Genshin Impact Dottore - Tumblr Posts

Ok random thought but do you ever start thinking about your faves from different franchises and thinking about how they would get along if they met and realize two would get along really well and start crack shipping them? Because sometimes I do.

But anyways there’s this dress up game called Love Nikki but it’s not a normal dress up game because there is a plot. Not a like a soap opera or normal fashion story. It’s like, fantasy world, an entire war is going on and you’re involved, characters straight up die and there’s a lot of deep philosophical shit about the inevitability of humanity’s downfall and what the point of existence is. It’s an absolute trip of a game. (Also it has mobile ads that you might have seen but those ads are NOT accurate at all.)

But anyways if the Genshin impact and Love Nikki universes somehow combined and these two met they would kiss. No I will not explain myself.

self insert x dottore real 😻😻😻

fellow Dottore simp 🤝I have to say I love your blog colour the bestest blue. Your art is so good and your poses !eating em up

Dottore core. Thank you <3 🩵

Dottore sketches, as mentioned :>

He's really fun to draw honestly, and as bizzare as it may sound, it's comforting to draw him - not because of his character but bc he's just... So easy to draw? And if I mess up in some aspect of the design I can just say it's one of his many segments or something ✨ So yeah, drawing Dottore for me is destressing. Slay.

Also one Webtorre meme

Also, guys and dudes and my other pookies, I'd like to share it here too, but my c0mmissions are open! There's a link in my Carrd for more info <3

Can someone help me find this one soulmate au dottore x reader? Basically they soulmates and the reader is now 18 but dottore is annoyed because he just got a soulmate right after a lot of years of suffering from not having one when he was a child. His segments kept pestering to find us. So like I'm at the part where reader is going to sheznaya secretly I think because reader is in fontain and fontain is on the brink of war with sheznaya I think. Someone tag me to the post or send me the link in dms or comments!! I wanna know what happens next🙁

Joker & Harley Quinn but it’s Genshin Impact

Being Dottore’s Lover

What it’s like being Dottore’s lover.

Warning: manipulation, experimentation…this is dottore we’re talking about. Just be advised

—————————

Dottore would never pursue love for that warm fuzzy feeling or sweet, sugary kisses. He accepts a relationship merely to see what it’s like. What would come out of it, what he could get from that relationship. He’s a scientist, he wants to experience new things in order to evaluate different outcomes

When you meet, it would probably be through a Fatui ball or meeting of some sort. You’d be the one to approach him, he wouldn’t go out of his way to talk to someone who doesn’t immediately catch his eye. But since he’s in the public eye, he’ll be polite and converse with you

Earlier, I said he would “accept” a relationship, so what does that mean? It means he won’t be pursuing you, you’d have to do the work in that department. If he sees you’re devoted enough to him, he’ll humor you and take you out for dinner so you can get this silly fascination out of your head. At the same time, he’s studying you as you talk, absorbing every detail, searching for weak points he can exploit later if need be. And exploit he will

When you’re together, he isn’t very kind or caring. But he does give you attention and praise only when he sees fit, just to keep you interested. He makes you learn Fontais (french) so you two can talk without anyone else knowing what you’re saying since most of the palace staff only speak Scheznayan.

He has you present for many of his experiments in order to desensitize you to his ways, so you see it as ‘normal’. Dottore laughs when his test subjects squeal or scream, he looks as yiu and expects you to laugh too “These are such pathetic results, our last group was better, don’t you think?” He’ll cup your chin and grin at you with that manic look in his eyes “Come now, I’ll let you handpick the next group! What do you say, ma cherie?” He gives these crumbs of affection, knowing you’ll listen to whatever he has to say

He’s rarely nice thought. He doesn’t have many good days. Dottore’s experiments on Fatui soldiers have been failing left and right, he strives to create super humans who are five times as strong as a normal man! But his formulas, his test subjects, meetings to discuss his failures, funding troubles, all of it lead to immense stress and frustration for him so naturally, when you happen to come bring him dinner or just to see how long it’s been since he’s slept, he snaps at you “What have I told you about coming in here unannounced while I’m working?!” He shrieks, kicking his chair out of the way, grabbing you to throw on his examination table “Is this what you want? To be my next test subject? Huh? You fucking idiot!” And when you cry and try to push him off all he does is laugh in your face! He laughs and laughs, eventually yanking you off the table and unceremoniously throwing you out of the lab. The door slams shut and you can still hear his horrible laughter from behind the thick, metal door

You rarely get to sleep with him at your side, either he just passes out in his lab or he makes you sleep on the couch but when you do get to sleep together, he’ll reluctantly hold you against his chest, sighing when you whisper your sweet ‘goodnight, love’. For a second…a split second, he thinks this is nice :’) and then once you’re asleep he shimmies away from you and puts a pillow between the two of you lmao

He does enjoy showing you off during Fatui balls. The two of you make a stunning couple after all! Dottore is gentlemanly and kind when in the public eye this way, especially so the Tsaritsa can see. You two dance, drink together, chat with the other harbingers and it kinda feels like you guys are normal :)

I mean, there are days where he can be nice. “Alain…How about we have a night together..? We can chat and catch up…play chess…Like we used to” you have to play your cards carefully. He rarely has good days. But if you catch him on a day where his experiments have gone well, other harbingers haven’t bothered him, he hasn’t had to deal with anything annoying, he’s more open to listening to you “That…Sounds quite nice, cher…I’d like that” he’ll take his mask and gloves off, revealing his scarred skin, and change into something more comfortable. Then the two of you will enjoy a few hours of normalcy

As terrible as he is to you, he will get possessive or even jealous if you hang around the other harbingers too much. Naturally, Dottore doesn’t get along with any of them because he’s nearly impossible to get along with but you? You make friends ten times faster than he does. The other harbingers like you, they think you’re cute and funny! They can’t imagine why you’d chose to stay with Dottore… In retaliation, Dottore keeps you away from them and convinces you that they’re using you. The idea isn’t too far fetched tbh. He’ll yell in your face that he hates you then turn around and convince you that you need him. Manipulative mf…

