“You severely overestimate the intelligence of the general population.” His first move seems more aggressive, more sure of himself today. Just as you had gauged him, he had gauged you. One can only hope he declared you interesting enough to continue observing.
Shrugging, you state, “I believe that's better than underestimation. Though it certainly predisposes me to disappointment rather than surprise.”
Long strands of hair brush over the brass eyes of his mask due to the mask, but the Doctor makes no motion to sweep them away, mask angled towards the board. Now that you noticed it, his hair was quite long with the slightest wave to it and color shifting slightly lighter depending on the section. It was quite beautiful. He was quite beautiful, though not a compliment he would react well to.
It stirs something in you. Curiosity. You began before he could respond.
“May I ask you a question?”
“You just did.” Though his tone was flat as usual, you could almost imagine the hint of a smile on his lips, however they looked.
Blinking with an unimpressed look on your face, you continue, “What is the purpose of you? Do all segments exist for the same purpose of preservation or do you have individual motivations?”
The Doctor thinks for a long moment, not even bothering to put down the rook he was going to move, thumbing over the pure black ivory. “That’s a fascinating question. Generally, we were all created for the purpose of purifying the filth that is the rules of this world; our fates that are forced upon us by the Heavenly Principles.”
“And not generally?” You insist, game forgotten as you lean in further with the eagerness of a small child.
“Simply by virtue of the ages we were created at, and the age we remain at, we tend to lean towards one thing or another based on the interests we already acquired then.” The care he chooses for each word tells you that you have not earned complete honesty, and that though every word is true, the space between each word is more telling than the meaning of them itself.
“The age we remain at”? Doesn’t that imply that they’re not only physically but mentally stuck? So the man in front of you is hardly a person at all; he is neither organic nor capable of mental growth. The idea is equally fascinating as it is… pitiable.
“So you are your creator, yet also your own independent being?” You couldn’t control the way your voice sounded disbelieving, perhaps even a bit disgusted as your eyes narrowed.
“That is one way to put it. Now, in the name of equality, I get to ask a question.”
Putting your hands up in mock surrender, “Go right ahead.” You make your move, ambitiously taking one of his knights.
“Who taught you to play?”
Mouth opening and closing, you lean back and question, “Are our questions equal? Now mine seems like I was flying too close to the sun.”
He tilts his head, birdlike. The demeanor, the clothing, his voice— ah, that's what it is; he reminds you of a corvid in all of their petulant intelligence. “Knowledge is knowledge.”
You acquiesce, “My father taught me.” The thought of your father makes your muscles lock up; if you didn’t fight against your own mind, you might begin to start hearing his jabs and comments on your gameplay, your character, how you look like your mother—-
Interrupting and already two steps ahead of you, he asks, “He is the Khaenri’ahn, yes?”
Giving a curt nod, displeasure settles in your gut. The move you just did was a mistake. Whether the lapse in your judgement was random or not, victory didn’t care. Victory was cut and dry, and you didn’t love anything more than you loved it.
Bound once again by the unspoken rules that were placed on this conversation, you were obligated to provide as much detail to your answer as he did his. So you continue, though not without tucking your hands under the table to hide the soothing periodic tenses that mimic the beat of your heart.
“As a young child, my father’s erosion had progressed into something quite severe, resembling a sort of amnesia. It’s hard to describe, but every two hours or so his most recent memories would sort of… wipe. He insisted on teaching me chess,” You move, intentionally not looking at the Doctor, lest you give away any negative emotions, “but his memory issues made it impossible for him to grasp how long we had truly been there, and… he never believed my protests, so most days we would spend upwards of,” a pause as you calculate, “twelve hours, perhaps, playing the same game. Over and over again.”
The thought makes you want to throw up. Hours. More hours. Endless hours spent, begging for a meal or a break, only to receive the phrase, “One more game, ridder.” The word for knight in Khaenri’ahn. Aptly named for your love of playing knights in your youth. You try not to use knights as much anymore.
You can’t help but feel like you’ve revealed too much, like you're standing naked in the snow. Men never ask questions out of good faith, especially powerful ones, and you wonder what he hoped to get out of your response. This feeling never quite leaves you.
Whether he intends to comment on your unforeseen vulnerability, you can’t tell.
“I’ve never heard of a case of erosion quite so unique.”
He does not, thank the Archons.
Pursing your lips, you agree, “Occasionally, I tried talking to senior medical staff at the Akademiya hospital about it, and they had a similar response. I can only hope it’s the curse and doesn’t have a genetic component.” This was a thought that had haunted you for many, many years. Ending up like your father. You’d rather someone take you out back and blow your brains out before living like that. Having some decency, you add none of this to the conversation.
A lull falls over the board, not awkward, just quiet. You begin to think.
Il Dottore, the Doctor, whatever his title— it’s certainly interesting. From what you could garner from your own impressions, he certainly wasn’t a doctor in a traditional sense. Ironically, it seems almost pedestrian compared to the grandiose goals he’s expressed. What, then, is he the Doctor of?
“Why a doctor?” He’s beating you, you realize quietly. Perhaps you should be thinking less about him and more about the game. That's quite difficult since he’s just… so interesting.
He responds without a beat, “Some segments are more focused on the human body, and could be considered a physician in a literal sense. We were granted our title around then. Though,” He’s smiling, though it sounds more like a predator bearing its teeth than amusement, “I’m sure that's not what you’re asking. For the rest of it is merely metaphorical. The flawed world I exist in is a patient, and I seek to understand it in all of its forms. Forbidden or otherwise.”
“To cure it the way a doctor would.” You understand. The concept is quite poetic, and the way it translates brings you unforeseen joy. You fight a smile.
He nods in a slow, analytical way that tells you you’ve passed a very, very important test. The wind blows harshly in your ears, bringing chaos incarnate to the landscape, but it’s as if the Doctor is standing over you, whispering into your ear in something mimicking intimacy as he praises, “Precisely.”
You win this time, too.
𓂃𓈒⟡・𓂃𓈒⟡・𓂃𓈒⟡・𓂃𓈒⟡ 𓂃𓈒⟡・𓂃𓈒⟡・𓂃𓈒⟡・𓂃𓈒⟡ 𓂃𓈒⟡・𓂃𓈒⟡・𓂃𓈒⟡・
“Why subatomic collisions?”
“Hm?” You looked up from the research paper you were annotating, startled by his sudden question. You place the pen down, ready not to look at this paper for an hour. A puff of air resembling a laugh punches from your lungs. “Why god-making?”
In the plush armchair across from you, he crosses his legs, leaning back in the perfect picture of nonchalance. “Because I seek to break the rules that govern this world. Now I must ask again: why subatomic collisions? You know your research is only for your benefit; you’ve never pretended otherwise.”
“I… hm.” That’s a fantastic question, one you could have a million answers to. Because it was the first gap in literature you could find for your thesis? Because the machinery required for it you already knew how to work with? Because you wanted to be special? Probably that last one.
“I don’t know. I like power, maybe.” You tilt your head back in thought, cataloging the number of ornate mahogany tiles on the ceiling of your office subconsciously. “That seems like a good answer,” you mutter. You don’t even sound convincing to your own ears. Even his research at least benefited the Tsaritsa (and the Regrator, which the Doctor had only mentioned on a few occasions, and who you believed had a… special relationship with him.) As of right now, while you bullshitted your way through committee hearings and funding proposals talking high and mighty about the potential energy applications and the potential for a whole new field of science to open up, you weren’t in the business of lying to yourself.
“Power over whom?”
“Feeling curious today, are we?” He was so fun to banter with. Like a dangerous bear that would never truly bite— just give an occasional painful nibble. You didn’t mind a bit of pain when it came from him.
“Curiosity is my natural state; I wouldn’t be where I am if not for it. Stop deflecting, it isn’t elegant on you.”
You gasp, placing a hand over your heart in mock agony as your face contorts into sorrow. “I’m hurt!” Not even the sound of breathing could be heard in the silent space he creates, waiting impatiently for your answer. Sighing, you acquiesce, “If I were to answer, don’t poke fun at me.”
“Don’t say something unintelligent and I won’t be obligated to.” He has some reading material of his own that still lies open across his lap, words unintelligible to you but pictures revealing some sort of alchemical diagram. Not anything you would understand. In his never-ending kindness and humility, he would explain it to you if you asked nicely.
“I can’t explain it without sounding like a power-hungry fool. Or like you. I can’t decide which is worse.” The joke cracks you up a bit, fighting a crumb of laughter even before you say the joke. The Doctor remains unamused. It’s easy to forget he’s physically 400 and mentally 65 because you can’t see his face. Not for lack of trying, of course.
“Don’t test my patience.”
“I wasn’t done talking. Your life would go smoother if you had more patience.” You take a long, deep breath, running your face over the knuckle of your thumb, where a long-healed scar lies. “The idea of… walking down the street and seeing people talking, dogs barking, children running around, and knowing, whether it was obvious to them or not, that their lives were indebted to me. That I had the power to destroy it, if I wanted to. It makes me giddy, I suppose. There's no better word for it.”
As it comes out of your mouth, your body is equal parts excited (proving your own statement) and revolted by the cringe-induced way you phrased it. Maybe there was no way to express that sentiment without sounding juvenile. You’ve fought your whole life trying not to be juvenile, trying to assert your maturity in places where there wasn’t a person within ten years of your age in the room. Even now, at the Fontainian Research Institute, where you had a senior research and teaching position, administrators would occasionally think of you as a student rushing from building to building. It was humiliating. You hated being humiliated.
That wasn’t exclusive to you. Your story wasn’t even particularly special compared to the man’s in front of you. If anything, it was almost the same. Though, you didn’t end up killing a girl (Not killing a girl? If your memory serves you right, there was quite a large debate on this during his trial) and getting expelled from the Akademiya. We can’t all win, right?
If only he would come up with a response quicker so you didn’t have to stew in your own, useless thoughts.
“I wouldn’t have made fun of you for saying that.” The closest thing he would get to saying something soft while his voice remained flat and matter-of-fact.
“Well, praise the Archons for that.” You joke, getting up to put away your current reading. Checking the clock revealed you only had about thirty minutes until you had to be ready for a tedious team meeting with your ancient co-professors. Much less amusing company than the Doctor.
“Why praise them, when you could praise me?” His voice was a long drawl, meant to be seductive or simply languid; you couldn’t tell. But your body certainly chose which one it wanted it to be, evidenced by the warmth his voice imbued in you. Passing by where he sat in your armchair, in your office, reading your books, you could smell him once again, rich and aggressively clean.
“I certainly don’t think you need any more praise; your head would explode, and then I wouldn’t even have your pretty little bird mask to keep in memoriam.” As if on cue, that pretty little bird mask cucks its head, and a small chuckle rises from the Doctor.
You continue, “Ah, but you would love it if I praised you, right?” The subtle flirting was not enough to distract him from the original topic of conversation, from which you still had lingering negative feelings. At least this time you had something to do with your hands as you carefully sorted some reference materials and invoices you would need for the meeting.
He tutts your name disapprovingly, doing no good for the growing warmth in your abdomen. “Please continue. You have more to say before we get off topic.”
Facing the window that leads out to a beautiful view of the Fontainian coast in mid-afternoon, the cerulean waters shining like diamonds, the words come to you more easily. Perhaps it's because you aren’t looking at him analyzing you while trying to dissect your innermost self.
“I think… It's the most core part of who I am. I like having power over people, whether that's stupid gossip or their own lives. It’s a part of me. My father must have had the same proclivities, or he wouldn’t have made the ruin golems. I considered many other things in my early years of schooling, but nothing ever drew me in as much as the thing that could do the most damage. It’s just the way I’m wired, the loop I keep repeating.” Subconsciously, you had drifted off, attention turning to the view outside, where a pair of birds fought violently on the distant coast. Finally muttering a small, “If I had a constellation, my research would be written up there somehow.”
“Do you believe in the power of constellations?” You jump, not having noticed him getting up from his chair or moving beside you. The fright drains away as quickly as it came, bringing some clarity with it.
You rubbed your eyes. “You tell me. I don’t know the first thing about stars or the firmament, or whatever. That’s your thing. I inherently don’t believe in it, I suppose.”
He agrees, more amicable this afternoon. “We are very similar in that way.”
“Hopefully not that similar because then we would most certainly fucking hate each other, if you and your segments are anything to go off of.” You knew of his vague dislike for vulgar language, so, of course, you had to throw in a few curse words into every conversation.
“I do not have enough time in the day to hate the other segments, or myself.”
“You are your segments, and I think you could make time for it.”
“Your argument is getting incomprehensible. Perhaps it’s the radioactivity that's impairing your cognition.”
“Perhaps it’s the abyssal energy that's impairing yours.”
“Are we going to continue an academically engaging conversation or just keep arguing?”
