crow anon again .. do u think u could maybe write a saku x reader where both him n reader r just inexperienced pathetic freaks and r trying to make out for the first time in their lives .. nd like at the end they get busted by rintaro && shohei .. 🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔
a.n: my FIFTH attempt to post this because Tumblr doesn't want me to add any images. I hate Tumblr. I don't know how to write a make out scene. Not proofread.
In which: You and Saku attempt to kiss without laughing or making it awkward, someone else makes it awkward for you two instead.
══════════════════════════════
"who set this system up?" You groaned into your hands, threatening to have the second breakdown of the last twenty minutes. Saku glanced at your way from the other side of the table, taking your math book and turning it towards himself to check the question.
"It's really similar to the one you did on the other page." He pushed the book back at you. Watching your hands tighten in your hair as you tried to stay sane. You took them out of your hair, taking in a deep shaky breath to calm yourself. Before you knew it, someone shifted. Saku sat beside you on the floor, taking your pencil and starting to solve the question as he explained it verbally at the same time.
You listened to him explain the parts you didn't understand, then with a gasp, you took the pencil back quickly. "Wait, wait, wait– I get it." You solved the rest of the question with ease, placing the pencil back down as you found the right answer.
Saku watched your face as you let out a sigh, he raised a brow. "You can do it yourself after all." He mumbled. You had drifted your gaze away, nodding. "Obviously I can."
Suddenly you two felt too close, There was an awkward silennce for a few seconds, you just tapping the pen and Saku staring at the book infront of you. And when you glanced at his way, your eyes met, because he was already looking at you.
Both of your faces went red, heat creeping up to your necks. You let out a laugh you failed to hold back, wanting to bury yourself in his bedroom floor. You could swear you saw Saku's lip twitch to an embarrassed smile. He ran his hand through his face. You sat back up trying to control your flushed smiling, turning to him. Trying to mutter through your giggles. "Okay, okay I'm sorry, that was awkward."
He let out a shaky laugh, the tension in his shoulders loosening. He pushed the math book away like he wanted to give just two of you space. "It's fine." He muttered out, yet the blush on his neck didn't go away. He finally met your gaze, the way that you tried to hold in your laugh, lips twitching up, failing to stay in your place like an energetic kid. He could watch it for an eternity. He didn't even realize he started to lean into your presence, like he was scared, trying to test your waters. But he couldn't hold back from not trying.
The second you noticed him hesitating to lean in, you mirrored his movement. Because how could he look so pretty and you would fight back that?
Your noses brushed each other, and you couldn't take it anymore, burying your face into his shoulder as you started to laugh again from how awkward this was. But that's what made it feel safe, made it feel natural. You could swear that you heard saku chuckle too. His hand went to your back to steady you on the floor.
His other hand went to your neck, brushing against your jaw as he tilted your face away from his shoulder. You met his gaze, and for once, you saw him relaxed. He wasn't trying to be quiet, he wasn't trying to be anything. He was just himself.
Your lips met at first as if it was a test, trying to check if this was the moment. Then another one where his lips met yours, short but gentle. Like a reassurance that made every single dread in you fade away. Your arms went to his shoulders, holding onto him to ground yourself with the fact that this was real.
Your lips stayed on his longer than necessary, he exhaled into your skin, forehead pressing to yours as you two just stayed like that. Breathing ragged against each other.
"I don't know what I'm doing." Saku admitted quietly, his eyes stayed on your lips like it was the oxygen he desperately needed.
You let out a huff of breath, shaking your head. "Me neither." Before you cupped his cheeks, tilting his head to find his lips again. Sealing them together like you wanted to steal every breath he took. He melted into you, bodies so close that you two didn't even realize your breathings started to match. Both of you pulled apart to breathe, trying to catch your breaths. When he looked up, he had a warm smile on his lips. Like he was happy and and done with whatever this was, like he could have this all his life and he would be perfectly fine with it.
Before you could chuckle again, his lips caught yours, muffling down your giggle. God, he wanted to hear it again, again, and again.
Then, Saku stilled like he just got shot. His shoulders jolting away. The door shut back close as fast as it got opened.
"OH-" Rintaro yelped, almost falling inside the room as he shut the door as fast as possible. Making the whole bedroom shake. And then the most high pitched boyish scream came from the other side, Shohei.
"Saku we are SO sorry." Rintaro pleaded, his voice shaking like he knew he was going to get killed by him for this. You never saw Saku like this before, his hands reluncuatly leaving you, getting up from the floor and opening the door. He couldn't even meet them in the eyes, yet it was enough to show that he was holding back.