If you want me to elaborate on anything here I’d be more than happy to ;) ;) ;) ;)

cg!harbingers

feat pantalone, dottore, childe (may be ooc)

genre fluff

notes if u aren’t already, please educate yourself about age regression before sending hate towards me or thinking this is sexual, this is NOT sexual

pantalone

will buy you literally anything

you like that sippy cup? you’ll find it on your bed not long after

you like that stuffie? he already bought it

also tends to buy you stuff to entertain yourself, mainly due to the fact that sadly he’s often very busy and he doesn’t want his little one to be bored/sad

likes to be called ‘papa’, he doesn’t know why it just makes him happy internally

calls you little one or baby/boy/girl

will try his hardest to be home as much as possible so he can be there to help when you age regress and to give you his undivided attention <3

dottore

high key very curios about your regression

obviously he will be your caregiver but if you allow him, he wants to research what makes you regress/why you regress and such

whenever he’s not there to keep you company, one of his clones will look after you

surprisingly soft around you when you regress

he likes being called papa as well

will call you any nickname in the book, practically calls you all the nicknames there are when you’re in little space

tries to keep you out of his fatui business as much as possible

overall, he cares a lot about you and he tries his best to look after you and attend to your needs+wants <3

childe

best caregiver 101

he is also filthy rich, so prepare to be spoiled with gifts galore

whenever he can’t spend time with you, he usually asks zhongli if he can look after you

dw zhongli won’t judge you for being a little, he’s surprisingly pretty good with age regressors

childe likes being called daddy, makes him feel all giddy inside

because he’s a big brother, he’s just really good with you no matter what age you regress to and wether you’re non verbal or verbal

enjoys napping with you when he has the chance to <3

SO I MADE PLAYLISTS FOR SOME OF THE GENSHIN BOYS

Freminet:

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0cHgKG7N3vDbnx3eQhcrlw?si=29bb9a8bb9de46dd

Lyney:

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/42K7AtKAV0lXnxuPMsVtft?si=aff0477fb2da431c

Bennett:

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5k0LGKHMq1mWIDepKr4noD?si=1f4a73f897c0430d

Dottore:

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7cwHwQ3w8KP7RjVdnxBUqn?si=73adca830fed47f4

I update these fairly often. Also these aren't "accurate" per se, they're just songs I associate with the characters. Hopefully you enjoy them!

HELIOTROPES

pairing: dottore x fem!reader & segments

summary: the gods were sick and cruel and twisted. for five hundred years, he believed he was fated to be alone. he had long accepted it—embraced it, even. that is, until a midwinter night when that elusive red thread finally appeared on his finger. but as much as he wants to ignore it, the pull of a soulmate simply cannot be ignored.

genre: soulmate au, canon compliant for the most part

warnings: fem!reader, worldbuilding for snezhnaya & fatui, no other warnings

notes: i enjoyed writing this one ajfdhuaisdfuhs it was a bit of a character study for dottore, i love being able to get into his head like this

MIDWINTER

He was born without a mark. It’s not abnormal--statistically, half of the population would be born without a mark because you don’t receive your mark until your soulmate is born. Most receive theirs within the first five years of their life, if they weren’t born with one. Others are unlucky, and they have to wait up to ten. 

Dottore never received his. 

He waited years. When he was five years old, and other kids his age were starting to see the red thread that connected them with their soulmate, he was still waiting on his mark. When he was ten years old, and other kids his age were starting to feel their soulmate's emotions, he was still waiting on his mark. When he was fifteen years old, and other kids his age were finally seeing random words scrawled on their forearms reflecting their soulmate’s thoughts, he was still waiting on his mark. 

When he was younger, he tried to convince himself it didn’t matter--that one day, his mark would show up, just like how it did for everyone else. But it was hard to convince himself of that when everyday he was reminded that he didn’t have one. He was reminded by nasty kids who would push him to the ground and laugh at him, he was reminded by equally nasty adults who whispered that only the soulless and the damned didn’t receive their soulmarks, and he was reminded by his parents who stripped him down to search him for his mark everyday so they could prove their son wasn’t cursed. 

Dottore accepted that he did not have a soulmate. He would even go so far as to say he embraced it. It took him a long time to reach that mentality, years of coming to terms with it, but he firmly believed that he was better off. Having a soulmate was a mortal weakness that he was freed of--he had seen it be the downfall of many men before and he refused to meet the same fate. 

Without a soulmate, he could focus on more important things. He could devote his time and energy to his research, further the Fatui in their rebellion against Celestia, and he could do it all without the weakness that all of humanity had. 

He was stronger without a soulmate. It proved he was above mankind, beyond the limits that humans were confined to. He was better without a soulmate. 

A harsh gust of wind battered the window of his room, ice webbing at the bottom of the glass, creeping up the sides. Dottore sighed as he lifted his hand to his face, pulling off the mask that hid him from the rest of the world. 

He wasn’t sure why he was thinking about this again. His gaze drew to the mirror on the opposite side of the room, eyes tracing the rough, jagged skin across the top of his face--a product of the demonization cast over him by the people of his old village. Dottore’s lips twisted into a deep frown as he forced himself to look away, it had been a long time since he had even had a passing thought of it, much less dwelling on it as he was now. 

He turned away from the mirror over to the candle resting at his nightstand--dimly lighting up the dark, spacious room. Shadows reflected eerily across the room from the trees swaying in the wind outside to the small flame dancing at his bedside. A blizzard rattled the palace around him, he wondered if it was the doing of the Tsaritsa or if it was just a natural storm. 

Dottore hated the winter.

He always had. It had nothing to do with the bone-chilling weather and frequent storms. He barely could even feel the cold anymore, and he thought storms might be better for him because he could coop himself up in his lab without having to worry about the Jester disturbing his research and telling him to go on some mission. He had hated the winter even before he had left Sumeru for Snezhnaya, where the temperatures were five times as warm and the earth of the forest started to dry from a lack of rain. 

Winter had always been the unluckiest time of year for him--it was when he was originally chased from the village, it was when he was cast out from the Akademiya. Winter was when he had faced some of the biggest failures of his life regarding his research into Archon residue. Winter was when the first segment he had created was destroyed. Winter was when he was dealt a fatal blow that had made him abandon his body for an artificial one. 

Dottore despised the winter. 