“I don't know,” you take a look over your shoulder at the clock on the wall, “We have a few more minutes. I want to keep arguing. Insult my ugly shoes, Doctor.”
𓂃𓈒⟡・𓂃𓈒⟡・𓂃𓈒⟡・𓂃𓈒⟡ 𓂃𓈒⟡・𓂃𓈒⟡・𓂃𓈒⟡・𓂃𓈒⟡ 𓂃𓈒⟡・𓂃𓈒⟡・𓂃𓈒⟡・
The last place you had expected to encounter the Doctor was in front of your own front door. Placed in a small corner of the City of Fontaine, lay your quaint townhome, which you placed much pride in. Bought by your own salary and furnished according to your own tastes. Your favorite record played on the gramophone behind you in the living room, cutting through the silence of the night as you opened your door to Il Dottore.
“Explain this, please.” You say suspiciously, only a bit of your head peeking out from the door. You were in your night clothes, after all. He would hardly care, but it felt necessary.
“I have a proposal for you.” The Doctor’s hands are perched gracefully on the top of his cane, broad shoulders filling up your doorway until you can hardly see the light from the moon.
“What proposal could not wait until a reasonable hour unlike this?” Not attempting to hide your irritation, your voice drops rather low as you open the door a little further to show your exasperated expression.
“May I come in?” Always with the gentleman's facade, as if a version of himself wasn’t probably cutting some prisoner of war to shreds right now.
“What would you do if I said no?”
To your surprise, he responds, “Then I would come back in the morning.” He reaches his hand out, dangerously close to yours where it is holding the door, pushing it open slowly. “But curiosity is a forceful force, isn’t it?”
Your hand clenches on the door further, preventing it from moving. “Someone wise once said curiosity killed the cat.”
The Doctor waves his free hand, still clutching the cane as he pushes the door with the other, moving semi-invited into your house. “Someone wise would include the last part of the phrase.” But satisfaction brought it back. You chuckle to yourself, irritation (mostly) gone. He’s dressed more casually tonight, just a simple charcoal trench coat over a dress suit rather than his usual three-piece debacle. Maybe it was just seeing him in your house that made him seem more mild.
It was almost like a dream. Sometimes you could hardly believe your luck (misfortune?) of meeting the Second Harbinger. It made you feel so lucky; in fact, you had good reason to believe it wasn’t luck at all. It wouldn’t surprise you to learn he had sought you out for some reason. Il Dottore was a man who believed in the transactionality of relationships. He had said so himself, very frankly. You get something, you give something. But for the life of you, you just could not understand what he got from his interactions with you. Perhaps that is what he had come tonight to ask of you, and that is what unnerves you the most.
Funnily enough, he stands at the entrance to your living room, and doesn’t seem to know where to stand or what to do. At least you know he hasn’t been in your house before.
“I must say, I enjoy Rachminoff’s other works better.” He states as you brush past him, accidentally touching bare shoulder to cotton as you move to tidy up the room briefly. You hadn’t been planning on guests, obviously. It feels revealing, both figuratively and literally, him being in your home while you’re dressed so… improperly. Some part of you wants him to look.
“You're a fan of Rachminoff?” You ask over your shoulder, taking a rustled blanket from the couch and tossing it somewhere irrelevant.
“Only when it’s somebody else’s mora buying the tickets to the symphony, yes. His third piano concerto reminds me of my own temperament.”
“You mean dramatic, difficult to play, and incredibly well-renowned? How humble.” Plopping down on your now clean couch, you gesture to the cushion beside you.
The Doctor takes his seat with grace, crossing his legs like he always does, looking so prim and proper. You hunger for the knowledge of what he truly was under the grace you know is an artificial perfection, honed like a blade over the years. You know better than most what a mask looks like, and it's all you’ve ever seen him have on. Not literally, this time. Though you hunger to see what’s under that, too, that’s not the sort of hunger that is resolved by satisfying knowledge.
You certainly didn’t put down a New Year’s resolution titled “Be hot and bothered for one of the most dangerous men in Teyvat, who is also way, way older than is proper.” You think that must be an original sentence. Perhaps it isn’t, but as he sits in the firelight, tapping his hand against the chair of the couch in tune to your favorite record, it doesn’t feel as dirty as it should.
“Do you play the piano?” You lean your head against the plush headrest, waves of exhaustion coming over you.
“It’s a pastime of mine. Music is just another sophisticated system like the human body or,” the Doctor tilts his head towards you in what may be respect, “machines.”
“Isn’t that true. I was quite good at the violin at one point in time, but it’s gotten away from me.”
A calm silence lulls between you two, interrupted only by the crackling of the fire or a particularly high note from the violin soloist on the recording.
“You had a proposition.”
“I’m glad you remembered.”
Your eyes roll of their own accord. “I apologize for doing the cordial thing and making small talk. Besides, you started it.” He seems tenser now than he did when he first entered. Why? This body language reads similar to when you had his king cornered in your first game, not uncomfortable… just restrained. You couldn’t think of anything in your conversation that would've set him off. There was no way he was nervous about asking you whatever this was; that would be out of character and downright silly.
“I want you to join me in Sneznograd for the foreseeable future.”
Oh.
Hm. Okay. Interesting.
“For what purpose?”
He scoffs, as if offended by the notion it could be for anything else. “Research.”
“Well, yes, I wouldn’t be there for sightseeing. I mean, why? Is this under the Tsaritsa’s request, or yours? How do the other segments feel about this?” So many questions flooded your brain: the logistics, the political messaging, the… implications. (Archons, if this wasn’t a sign he wanted you around permanently, you didn’t know what would be) So much. Heat rose to your face, the fireplace only a few feet from you not helping. To have this conversation sitting down would only give your body the impression of comfort, so you stand slowly, only tilting your head slightly downwards to meet the Doctor’s gaze where he still perches on your couch. You cross your arms, trying to ignore the way your body can just tell he’s looking.
“As much as you would loathe it, you would be a subordinate of mine, though one with much autonomy.”
“How much of this ‘autonomy’ involves finances? The Institute is generous with my budget, and I’m not willing to give that up even if you were pointing a gun to my head.”
Recrossing his legs, Il Dottore chuckles, “I would never use such a crude weapon against you. And you shouldn’t fret about the money; the Regrator is easy enough to wring a few mora from.”
Rubbing your eyes with irritation, you argue, “You can’t be stupid enough to know all you know about my research and believe a few Mora will be—”
He stops you with a deadpan tone. “I have also had a conversation with the Tsaritsa about your presence, and she approves. The other segments are irrelevant.”
“Would they be my bosses or would they be irrelevant? Both cannot be true.”
You’re beginning to piss him off. His casual attire tonight reveals more of his neck, where a vein bulges slightly. Working against your better interests, there is a persistent growing heat in your pelvis which grabs your mind and forces it down a meandering path of thoughts about his hair and how it cascades down his right shoulder in shimmering waves. Or his smell, which is made ever more potent by the confined space. Or his— stop. Fuck. Shame burns through you along with anger, threatening to douse the fire of your arousal. You wish it would.
“What I am offering, truly, is the best place in Teyvat for you to complete your research. No ethics committees, no constraints, no nonsense bureaucratic rules that stifle ambition. If you cannot recognize that— then perhaps even offering was a mistake.”
You want to argue, want to take the bait, want to prove to him that you’re willing to fight back. A memory flashes before you— some mindless student in your darshan insulting your intelligence, saying something stupid and meaningless, before you had shut him up with a flurry of insults that landed you in disciplinary trouble that suspended your ability to do research for three months. Practically forever for a seventeen-year-old. You haven’t been seventeen for a long time, though you still have the same temper, which you choose to rein in, if only this once.
Taking one long deep breath in, the fire-hot anger within you subsides.
“Can you guarantee that my job remains secure if my research ends up bearing no fruit?” Will you keep me even when I eventually bore you? Is what you want to say. It is written in the stars for a man that continuously sets his horizons on bigger, better things. For your life to be ruined once that happens to you would be… unfortunate.
Unfortunate? Hurtful. Devastating. You give him power over your life, and he makes a bad choice with it when motivated by exasperation against you. You know better than to assume any other future is in store for you. One can only plan against it. It is illuminated in the tunnel before you, and at the very end, you are left by the wayside somewhere, somehow, when the stakes in this war grow and you can no longer give him what he wants. This thought strikes so much truth and conviction within you that it knocks a bit of air from your body.
You cannot imagine a world where you say no. This also rings true. To say that your heart and mind are divided is not true (because that isn’t a thing; the heart is just what sustains the body in which you reside); it seems more fitting to say your psyche is split by how far in the future it considers.
“Yes. Even failed experiments yield valuable information.” The Doctor has relaxed a bit, feeding off of your energy as much as you fed from his.
He couldn’t have known what you were thinking, but his words are meaningful nonetheless. Would you give up the most interesting, risky, ambitious proposition you had even received on the off chance you might get your feelings hurt by a man who believes he cannot do anything but?
No. You wouldn’t.
Even if the worst-case scenario occurs, it would be the most exciting time of your life thus far, and information would be gained. For better or for worse.
Regardless, you needed some time to think further. For the Doctor, this was a business prospect (was it?), for you, this was your life.
“You should go.” You state, keeping your body as professional and flat as possible, gesturing toward the exit. His eyes bore into you once more, his body deathly still, reminding you once more how inorganic they truly were. It is enough to make you hope his earlier words about respecting your boundaries were true. They are.
The Doctor stands with grace that impresses you every time, taking long, unbothered strides towards the door. Say something, you beg internally, so you know you haven’t fucked up something intensely important.
“Goodnight, Doctor,” you damn near sneer, not just at his interactions tonight, but at how he had convinced you so well. He could play you almost as well as he could allegedly play his piano.
He does not look back as he steps through the doorway, pausing momentarily under your stained glass arch to say, “I hope you’ll have an answer for me in the morning.”
Licking your dry lips, you lean against one of the wood pillars in the foyer, waiting for him to leave you alone. “I already have one, now get out.”
The Doctor laughs, bright and genuine and brilliant. “I knew you would.” And he shuts the door behind him.
Banner creds to @cafekitsune <3!
Thanks for reading, crossposted on AO3 at needing_therapy if you want all the tags and author's notes.
Summary: What happens when fate has other plans and wills the leylines to do their bidding? What happens when an adventurous researcher who dabbles with everything the Akademiya disapproves of meets the fabled heretic? Will she choose to find a way to return to her time, or will she instead choose to stay with her newfound friend?
Word count: 10331
Soooo the last few months had me running around like a headless chicken... But in good news this chapter is the size of two chapters! Dont ask how i came up with 10k in like two sittings... I will never know the answer to that... But please enjoy!
CW: casual nudity (they skinny dip in a lake but dw they're both super respectful and don't look at each other)
Please do not feed my work into AI or copy and steal it.
AO3 link
Chapter 5
The Golem
Mud slushed beneath their booths as they trudged through the beaten-down path to Vimara Village. Yesterday’s storm left the already worn path even more tattered, having left branches and leaves that lounged around the stretch of the road. (Y/N) grimaced at both the mud and water of the puddles that threatened to splash against her legs, and at the silence that permeated around the group like a stagnant pool of water.
Once she and Zandik had packed up their belongings, they returned outside to the captured bandits and explained to them the situation. As expected, a few of them had choice words to throw their way but were quickly shut up by their leader. So after making sure they were all secure, (Y/N) took hold of the rope that held them together in a line and began pulling them along to the city. Ironically, this wasn’t the first time a scenario like this had occurred, as sometimes she and the Traveller did have commissions that required them to bring in some bandits or crooks. It still didn't make her feel any better. Usually Paimon would be chatting away, filling the awkward silence of defeat that reeked behind them. But now… She glanced at Zandik, who had his face buried in a map, looking at whatever notes he had written on there. Sighing, she grabbed hold of his sleeve and yanked him to her side. The scholar looked at her with his brows furrowed, but quickly understood as he saw the deep puddle on his other side. Wordlessly, he nodded at her and rolled his map back up and placed it back in his bag.
“So… you travel together often?” The voice of the leader pulled them out of their silence as they all turned to look at him.
She hesitated and bit her lip, thinking of how to answer without telling too much about themselves. “A few times, yes, we have an… agreed-upon deal.”
“I see, makes sense, you seem like you’ve known each other for a long time.”
Zandik hummed in acknowledgement, playing along with her lie. The less the crooks knew about them, the better. While he knew she could beat them again if they made any moves, the same could not be said if he ran into them alone. However, Zandik could reason that she would not mind him using her name and feigned closeness to avoid future scuffles.
“My brothers and I have known each other for over two decades now, hahaha, can you believe that? Man, time flies fast.” The leader laughed as he remembered the group as scruffy children.
“Man, shut up, stop telling these Akademiya punks about us.” Another man grumbled from behind him, kicking the leader in his shin.