"Get. Out."
Saku wasn't a person that would get mad at their friends. Sure, he wasn't the most affectionate person either, but he cared. He cared so much about others. And now from his tone, it was clear that he was begging and trying to hold in a breakdown.
You never saw Shohei and the 1.90 boy leave so scared. Rintaro immidiatly pulling Shohei out of his way as they went down the stairs.
Saku slowly turned towards you, his hand that held the door knob falling beside him. Like he was asking the universe why would it ruin his moment. He let out a deep exhale.
You looked up at him from the floor, noticing his embarrassment and flood of other emotions, you changed the topic despite being as embarrassed as him.
Although the segments have no need of a birthday celebration—nor do they care enough to do much—you have prepared a gift for each of them. But the real star of the show, Zandik himself, has yet to wake. Even so, the lab is abuzz with motion. Eighteen is reading through old funding records, Forty-five is sorting through various herbs imported from Sumeru, and Thirty-five (or Omega, as Zandik calls him) is working on another vial of the Elixir of Immortality.
It’s interesting to watch them work. They hardly ever talk. All communication is done in the hivemind. Sometimes you wish you could listen in on their conversations. Based on their responses to each other, you can gather that Eighteen has done something awful to Eight, Forty-five is wanting to ask about being removed from errand duty, and something must have happened between Sixty-five and Omega.
Speaking of Omega, he’s now gliding towards you with his usual smirk, one hand up in the air as a motionless wave. He joins you on the couch, sitting cross legged.
“Hello, Thirty-five,” you greet him lightly, using his “professional” name rather than his given one. He must be in a good mood today, because he lifts one of your hands and raises it to his lips, pressing a gentlemanly kiss onto it. You giggle shyly, letting him hold your hand for a minute more before settling it back on your lap.
“There’s no need to be so formal,” he purrs, “I trust you know what today is?”
You nod. This is, really, the one thing that all Zandiks share. Sure, they all come from the same specimen, but is it really the “same” if they all act so differently? They’re more like brothers than they are segments. They tease and fight and bully, but at the end of the day they are coworkers, and they have to forgive.
“I, that is, the original “me”, should be waking up any minute now,” Omega moves closer, testing the waters. You tense slightly, unsure if any other segment is watching. They must be. Wherever Omega is, they follow. Partly because he’s the strongest of the lot, and also because leaving him alone for extended periods of time never ends well.
“I-I should probably go,” you manage, face warm with bloodrush. You wiggle out from under Thirty-five and skip out of the main lab. You don’t dare look back to see if anyone is still watching you. Someone in here, the original Zandik is waiting. Or sleeping. It could be any of the two. Ever since he made the segments, he’s had quite a bit more time on his hands, most of which is spent sleeping in. Not that the segments mind all that much. They have no need for sleep.
Tap.
The echo of something sharp against the marble floors resonates across the hallway. You perk up, listening intently.
Tap. Tap.
You follow the sound, narrowly avoiding crashing into Eight, who blinks up at you and mutters a tiny greeting. Turning left one last time, you find yourself in the “Segment Creation and Preparations Lab”. Zandik, the original one, stands in front of one of the incubation tubes, bubbles of teal liquid popping in and out of existence inside. He leans on his cane, adjusting the temperature of the substance within. A stack of red papers are tucked under his arm.
“My love,” you call, “how are you?” Zandik turns, watching you hop over to stand next to him.
“Tired,” he complains, “my chest has been aching as of late. Perhaps I’ll have Sixty-five inspect me.” You murmur an agreement, linking your arm with his.
“What are you doing in here? I thought you were through with making segments.” You gesture to the incubation chamber. The last time you were here, it was to welcome a very wet, very confused Sixty-five into the world.
“I am,” he assures, “I am just reminiscing.” You nod in understanding, staring at the tube. You’ve watched each segment walk out of here, damp with fluid, covered with a towel, and stumbling over their still numb legs. Perhaps one day, another segment will be nurtured inside, floating serenely around in the heating liquid. You can easily imagine Omega creating a new one.
“Come on, I’ve been waiting for you to wake up. I want you to see the cake I got you.” You tug on him and he turns towards you with a grunt of reluctance. As you turn, Eighteen walks in, beelining for a test tube rack on one of the desks. “I almost forgot! Happy eighty-fifth birthday, Zan—“ he nearly brings you down with him, careening backwards into the floor. His papers scatter across the ground, like pools of blood flowing from his head. He tries to say something, but all that comes out is a strangled growl.
“The original!” Eighteen cries.