He sat on his bed, rubbing his eyes. He was tired, that was the only explanation for why his mind was wandering to such a topic. He had been able to free himself of the shackles that many mortals were restricted by--aging, natural death, even unnatural death could be avoided, for the most part, but he still found himself chained by fatigue and hunger. He could suppress it longer than the average person but it never failed to limit him. 

He supposed that he should rest. Tomorrow there was to be a meeting with all of the Harbingers--discussion on what was to be done about the spots of the late 9th and 11th, who had met their end on a failed mission in Natlan earlier in the month. With the Captain finally returning with their bodies, it would be time to put them to rest and figure out how to move forward. He could already hear the bickering of Sandrone and Scaramouche, Arlecchino’s snide comments that just set the other two off even more. 

Dottore thought that the whole situation was ridiculous. There had been no need to send two of the newest Harbingers down to Natlan when they all knew very well that Natlan was getting more and more aggressive to the Fatui within their borders. They had been sent on a diplomatic mission, to observe, but the Pyro Archon claimed that they had made an attempt on her life. A blatant lie, but the only ones left alive to corroborate the story were the Pyro Archon’s sycophants.

It was meant to be a challenge. The Pyro Archon was challenging the Tsaritsa to do something about her butchering two of her most loyal followers, she was hoping for a war… but Snezhnaya could not afford a war right now. Their economy was failing and the dead of winter was nigh, when all crops would start dying and animals would freeze mid-trot. Famine would begin to wrap its chilly fingers around the throats of the citizens of Snezhnaya, the bitter cold would seep into the warmest homes and it was not the time for the Fatui to war with Teyvat’s strongest military. They were already struggling politically with the old-blood aristocracy breathing down their necks and with the support of the masses, there wasn’t much that the Fatui could do to press back until they were in a better position, even with the support of the Tsaritsa herself. 

Dottore pinched the bridge of his nose, the meeting was hours from beginning and he could already feel the incoming headache. He had no interest in Snezhnayan politics, he had no interest in what was to be done about the empty seats amongst the Harbingers. All he wanted to do was continue his research--the Delta segment would be returning from Sumeru at some point tomorrow to give him an update on the Irminsul project and his input was needed before Delta or any of the other older segments took any further steps. 

He let out a heavy breath as he rose back to his feet, intent on changing out of his clothes and into something more comfortable before he finally laid down to rest for the night. As he rose, he felt something soft, feather-light even, brushing against his thumb. Without thinking, he reached for a handkerchief folded tidily on the edge of his bedside dresser.

He wiped off his hands without even bothering to look, figuring that it was just the remnants of the material he was working with down in his lab but as he crossed the room to his wardrobe, that strange, weightless feeling against his thumb remained. 

Dottore’s eyes finally drew down to his right hand, curiosity getting the best of him, as always. And he stared, for a second and then two before a laugh bubbled in his chest, begging to be released. 

Not for the first time, he thought that the gods had a sick and twisted sense of humor because wrapped neatly around his thumb was that thin, red thread that supposedly tied him to his soulmate, over four hundred and fifty years late. 

He thought it was strange how everything around him moved on as normal as if his whole world hadn’t been shattered in a matter of five seconds the night before. He wasn’t able to sleep after noticing the thread and he hadn’t been able to bring himself to look for the soulmark that was undoubtedly branded somewhere on his body. 

He felt weak. Mortal, again. He hated it. 

“Then we wait,” Sandrone said dryly, her sharp voice drawing Dottore back into the conversation. His eyes left the red thread for the first time since he arrived at the meeting, flickering up to where the woman was resting in a chair, a large automaton standing behind her. “Why give a seat to someone unworthy? We’ll wait until two have proven their strength and they can-”

“And how long will that take?” Scaramouche’s voice was cold and grating as he interrupted Sandrone and Dottore’s lips thinned, realizing the inevitable argument between the Sixth and the Seventh was about to begin. 

“However long it takes,” Sandrone responded, voice little over a hiss, blue eyes flinty.

“Ah, yes, yet another a bright idea from the Seventh. Let’s just leave the spots empty when enemies are on our doorstep, show even more weakness,” Scaramouche scoffed, not even bothering to hide the way he rolled his eyes as he leaned back in his seat. 

“If you have a better idea, Balladeer, please, speak up with it,” Sandrone replied. “I’d love to…”

The thread was vibrating. 

Dottore’s gaze flickered down beneath his mask to where his hands were resting on the ebony table, tuning out the conversation around him as he focused on the red string. He could barely feel it, much less see the little vibrations, but he was hyper-focused on it now. It was uneven thrums, as if someone was flicking the thread over and over again--they were getting faster, more impatient, and Dottore couldn’t help but think back to his childhood, when he was five years old and would watch other kids his age laying in the grass snapping their string incessantly, waiting for a responding snap from their soulmate. 

His eyes flickered to the wide windows on the far side of the room, the blizzard still raged outside but he could see the sun rising in the distance. 

So, you’re finally awake, he thought to himself, gaze drawing back to his thumb as the thrums got more and more insistent. A child. His soulmate was a child right now--excited at waking up to the appearance of the thread, hoping that their soulmate was just as excited as they were. Dottore had, for a long time, believed that his heart had gone cold and dead and he did not like the ache he felt in his empty chest. 

A weakness. Just like that, he was brought down to the level of man. 

Soulmates were blinding, they caused people to act with their heart and not their head. Dottore prided himself on being a man that removed his heart from decision making. He put nothing above furthering his research--no morals, no virtues, no principles came before his success and he could not allow this to change anything. 

He had gone this long without a soulmate, he didn’t need one now. 

But he couldn’t tear his eyes off the vibrating thread no matter how hard he tried. He could hear the conversation continuing around him but it sounded like a distant buzz--nothing could break his concentration on the thread, not even himself, and before he knew what he was doing, he was lifting his pointer finger and flicking it down, right on the string. 

He inhaled as discreetly as he could once he realized what he had done, straightening in his seat. The vibrations from the opposite end had stopped instantly, and then all at once: one, two, three, four flicks. 

Excitement, but all Dottore could feel was dread sinking in his stomach.

He could feel a pair of eyes on him. Dottore forced his gaze up to where the Tenth was sitting across from him, green eyes trained on his hand. Dottore’s lips flattened. Did he know? How would he know? But even with the mask adorning his face, the Tenth must have felt Dottore’s livid glare, looking up with a sheepish smile as he motioned to his own hand, his pointer finger, as if he was trying to show Dottore what he was looking at. 