‘Akademiya punks…is he including me too?’She thought as she turned to stare up at Zandik with a blinking fish look on her face as she pointed her finger at herself.
The rest of the hours on the road dragged on for what seemed like eternity. At some point, (Y/N) began thinking that this was some sort of divine punishment that she was receiving. Between the sweltering sun beating them on their heads, the humid air making her clothes cling to her horridly, and the somehow chatty leader of the group, who got a few others to talk to them too. This was turning out to be a nightmare of a trip.
“Zandik, the next time I hear you say ‘Hey wanna go on an adventure?’,” (Y/N) imitated him horribly as they sat in the shade of a huge tree, “the following words out of your mouth better be Dragonspine or Snezhnaya, or so help me, your graduation thesis will be the least of your worries.”
“What's this, already threatening me? Coward, at least voice how you’re going to end me,” the student beside her panted out, hands on his knees as he stared at the ground below.
Even with the canopy of the trees above them that got thicker and thicker as they got closer to the village, the heat broke through and targeted them all. The eremites too were lying and sitting on the ground drinking water from their jugs.
“I’ll make your pretty little eyes into earrings so you can watch me dance around in the cold snow from your place in the afterlife,” she replied after taking long gulps of the cool water in her own bottle.
Automatically, she passed it to Zandik, bumping it into his shoulder; she was used to passing her drinks and items to Paimon or the Traveller and didn't even register that her new companion had his own bottle, or that he probably wasn't expecting it. Turning to look at him, she found him staring at her from his hunched-over position, mouth slightly agape and eyes wide with a flushed face from the heat. Concerned, she quickly fumbled for a spare handkerchief she kept in her shorts pocket, wet it and pressed it against his forehead, brushing his damp curly bangs away from his face.
“Drink some more water,” (Y/N) spoke, softer than she had been in the last hour of the road, taking his hand and making him hold the wet fabric, as she reached down to pass him his discarded water bottle that sat beside him.
Nodding, he took it and drank some more in hopes that it would cool him off. Drumming her fingers against her knees, she watched him tilt his head back and drink large chugs of the refreshing water, as some dribbled past his lips and down his neck, disappearing beneath the damp fabric of his shirt. To an outsider, namely the group of outlaws around them, it would look like she was sizing him up in one way or another, like an intimate moment even. Yet within her mind, she was frantically trying to remember how to watch out for signs of heatstroke. While she knew logically that the chances were slim, they had made sure to take well-shaded routes and to stop frequently to rest and drink water; the chances were never zero. Remembering the others who were in her charge, she looked around at them, paying attention to their body language. Some sensed her gaze and gave her a nod to signal that they were fine. Nodding back, she looked up at the sky.
“There's a chance there will be an even bigger storm today. How much do we have left?”
“With all the detours we took? 3 hours I’d say,” one of the eremites answered.
“Alright, let’s get back on the road in ten minutes.”
Trying to lean against the tree to get some much-needed rest for her back was proving to be difficult with how the bark was digging into her exposed back and skin, having long since taken off her jacket and gloves, choosing to leave her hat on as a barrier against the sun. So instead she slumped back over her knees and looked over to her side, staring at nothing in particular.
The awkwardness that was at the beginning of the day had long since dissipated after hours of walking in the steadily rising heat. Whatever animosity was between her and Zandik and the Eremites was put on hold as they agreed that getting to the city alive was far more important.
“Hey, no offence, but why didn’t you commission a carriage or rent one out, and get to Vimara that way?” the leader, Amir, as she had come to learn, asked.
(Y/N) turned her head, hair falling in damp clumps around her face, and stared at him with a blank expression on her face, before eerily slowly turning to Zandik, who had repositioned himself to sit against the tree that she had failed to lean on.
“Zandik, why didn’t we rent out a carriage?”
“I don’t have the finances for it.”
“Mm, you don’t have the finances for it, and in all your no doubt brilliant genius, you didn't think to ask the adventurer who hunts treasure chests for a living if she had a mora coin to spare?”
“I’m flattered you think I'm a brilliant genius. You should say it again in front of the scribe or the sages. Maybe with a little more passion though.”
A pair of hands slapped onto his cheeks as he jolted to look at the girl who was now dangerously close to his face, so close that he could start counting each individual eyelash around her eyes. He gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing as he leaned back until his head hit the thick, bumpy bark behind him, staring into the wide and crazed eyes of his hired guard. Zandik tried to speak, but the hands holding his face started squishing his cheeks, completely disengaging his ability to speak.
“Seriously, man, I’m used to scaling mountains and walking through storms that never end, but sweltering heat? I'm useless against it, and you’re telling me you didn't think to mention that there was a quicker way?” She continued squeezing and pulling at his cheeks as the man she was tormenting just stared at her wide-eyed. “Even the Traveller isn't this stingy, and we constantly spend nights camping as if she doesn't have a bunch of friends who would let us crash at theirs.”
Continuing her heat-induced rant, she slumped her head against his chest as his hands quickly went to grasp at her wrists the moment her grip on his face loosened. “Next time I’m in charge of transport. And I don’t want to hear anything about it, or else I'm adding another thing to my Zandik-made jewellery collection…”
“Not to cut your little moment short, but ten minutes have passed...” Amir, after having lost a game of rock, paper, scissors to determine who was going to break their sweet little moment, coughed out.
That seemed to snap whatever spell of dramaticness was over them, mostly (Y/N), and the outlaws watched as she seemingly melted off of him, stood up, slung her bag over her shoulder and untied the rope from the branch it was on, all with a hung head and rounded shoulders. Once everyone was up and moving, (Y/N) trailed ahead like a kicked puppy as Zandik fell back to watch her.
“Man, from guy to guy, you should apologise. Last time my lady looked at me like that I ended up sleeping outside for a week.” Amir awkwardly patted Zandik on the back and nudged him forward.
Zandik's red eyes glared at the adventurer in front of him. He didn't understand if she was feigning being hurt about the notion of having to take a longer, uncomfortable route, or if it was something that genuinely upset her. Perhaps this was yet another social norm he failed to understand. Holding back a sigh, he felt his eye twitch as his fingers gripped the edges of his shirt; this is why he prefers working alone. Ignoring a tiny part of his brain that protested the idea of continuing this expedition alone, he decided to confront her. Catching up to her, he walked with her, stealing glances at her to try to judge her mood.
“Relax, I heard what Amir said; I’m just being dramatic. To be honest, I’m not used to this hot weather, and to…” (Y/N) trailed off, cringing at how she acted and how it probably made her only ‘friend’ feel. She straightened her posture and looked to the side of the grassy field they found themselves in. “Not having my friends with me by my side. It’s been a while since we last parted. And the last few months were really harsh, so all we had were dramatic moments like this to keep our spirits up.”
The man beside her hummed as he listened, shoulders squared as he turned her words around in his head. “I’m not used to going on expeditions with others outside of the rare class trip. So I forgot to account for your comfort and preferences while planning ahead.”
“It’s fine, just give me a little more time to acclimatise to Sumerus weather.” She smiled softly at him, nudging her fist at his shoulder in a small bump motion. “Plus, as I said, I was playing up the antics. It's something I learned from a friend who always made the mood lighter even in the most dire of moments. I wasn’t actually mad that we didn’t take a shortcut.”
“You’re an idiot.”
(Y/N) looked up at him with a lemon-sour look. “The Inazumans have a word for the likes of you.”
“So do we Sumerians; it's ahmagh.”
“...you called me an idiot again, didn't you?”
“So the old dog can be taught new tricks.”
“That's it, give me your eyes and the scalpel I know you keep in your bag!”
Amir and the rest of the Kheperer watched as the woman lunged at the lanky scholar, latching onto the back of his collar and onto his hair, and he did the same to her. It seemed like they were back in their little world, but at least this time they were making progress into walking to the small village.
After three hours of walking and catching breaks in the shade, the oddly formed group finally made it to Vimara village and promptly asked for some law enforcement officers to take the eremites they had captured. After explaining the series of events that led to this moment, and after showing her Adventurers badge as proof of identification that no, this wasn't a scam or ploy and that yes she knew what she was doing, the guards took away the group of men, leaving her and Zandik finally alone. Not without receiving, oddly enough, waves goodbye and promises to see each other again. Awkwardly, she waved back. Once they were out of sight, (Y/N) let out a big sigh of relief and melted onto Zandik's shoulder, resting her forehead against him. Feeling him tense up, she pulled back and gave him a small apologetic smile.
“Let's restock and find a place to rest before the final leg to the golem,” Zandik said as he began leading them further into the small village.
Following signs and people, they found themselves at a marketplace where they quickly bought some things they were running out of. Vimara village was cosy and tranquil compared to the towering maze that was Sumeru city. It sat at the edge of a refreshing-looking river, surrounded by small hills and partially hidden by a canopy of trees. Nature sprouted in between gaps of buildings; tall grass flowed seamlessly into the river where it was replaced by lotus plants and water weeds.
Stopping at a bridge, Zandik pulled his map out to check the final route. “We can either take the longer route following the river, or we can trek up the mountain.”
“How big is the difference between the two?”
“The mountain is half the river route.”
“Well, that's simple then. Off we go climbing. After climbing around half of Liyue, this should be easier… I hope…” (Y/N) trailed off as a look of agony flashed across her face as she seemingly began reminiscing about her escapade in the nation of contracts.
Putting his map back, they set back onto the road. Crossing the sloping wooden bridge connecting the two sides of the road, they found a path leading up a fallen tree trunk that was turned into a makeshift road that led up the small rocky hill. Once up it, they began following a winding beaten dirt path that mostly merchants, outlaws and animals used. It carved through the tall grassy fields, past tall willowy trees that bent at the tops from the small amounts of wind that shifted around that day. Occasionally, either one of them stopped to take a closer look at one of the small lithic shrines that were found nestled by the roots of a particularly large tree, or an interesting animal or plant, that was followed by a brief dump of information from either of them. (Y/N) in particular theorised how such small shrines or pillars were used long ago as map markers for tradesmen, seeing as how many of the nations she has been to have similar structures.
Further along, they found themselves close to the edge of the valley, where the towering, oxidised, and moss-covered slumbering giant began peeking over the trees and grass. With their goal in sight, they picked up the pace and raced to the edge. The wind, as if sensing their emotions, picked up and blew at them from behind as if urging them further. Maybe the wind was a little too eager, as it lapped at their legs and backs, tousling their clothes and throwing their hair in their faces. (Y/N) in particular wasn’t faring so well against the element, as even when coming to a standstill near the very crest before the ground gave way in favour of a free fall to the bottom, the wind continued pushing her further. And then with one final prod, the gale sent her hat flying into the air. Instinctually, she reached forward, balancing on one leg over the drop and grasped the end of the bow on her hat. But her balance didn’t last for long as she began tipping over, threatening to fall. As she was flailing around in hopes of regaining her footing on the ground, Zandik quickly grabbed hold of her backpack and pulled her back, sending them both tumbling onto the grass below.
The man let out a pained huff of air from the harsh landing and from the weight of the woman crashing back into him with full force.
“Idiot, watch where you’re going,” Zandik grumbled out, detaching his hands from her bag before pushing at her to get off of him.
Scrambling off of his lap, she began profusely apologising, hands grasped tightly into the soft fabric of the beret. “Remind me to have a word with Barbatos for the stunt he pulled. I would have been in a world of pain if you hadn’t saved me. So thanks!”
“How have you survived this long on your own?” he continued to huff and puff as he stood up and brushed the dirt off of his clothes.
“I’ll have you know I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself,” regaining her footing, both physically and mentally, she began digging back at him, “And when I can’t, I know I have friends like Traveller and you to help. Plus this wouldn't be the first time I would've taken such a fall.”
Looking at her in bewilderment, Zandik scoffed as he began walking further along the rim, looking for a path that led down, “And my question of how you’re still alive stands.”
With no path in sight, he continued walking forward, having once again begun looking at the map to see if it held any useful information. “There's a path a little behind the Statue of the Seven that's further up ahead, but it would be a bit of a detour from the route. I suppose we could try scaling down; I hope you took some climbing gear as I asked.”
“Who do you take me for? Of course I did! But I might have a better and faster idea of what we can use. We just need a closer spot for it! Let me look at the map,” Nudging her head into his arm, she peered at the parchment, finger coming up to trace the path. “There, we can use the statue as a landmark from where we start. Come along now, slow poke!”
Speeding up with a pep in her step, she began pacing to the upcoming statue.
“Are you going to explain your idea?” Running up to her, Zandik asked as he stared at the happy and somewhat mischievous look on her face.
“You’ll see!”
A few minutes later, they came to a stop at the effigy depicting the dendro archon. Without missing a beat, (Y/N) placed her hand on the stone column that held up the sitting archon and whispered, “The world opens itself before those with noble hearts.”