“Zandik!” You scream, kneeling down to look at him. His chest is rising and falling rapidly, dry gasps bringing in tiny bursts of air. He’s shaking too, maybe seizing.
Omega is the first in the room, walking towards the original without a care in the world. The others gather quickly, surrounding him like vultures, curious and eager.
“Omega,” you desperately grab the segment, “I was going to take him to the kitchens to see his cake and he just collapsed! I think he’s having a heart attack, or some sort of stroke! Do something!” The segment seems wholly unbothered, circling slowly, his gait relaxed and smooth. You feel an aching in your stomach. Why is nobody doing anything? Why isn’t Omega answering you? Why are they just letting Zandik suffer?
“Forty-five,” you plead, turning towards him. Isn’t he supposed to be the most “doctorly” of them all? The segment just stares at Omega. “One of you, anybody! Do something!”
Omega stops. He turns to you, smiling breezily as if Zandik isn’t heaving and choking on the floor beside him. You feel a shiver of hope as Thirty-five opens his mouth.
“Sixty-five, why don’t you take our beloved back to her room. She’s had a very, very long day, hasn’t she?”
“What?” You cry, frozen in place. Sixty-five pins your hands behind you, his grip powerful and firm. “No! No, no! Can’t you see? He’s suffering! Help him, help Zandik!” You fight against the segment’s grip, trying to get back to your lover’s side. Sixty-five doesn’t even flinch. You scream, helpless. On the ground, Zandik’s movements grow weaker. “Omega! Do something!” Omega just waves, smiling.
Sixty-five drags you, motionless, back to your room. Tears are streaming down your face, but you don’t have the energy to make noise. All that comes out are dry, desperate sobs. The older segment opens your door, gently dropping you onto the bed before shutting the door. Instantly, you jump up, rattling the doorknob. Nothing. It doesn’t turn an inch. He must have locked it from the outside. You pace, still crying, before shakily sitting down on your bed. You feel distant, like all of today has just been a dream, but your wrists ache from where Sixty-five grabbed them, and your eyes are stinging with tears.
The room is completely silent, the inside of the walls are padded with soundproof insulation. It’s impossible to know what’s happening outside. You don’t know if the silence is worse than whatever is happening to Zandik right now. Exhausted, you settle into bed, fresh tears staining the pillowcase. Sleeping seems like the only acceptable option. It’s not like you can do much else. You cuddle up to your pillow, tucking yourself in. If you close your eyes and think hard enough, you can almost pretend that you’re sleeping on Zandik, but the pillow is far too soft and puffy. It’s more like sleeping on Twenty-five, but you don’t want to think about any of the segments right now.
Watching from the corner of the room as Zandik’s segments dissect him. You felt disgusted by their behavior, but you can’t bring yourself to leave.
You were barely given a minute to mourn before the segments were dragging away your lover’s body, your own aged frame trembling from the grief you felt, but you also understood them.
They were all Zandik too, at one point in his life, and as you had lived beside him, you understood the kind of man he was. The original would have done the same, and he had, to the failures anyway.
So now, you found yourself crying at Zandik’s desk, listening to the segments mumble to one another as they tore your husband open.
Omega Dottore and Nahida doing the gnosis transaction and when Nahida asks him to delete all his segments, he asks if he can keep the 8 year old segment because that kid has been claimed by his wife as her baby and she will not be losing that segment over her dead body and Nahida says okay fine cause she is not taking a child away from a mother (Even if that child is a dottore segment)
What its like dating the Second Harbinger (Through his eyes)
Part one
Synopsis - Love? Such an odd concept. Caring for oneself? Such a waste of time...curiously enough...This woman has completely changed my view on such things
Tags - OOC Dottore/ First person Dottores pov/ Dottore doesn't take care of himself/ Hes smitten yall/ He loves this woman/ Lowkey a simp/Suggestive/ Talk of sex/ No graphic sex/ I love him with all my heart.
Eli note! Ah my birthday is May 29th! I've made way too many posts about that on my Hazbin blog, but I'm excited! Might post a little genshin thing for my birthday. Not sure with who though...I think I've been giving Dottore lots of attention (he deserves it tho)
Loving another person is an extraordinarily inconvenient phenomenon.
Objectively speaking.
Attachment compromises judgment. It alters priorities, weakens objectivity, introduces irrationality into otherwise efficient thought processes. History itself repeatedly demonstrates the catastrophic consequences of emotional interference.
Which is precisely why I had never intended to experience it myself.
Unfortunately, intention has proven largely irrelevant where she is concerned.
What I find considerably more baffling than loving her, however, is the realization that she appears to love me in return.
Not the Harbinger.
Not the reputation.