Dottore’s ring.

Of course, Dottore thought to himself dryly. He should have expected nothing less from the avaricious man.

Brighella had been brought in by Arlecchino--the Knave had spoken highly of the man’s intelligence and fighting ability, but so far all Dottore had seen from the Tenth Harbinger was a greed for wealth and alcohol. Dottore thought the man was more deserving of the title Jester than Pierro was, because all he was good for was his unintentional drunken entertainment during events. 

Dottore let his gaze drop back to his hands, where the vibrating had finally stopped--seemingly pleased with finally getting a response from him--and Dottore couldn’t push away the emotions clawing at him from every angle. 

He hated it. 

He was good at compartmentalizing all of his feelings, pushing away all of the unwelcome ones and storing them in little corners until they finally dissipated but he couldn’t this time. They were too intense and Dottore felt overwhelmed. It had barely been half a day and he was already rattled by the new circumstances--rattled enough that he was struggling to keep himself composed internally. 

Anxiety and dread were paramount, yes, but there was also pity. 

The people of his old village had convinced him that he was cursed but he knew now that he was not the cursed one--it was the one that shared a mark with him instead. 

Delta had arrived. Dottore could feel him approaching the palace, battling his way through the blizzard. He was not alone, he could feel another presence at his side--another segment--and he had a feeling he knew exactly which one it was and he was not pleased. 

His movements were sharp as he put away the materials that he was using, annoyed at Delta and his inability to say no to the younger segments. For as stubborn and prideful the older segment was, all it took was a few whines from the Iota or Kappa segment and he was rolling over doing whatever they asked. 

Dottore did not know how having a soulmate would affect the segments. He just knew it would be a distraction that they could not afford.

Would they have a mark? Dottore didn’t even know if he had a mark. He had yet to step in front of a mirror and look--it would make it too real, as if the damning thread wasn’t real enough. 

Would they be able to see the thread? Would they have their own? Dottore hoped not. He did not want them to know--not yet, at least. 

Dottore exhaled, safely storing the final vial in a cabinet too high for the Iota segment to reach and knock down just as the door to his lab was flung open harshly, shaking the cabinets closest to the door. He raised his eyebrows, turning on his heel to face the two arrivals. 

Both segments were bundled in layers, cloaks drenched with water and furred hoods littered with snowflakes. The Delta segment was frowning, eyeing the room suspiciously, and the Iota segment was bouncing at his side, head whipping back and forth as he looked around the room--his first time in Dottore’s personal lab.

Something that Dottore had tried to keep on purpose. The last segment he wanted in his lab was the Iota segment--he was the clumsiest segment, one of the two segments with absolutely no sense of self-control, letting his curiosity get the best of him even in the worst situations. He was created in the mindset of his ten year old self, right after he had been cast out from his village. Dottore had thought that he could use Iota to see the Aranara of Vanarana but evidently, Iota no longer had that childlike innocence that allowed children to see the Aranara… which Dottore should have expected considering the circumstances after which he was created.

“You’re late,” Dottore said dryly, wiping his hands with a towel as he stepped out from behind the lab table he was working at. 

“Yes,” Delta responded, voice just as dry. “There’s a bit of a blizzard outside, if you didn’t notice.”

Dottore raised his eyebrows at the snark and Delta, the most quarrelsome of the segments--except maybe Theta--only raised his eyebrows right back. Dottore’s eyes narrowed, annoyance worming its way onto his expression at the blatant disrespect. He had half a mind to remind him what exactly happened to the last segment that pushed him too far but instead, he was forced to move forward, right hand curling around Iota’s wrist just as the boy reached for some of Dottore’s notes. 

“Do not start,” Dottore said sharply--perhaps he should have watched his tone, Iota was always the most sensitive when it came to tone and the last thing he wanted to deal with was a hysterical child. 

… but Iota didn’t react to his tone. Instead, his eyes were wide and wondrous as he stared at Dottore’s hand. His right hand. Specifically, his right thumb. 

Dottore’s stomach dropped, he released Iota’s wrist in an instant, stepping away, but Iota was persistent, darting forward to grab Dottore’s wrist now, reaching to grab the red string but his hand went right through it. 

“What is that?” Delta asked, voice quiet and sharp. 

So they could see his thread, but Dottore could safely assume that they did not have their own. 

“Is it real?” Iota was still trying to grab the string--undoubtedly to tug at it just to feel the responding tug from their soulmate, just as he had felt from the opposite end this morning. 

“It is real,” Dottore wasn’t even sure if he believed the words himself but logically, he had no reason to think otherwise. “It appeared last night.”

The reaction was almost instantaneous--Delta’s eyes shot open and Iota was wailing, clutching at Dottore’s waist, letting out incoherent babbles of how he knew that they had a soulmate, and how he knew that they weren’t damned or soulless, and how Kappa and Gamma would be-

“Do not tell them,” Dottore said sharply and Iota sobered up immediately, bottom lip wobbly and red eyes teary as he peered up at Dottore, questioning. “This is to stay between us for now, do you understand?”

“But Kappa-” Iota sniffled, confused, “and the others, they’ll be-”

“Do you understand?” Dottore asked again, gaze heavy as he waited for a response from both of his segments. “We do not need any new distractions, we’re finally making progress on our projects.”

Iota looked as if he had been physically slapped, brows knit together and biting his bottom lip as he looked between Delta and Dottore, as if expecting Delta to argue with Dottore. Dottore kept his expression steady, challenging, waiting for Delta to say something. Delta was argumentative but unlike Theta, he was not stupid. He knew when to pick fights and when to back off.

Delta was searching Dottore’s face for something, and Dottore made sure to keep his face blank. “You really don’t care?” Delta finally asked.

Dottore didn’t respond, partially because even as Delta asked the question, there was another soft tug at the red thread wrapped around his thumb. He forced himself not to look down at it, ignoring it this time. He did not care, and even if he did, he would force himself not to, just like he did a million times before when he forced himself to not care that he didn’t have a soulmate. 

It was better for him, and it was better for the child on the opposite end of the string--who would grow up expecting their perfect match and be met with him.