Not even having to look at him, she knew his striking red eyes were staring into her with a lot more questions on his mind than he was going to voice. So, deciding to save him the hassle, she answered. “It’s what the statues all say. When I first ran into my two travelling friends, they spoke about how it's a phrase they heard from the wind when they touched the anemo statue. So now whenever we’re near one, it's become an inside joke to say it.”
Deciding to omit the truth behind them touching the statue, she explained.
“Now I’m wondering if your threats to the god of wind weren’t as empty as I expected. Hearing voices from statues? Are you sure your friend is real and that you aren't imagining them?” Zandik teased as he shifted from one foot to another, avoiding looking at the statue.
(Y/N) gaped at him, in disbelief that he was accusing her of having lost her mind. Deciding to play along with his joking, she fired back, “Hey, now I never said that I was the one who was hearing the voices! If you have an issue with her sanity, go talk to her; I'm just the messenger!”
“I might just do that with this so-called Traveller; what kind of name even is that?”
“A very respectable name in the other nations we’ve visited, I’ll have you know!”
“Alright then, introduce me to this respectable Traveller,” Zandik quipped back, enjoying how despite him riling her on, she never backed down from hearing his harsh tone.
And despite his growing fondness for seeing how easily she switched between exaggerated expressions, he felt himself almost flinch at how her face fell upon hearing his last words. He saw how her confident stance fell and was replaced by a bitter look, eyebrows furrowed, eyes downcast and lips pressed in a firm line.
Shaking her head, she replied, “I would love nothing more than to introduce you three to each other, but I went on a different adventure from them, and I don't know when I’ll see her next.”
Forcing the feeling of longing that crashed into her away, she looked back up at him and smiled. “But enough of that, let me show you how we’re going to get down much more efficiently!”
Throwing her bag onto the ground, she crouched down and pulled out a folded contraption in the shape of wings.
“Tada! Courtesy of the inventors of Mondstadt long passed, I present to you the wind glider!” Unfolding it, she happily exclaimed. The wings were a stunning shade of azure and dark teal that were held together by a golden metallic skeleton that shined and reflected in the sun. The edges were sharp as the light danced on the fine lines, but the wings themselves were light and feathery to the touch. If one lingered around them while in mid-flight, they could practically smell the sweet smell of dandelions flying by. Urging him to bend down, she cupped her face and whispered, “Now don’t tell anyone but we might have to break a rule or two. So don’t go telling anyone that we rode it together!”
The scholar eyed the contraption in her hands, then looked back up at her happy face, before once again glancing at the wings. He had heard how the people of Mondstadt were free to soar in the air, trusting that their archon would hold them upright and safe in the sky. But here? He looked around at the dense forests and the towering Chasm walls in the distance. So far from the nation of freedom?
“And you’re sure this is safe?” Zandik voiced his qualms.
“As safe as one could be! But I don't mind sending out a quick prayer.” Before he could stop her, hands already up and ready to latch onto her, she began speaking, not minding if an old friend like Venti found out she was in the past. She reasoned that out of all the immortals or long-living beings she knew, Venti would be the safest and possibly most helpful if need be. So clasping her hands together, she let her voice be carried away by the wind. If she remembered correctly, then there was a chance her bard friend was deep asleep, but she hoped that he could still hear her prayers. “Bless us, dear God of Wind and let us trust the wind to lead us safely in our travels.”
“You didn’t have to do that. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I'm not exactly the religious type. And to call upon another God in a foreign land...” Zandik spoke, eyeing her reaction. For all the time they had already spent together, he had thought from the way she spoke she too was apathetic to the Archons, yet there she was, openly praying to one. What was so different in this situation? Was it because he voiced his concerns?
“I’m not a devout follower either, but my faith in moments like these comes from mutual respect, if anything. I had a different time in Mondstadt than anywhere else. I was an outsider, but even someone like me was given a chance to feel safe high up in the air, so far up where even birds didn't dare fly.” She paused, looking at the clouds, remembering her free fall from where Dvalin, in his anger and suffering, had thrown them. “But trust me when I say I would only pray to someone if they showed me a reason to do so. He’s kind, a little aloof at times, but he's always there for the people who need him, regardless of where they're from.”
“You’ve met him, haven't you?” He asked, looking at her and seeing the way her expression switched from relaxed to thinking and back to a soft expression as she turned to look at him, eyes crinkling in the corners as she smiled so brightly at him that, for a moment, he let himself trust her words.
“I have, and it’s only because of that that I dare to trust him when I leap off of mountains and soar through the clouds.” She admitted as she latched the glider onto her back. She slipped her backpack onto her front and tucked away her hat. Then, gently—far more gently than he expected—she took hold of his hand and led him to the ledge.
“And you’re sure that mathematically we can both get onto this glider and it will support us?”
“Like 90% sure. I mean they fit the gliders to support our bodies, plus equipment if need be. And I’m pretty sure that's well below the maximum. Plus I’ve heard how they made them stronger on the count of the Grandmaster being like, She paused to look at Zandik as she shifted to wrap his arms around her, then reached her hand up as far as it went to indicate the height of the Knight of Boreas she had only heard of, “a mountain in the shape of a man. Now hold on tight.”
Wrapping her hands tight around his waist, which felt just as small as it looked, making sure to latch onto the fabric as tight as she could, she waddled over the ledge and fell forward. In that split moment as the glider sprang open, Zandik wrapped around her tighter and pressed his face down into her neck, not caring about how clingy he looked or how he was positioned in an awkward way. He tried not to think about how his feet were dangling in the air, or how the only source of safety he had was the hands and arms of someone he met a little over a week ago, who for all he knew was actually going to drop him because someone had enough of him and wanted him gone for good. Instead, he chose to focus on his senses, on how he felt the wind pushing against him, how she felt in his arms and how secure hers felt against him, how the only thing he could hear was her heartbeat and the sound of rushing air.
“See, it's okay. We’re safe up here,” (Y/N) gently coaxed him to open his eyes and look around.
Zandik felt like nipping back at her, arguing that he doesn't need to be babied, and he probably will once they land, or maybe he could just do it now so she stops looking so smug and happy.
“Shut up, you try being in my shoes.”
He felt her shake from laughing at his deflection; clearly she knew that he was just biting at her from the uncomfortable situation. Looking ahead, he saw the giant round head of the golem slumped forward from its position where it was embedded and merged into the wall of the valley. Its arm was resting on the ground, almost as if it was casually leaning like a person at a table. Even from so far away, you could make out the vegetation growing all over it, as if trying to reclaim it and strip it down back to the elements it came from. Looking off to the side, giant screws and parts of the golem lay scattered around; a more childish person would imagine that a giant screw came and unscrewed the golem like a toy. Giant trees grew and lay around the machine, some acting almost as bridges for the two sides of the valley. The valley itself was being fed by two waterfalls, one on the north and south sides respectively, that flew together into a no doubt deep lake at the bottom. While the trip from the city was a scattered mess of patches of fields and forest, the valley basin was overgrown and full of all sorts of wildlife. Ahead at the horizon, the rest of the north and east sides of Sumeru were visible; there, the treelines began merging with the clouds as they began to slowly descend.
“We’re landing at the hand, right?” (Y/N) asked, having let one hand go of holding the man, beginning to stabilise the glider for landing.
“Yes, there's an entrance that we can take,” he replied, nudging his head in the direction of the mechanical appendage.
Slowly, like a feather falling from above, they glided down, coming to a stop right where the fingers lay. As soon as Zandik's feet touched the ground safely, he let go of his bruising grip on her and began smoothing out his clothes and hair. Folding and placing away the glider, she switched it to her water as she encouraged her friend to do the same. It was a tip she learned from Amber a while back. Gliding makes you a lot thirstier than one would think, with the constant harsh winds in your face, your mouth and eyes dry up a lot faster than on the ground.
When both of them were composed, they closed in on the inside of the hand. Being so up close to it, the scale of the beast dawned on the pair; even to someone like Zandik who studied them for fun, the sheer scale was mind-boggling. Each fingertip alone was over 3 people tall; the width of the wrist and arm seemed like it could hold ten people in a line. Whoever made these machines truly only had destruction in mind, or the weirdest idea of heroism. The size was an issue when it came to climbing into the walkway that presented itself to them - a path that was a good 3 meters above them. The other issue was the seemingly bottomless hole right below the only way up. Luckily for them, there was a semi-fallen, albeit very slippery and unstable, tree that provided some sort of leverage to climb into the hallway.
“Alright, I'll hoist you up, and then you’ll pull me up,” Zandik spoke, pulling her out of her deep analysis mode as he knelt down in front of the tree, urging her to step onto his shoulders.
“Huh…”
“Don’t make me repeat myself; hurry up and get up,” Zandik said, throwing a glare over his shoulder.
“No offence, but you look like you could snap like a twig in a storm, Zandik… Plus there's a pit behind us; what if you fall and we go tumbling into it?” she tried to reason with the scholar.
“And yet I’m still offering. I couldn't care less if you think I’ll snap like a twig as you said; I've already done the calculations in my head, I’ll be fine.”
“Fine, but if you complain that your shoulders hurt after holding a fully grown woman on your shoulders, don’t expect me to kiss them better,” she said, huffing as she placed her bag beside his and slowly began to step onto his shoulders.
One foot at a time and using the now pathetic excuse of a tree in her eyes as a railing to stabilise against, she balanced on his shoulders, as his hands gripped at her ankles, holding her firmly against him. Wobbling and huffing more than a little, he braced and stood up.
“Almost there,” (Y/N) whined, reaching on her tippy toes, toes and boots that dug into Zandik's shoulders, and managing to grasp her hands on the ledge.
“Alright, hold on!” Zandik huffed, exerting himself to switch his hold on her to let her use his hands as a step so she could hoist herself up.
With a little finesse and a lot of strength on both of their ends, she managed to pull herself up enough to swing her leg up and onto the metal floor and climb into the hallway in the arm. Panting, she quickly peered down at Zandik, who had crumbled down onto the ground, chest heaving and face flushed, strands of teal stuck in swirls against his forehead. Resting for a moment, she just stared down at him, because truthfully she was in no better shape than he was. At times like these, she wished she was with her equally non-human adventure partner; at least then they both could run and jump around defying human possibilities. Well, not like those abilities could have helped her with her height and reaching the floor. But… peering down at her new partner, she stared at him intently as her thoughts swam with warmth. It was nice to feel human and have to deal with things the long and hard way sometimes, to have to think out the situation and ground yourself. Plus, if she had to be honest with herself for a moment, she was beginning to become attached to the grumpy, sarcastic and quick-witted scholar she found herself stuck with. He was a breath of fresh air, inquisitive and sharp like the edge of the knife that hadn’t yet decided if it was going to target her or not. Even if this friendship meant lying about what she was and where she was from.
Standing back up, Zandik passed the bags for her to grab hold of and take up to her level. After that, it was his turn. While the bags were easy to grab, with them being a good chunk further up than him, Zandik himself was harder to pull up. An idea popped into her head, so she took out her jacket and hung it down for him to use. Taking hold of it, he slowly managed to climb up against the slippery metal far enough so that she could reach him and his arm. Shifting from lying down on her front to sitting on her knees, she pulled him up. Alas, in that moment she accidentally let her true strength slip out a little, and she ended up pulling him too much and too fast and went headfirst into her sending the both of them crashing back against hard ground.
A thud reverberated through the empty hall as (Y/N) instinctively let go of the slumped-over Zandik and went to cradle her aching head. Squirming around under him, she let out pained cries.
“Owowow ow,” the aching adventurer cried out as tears welled up in her eyes. As she was trying to squirm and roll around in hopes of soothing her head, Zandik accepted his fate and lay there, having exhausted all of his strength mere seconds prior. So he lay on top of his partner, head just below her chest, and limbs awkwardly hanging off of his sides. Luckily for him, his brain started to reboot and work again, and he realised just how close he was and swiftly rolled off of her, choosing to lie down next to her instead.
Minutes passed in silence until the adventurer finally sat up and took her glasses off to wipe her tears away. “We should get further in and find a place to set up camp for the night. We don't know how dark it gets inside.”
Nodding in agreement, he stood up and extended a hand to (Y/N), pulled her up, and after picking up their bags, they began to ascend up the arm. Taking the quiet moment as a sign Zandik needed to recharge socially or mentally, she began looking around the hallway ahead of them. The whole thing seemed to be made of different metals in varying shades of grey, brown and black. Oddly enough, there still seemed to be some sort of power in the golem as stripes of yellow lights led the way up further into the machine. Between gaps in the seams of the metal or below the grated floor, numerous variants of weeds sprouted; even mushrooms and interesting glowing yellow plants danced along on the edges of the walls. A constant dripping sound came from ahead of them; perhaps there was water leaking from a pipe? The air seemed to get more and more stagnant the further up they went. Which wasn't a surprise; this was essentially a metal-made tunnel with brief gaps that let in some fresh air, or as fresh as you could get on a day like this.