Me.
An utterly absurd development.
Prior to her involvement in my life, self-preservation occupied a rather insignificant position among my concerns.
Food was forgettable.
Sleep was inefficient.
Physical safety remained largely negotiable.If an experiment endangered me, so be it. If a mission carried lethal risk, irrelevant. Segments existed for a reason. Replacement had already been solved as a concept long ago.
I saw little value in preserving a body that merely housed a mind.
Then she arrived and began treating my continued existence as though it mattered.
Deeply.
Annoyingly deeply.
The first major disruption manifested in my eating habits.
Or rather—the lack thereof.
Apparently, consuming nothing except tea and the occasional nutrient supplement for multiple days is considered “unacceptable.”
I learned this after she discovered I had skipped breakfast and dinner consecutively.
“You didn’t eat again.”
“I was occupied.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“It is a perfectly sufficient answer.”
“It’s a stupid answer.”
I recall blinking at her briefly after that statement.
Not because of the insult itself. Others have called me considerably worse things.
No—the surprising part was the genuine frustration in her voice.
Not fear.
Not anger.
Concern.
For me.
“You cannot continue functioning this way,” she had continued, hands planted firmly on her hips. “You’re a person, Zandik, not a machine.”
Debatable.
Regardless, from that point onward, she apparently appointed herself guardian of my physical well-being.
Every morning, breakfast appeared.
Every afternoon, lunch was forcibly inserted into my schedule.
Every evening, she personally verified whether I had eaten dinner.
Disturbingly thorough behavior.
At first, I attempted avoidance.I failed quickly.
She began appearing at the laboratory unexpectedly.
One moment I would be working peacefully, the next—
“Open the door.”
“No.”
“I know you’re in there.”
“I am busy.”
“And I brought your lunch.”
Silence.
Then, inevitably, the sound of the door unlocking.
Humiliating.
Even worse, the entire laboratory became aware of this dynamic.
The segments, traitorous by nature, immediately began assisting her.
“She asked whether you ate.”
“You should answer honestly.”
“You skipped breakfast again.”
“Disappointing performance.”
I considered dismantling several of them for insubordination.
I did not.
Mostly because she would become upset.
An increasingly influential factor in my decision-making process.
The truly irritating part is that her efforts have been objectively successful.
I possess more energy.
My concentration has improved.
Several chronic headaches disappeared entirely.
Embarrassingly enough, I suspect I may have gained weight.
When I mentioned this observation aloud, she looked up from her book and smiled instead of reacting with appropriate concern.
“That’s good.”
“It is unnecessary.”
“You were basically a corpse six months ago.”
“A dramatic exaggeration.”
“You fell asleep sitting upright in a chair.”
“In fairness, the chair was comfortable.”
“It was a wooden stool.”
A pause.
“…A moderately comfortable stool.”
She laughed for nearly two full minutes.
An excessive reaction.
The sleep issue proved considerably more difficult to resolve.
For most of my life, sleep served little purpose beyond temporary maintenance.
Two or three hours was sufficient.
Anything more felt wasteful.
She disagreed immediately.
Violently.
At approximately ten each evening, she begins searching for me.
The location is irrelevant.
Laboratory.
Office.
Workshop.
She always finds me.
And despite my repeated objections, the outcome remains identical every time.
“I am in the middle of something important.”
“You said that yesterday.”
“Because I was.”
“And you still are today somehow?”
“Yes.”
“Bed.”
“I refuse.”
Then she kisses me.
An underhanded tactic.
Entirely unfair.
Worse, it works with humiliating consistency.
The moment her hands slide up beneath my mask and her mouth brushes mine, coherent resistance becomes significantly more difficult to maintain.
Manipulative creature.
Afterward, she removes my mask herself.
Carefully.
Then the coat.
The gloves.
By the time she finishes dismantling my work attire piece by piece, I find myself substantially less interested in returning to the laboratory.
Another deeply concerning development.
Once she gets me into bed, escape becomes nearly impossible.
Not because she physically restrains me.
Because she curls herself around me with such casual affection that leaving feels…Unpleasant.
I remain uncertain when exactly I became accustomed to sleeping beside another person.
Or when I began sleeping through entire nights instead of brief unconscious intervals.
Yet now, whenever I wake during the early hours and find her pressed against my chest, still breathing softly against my throat, I discover I no longer possess any desire to leave.
Objectively speaking, the effects have been beneficial.
My cognitive processing has improved noticeably with proper rest.
Memory retention has sharpened.
Problem-solving efficiency increased by nearly eighteen percent.
When I informed her of this discovery, she looked unbearably smug.