“You were called back to report on the Irminsul project,” Dottore, a master of deflection, changed the subject rather than responding. Delta scoffed. “So, sit down and report. Enough of this nonsense. This is exactly why the other segments will not know.”

The anxiety, and the dread, and the pity was gone. It was replaced by anger. 

Dottore was sick and tired of the gods fucking around with him.

Dottore stood in front of the mirror, lips thin and mask removed as he considered searching for the soulmark that was bound to be branded somewhere on his skin. It had been a long, long time since he had last searched his body for one. He had stopped after he had been cast out from the Akademiya--having given up on acceptance of any kind, be it from strangers or finally receiving his soulmate. He didn’t even want to look now but curiosity had always been his fatal flaw. 

What did it look like? Where was it placed? His body was artificial, would there even be a soulmark?

Slowly and meticulously, he removed his shirt, scanning his torso and arms for any sign of the mark. He didn’t know what to look for--as far as he was aware, people’s marks could look like anything. The majority of people had some sort of symbol, be it a flower or animal or even some sort of item that’s a shared interest of the duo. 

Dottore had no idea what he might share with his soulmate. 

Methodologically, he turned over each arm--just as his parents would do when they were frantically searching him for a mark when he was a child. 

Nothing. 

Dottore stared at himself in the mirror, the scars that littered his body and face were stark in comparison to the rest of the fair skin. He shook his head as he finally turned around, back facing the mirror. He twisted his neck, looking over his shoulder to scan his back, gaze crawling up from his waistband until it reached his shoulders. 

Dottore inhaled sharply, red eyes widening just a bit as he caught sight of the mark branded right between his shoulder blades--a small cluster of purple flowers spread out on his skin. 

Heliotropes, he recognized and Dottore didn’t know if he should roll his eyes or laugh at the irony. Symbol of eternal devotion… poisonous to humans. 

Of course. 

Dottore thought that should be enough of a sign to end this before it weakened him even further--nip the issue in the bud before it could become detrimental. He had never actually seen someone cut their thread before but there were old wives’ tales about it and if anyone could figure out how to do it, it would be him. 

For his sake, and for whoever was on the opposite end.

… and then there was a little tug at the string--once, then twice, and then a third time. 

The moon was high in the sky now. Night had long fallen. He wondered if this was meant to be a goodnight. 

Dottore sighed as he stepped away from the mirror, sitting down at the edge of his bed, leaving the goodnight unanswered as he contemplated what he should do. His gaze shifted back to the window as a branch rattled the glass. 

Dottore hated the winter. Time and time again, it proved to be the worst months of his life… but a part of him--deep, deep down--wondered if this was all too bad because as he watched the ice creep up the frame of the window, this time with the phantom vibrations of his soulmate flicking at the string, it was with a bit more fondness than there was the night before.

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reblogs appreciated!

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HELIOTROPES

pairing: dottore x fem!reader & segments

summary: the gods were sick and cruel and twisted. for five hundred years, he believed he was fated to be alone. he had long accepted it—embraced it, even. that is, until a midwinter night when that elusive red thread finally appeared on his finger. but as much as he wants to ignore it, the pull of a soulmate simply cannot be ignored.

genre: soulmate au, canon compliant for the most part.

warnings: fem!reader, worldbuilding for snezhnaya & fatui & fontaine, dottore's past includes webtoon mindset.

notes: okay y'all i know I gave u a choice over what u want to see int he next chapter but free choice is only an illusion & mother knows best & I took ur wants into consideration & decided against it bc I had a rlly great idea that can only be implemented in this chapter bc there would be no other opportunities for it later on. but im rlly happy w how some of these scenes came out so hopefully u guys are too.

RISE OF A KING, FALL OF A QUEEN

This again. 

You wanted to frown as you found yourself in a large room akin to a chamber with a tall, dome-like ceiling and marble pillars that stretched the height of the room. You were sat in a chair, wooden and creaky, and you could feel the cold shackles wrapped around your ankles without even looking down to see them for yourself. 

There were six figures sitting before you, each on large seats that reminded you of Chief Justice Neuvillette’s back in the Fontaine courthouse. Even the air was similar--damp and heavy, it made your skin crawl.

He was on trial, you put together quickly, but for what? And… where?

There wasn’t much in your line of sight besides the six people sitting in front of you. No, that’s not right. You could see a few more figures from the corner of your eye--they were armed with swords and polearms, tense and ready to act. They wore uniforms of some kind but you couldn’t make out what they were from, you didn’t recognize them. 

“Three hundred years,” one of the men in the six seats spat out. “It’s been three hundred years since the sages have had to gather for a situation like this. This should have been handled before it escalated to this, Sayid. He no longer brings shame just on the Kshahrewar Darshan, now he brings it upon all of us. This has gone too far.”

Sages, Darshan, this was the Akademiya. These were the Great Sages. The people lining the wall were the Matra.

“Attempting the forbidden, interfering with natural evolution, delving beyond the universe--three sins that he has committed and somehow this is still a discussion,” another voice--a woman this time--added on.

You thought that he should have felt anxious, upset, or even offended by the accusations but you could feel nothing. No tug at your heart, no feeling of your stomach dropping, just a cold and empty void where there should have been emotions. 

“It is a discussion because there’s not yet any proof of the sins having been committed,” a tight, male voice rebutted. “What say you, Zandik? Will you defend yourself or just sit there silently?”

Zandik. That was his name--only now you could remember, though it felt as if you had never even forgotten it.

Your lips moved as he responded, voice apathetic and dismissive: “There’s nothing to say… as you said, there is no proof of sins that I have to defend myself from.” His lips pulled up into a thin smile as he spoke, one that unnerved you and you couldn’t even see it. From the expressions on some of the people sitting in front of you, they were just as unnerved as you were.

“He doesn’t even care, Sayid,” the first man hissed. “He won’t even address the accusations laid against him.”

“Sins are not the issue at hand,” a new voice spoke up, voice low and heavy. “We are here to discuss what happened to my Dastur in the Apam Woods.”

Finally, a reaction from Zandik. He raised his chin in response to their words, a feigned attempt at confidence but you could feel the discomfort that began to stir within him--the unease. Somehow you knew that whatever he had been told he was called here for, this had not been it. They had caught him off guard.