Finally reaching the end of the tunnel, they were met by a glowing static crystal that seemed to power the lights and the door that led further ahead. Joining the plants were piles and piles of sand that left (Y/N) perplexed as she began wondering how sand of all things got this far into the rainforest and into a golem no less.
“Hey Zandik, do you think this came from the desert?”
“Hm?” He turned to look at her, pointing at the intruding sand. “Probably. I’ve heard there are more of these in the desert.”
Walking to Zandik, she joined him in staring through the doors into the…Horribly, and I mean, horribly tilted room inside. (Y/N) cringed, face twisting as if she ate a sour lemon at the sight. After having been stuck in Enkanomiya for a couple of weeks at a time, she did not like places that twisted and tilted without reason or rhyme. Similarly, Zandik was also sneering at the tilt of the space.
“Should have packed ginger,” she grumbled as she stepped through the doors and began looking around.
“Ginger?” That seemed to have brought his attention back to the moment away from wherever his thoughts were swimming to.
“Oh, you don't know? Ginger helps fight motion sickness and nausea; it calms the stomach so you don't feel as queasy. I got the advice from a well-known doctor in Liyue. It’s helped quite a lot in my travels,” she laughed softly as she ran her finger against a random surface and watched as decades-old dust settled on her finger. Grimacing, she cleaned it off against her clothes. “Do you want me to pack some extra for you next time?”
Once again, her level of thoughtfulness and simple kindness stumped him; how could someone be so effortlessly nice? Then again, he did see her take down multiple grown men half awake, so maybe she was actively choosing who deserved her pleasantries. And that thought twisted at his mind in an unnatural and unnerving way. Perhaps he could use that to his advantage; after all, she did seem eager for his company and seemed almost like a puppy clinging to him. She had already agreed to come here after knowing him for barely 2 days.
“Do what you want,” he finally responded, walking past her further into the central room of the golem.
Snickering, she followed him, patting him on the arm as she teased him right back, “You’re such a grump sometimes, but that's okay. At this point I am well on my way to having a degree in Zandik.”
Hopping up onto a ledge, she sat back with their bags as he walked around the room. The hollow space held what she guessed was an elevator, if judged correctly by the platforms going up and the yellow glass surrounding the cylindrical structure, and smaller little rooms on the outer ring. She watched, hands in her head, feet dangling and swinging back and forth subtly as she hummed a tune, probably one she had heard the bards in Mondstadt sing, as the teal-haired man walked around jotting things in his notebook, mumbling and chewing his pen more often than not. Lying down on the not-at-all-comfortable metal, she let her eyes slip shut as she focused on her friend and slipped into a nice, well-deserved nap.
Once again, her dreams depicted the oddest of things: ruin guards floating around with flower crowns on their heads, fish jumping out of rainbow waterfalls, Venti singing and playing his lyre, and her and Zandik lying on the grass looking up at clouds and stars while it was still daylight. The man in question turned to her and started talking, but all she could think was how pretty he looked with the sun behind him. What was he saying?
-ake up
Huh?
Wake up
“Wake up (Y/N),” Zandik whispered in her face, shaking her shoulders.
“Huh wha… what happened to the sky…” the sleepy woman asked, voice groggy and incoherent as she slumped forward into Zandik as he showed her bag into her arms and pulled her along back into the hallway.
“There's other researchers here! Dammit, we need to get out fast. I can't have them finding me here!” Zandik mumbled angrily as she quietly and quickly walked up the stairs, disappearing into the first room with the crystal just as the voices got closer.
“I could've sworn I heard someone here. Split up and look for them; civilians can't be here without a permit!” A gruff man's voice resonated from behind them. The sound of multiple footsteps rapidly gaining on them finally woke her up as she quickly took the lead and sped up.
Opening her bag, she quickly equipped it and got into the same position as she was before with Zandik, bag in the front, and arms around Zandik.
As soon as the vertical bend in the hallway came, she jumped and enabled the glider to fly them out of the steep arm. Remembering the sharp corner the palm made, she angled themselves to stick to the left, and told him to hold on tight as the opening came into view. With a woosh, they rounded the corner, barely avoiding scraping the palm and fingers of the golem as they exited, leaving the entrance behind. Using the gained momentum, she positioned themselves to aim for the canopy of the trees below, hoping they would give enough cover from whoever was after them. Once a big enough piece of ground was in sight, she outstretched both her arms and settled to land.
Coming to a tumbling halt, they landed with the grace of a drunk man on his way to another bar, coming to a rolling halt on the tall wet grass. Zandik landed on his face, half-crashed on (Y/N), half-eating the long blades of grass. The girl ended up on her back, head spinning and staring at the dancing trees above her. She threw Zandik's long legs and her bag off of her, to which he just huffed, and continued lying there.
After many minutes of just resting there, neither bothering to move even an inch, the scholar finally spoke up, voice muffled from the ground below, “We’re camping here; I don't want to move anywhere until tomorrow morning.”
Tilting her head up, she surveilled the area, thick trees above that blocked them from view, river in front of them, giant screw to their left and a tied-up ruin drake to their right-
What
Jumping up, throwing her glider off and equipping her polearm, she quickly got into a defensive position in front of Zandik, who only turned his head to look at her. Shifting his focus from her, he looked to where she was staring. To him in that moment, she reminded him of a beast with its hackles raised, teeth bared, ears pulled back, and fur standing up. Further ahead of them, partially hidden by shrubs and trees, sat a deactivated ruin drake, tied up in mystic-looking chains that came from 3 stone pillars. Zandik pulled himself to his feet and nodded at (Y/N) to take them closer. So slowly she led the way through the waist-deep water across to the robot. Stretching out her hand, she signalled for him to stay back as she went to inspect it. Usually the sleeping machines would sense something moving within 10 meters, so when she was within arm's reach of it and it still didn't move, she gave it a swift but hard swing from her weapon. Seeing nothing once again, she finally let the scholar come near it.
“I wonder what these chains are,” he asked, inspecting them. They didn't feel like metal, more like beams of energy. When he touched them, a small and faint zap touched his fingers, almost like a static shock.
“If you want, you can poke at it; I’ll go set up camp. Yell if you need anything.”
With that, she walked back through the river and began the mundane process of setting up camp for the night. First the firewood for the much-needed fire, then the tents, then some rope for clothes drying, and finally cooking dinner. Just like the night before, she took up the position of cook, but she didn't mind. It gave her something relaxing to do, something that her body knew but let her mind drift and relax. Not many thoughts wandered in through her subconscious; occasionally she would look around to make sure nothing was sneaking up on her and to check on Zandik, who was elbows deep in the drake.
By the time dinner was done cooking, Zandik had come back with a few small parts that didn't get put away, so she guessed he wanted to talk about them later. She should have worried about some animal or the people from the golem finding them, but she reckoned even while being exhausted she could take them out or fool them by coming up with a well-crafted lie - nothing she hadn't done before. After several tussles with gods, dragons and harbingers, a few humans or animals were nothing to her.
Sitting down on the tarp in front of the fire with Zandik on her right, away from the source of potential danger, they began to enjoy the well-earned meal. Once again, silence fell between them before she could tell he needed some recharge; right now she figured there just simply wasn't anything to talk about. The thoughts that did come to her mind could be voiced later. So she sat, knees brushing, with her friend and simply appreciated the quiet atmosphere, good company and even better food. After dinner, she let Zandik tidy up and sat back to relax for another half hour or so. Just like before, Zandik came back to sit with her and began writing in his notebook. After some time, she switched to lying on her front to look at what he was writing - giving him the opportunity to start the conversation. And of course, like a fish to water, he took that chance and began talking about the components he found. These ones in particular being hard to find in good condition, those being a type of balance stabilisers that wore out fast in the rocky and unstable terrain of Sumeru.
“What are you planning on doing with all these parts?” She had asked at one point, having gone to rest her head on her crossed arms, looking at him with pure curiosity. A look that he couldn't deny.
“I want to reverse engineer them and improve on their designs,” Zandik paused, looking at her reaction, seeing no ounce of disgust or anger; he continued, “Right now their functions are limited to walk, sense and attack. But what if I could make a brain for it? Give it a knowledge processing module, one that could make it analyse a person's fighting style and make it adaptable? That would change the need for people in war, no more needing to send people on the front lines. Think about how much things could improve.”
‘Right,’ (Y/N) thought, 'it's only been a few years since the cataclysm; it makes sense that the heavy burden of losing people in a war is on people's minds.’
She continued to listen to him talk, joining in his conversation whenever she had something to say. At some point, a yawn escaped her, and he stopped talking.
“Before we continue chatting, I wanted to take a shower before I fell asleep.” (Y/N) spoke, yawning frequently as she stood up with a big stretch, feeling her spine and limbs pop pleasantly.
“Shower? Here?”
“Mh, my friends and I used to do it all the time. Whenever you’re travelling for long periods of time, you learn to shower wherever you can.”
“Your friend is a girl, right?”
“Yeah.”
“And you don't see how this situation is different?”
“... well no one is making you look, Zandik. I didn't know you were such a pervert. Are all scholars so repressed in their emotions?” She teased a Cheshire smile on her face as she wiggled her eyebrows and laughed softly at how his face warmed up and how his eyebrows shot up into his hairline. “Relax, I fully intended to tell you to turn around, plus I’m not expecting you to join me. But I have a spare soap bar with me if you want to.”
Spinning her finger in his direction, she told him to turn around. And he did - in the most robotic and stiff way imaginable. Once he was turned around, she began taking off her clothes, making sure to make a neat pile that covered her more delicate pieces of clothing and set up her nightwear and towel. Dipping her toe in the water, she was pleasantly surprised that it was still somewhat warm. So with little trouble, she began walking into the water, yelping when it got colder the further she went, until the water was just past her chest. In the dark of the night with barely any light aside from the moon and the campfire lights, nothing was going to be visible.
“You can join if you want; I'll look the other way,” she softly yelled out to him.
Zandik contemplated the situation, sure they were both going to be naked in the river, but she trusted him not to do anything, and he himself knew he wasn't even going to look in her direction. He wasn't going to get worked up over this like a hormonal teenager; yes, he was fresh out of his teen years, but he reasoned he had always been more mature and level-headed than his peers. So he decided that this was a normal activity to do after being stuck walking around for two days in a row. Plus, if he had to admit it, then the feeling of sweat and dirt all over him was starting to push at his nerves, so the chance to wash up was gladly accepted.
Hearing the rustling of clothes, she began to wash herself up. After a moment, she heard him begin to waddle through the water closer to her till he was next to her, then move further up so that he was fully covered like her.
“It's smart to wrap the soap in cloth; that way you don't lose it in the water,” Zandik spoke, sounding like he was focusing on not thinking about the situation.
“You can guess how I learned to do this,” she laughed softly as she began cleaning her hair too. While pure soap wasn't the best, she had specifically asked both Albedo and Baizhu for help in making a combination that worked with her hair. Not ideal for daily use, but perfect for short-term camping.
“Lost it in a river?”
“Worse, near a fishing spot and then had it make it in the local newspaper. Please do not lose your personal hygiene items in the sea or any body of water. I spent a month wondering if everyone knew it was me who lost it,” she continued laughing as she recounted the story.
“It's a special blend of soap so you can use it for your hair too, and it's non-toxic so it won't harm the wildlife here.” After informing him, she saw him reach up to lather his hair.
“I can feel you staring at me,” Zandik spoke, hands working in circles on his scalp.
That she couldn't deny; at first it started as just staring off into space, then he filled the space, and then she realised just how broad his shoulders were compared to the rest of him. Heck, she felt it early with how he carried her.
“Just admiring your shoulders is all,” she spoke half earnestly, half teasingly.
The man in question, without thinking, turned to look at her with a shocked expression that very quickly turned to embarrassment as his eyes blew wide and his mouth fell open as he turned back around, sputtering out, “Idiot, don't say stuff like that when I can't turn to put you in your place!”
The woman just laughed loudly, not being able to control it anymore. Walking back to the shore a little, she began to wash out the soapy suds from her hair. Looking back at Zandik, who was still as stiff as a statue and tried to sneak over to him. Tried, because every time she moved, the water gave away her intentions, and her giggling that she couldn't quite contain.
“What are you giggling like a hyena about over there?” Zandik asked, about to turn his head but stopped and looked back further ahead.
The moment he did that, she struck, splashing him with water. A moment passed as she now snorted, fully laughing at how he looked like a sad wet puppy. Then he turned and began splashing her back, not holding back. At that moment, he did not care about their predicament; he was out for blood, her blood.
Awkwardly side-stepping and ducking away, making sure to stay at a respectable distance away from him and keeping herself covered in the water, she flung water back as they both went into a full laughing water fight. They spent the next ten minutes running, waddling, around in circles making bigger and bigger splashes at each other until Zandik hissed and curled up, splashing water at his eyes.