“Wow,” she said. “It’s almost like humans need sleep.”
I disliked her tone immensely.
Primarily because she was correct.
Again.
An unfortunate pattern.
Still…When she sleepily reaches for me each night without waking fully—fingers curling instinctively into my shirt as though ensuring I remain there—I experience something deeply irrational in my chest.
Something warm.
Dangerous.
Human.
And despite every logical instinct warning otherwise, I find myself allowing it to stay.
----
Obsession is a fascinating thing.
I spent years studying it in others.
The scholars obsessed with forbidden knowledge.
The researchers obsessed with recognition.
The gods obsessed with control.
I understood the phenomenon academically long before I experienced it personally.
I simply failed to anticipate how pleasant it would feel.
Because yes—I am obsessed with her.
The admission should disturb me more than it does.
Instead I find myself almost amused by the severity of it.
She occupies my thoughts with alarming consistency. During meetings. During experiments. During surgery. I will pause midway through calculations only to realize my mind has wandered toward entirely irrelevant things.
The sound of her laugh.
The softness of her hands.
The way she squints slightly while reading.
The little pleased hum she makes when tasting something sweet.
Utterly useless information.
I remember all of it anyway.
At night, when sleep finally claims me beside her, I dream of her often enough that the distinction between memory and fantasy occasionally blurs by morning. My subconscious appears just as compromised as the rest of me.
Pathetic.
And yet—I have never felt more alive.
That is perhaps the cruelest part.
Before her, existence was… flat. Efficient. Purposeful, certainly, but lacking texture. There was ambition, curiosity, progress. But joy? Anticipation? Warmth?
No.
Then she arrived and suddenly every day became structured around one simple desire:
Return to her.
I finish missions faster.
End meetings earlier.
Abandon experiments midway through observation because she mentioned wanting dinner together hours beforehand.
I once left a negotiation involving diplomatic catastrophe because one of the segments informed me she had fallen asleep waiting for me on the couch.
The diplomat was deeply offended.
I did not care.
Because she had fallen asleep waiting for me.
Even now, the thought settles strangely beneath my ribs.
There are moments when I watch her moving through our home—half-dressed and sleepy in the mornings, humming quietly to herself while preparing tea—and I experience something dangerously close to awe.
How did something so gentle choose me?
More importantly—How long until she realizes her mistake?
There it is.
The rot beneath everything else.
Fear.
A thoroughly unpleasant emotion.
I did not recognize it initially because it manifests differently than expected. Not sudden panic. Not immediate terror.
No.
It lingers.
Quiet.
Persistent.
What if she gets hurt?
The thought alone is enough to make my stomach twist unpleasantly.
What if someone targets her because of me?Because they will.
Eventually.
I am not naive enough to believe otherwise.
I have enemies. Many of them. Intelligent enemies. Vindictive enemies.
People willing to carve out my organs slowly if given sufficient opportunity.
And she—She is soft in all the ways I never allowed myself to be.
The idea of someone touching that softness with cruel intent makes something vicious rise inside me instantly.
Then comes the worse thought.
The unbearable one.
What if she dies?
I cannot linger on that possibility for long.
The few times I have attempted to imagine it fully, I found myself physically ill afterward. Genuine nausea. Tremors in my hands. An inability to focus for hours.
Curious.
The human body reacts quite violently to grief even before grief technically occurs.
And then, of course, comes the final fear.
The one I never voice aloud.
What if she leaves?
What if one morning she finally sees me clearly?
Not the softened version she kisses half-asleep. Not the man who cooks beside her or lets her drag him to bed or folds himself around her at night like something starved for affection.
But the real thing beneath it all.
The monster.
The scientist.
The Harbinger.
What if she eventually decides love cannot survive that reality?
The possibility infects my thoughts more often than I care to admit.
Particularly after arguments.
We do not fight frequently, but when we do, I find myself unraveling internally with humiliating speed.
She becomes quiet.
Distant.
And suddenly my mind begins generating catastrophic conclusions immediately.
She is reconsidering.
She regrets this.
She will leave.
Absurd behavior.
Especially because I always apologize afterward.
Not because I enjoy admitting fault.
Because I cannot tolerate the sight of genuine hurt in her expression.
The first time I apologized sincerely, she stared at me as though I had grown another head.
“You’re apologizing?”
“Yes.”
“…Voluntarily?”
“You are becoming irritating.”
She laughed then kissed me immediately afterward, and the relief I experienced in that moment was so overwhelming it nearly angered me.
Now I have become embarrassingly attentive to maintaining her happiness.
I kiss her constantly.