“What is there to discuss about that?” Zandik asked. His voice sounded the same as it did before--indifferent, perfunctory--but you could feel the way his heart was beating just a fraction faster than it had been before, you could feel the way his shoulders had stiffened. “It was an unfortunate encounter with a group of Rishboland Tigers. Tragic and should have been avoidable but one of the other trainees had forgotten to set up incense to ward them off.”

“Yes,” one of the men agreed with him, “so the official report says.”

You felt restless as if you wanted to bolt from the room and hide… or he did, for the most part, but some of it was your own. You had attended enough court sessions at Fontaine’s court to know exactly what your soulmate was being accused of… and you had seen enough guilty defendants to know that the accusations were likely not far off from correct. 

Did he…?

“Yes,” Zandik agreed slowly, “because that is what happened.”

“Is it?” The man who initially changed the topic questioned. “The coroner has released to us the official report of Dastur Sohreh’s death. There were multiple trauma wounds… lacerations and contusions on internal organs… hemorrhage… but the fatal injury was a wound on the throat--a fractured hyoid bone caused by strangulation. You were the last person seen with Dastur Sohreh, were you not, trainee?” 

“Sharnama,” a woman’s voice warned but the man only held up his hand, silencing her, waiting for Zandik to respond. 

Zandik did not respond. You could feel the way he was scrambling for an answer, an explanation. You could feel how his heart was racing, how his body was tense. You could feel his anxiety and the realization dawning on him and it all made you sick to your stomach. 

What did you do? You wanted to scream at him. Why did you do it?

As if they could hear your questions, the man continued. “Dastur Sohreh reported to me several acts of insubordination while you were under her tutelage--three times in which you acted without her authorization and brought risks upon the investigation team and an encounter with a ruin hunter in which you insisted on bringing the machinery back to the Akademiya to be disassembled and reverse-engineered, which I personally had to reprimand you for and had you removed from the author list of the investigation’s research paper. When did that happen in regard to Dastur Sohreh’s death, trainee?”

“A week,” the words were frigid and biting as Zandik finally spoke up. “It happened a week before her death.”

“Yes,” he drawled, “that was it.”

“I had nothing to do with her death,” Zandik said. 

You thought you had gotten good at being able to tell whether or not people were lying. You spent three days a week in the court audience watching trials but you were in your soulmate’s body and you could not tell whether he was lying or telling the truth about murdering someone. His heart was racing and there was a twitch in the corner of his lip--the telltale signs of a lie but they could just as easily be a result of the anxiety stemming from being accused of murder. 

(You wondered, distantly, if you were just making excuses so you didn’t have to face the reality that had so suddenly been thrown at you. You had enough experience in court to differentiate the guilty from the innocent.)

“I suppose we have no way of proving that… so you are not at threat of imprisonment,” was his only response but Zandik was not at ease by those words, as if he knew exactly what was coming next. “But with reasonable suspicion of your involvement on top of the allegations regarding your research violating three sins provides grounds for expulsion… assuming it is a unanimous decision.”

It was a question cast to the other five seated in front of Zandik. You noted how Zandik seemed more anxious at the prospect of expulsion than he did at being accused of murder and you weren’t entirely sure how to feel about that. 

“Sharnama,” the only woman amongst the six spoke again, “you mean to make us the first council of sages to expel a student in centuries. The last time-”

“He murdered my Dastur, Anisa,” Sharnama snapped in response.

“I did not-” Zandik’s voice rose, harsh in defense of himself but he was cut off sharply.

“Enough from you, you had your chance to defend yourself,” Sharnama said, tone laced with venom.

“Sharnama is harsh but… the trainee has had a reputation since his time as a student,” one of the other men agreed after a few moments of silence. “His methods and theories… his interest in Khaenri’ahn machinery… It makes people uncomfortable.”

“Discomfort is not grounds for expulsion, Isami, but regardless, we cannot just dismiss all of these allegations. Should any of them prove to be true and it comes out that we knew and did nothing about it…”

“It would tarnish the integrity of the Akademiya,” the woman, Anisa, agreed quietly. “Sayid, Khalil?”

“This should have been handled when the accusations of him infringing upon the laws and rules our predecessors set up first came about,” one of the men said and you could feel Zandik’s throat spasm as he swallowed, panic beginning to set in. 

“... Sayid?” Anisa pressed after a few moments of silence.

And you could feel it. You could feel that small, minuscule bud of hope begin to bloom deep in Zandik’s chest as he shifted a wild gaze over to the sage called Sayid. You had a decent understanding of the structure of Sumeru’s Akademiya after having looked into it because of your suspicions about your soulmate, you supposed this man was the sage of whatever Darshan Zandik was a part of--Kshahrewar, you remembered one of the other men mentioning before.

Zandik trusted Sayid to defend him, you could feel it and you could feel the way his face fell and the way his stomach dropped when Sayid looked away from him, as good an answer as damning him aloud as Sharnama took his silence as agreement, waving his hand for the matra to take him.

You didn’t think Zandik even registered what had happened until rough hands were forcing him to his feet, starting to drag him from the room, and then, finally, the rage hit--bitter and deep, overwhelming. 

“Over rumors and false allegations,” Zandik spat out, hatred dripping from every word. “You’ll expel me for that?”

He got no response besides the harsh words of one of the matra urging him along but he struggled against them with every step, even with fingers digging deep into his biceps, bruising his skin, he was undeterred.

“You sages can’t even fall in line with the very virtues you set out to preserve,” he seethed, “and the sins that you deem so treacherous are just an excuse to chain anyone whose convictions do not fit your standards because you fear that a change in our way of thinking will displace your power.”

You had never felt anything like this before. This feral fury that had your blood on fire and your brain melting of coherent thought--uncontrollable and unquenchable, a type of bloodlust that shook you to your core and scared you because you could feel yourself angry too and you weren’t sure if it were remnants of Zandik’s rage spilling to you or not and you hated how you were being so influenced by his emotions that you couldn’t tell what was his and what was yours anymore.

“You’re going to regret this,” Zandik shouted as the matra pulled him through the doors of the chamber. His words, the sages’ words, they all echoed in your head over and over again--all of the accusations, his reactions, and you wondered what it meant and how much of it was true and you wondered who he was not for the first time and certainly not the last. “You’re going to regret this!”