“Ah, dammit, soap.” While they both did use the loop on the fabric to hook the soap onto their wrists, it seemed the soap suds were still flying around in the water, and some had managed to perfectly target his eyes.
Hesitating, she waddled over closer to him, arms up in surrender as she checked him over, “Come on, let's get away from the foam around us.”
Gently taking his wrist, she led him to a cleaner part of the water, while his other hand covered his face, resisting the urge to rub at his eyes. “Alright, here, lean down and splash your eyes till the burning stops.”
Stepping to the side behind him, she gently rubbed at his back as he rinsed his eyes out. Shortly after, he straightened out and turned to face her.
“Next time you decide to wage a water war, make sure there's no soap involved.”
“So you want a next time?” She asked, lips quirking up in a soft smirk.
“Ahmagh, how is that the only thing you take away from this?” he chided her, once again resorting to calling her an idiot in Sumerian.
“Yeah yeah, I'm an idiot, and you're the guy hanging out with a so-called ahmagh,” she joked back, testing out the foreign word on her tongue.
“Surprisingly, you didn't completely butcher the pronunciation,” he teased, then his eyebrows furrowed as he saw how her lips began softly quivering, then noticed the rising goosebumps on her skin. “Now go dry and change in the tent; I'll get out after you.”
Not bothering to fight with him, she followed his orders as soon as she closed his eyes and tilted his head down. Wading through the water, she quickly wrapped herself in the big towel she managed to squeeze in the bag, and then wrapped her hair in a hair turban she found while perusing the markets in Sumeru City. Once she grabbed her clothes and made it to the tent, she told Zandik that he could get out too.
Closing the tent up, she quickly dried up and changed into her pyjamas and began tidying up her side of the tent, waiting for Zandik to tell her she could come back out. Hearing the go-ahead after a while, she climbed out and saw Zandik in his sleepwear too - loose linen shirt and shorts that stood out against his complexion even in the night. He knelt by the fire, finishing up tidying his bag. She watched as his hair dripped water down his face and back, wetting the fabric. Silently, she took his discarded towel and began drying it, and maybe fluffing it up as soon as she realised he let her.
“Your hair’s nice too, you know, I like the colour and cut. It suits you,” whispering softly, as if afraid that any sudden noise would break the atmosphere around them.
Zanik tilted his head back to look at her, red eyes looking up at her as thick dark brows furrowed together, as if asking her to explain.
“It's the colour of a lunar halo,” she explained as she continued drying his hair, taking extra care to massage his scalp when she saw how he started to relax at the action, shoulders and face loosening the tension slowly the more she did so.
“Is that something you particularly like?”
“Mhmh, every full moon we would be able to see it so clearly from my home; in a way it's a colour I associate with comfort and home.”
Was it normal to compare your friends to things you find comforting? He didn't know; all he knew was that her answer stunned him, especially the way her eyes seemed to soften even more, like all the wear and tear of the day was lost, her forehead smoothed out, her eyebrows unforrowed and her jaw relaxed. She looked at him with such fondness and ease that it made his mind stop working, stop thinking about essay deadlines, his forbidden extracurricular activities, even where they were. In that moment, all he saw was her and how she was looking at him.
(Y/N) was undoubtedly an anomaly to him, one that broke every rule he had written, one that pushed at his boundaries in a way that wasn't painful, but felt more like a steady hand against his back. She was someone who he had to keep by his side, just so that he could keep picking at her brain to find out just what it was about her that made everything he longed for in a friend seem possible to get.
“Now let's sleep, you’re taking the first watch,” yawning, she shuffled over to the tent and climbed in. But she didn't close the flap; she instead pulled the bedding around and placed it so that the head was outside of it. “And I mean to cash in some tokens and hear you talk about whatever you want. So talk, and I’ll listen.”
It seemed that her goal today was to stun him into silence. But he agreed, so he moved to sit next to her on the outside of the tent. He wrapped himself in his blanket, welcoming the warmth from it in the cooling night air, opened his journal and began reading what he’d written, occasionally going on small rants about whatever the topic was. Rarely, as if fighting sleep, she would sleepily mumble out some words or hum, but not long after he started, she fell asleep. So he stopped; he watched her light breathing and occasional snoring; he saw how whenever he started to talk again, her face and body relaxed as if even in deep sleep she was hearing him, and he decided to start writing down everything that had happened with her.
So he sat there for hours, listening to the flickering flames, to the wind lapping the lake water to the shore, to the trees above and the night critters scuttling around, and he wrote and wrote and wrote in hopes that the puzzle of who she is would start to make sense.
Notes: Idk man. Gesturing vaguely. Can't even blame ovulation for this.
Tags: Zandik x fem reader, Dead Dove do Not Eat, omega reader, assistant reader, noncon, omegaverse, allusions to sex trafficking and slavery, nonconsensual mating bonding, biting, blood, minimal prep, induced heat response, blackmail of sorts, manipulation/drugging through pheromones, breeding
Minors DNI
"You honestly thought you could keep up this charade?" Zandik's chuckle was cold and sinister, one hand keeping you pinned by the back of your neck.
The cold steel table dug into your hips but provided no relief against your heated skin. A sneer left your lips, all pretense dropped as you writhed and squirmed, trying to reach behind your back to claw at his arms.
"Fooled you for months assh-"
He nipped at your neck, drawing another hiss from you. "Don't delude yourself, you're hardly important enough for me to pay close attention to."
You'd never missed the scent of antiseptic as much as in this moment. It was part of what made working so close to an alpha bearable, his natural musk of spice and warmth drowned out by the chemicals he worked with. Now, his scent flared and pushed at you like a physical force, demanding that you bare your neck and arch.
His tongue dragged along the sensitive junction between your neck and shoulder, causing your already swollen scent glad to throb. Panic coursed through you and you thrashed harder.
"Bastard! I'll-"
"Hush.." Zandik sank his teeth into the tender flesh, not enough to break skin, but dangerously close.
You snarled even as slick soaked into your underwear, cheeks burning up from humiliation and anger. There was no doubt that your scent was honeyed, a beacon meant to attract suitable mates for you to pick between. His own arousal was evident when he loomed over you, hard length pressing against your ass while he used his free hand to grope at the soft flesh.
"Don't you dare bite!" You cried out as his jaws tightened a fraction, frantically stomping your feet in an attempt to hit him. "I'll report you!"
The pressure eased as Zandik slowly pulled away, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest. His hips ground forward against yours, grip tightening on your neck. "Report me? And how do you plan on doing that without telling everyone that you are a little liar? A sweet, fertile omega hiding behind illegal suppressants and a false beta designation... You're lucky I'm the one who found you, I like you, after all, and don't want you removed."
You tensed up. He was right. Not that you truly believed they'd ever punish the second harbinger for improper conduct against a superior in the first place... All you'd get out of it would be a one-way ticket to the breeding facility hidden deep beneath the palace.
Zandik cooed when you shivered, his grip on your nape relaxing a bit. "Ahh, there's my clever assistant.. Finally realized your place did you?"
That same eerie smile as when he got new subjects was plastered on his lips when you wrenched your head around to leer at him. Heat pooled in your stomach when he gave your ass a little tap before reaching beneath the waistband of your trousers.
His gloves were warm, the texture of the fabric sending sparks through your nerves. You writhed when he brushed over the damp spot between your thighs. Your hole fluttered around nothing, body betraying how badly it needed the relief even if you'd never take it from him.
"You.. smell divine.." Zandik groaned softly, his head dropping to the back of your shoulder, drool dripping onto your skin. His thumb slid beneath the fabric and you arched into the touch with a growl. He responded in kind, the deep rumble making your muscles go slack beneath him. "There we go.."
Everything froze around you the moment his thumb pushed into your twitching hole, just the tip, exploratory and far more gentle than your body could bear. A shrill scream tore from your lungs and Zandik chuckled, his tongue lapping at your tender gland while he continued to grind against your thighs.
Your vision had gone too blurry to focus on anything, white lights dancing before your eyes with every shallow thrust of his finger. He replaced his thumb with two digits, pushing them further in and curling them. You clawed at the examination table, anything to keep yourself from grinding back against him.
His teeth dug into your flesh once more, the pain shooting through your body at the same time as he buried his fingers as far as they could reach. The joint sensation made you jerk violently, pushing up and forcing his teeth into your neck.
Both of you groaned as blood spilled from the wound, pheromones flooding your senses and making you go limp beneath him. Zandik snarled and bit down harder, your pulse roaring in your ears as your heartbeat synchronized with his. Without releasing your neck, Zandik withdrew his fingers from your slick heat, the rustle of fabric loud over the static of machinery.
"Told you you were mine.."
The wound throbbed as though his teeth were still tearing through you, your mind unable to focus on anything except the need to be joined with him.
With both hands steadying your hips, Zandik pushed forward in one relentless thrust, burying himself to the hilt with a feral cry. You squirmed weakly, the stretch burning in a way you'd never imagined. It felt like being torn apart, and you wanted nothing more than to crawl away. But your body didn't respond, the scent of his musk keeping you weighed down and pliant as he began moving.
Zandik panted softly, his nails digging into your hips. "Fuck-... So this is what I've been missing.. No wonder they keep your kind locked up and dangled as a reward.. You feel perfect.."
His cock dragged along your walls, the fat tip pushing impossibly deeper with each thrust forward, feeling like it was bullying itself into your womb. You could feel the base of his shaft swell already, horror at the prospect of being bred prickling at the back of your now sluggish mind. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad? He could protect what was his. You'd be safe.
"Don't-.."
Pain radiated from the bite and Zandik leaned down to kiss it, his lips warm and tender despite the ruthless pace of his hips snapping forward. Your insides fluttered around him, drawing a shaky moan from your lips and Zandik purred with satisfaction that in turn made your toes curl.
"Oh don't be frightened sweet thing, I won't stop until you're full and satisfied.."
Tears prickled at your eyes when he nuzzled against your cheek some cruel mockery of comfort. You hated that it made your pulse slow down and slick drip down your thighs.
"And if you need more?" Zandik punctuated his words with another deep thrust, his knot pressing against your entrance, every movement forcing your tight heat open just a little further. "I'll be there to give it to you. Don't forget, you're mine to take care of, and I plan to keep you satisfied."
Belated Happy Bunny Day!! For this year's Dottore Holiday Special, Zandik’s Segments have a surprise for you. Have you in all your worldly knowledge ever heard of a bunny boy?
CW:: Mention of animal experimentation, Dottore is here, his Segments are also here
Notes:: Suggestive themes, mention of nsfw, MINORS DNI, guess which Segments are the writer’s favorites, this was supposed to be unserious why tf is there Dottore analysis ;-;
♡ 5.6k words under the cut ♡
It all started with an offhand remark.
On a cold spring day, you and Zandik were roaming the Snezhnayan tundra. The sun was shining, and the world around you was a dappled canvas of snow and flora. The two of you had no other companions, only the local wildlife. Owls, foxes, Whopperflowers…
And the hares! There were several of them, with fluffy white fur and short, black-tipped ears. Each time you tried to approach one, it would run away and blend into the snow.
Having adapted to Snezhnaya's harsh climate, this species was certainly unlike its relatives from other nations. The first time you saw it, you even mistook it for a rabbit.
Rabbits, their close cousin within the family Leporidae. Beloved by humans to the point of domestication, they are the subjects of many artistic works and scientific experiments.
You mulled it over with Zandik. Come to think of it, he recently read a research paper about the rabbit's significance in Inazuman pop culture. Apparently, its joint status as a symbol of innocence and fertility has inspired an informal attire called the bunny suit.
He described it to you. The bunny suit consists of a rabbit-ear headband and a pompom tail, worn over a suggestive outfit. Said outfit has two main variants—a black bodysuit and a casual suit, both tailored to accentuate the wearer's physique.
It sounded comical, lascivious, just the sort of thing your lover would be open to.
Coyly, you said you were in dire need of a visual aid. Perhaps Zandik could enlighten you by putting on a bunny suit?
To that, he chuckled and told you to focus on your surroundings. It wasn't every day that the Snezhnayan wilderness would be this forgiving.
Little did you know that your silly request would remain in his memory for years to come.
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On a warm summer day, you find a strange card on your desk.
It is deep blue, embossed in gold. Stars and swirls adorn the borders. A framed illustration of a rabbit is positioned in the center. Below the portrait, in familiar penmanship, is a greeting.
HAPPY BUNNY DAY
Bunny Day? You open the card and read the text inside.
The card's fancy design is offset by its interior. The left side provides a formal explanation of Bunny Day or, as it is called in its place of origin, Bani no Hi.