Touch her constantly.
Praise her constantly.
I learn every sound she makes, every reaction, every tiny thing that pleases her.
I devote myself to her pleasure with the same intensity I once reserved solely for research because watching her come apart beneath my hands is one of the few experiences powerful enough to quiet my mind entirely.
When she clings to me afterward, trembling and breathless and trusting, I feel complete in ways I cannot rationally explain.
Surely that is enough.
Surely she would not leave a man who worships her this thoroughly.
No.
She loves me.
I know she does.
Still…On particularly bad nights, when paranoia crawls beneath my skin and refuses to leave, darker thoughts emerge.
Dangerous thoughts.
If she ever attempted to leave, I do not know if I could permit it.
An alarming realization.
I imagine her walking away and immediately feel something primal and ugly tighten around my lungs.
No.
Unacceptable.
She belongs with me.
With me.
The thought should horrify me more than it does.
Instead I find myself rationalizing it with frightening ease.
I keep her safe.
I care for her.
I would give her anything she desires.
I would destroy entire nations for her without hesitation.
Surely remaining with me is the preferable outcome.
And if she cried? If she pleaded? If she hated me briefly for it?
The discomfort would pass eventually.
I could be patient.
The realization settles over me slowly.
Calmly
.Like poison entering blood.
Ah.
So this is what love does to men like me.
-----
Um so...Yandere Dottore anyone..? Just me? Okay...ANYWAY- I hope everyone enjoyed, definitely giving Zandik way too much attention lately...but I can't help it. The archon quest left me devastated. Yk, I actually used to hate Dottore, like I told myself id never like him...um...here's the 5th fic about him...I think I might like him gng
"Did you kill him?" You appear behind the thirty-five year old Segment one day, tone oddly serious and firm despite the slight tremble in your voice. Omega studies you for a moment before one of his usual smiles curls on his face, as he turns to give you his attention.
"Well, you're going to need to be a bit more specific than that, darling. Who exactly do you believe met their end by my hands?"
"Zandik. The original Zandik, Omega." Your gaze is hard and cold, and yet the Segment just shakes his head and lets out a sigh.
"As I said before, the original 'me' died of-"
"You said that Zandik died by himself. Natural causes. Old age. I believed you. I had no reason not to, and your reasoning was sound, as disheartening as it was," you bitterly finished the sentence. In the beginning, when you had finally woken up from centuries-long rest, it was hard to accept that your Zandik, the original, had long since died. However, you had at least had some peace with the Segments he had left behind. They had treated you with care and respect. You could sense a bit of Zandik within each of them, and you grew to love them. But now...
"You didn't say that you watched him plead for help. You didn't say you could have saved him. You didn't say that you... watched him die."
"And how exactly did you come to this conclusion?" The Segment's hands are calmly folded behind his back as he observes you.
"I saw it, Omega." At that statement, the Segment's smile slightly fell, and it seemed like he was starting to understand what you were getting at. It appeared you had pried into something that was never meant for your eyes. "I saw what you did to Zandik."
"... Then tell me, what exactly did I do?" But Omega seems almost undisturbed by your response, which only makes you ball your hands up tighter.
"You recorded what you did, no, what all of you did. Both on paper and... visually." Your throat runs dry at the memory of the dissection, which you could hardly read and watch a few seconds of before turning away. To see your darling Zandik suffer such a fate... Your time with him may have been cut short, but there was nothing else you loved more than the boy you met in the Akademiya. "... Why... Why would you do that? Why would you lie to me? And- And how many other times have you lied to me?"
And yet the scholar only lets out another sigh as he abandons his work in favor of pacing toward you.
"The original Zandik was already near the end of his life. It was only thanks to the elixir that he managed to surpass the average life expectancy of a human." The click of his heels as Omega strolled toward you made your heart race. "He would have died sooner or later, with or without any intervention. So, there was little harm in speeding things up a bit." Before you could counter, he spoke again.
"You've long known of our nature, of the experiments. Surely you aren't too surprised we took the opportunity to dissect ourselves." But you were. Too much had happened while you were away. Maybe if you were with Zandik, things could have turned out differently, but you weren't. The selfishness and hatred had already taken root and could only dissipate with some drastic measure, like a great tree burning to the ground with the mightiest of fires.
"And as for the last question... I anticipated a reaction of this nature. I knew it wouldn't bode well with your condition. However, do rest assured that I have been truthful in many other matters." At last, Omega stood in front of you, looking at you with a smile that still carried fondness for you. He was selfish enough to think that he was protecting you by hiding the truth.