He didn’t even bother to try the tricks he attempted last time--searching for something to read, yelling, blinking, he knew none of it would work and he wasn’t the type of person to make the same mistake twice. 

The room he was in--she was in--was large and enclosed with an overwhelmingly sweet and sickly flowery scent that made his stomach churn. He had always hated floral scents and this was beyond anything he had ever smelt before. 

And there were too many people. There were too many goddamn people. They were packed in seats before where his soulmate was sitting, they were lined up around the room as if they were waiting to do something, there were so many that the line was even pushed out two double doors, flowing into the hall.

What was going on? 

Dottore couldn’t tell. His soulmate was facing the crowd of people--there was something behind her, he could tell that much. He couldn’t see any flowers so he assumed that whatever that scent was, was coming from behind her. 

There was a man standing next to her--an older one with a cold, unfriendly expression and thick build. He watched as a woman approached the older man, disgust curling in his gut at the snot-faced expression painting her face, wide teary eyes and trembling lips as she reached for the man’s hand. Dottore wanted to step away, draw back and leave before the woman could set her eyes on him but alas, he was not in control of his body--her body--again. 

The more he thought about it, the more odd this was. The last time he had witnessed her past through dreams, her emotions had been loud and intense, deafening. It had him spiraling because he couldn’t understand what he was feeling and he couldn’t tell if he was feeling it or if it was her.

Now, it was empty. There was no joy, no anxiety, no fear or sadness; just a cool void, reminiscent of how the past week and a half of silence from her had felt. Dottore wondered if that was why Celestia was forcing him to sit through another sequence of dreams--punishment for trying to push her away.

Succeeding in pushing her away, he corrected silently, there was an odd pit in his stomach at the thought. He should be happy, he had been worried that not even a direct strike against her persistence would deter her but he had found success in the first attempt. 

It was what he wanted. He no longer had to deal with the frequent tugs on the thread. He no longer had to deal with the fluctuating emotions. He no longer had to deal with the good mornings and goodnights and the incessant questions. 

The past week had been the most peaceful and productive he’s had ever since that damned string appeared and yet somehow, he was not happy. 

It was what he wanted, he repeated but a part of him felt as if he might be trying to convince himself of it.

Around him, people were talking. He could see their lips moving and he could hear the words leaving their lips but they were unintelligible and garbled, it sounded as if they were underwater and only speaking half a word at a time, combining them to create words that didn’t make any sense. He couldn’t read their lips, no matter how hard he tried, it just looked as if they were speaking a foreign language. 

The woman who had been talking to the older man now turned to his soulmate. Instantly, dread was rocketing through him--he knew what was about to happen and there was simply nothing that he could do about it. 

Thin arms wrapped around her, tighter than he thought it would be and he wondered, hatefully, if his soulmate was some agent of Celestia sent to make his life a living hell. Three times now, he was forced to experience something through her that made his skin crawl. First, he was tossed around through that winter storm because she made stupid decisions. Then he was slapped. And now, there was a woman clinging to him, sobbing and speaking words that he couldn’t even understand and all he could do was stand there and let it happen because that’s what she was doing.

It took far too long for another woman to come along and drag her off. Dottore was livid, if he looked to the side, he was sure he would see snot on his soulmate’s shoulder and he could still feel bony arms digging into her sides.

He wasn’t sure how long she stood there. It felt like an eternity and only a few seconds somehow at the same time. People were passing by her in slow motion but they were gone in an instant. Dottore was distinctly unsettled, it felt like someone was fucking with his head, forcing him to perceive things wrongly. 

Eventually, his soulmate was approached by someone new--a younger man with dark hair and purple-red eyes. He ignored the older man to her side, everyone else had stopped at him first and then moved to her but he had beelined right to her. 

Something didn’t sit right in his stomach about that.

Dottore braced himself as best as he could as the other man reached out to grab his soulmate but instead of pulling her into a hug, he only grabbed her forearms, leaning his head down to say something that Dottore couldn’t understand again. 

He was undeterred by her lack of reaction, trying again and again and again. Dottore had half a mind to bash his head in and tell him to leave, fed up by this whole situation. No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't seem to escape this. When he thought he finally succeeded, he was dragged right back in by Celestia and their fucked up games. 

Then, at last, Dottore could hear again. His soulmate was snapped out of whatever daze she had been in and noise exploded around him: scraping of chairs against the ground, mindless chatter, a violin muted in the background, slow and mournful. 

A funeral. 

For who? 

It had to be someone close to his soulmate from how they were all approaching her and suddenly, he was reminded of that night all of those years ago during the event where Pantalone was being officially promoted to Harbinger. Father, branded right on his forearm. He had yet to get a look at his soulmate through a reflection--he wondered if this was the funeral.

Most of the chatter was sympathetic, talking about the deceased and reminiscing old times… but not all of it was. He could hear whispers of men talking about what this could mean for the stability of the court, eyeing up the new opportunities that came with this death, some sounded excited rather than melancholic, like hyenas feasting on one of their own.

“There you are,” the young man in front of her said with a small smile that made Dottore frown. “Ignore all of them, they did the same thing when my grandfather died. Came to the funeral under the guise of mourning just so they could see if there was any instability for them to leech on. There wasn’t then and there isn’t now.”

“There isn’t?” his soulmate spoke for the first time--her voice was hoarse and empty, the only sort of emotion was a dull sense of doubt. “All they talk about is how I’m too weak to take over for my grandfather. They say a woman is unfit to be warden.”

“If they saw the way you could work your family’s-” he began loudly.

“Wriothesley,” the older man standing next to his soulmate said, a warning written all over his face.

“Sorry,” Wriothesley said, looking away.

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” his soulmate said after a few moments of silence, voice quiet. “The instability is right in front of everyone’s faces. They can all see that they’re not here, Wrio.” 

Wrio, Dottore thought to himself spitefully once he heard the nickname.

Wriothesley looked irritated at her words, glancing once at the older man again before speaking back up, “They didn’t show up at all? Your mother? Siblings? To your father’s funeral?”

There it was. Finally, a bit of emotion from her. She was hurt at his words, he could feel something pinching at his chest, a dark and unwelcome feeling but for some reason, it made him feel a bit more at ease after the past week of silence.