Apparently, it is a special day within Inazuma's art circles. To celebrate, many artists illustrate their favorite characters in rabbit-themed clothing, such as but not limited to the famous bunny suit Zandik had read about. Some establishments have even taken it a step further with limited events featuring bunny-suited servers. And Bunny Day just so happens to be today.
There is even a reference list. Only one person would send you a greeting card with formal citations—or should you say seven?
On the right side is a formal invitation to be hosted by six "bunny boys" over the course of the day. From the addresses listed, you can tell who was excluded.
Smiling, you reread the card. It's just like Zandik to go out of his way to indulge you. If this much effort was put into the invitation, what more for the main event?
Well, you can certainly make time for this.
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The first laboratory houses a blue bunny.
Segment 8 greets you at the doorstep, looking quite serious for someone wearing a fluffy rabbit onesie. It is quite detailed—light blue fur, black claws, a milk spot on the forehead, a pair of lop ears with deep blue tips. There is even a light blue pompom tail.
He checks your invitation first, then he instructs you to follow him inside.
For you, 8 prepared a tea party! The dining table is set with a Sumerian tea kettle, matching cups, biscuits. And you aren't the only guest; all but two chairs are occupied by plush rabbits.
"From 45," he claims. In an indignant tone, he adds that his bunny suit was also provided by the older Segments, who wouldn't stop laughing and calling him adorable.
You resist the urge to do the same.
Clearly, Zandik's child self has put a lot of care into this event. It is only right that you play along.
The performance goes smoothly. 8 pulls out your chair for you, fills your cup with masala chai, and arranges two biscuits on your plate. For the grand finale, he stands in front of you and greets you with an earnest "Happy Bunny Day!"
So cute!
You don't say that, of course, instead patting 8's head and praising him for a job well done. The sparkle in his eyes, his satisfied smile, you would like to remember forever.
Afterwards, you insist that 8 enjoy his own tea party. You reciprocate his earlier gestures, pouring masala chai into his cup and piling his plate with biscuits. You even serve the plush rabbits!
Never mind his remarks that they are just toys. Even when he is no longer a child in the truest sense, a little make-believe never hurts.
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The first thing Segment 18 tells you is that he wanted no part in this.
Well, he doesn't express it verbally, but you infer as much from his greeting. When you enter his laboratory, he doesn't rush to escort you. He simply looks up from his book and says it is about time you arrived.
Despite that, he still chose to join in on the celebration.
Approaching the sofa, you admire his bunny suit. 18 is wearing its decidedly "modest" variant—white buttoned shirt, dark waistcoat, black pants—but with a personal twist. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up, revealing long black fingerless gloves. A teal brooch is pinned to his collar; it complements his gold earrings. In place of loafers, he wears his usual boots.
Most unique are his bunny ears, teal in color. One ear points upward, while the other is bent forward.
You sit across from him. The coffee table has been cleared of 18's books to make room for a tea kettle, two cups, and a small ceramic bowl with a patterned lid.
18 asks if you have seen the other Segments. You tell him about 8, to which he scoffs.
"Let's get this over with."
Putting down his book, he meets your gaze head-on. Crimson eyes, framed with pale lashes, hold your reflection captive.
In a noncommittal tone, he says, "Happy Bunny Day."
A smile appears on your face, doubled in his gaze.
That's 18 for you, always with that air of aloofness. But by now, you are capable of dissecting his schooled expressions.
Wasting no time, 18 picks up the tea kettle and fills both cups with chai. He pushes a cup in your direction, along with the bowl and a dessert spoon. The bowl is uncovered to reveal a single serving of carrot halwa.
It's delicious. 18 sits back down, watching you eat. He rests his chin on his palm, and the bunny ears cast a shadow over his face.
He's rather cute like this.
You ask about his bunny suit. 18 says he made it himself, lest he also be stuffed into a childish costume. Is there a tail? Hmph, who knows.
He hasn't touched his chai. Neither has he set aside a serving of halwa for himself.
Wordlessly, you move to his side and bring your spoon close to his mouth.
18's eyes widen, but just as quickly, he leans forward and eats the treat you offered. Then he turns to pick up his cup.
His bunny ears shift with his movements.
They're so fluffy, so detailed like 8's. What material was used, real rabbit fur? Did 18 add a wire skeleton to maintain their half-bent position? You're becoming curiouser and curiouser…
Before your fingers can pinch the fur, a hand closes around your wrist.
18 gives you a withering look and says this is a host club, not a petting zoo.
You're still smiling as you finish your dessert.
ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ
The moment you see Segment 25, he takes your breath away.
His waist…small. Corset. He is wearing a corset. At least the rest is…skin? Is that bare skin you are seeing? And that tail. Fluffy. So fluffy, placed just above—is it okay for him to have this much sex appeal?!
You only snap out of it when 25 sees you, a gloved hand signaling you to come inside. Somehow, you make it through the doorway.
25 is in the middle of mixing chemicals. He tells you to make yourself at home, that he'll attend to you shortly.
You pick the armchair facing his workstation. Here, you can take deep breaths and process what he is wearing.
The foundation for his bunny suit is the "modest" variant, same as 18. But it has been cut, fitted, embellished to the point that he'd look less sultry in a black bodysuit.
The first to catch your eye is the corset. Deep blue, with gold and black embroidery, it accentuates the curves of his torso. Beneath it, he wears a dark gray shirt that is artfully disheveled to expose the tops of his shoulders, his clavicles, his neck—is that a collar?
You do a double take.
It isn't your imagination. Wrapped around 25's neck is a strip of black leather. Its gold details glint in the artificial light.
The worst part is how 25 carries himself, as though he is in regular attire. He puts down a beaker and opens a drawer, turning his back to you.
Your gaze drifts lower.
He has a white pompom tail, velvety like his bunny ears. It marks the boundary between the corset and his black pants, which are also form-fitting.
You want to touch it. His tail, his waist, his—
The click of heels snaps you out of your reverie.
Now he is standing in front of you. His arms…the sleeves are also rolled up to reveal black gloves underneath. This pair covers his hands and forearms entirely.
Oh, and he's holding something. A metal tray, not for surgical tools but for refreshments. There is an ombré blue cocktail within a tall glass, plus a saucer of bright orange candies shaped like carrots.
For a few seconds, the two of you just look at each other.
25 is wearing a black surgical mask. Paired with his glasses, it renders his face a mystery. But his gaze, red like wine and blood and methyl, is so intense that it makes you dizzy.
"Happy Bunny Day," he tells you in a voice like silk.
Ah, he knows you too well.
25 places the tray on the side table and gives you a brief overview of its contents. The cocktail is a blend of infused spirits and floral syrups, while the candies are made with the extract of carrots. He'd figured you would like something different.
You look at his laboratory apparatus, stained blue and orange. So that's what he had been experimenting with.
There is another armchair, on the other side of the table. 25 takes it, crossing his legs. Gods, his pants are so tight. He lifts his hand and your eyes follow it, watching it go up, up, past his corset, his shirt, his collar, his mask, to push up his glasses with the tip of his index finger.
There is a crimson twinkle in his eye. But just as quickly, he breaks eye contact and asks what you think of his bunny ears.
His…bunny ears?
Yes, of course. That is the most important part of his bunny suit, after all. He'd taken pains to craft a realistic pair, studying the body language of rabbits in neutral behavior, so it would be a shame if you hadn't paid it any attention…
An hour later, you decide it is time to leave. You thank 25 for having you, he says it was a pleasure, the both of you standing near the doorway, and you are just about to congratulate yourself on your self-restraint when he pulls down his mask and gives you a smile that is downright sinful.
Oh, fuck it.
You push him up against the wall. 25 doesn't have time to react before your hands are already tangled in the ribbons of his corset, untying the knots, unhooking the pins, tugging and pulling until finally, finally that scrap of fabric is on the floor. Next is his shirt, which is also a pain because of course he was meticulous enough to secure it with pins, but with enough prodding—
The final button snaps into place.
The delight in 25's gaze gives way to confusion.
You take a step back and admire your handiwork.
There, now his shirt is all buttoned up. There are visible creases but it's fine, so long as his collar is hidden and his waist is no longer in that stupid corset. His bunny ears are lopsided from the scuffle, but he can adjust them on his own.
As a final measure, you throw your coat at 25 and tell him to keep it on for the rest of the day.
Before he can say anything, you turn around and leave the laboratory.
Through the closed door, his laughter follows you.
ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ
Upon seeing the next Segment, you regret leaving your coat with 25.
35, the prime of Zandik's life, your lover at his most dramatic. As a scholar, he respects all possibilities, and he could not overlook that of being outshone by his other "selves."
His laboratory is empty, but there is evidence of accommodation. The sitting room is bathed in warm light, as controlled by the drawn curtains and tinted lamps. The tea table is set with a vase of vibrant flowers, a corked bottle, and a broad, tapered wineglass. The piano lid is open.
Your attention is on the flowers, deciphering their meanings, until you hear a familiar gait. 35 emerges from the shadows and says he has been expecting you.
…
What the hell is he wearing?
Never mind your attempts to feign propriety around 25. This time, you stare openly at your host which, in your defense, is definitely the outcome he desired.
Unlike his younger selves, 35 is wearing the bunny suit. The white bodysuit is perfectly fitted to his body, with subtle vertical patterns to enhance his slimness. The effect is magnified by a black leather harness adorned with gold buckles and luminous blue charms. Dark stockings hug his legs, ending in a pair of intricate gold-and-black heels. With the exception of his usual gloves, his arms are totally bare. His bunny ears are also detailed—snowy white fur with black tips, pricked forward.
He is still wearing his mask, but you can easily imagine the wicked glint in his eyes. As he moves closer, his lips curve into a confident smile.
"Happy bunny day, my dear."
Well, this wouldn't be the first time you dropped all pretenses with 35.
Slumping into the armchair, you ask him if the bodysuit is necessary. Still smiling, 35 inquires about the previous Segments and their choice of attire. Hmm, how predictable of them; likewise, you shouldn't expect much from his older selves.
"Anything else I should expect from you?" you shoot back.
In response, 35 laughs and tells you to be patient. The program has just begun.
With that, he uncorks the bottle and fills your glass. He places it in your hand and tells you to sit back, relax.
Against your better judgment, you accept it. The wine is a rich shade of carmine; knowing his tastes, it must be a full-bodied variety.
35 takes a seat at the piano bench. Then, he begins playing.
It is a suitable piece, an ostinato full of leaps and flourishes. And 35 plays it perfectly, refusing to use his lascivous attire as a crutch for his serenade.
You savor your wine and the performance.
From the armchair, you have a perfect view of 35's back profile; no doubt, he'd also taken this into consideration. Every flex of his forearms, his upper back, is exposed to your gaze. The back seams of his stockings are also on display, vertical lines climbing up his legs and curving along his a—
Compose yourself. You are not giving him the satisfaction of provoking you any further.
So you focus on his bunny tail. It is pure white like 25's but less round, a bit longer. Come to think of it, the shape and coloration of his ears also differs from the others'. It brings to mind a specific tundra species, as though…
As though he is a hare amongst rabbits.
The performance ends. 35 stands up, turns around, and gives you a bow. Not one to trivialize art, you reciprocate with a round of applause.
"Now, where were we?"
Returning to the piano bench, 35 sits facing you and crosses his legs. He starts a conversation about the weather, his latest experiments, the musical elements of the ostinato he just performed. He speaks animatedly, with his full body, and each of his habitual gestures is perceived anew by the way it warps the fabric of his bunny suit.
When you decide to leave, 35 asks if you would like an encore. He has many more piano pieces to perform, wine to pour, topics to interest you. Won't you consider it?
No thank you. He's entertained you for long enough, and knowing him, he'll keep you until you run out of time for the remaining Segments.
His guiltless smile is all the confirmation you need.
ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ
After your last two hosts, Segment 45 is a sight for sore eyes.
Finally, no more overly exposed skin or exaggerated silhouettes. You don't even care that he is still wearing an approximation of the bunny suit; what matters is that there will be some semblance of decency in here.
45 takes your hand and guides you through his laboratory. It bears almost no special decorations, but the familiarity of it is what makes you comfortable.
Well, almost. Between the ages of 35 and 45, Zandik has toned down considerably, but that does not mean he has lost his bite.
For Bunny Day, 45 is wearing his favorite buttoned shirt. Its deep blue tint contrasts nicely with his black cravat, white waistcoat, and light blue brooch. Gold curlicues adorn the sides of his black pants and the tops of his shoes. To complete the look, he has gray bunny ears and a matching pompom tail.
But that isn't all.
Your gaze drifts to the point above where your bodies intersect.
His forearms are bare, courtesy of his short gloves and rolled-up sleeves. This close, you can make out every scar, every vein made visible by the flex of his muscles.
He brings you to the sofa and urges you to sit down. The tea table is arranged like a still life, his choice of flowers and fruits denoting abundance. Among them are bright red apples.
You look up at 45. His mask is on, but you can imagine a certain fondness in his gaze.