"Regardless, the outcome would have been the same. The original 'me' would not have survived to the present day to see you again. Do the details truly matter? What matters is that you now have-" He reached to caress your cheek, when-
Before Omega could finish the sentence, a resounding slap echoed in the room, with the clinking of his mask dropping on the floor.
"If you truly think that the details wouldn't matter to me, then you do not know as much about me as you think... Dottore." For once, the Segment seemed to be stunned into silence.
A part of you knew that the attention Omega gave you was real. You knew his affection was real, that he desired to help you break free of fate, too. But yet, in light of this revelation, it felt like all of that had shattered into pieces.
"You forget one thing. The one I first fell in love with was Zandik. The one who would bare his heart to me. You might call yourself Zandik, but you're not him... And you're certainly not mine. You are just... Dottore." The Segment remained quiet as he gazed at you. There was no fear in your eyes. Just anger, sadness, and... pity. Pity for a man who could never make peace with who he was.
As you left, you found solace in the fact that one day, you'd see your Zandik again.
contains: hurt/little comfort, character death | based off 6.6 spoilers | 1.7k wc
There was little to do in the hour left you had to mourn. To mourn the life that was destined to end, were it not for fate then it most certainty would’ve been nature itself. This had to be fate playing a cruel hand to you and your lover. The one who’s bedside you sat besides, much older and frailer than you remember. Zandik, the only love of your life, the one you would’ve been laying with were it not for his insistence on your life to extend past that of his own. You, ageless and forever in your prime. You once stood together like that, in the prime of both of your lives. Oh, just where had the time gone? It felt like only yesterday you two were mapping out the laboratory granted to Zandik- or rather, Dottore as a Fatui Harbinger. If only time had been kinder, then maybe your partner wouldn’t be breathing as if he was expected to rather than with ease.
The decline began when the back aches began. These weren’t the usual pains Dottore would feel when stretching after a long night spent filing paperwork away, researching, and working at his desk. No, this pain was lasting. A gentle reminder for him to take care of his health better; you lectured him until he’d eventually come to rest with you. You seemed more aware of his health than he ever was, almost ironic considering he was supposed to be the doctor here. He was fifty years old at that point. Plenty of time for Dottore to consider his health seriously.
“It’s rather late, don’t you think? I’m quite tired myself.” As if you were the harbinger himself, you simply waltzed inside at some point. If you had just arrived, he wouldn’t have known, as his work kept his attention occupied to the point of extreme focus. Most of the work given could only be oversaw by The Doctor himself. The paperwork that covered his desk spoke enough in its own sheer volume.
“Which begs the question as to why you are here yourself, my dear.” Your retort came quickly, as expected of someone of your diligence. “Don’t turn this around on me, Zandik. I expect you to be in bed at least twice a week.” The faintest sound of a hum emitted from the Harbinger. “You would rather have me tonight than tomorrow?” Never had he outright declined you regarding this arrangement you had set for the two of you. It had begun as more of a compromise, now it had turned into its own rule.
Your approach came from behind, arms wrapped around his neck as if to pull him into a rest just with your touch alone. If only you’d stay like this for a bit longer, he quite liked the feeling.
It wasn’t long before the Doctor would be in bed with you.
Now, was seeing Zandik with gray hairs common? Of course, he was often stressed due to his responsibilities as a Harbinger. It was no surprise to you or him, it was however a notable sight to see his light locks begin turning less blue and more muted. You acknowledged then exactly what it told, it was his age showing. After decades, it seems his age was becoming more obvious by the years that passed in handful. Neither of you lamented on this, it would be unnecessarily consuming for the time you two had left.
Initially you had been insistent on aging on with him. It felt disturbing to know your beloved Zandik was going to eventually leave you sooner rather than later. The endless march of death seemed more of a bother than an inevitability, you would’ve been just fine to die right with him. As sad as it may sound, you did not have anyone but him. Zandik, likewise, had nobody else other than you. Though Pantalone was a good friend, his closest, there was only one person like you who fit into the slot of his organic heart.
You two only had each other, which worked now and especially back in the akademiya. To lose him would be losing a part of yourself you had never learned to let go, regardless of his actions and deeds you never once planned to abandon him. Yet now you were faced with the difficult decision of needing to live on for him. Eventually you would find the will to live on for yourself, but that would take a while, maybe forever if you couldn’t bring yourself to acknowledge your own pains.
It was within your best interest to focus on other matters that would not cause you stress or headaches. Omega had said, almost insisted really, while attempting to console you. You chose to not bring the topic up to him thereafter.