He gives you a warm smile. "Happy Bunny Day."
The tension leaves your body. Slumping in the sofa, you give him a breathy thank you.
"For what?" he asks, to which you give him a tired look.
Ah, was it that bad? Well, you can rest here. What would you like to drink?
He ends up brewing a pot of Snezhnayan herbal tea, a perfect palate-cleanser after your last four beverages. The cup is placed on the table along with a plate of peculiarly sliced apples.
You give 45 a quizzical look. Smiling, he sits next to you on the sofa.
Apple bunnies, another leporine invention from Inazuma. See, those two points are meant to be the ears.
As he speaks, he picks up a slice and feeds it to you. The apple is crisp, sweet, and you could have savored it if not for the gloved thumb brushing against your lip.
That little…
Lips pursed, you tell him he is just as bad as his younger selves.
There's no need to be so critical! One must give credit for the time and effort they all put into coordinating this event. It was no easy feat, what with so many disagreements.
Speaking of, did they use real rabbit fur for their costumes?
Of course they did! Zandik is not one to cut corners; and otherwise, it would have been a waste of available resources. As he speaks, 45 bows his head so you can pet his bunny ears.
The opportunity is not wasted on you.
His choice of fur is much thicker, akin to wool. Wire skeleton has been used to maintain a "happy" position, and the seams are invisible. The overall construction is so perfect that one might assume these ears were simply chopped off a rabbit's head.
A part of you wonders if there is anything familiar about this fur. Hard to say, you've assisted in so many animal experiments that a fluffy gray rabbit would hardly stand out to you.
You give his bunny ears another squeeze.
45 reminds you to drink the tea before it turns cold. It is mild, soothing, just what you needed.
ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ
By now, you should be ready for whatever Segment 65 has come up with.
But Zandik's oldest Segment is not one to be underestimated, and he makes that clear as soon as he welcomes you into his laboratory.
Well, at least someone tried to create an entirely new variant of the bunny suit.
The first thing you notice is that he has swapped his corvine mask for a leporine version. It is the sort you'd see in a masquerade, elaborate and macabre. The lenses are deep red, rimmed with gold. Connected to the mask is a pair of silky black bunny ears. As for his clothing…
His heavy coat is trimmed with the same glossy black fur. Beneath it, he wears a black buttoned shirt, a gray waistcoat, and gray pants. Red roses bloom across his body—the ornaments on his top hat, the way his necktie is knotted, the sculpted jewels of his shoe clips. The final accessory is an intricate gold pocket-watch attached to his waistcoat.
His gloves are deep red. One hand rests on his cane, which has also been customized for the occasion. The other hand easily settles on the small of your back as he leads you inside.
"Happy Bunny Day," he tell you in a resonant voice.
You ask if you kept him waiting too long. He says not to worry, that now is the perfect moment to be alone with you.
The curtains are open, allowing the afternoon sunlight to spill into the sitting room. By the window is a table for two, set with a vase of red roses, a fancy tea set, and a tiered stand of refreshments.
You think of 8's tea party. Some things never change.
65 is just as courteous, pulling out your chair for you and laying a napkin across your lap. The tea is poured with a flourish; he informs you that it is a custom blend of varieties from Sumeru and Snezhnaya. The fragrant scent of the tea, paired with one look at the berry tarts and tea cakes and finger sandwiches, stirs your appetite.
You are smiling at him, saying thank you, thinking what a nice way to end such a chaotic event, up until 65 takes off his coat and drapes it over the back of his chair.
Oh, you are not dealing with this again.
You tell him to keep his coat on.
Tilting his head, he asks why.
You tell him to just do it.
He says he'd rather not.
All the while, his body is turned towards you at a three-quarter angle, offering a peek at the corseted back of his waistcoat. Tightly laced, it emphasizes his torso, slimmed down with age. Below the crisscross of dark ribbons is a black pompom tail.
Curse this man and his provocations!
At this point, you've had enough. You leave your seat, grab his coat, and cover him yourself. There, at least keep it draped over his shoulders.
For a moment, the two of you just stare at each other. Your hands are still gripping the lapels of his coat, and 65's hover just short of touching your wrists.
That is when he laughs. There is a flutter of wavy blue hair, a glimpse of his bare neck, as he throws his head back. No doubt, the smile behind his mask is all teeth.
Oh, all right. Anything you want, he can do for you.
The both of you sit down. The tea is well balanced, each note perfectly drawn out, and it pairs well with the food.
Gazing out the window, you see tall trees and rooftops covered in snow. It is a world away from the tranquil tundra you and Zandik had traversed years ago.
65 asks if you had a memorable Bunny Day. You say yes, it was certainly surreal.
In the years since that Inazuman research paper has been published, there have been many new studies on rabbits in other cultures. Myths, artworks, traditions…why, just recently, he read a Fontainian story in which a child follows a white rabbit into a fantastical world.
Ah, yes, you read that too.
Interesting, was it not, that even in a fictional world where all was possible, the flow of time remained in the grasp of higher beings. Why, had the White Rabbit not been restricted by these rules, perhaps the events of the story would have never taken place.
Your gaze returns to 65's bunny suit. His black fur, the placid expression of his mask, the pocket-watch glittering against his waistcoat.
Ah, so that was the inspiration behind his attire. A clever subversion.
Well spotted. Though unlike the White Rabbit, he has all the time in the world for you.
ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ
By the end of the day, you are dead tired.
Zandik is home. You can tell as much from the door to your shared bedroom; it is slightly open. From inside, he calls out your name.
"Zandik, you would not believe the day I've had!"
The exhaustion hits you in full force. All day, you've been on edge, strung taut by your lover sixfold. Pray this is the last time they come together for a shared ideal.
You half-stumble into the room, asking him if he knew of their plans. From the start, had he been left out? Who even proposed it—
Your breath catches in your throat.
Zandik is seated at the foot of the bed. The moonlight casts his shadow in your direction, a familiar silhouette if not for the leporine shapes jutting from the top of his head.
Are you dreaming?
You're not, his gaze seems to tell you.
Zandik is wearing a bunny suit.
And it's not just any set. No, it looks exactly like the bunny suit he wore for you all those years ago, shortly after your excursion to the Snezhnayan tundra.
The black bodysuit clings tight to his figure; with how gaunt he's gotten in old age, it must have been resized. The bunny ears, sewn from black fabric, bend ever so slightly, framed by light blue hair. Sheer stockings accentuate his legs, white cuffs encircle his wrists, there is a fluffy white pompom tail—
Remember to breathe. Any longer, and you will faint on the spot.
There are slight alterations. Instead of a black bowtie, he is wearing his blue diamond necktie. There is his monocle, of course, but it is a special one with a gold frame. No shoes, and his cane is propped against his side of the bed.
Most different is the way he carries himself. He looks smaller, shyer compared to the first time he wore this bunny suit for you.
Now he refuses to look you in the eye.
Ah, how silly, he must be thinking. So what brought this on? Did he feel left out? Or did he feel…challenged by his younger selves and their advances towards you?
His voice comes out in a whisper. "Happy Bunny Da—"
Before he can finish his greeting, you've already silenced him with your mouth.
The bed creaks with your combined weight.
Beneath you, Zandik's eyes become as big as saucers. His hair splays out against the mattress, while the tip of a bunny ear brushes against your forehead.
In his gaze, you see yourself mirrored in red. Twin smiles appear in your reflection.
Ah, this is the absolute best!
A hand sinks down on his chest. Beneath the satin and flesh, you feel a familiar heartbeat.
At that, Zandik startles and raises his hand to stop you, but you easily block it with your other hand. A wrist pinned down, a finger to his pulse.
Now this is the perfect finale to your day.
…
Hours later, in the warmth of his embrace, you ask him if it really is his old bunny suit.
Pulling you closer, he mutters yes, he pulled it out of storage, he made the right choice constructing it out of long-lasting materials.
Well, it certainly paid off! And to think he had been so uncertain about his surprise.
No doubt, his Segments went all out with their own bunny suits.
That, they did. Though, from your perspective, his is the best.
Really, now?
You press a kiss to the corner of his mouth and muse that a classic never goes out of style.
ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ BONUS ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ
A few weeks later, another surprise makes its way to you.
The door to your office swings open, and a familiar figure stomps inside.
It only takes you a second to recognize him. Those messy blue curls, that gray-white mask, the ruby spark in his eyes…
Your face breaks into a smile.
"Webby!"
Immediately, you give him a hug. The last time you saw this Segment was a month ago, before he was assigned to clean up a disaster in Haeresys.
Webby, as you have lovingly nicknamed him, hugs you back. He is still wearing his coat, cold from the snow outside. But when you pull away, his expression is visibly angry.
"So, did anything interesting happen while I was gone?" he asks you.
You tell him about the Bunny Day event organized by his fellow Segments. It was extraordinary, though you did wonder why he was absent. Was it due to his project commitments?
If looks could kill, you would be dead right now.
"It must have been a wonderful event, seeing how it was originally my idea."
The nerve of his other selves! To send him away and steal his idea for a solo event, using their "sameness" as an excuse. Why, he has half a mind to sic his experiments on them!
Ah, no wonder. Shh, it's all right. He can still carry out his original plan.
No, it is not. His surprise is ruined, and on top of that, he had to come back and hear all about 8's plushie party, 35's ridiculous outfit, and what's this about 25 waltzing out of his lab looking utterly disheveled, wearing your coat? Could you please explain what happened because until now, 25 refuses to give a clear answer and the more he laughs over it, the closer everyone, 35 in particular, looks to committing self-dissection…
At the end of his tirade, Webby takes a deep breath and asks if you remember what was written in the invitation card.
About Bunny Day? Let's see, it falls on the second day of the eighth month, though some people also celebrate it on the twenty-first.
Yes, that's right. And the latter date is today.
As if on cue, a servant asks for permission to enter. On Webby's command, they place two packages on the floor and leave your office.
Placated, Webby opens the first box and takes out a rabbit-ear headband. After putting it on, he throws off his coat to reveal the clothes underneath.
How charming!
For his bunny suit, Webby has on a dark gray waistcoat with asymmetrical black lapels and silver trim. It is styled with a white high-collared shirt, gray pants, heeled boots, leather garters around his arms and thighs. Last but not the least is a bright pink ribbon adorning one bunny ear, a silver earring on the other.
He makes a grand show of his leporine features. Observe: Unlike his other selves, he selected rabbit fur that matches his exact hair color and styled his bangs to conceal his human ears. That way, it gives the illusion that he is a natural rabbit hybrid!
He lets you pet his ears. Half lop, light blue with white spots. As for his tail…you'll wait for him to give permission.
But that's not all! The next thing Webby pulls out is another rabbit-ear headband and a pompom tail, but in your colors. Laughing, you put them on and admire your shared reflection in the looking-glass.
There, now the both of you match. All's left is to unpack the refreshments and remaining props, which you offer to help with.
"Happy Bunny Day, Webby," you tell him, a soft smile on your face.
Webby responds with a smile of his own, sharp teeth and scarlet eyes gleaming bright as jewels in the morning sunlight.
Ah, what a wonderful occasion to spend with your loved ones. Knowing them, what will you celebrate next?
♡
Who is your favorite bunny? Vote in the poll~
Credit:: For 35/ Omega Build’s bunny suit, my design was partly inspired by this fan art!!
Picture this:: It is 9:00 p.m, August 2. The weekend is almost over. You decide to spend the rest of Sunday looking at Genshin fan art. You open Twitter. You see Dottore in a bunny suit. You save it. You see a second Dottore in a bunny suit. You save that too. You see a third Dottore in a bunny suit, along with many other characters in the same outfit, and that is when it hits you:: It is Bunny Day ໒꒰ྀི๑• ༝ •๑꒱ྀི১
That reminds you:: Don’t you have a yearly tradition of writing a Dottore drabble for a holiday/ special day?? Why not write it?? But August 2 is almost over….oh, it’s fine. It’ll just be a short set of headcanons for Dottore and his Segments in different variations of the bunny suit. If you create an Ellipsus document at 9:50 p.m., it should be finished before—
Flash forward. It is 4:57 p.m., August 9. Again, the weekend is almost over. You have spent the past week writing about Dottore in between work. The Ellipsus document is now a 5.6k-word fic. And you are still tormented with mental images of Bunny Boy! Dottore fck that guy why do he and his Segments have to be so attractive when will it end sb3&3/&dj
Ahhhh I hope you all enjoyed this Bunnyttore fic!! I had a lot of fun styling the Segments and describing their bunny suits. And ofc I could not forget Webttore, our beloved~ So, whose scene was your favorite and why?? Do tell me, because I'm very curious ʚ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ɞ
Thank you for beta-reading and listening to me ramble about my brainrot!! @diodellet @pranabefall @haven-avalon @euniveve @stickyspeckledlight @teabutmakeitazure