The sight of Zandik, now so frail, so utterly aged. He looked too human to resemble the monster his village swore him to be, laid like this. Eighty years old, much older now. He didn’t quite resemble the Doctor you knew, it almost seemed as if that rigid scholar you knew back in the akademiya had returned in a way, though not with the energy and youth. It was more so his overall behavior.
He was far less reserved with his mannerism, though he needed assistance to get around now, which you happily aided him in. There was a light that wasn’t there before, a flickering one at that, still there, nonetheless. When he began using a wheelchair was when you’d take him on walks throughout the lab or around Zapolyarny Palace. Those walks were nice, you’d like to think he enjoyed them as much as you did. Though you weren’t quite sure he enjoyed the walks for himself, he seemed to always be looking your way. As if there was a view he just couldn’t miss, not even for the dimming world around him.
You, ever unchanging even after so many years. Even if you had chosen to leave this world alongside him, the odds of you changing then were almost close to none. You truly were a constant, the variable he never foresaw. A variable he’d never trade not even for the world.
“I think it’s time we head to your room. I’ll have Eta visit you later, he has a lot of drawings to show you.” Though he didn’t respond, he nodded his head at your words. A smile dawned your expression at that, you needn’t for a response anyway.
Then came the day you had to say goodbye to Zandik, for the last time.
His health began to rapidly decline around a year ago, the segments showed no outward care for the old man’s health, only the status of his being. While you did adore the segments, you couldn’t help but feel a certain type of way at their apathy. It was almost staggering how little they did for Zandik, their own creator, in his time of need. Your spouse was dying, yet not even the versions of himself could bring themselves to care unless there was a new change to observe.
Truly, you loved them. You really did, but right now it was hard to bring yourself around them, especially the younger segments. They were less reserved than their older counterparts, which made their crude comments all the more hurtful. While their efforts to keep quiet when you were around were appreciated, it was blatantly obvious when the room would fall silent when you entered that they were talking about him. Just what plans did they have for his body after he was gone? Did they even care enough to think about that? The thought of burying Zandik made you feel nauseous. Could you even bring yourself to remove his body?
Those thoughts rummaged through your head, burying themselves within the deepest cracks of your mind, all while you walked beside Omega. Your distress may have been too prevalent throughout your walk to Zandik’s room, you really couldn’t hide your pain anymore.
“The option to turn back now would bear no consequences, I will have you aware, █████.” Neither of you stopped, simply slowed the pace of which you walked. His tone was as easy as his words, which sounded far too hard for you to even consider. Much less think about, just how could he say such a thing? “His conscious is hardly there.” “Even so, Zandik still needs me, Omega.” Nothing changed in the segment's expression, his face as unreadable as his intention. Loyalty was a trait of which you wore like a badge and extended to those you cared for so eagerly. Your loyalty or care was not a question. “If that is your decision, my dear.”
Now you were here, by his side as you always had been. He wasn’t awake, he needed as much rest as possible these days. Though he was not awake or could hear your words, his hearing was also one of the many things his decline had tainted, you still spoke. “It’s just... not fair.” then it began, the downpour of your emotions rushing in all at once, like a crashing current forcing you to let it out. The heat to your face and blurring of your eyes were overwhelming, as was the breaking of your heart. Taking ahold of his hand felt nice, despite how brittle and unfamiliar they were now. His hands were the only ones you would ever want to feel in the palm of your own. “...I'm sorry, I’m so sorry-” Apologies came as if they were owed and, in a way, they were, just not from you.
There would be no goodbyes left unsaid. Stories came so naturally through broken cords. The squeezes to his hand were the most you could do to let him know even in his rest that you were here, that you would not leave his side until it was necessary. If only the world had been kinder, then maybe you two would have been happier. The future had never looked so bleak until now.
Unfortunately, by the time you’d return to his room by morning to see him, just one more time. Omega would have already told you he was gone.
i want to say it feels like a fanfiction but i've read so many fics ten times better than this bs they are doing rn
like?? he just died?? NO WDYM OG IS NOT ALIVE??? WHAT DO YOU MEAN THERE IS NO PRIME. AT ALL. HE DIED CENTURIES AGO??
looking back at it all the fics i've read there was always a prime idk like not only that but what happened to him when he was 8, what happened to sohreh, so so many things about his past unanswered and i think saying he will be playable again is just copium sorry. dottore mains will be the second capitano mains now i guess
this really feels like a badly written fic... it feels like they retconned everything about harbingers lol
also im scared what they will have in store with pantalone💔
discoholicmusic
gummygunk
yousharknotpass
theartofmadeline
andulkaphoto
dededos
turnnoffyourmind
origamiaround
snowghoul