“They were busy,” she said quietly but Dottore could tell that she didn’t even believe the words herself. Neither did Wriothesley, if the expression on his face had anything to say about it. “They were, Wrio.”

Dottore wanted to roll his eyes once he heard the nickname again but instead, he distracted himself with what she had said. He thought back to the previous dreams he had of her past--being left behind by her mother and stepfather while they went to town, the argument with her mother and the slap… somehow, he wouldn’t be surprised if she had chosen not to go. 

Wriothesley scoffed loudly, loud enough to draw the attention of some of the other attendees. “They’re despicable,” he spat out. “Especially that skeevy, rat-faced-”

“Come, Wriothesley,” a middle-aged man who looked just like the younger man said sharply, interrupting him before he could finish his sentence. “This is not the place for this topic. You can speak to your betrothed another time.”

Dottore blanched. 

Betrothed?

Blood. 

That was the first thing you noticed. The thick, nasty scent of iron was all around you--around him, whatever. It was disgusting, overwhelming. You wanted to throw up, you thought that if you were in your own body, you might’ve passed out but you were in his, Zandik’s, and he was totally unbothered by the smell. 

Something was wrong with your eyes--that was the second thing you noticed. You had no peripheral vision, the only thing you could see was his hands resting on the lab table in front of you, fresh and dry blood staining his skin, dripping to the floor below. 

He was angry, the third thing you noticed. You could feel the rage curling in his gut; his nails digging into the table, grinding against the metal. You couldn’t figure out what he was angry about and you weren’t sure if you wanted to know because you had a distinct feeling that it had something to do with the blood on his hands and the lab table.

Zandik finally moved, an awful scraping sound meeting your ears as his nails dragged against the metal when he pushed off the table. He paced up and down the length of the room, muttering to himself. 

“Everything was right.”

“What went wrong?”

“-was supposed to work, don’t under-”

As he turned, you could see something--some sort of machine laying across the lab table that hadn’t been in your line of sight before. You wondered if these were ruin guards that he talked about so much. There was something pooling around it; from the distance you were at, you thought it might be oil but Zandik turned on his heel to move closer to it and a sinking feeling formed in your stomach when you realized that it was not oil, instead it was a massive puddle of blood surrounding the machine.

What the fuck? You thought to yourself as Zandik stood in front of the machine, taking one of its arms in his hand. The metal somehow felt cool and hot at the same time, uncomfortable to the touch. You wanted to let go of it, there was blood coating the metal and staining his hands even more, but Zandik’s grip was tight around it.

Why was a machine bleeding? You were sick at the thought, hoards of horrible possibilities running through your head but you didn’t get a chance to dwell on any of them.

Zandik sighed, annoyed, jerking away from the machine again to pace. His head shook back and forth in a rough manner that started to give you a headache, he did it over and over and over again and you wanted to scream at him to stop. 

“This was supposed to work, Grand Sage,” he said, clicking his tongue sharply once, then twice, and then a third time. “This was supposed to work. I did everything right. Why aren’t you working?” 

Is he talking to-

Zandik marched right back toward the machine, much to your displeasure. The longer he stared at the automaton, the more uncomfortable you felt. You could tell that it had been modified in several places, disassembled and put back together but it almost looked as if… he had put something inside it? 

“Why aren’t you working, Grand Sage?” he repeated, humming to himself irritably as he tapped his fingers against the metal. “I even went out to fetch you a new core, you’ve always been so damn ungrateful, haven’t you? Everything I did for your Darshan and you still turned your back on me. Ungrateful, even when I’m trying to make you greater than man.”

-to the machine?

You wanted to wake up, you didn’t want to see whatever this dream was showing you. You wondered if it was some cruel joke the gods were playing on you by showing you this. Or maybe they were trying to help you, you considered. He had made his opinion on you clear and yet every day you were still tempted to reach out to him, maybe they were trying to help you move past him.

“Is this what you plan to do with yourself?” a low, unfamiliar voice spoke up suddenly from the opposite end of the room. 

Zandik was startled, heart racing and head whipping to the side as he snapped his fingers together. Instantly, there was a loud whirring machine coming from behind him, metal scraping against metal--the sound of an automaton coming to life. His gaze focused on a figure stepping out from the shadows of the corner of the room, tall with graying hair and a mask that covered the entire right half of his face.

“Who are you?” Zandik demanded harshly and finally, you caught sight of him through the reflection of a metal cabinet. Red eyes stared back at you through a mask that covered three-quarters of his face and short silvery blue hair that had blood dripping from the tips of his curls. “Who are you?”

“So much potential wasting away in this poor excuse of a lab,” the man continued, undeterred by Zandik’s hostility. An eerie feeling swept over you--you weren’t sure if it was you or Zandik becoming unnerved by the man, maybe it was both of you. “Don’t you want something more?”

“What are you talking about?” Zandik asked sharply, a scalpel clutched tight in his fist--somehow, you knew that it was no match for the man standing before him and you had a feeling that he knew that too. “Did the Akademiya send you? Who are you?”

“I came after hearing rumors of an expelled student performing heretical acts… So far I’m unimpressed.”

The anger that spread through him was like wildfire, consuming all rationality and any other emotion he might’ve felt. In an instant, the automaton that had awakened behind him was moving, launching across the room at a pace that had you reeling, blades slashing outward but then at once, it stopped. A cold silence took over the room, Zandik’s brows furrowed and his lips turned down as the automaton came to a stop, shutting down right before his eyes. 

“Interesting enhancements… but unchanged at its core, meant to be operated by those that created them, not a follower of the gods.”

“I am not a follower of the gods,” Zandik spat out violently, stepping forward before he paused as if reconsidering the man’s statement. “Meant to be operated… you?”

“Yes,” he responded, ignoring Zandik’s entire change of demeanor at his words. You thought you might feel even more unnerved now, at the excited feeling bubbling inside Zandik as he stared at the man, waiting for him to continue. “What are your goals, outcast?” 

Zandik frowned. “That’s not my name-” he began but was interrupted.

“If I cared for your name, I would have learned it. If you prove yourself useful, you will be given a new identity anyway,” he told Zandik. “Now answer me, outcast, what are your goals?”

Zandik didn’t answer for a moment, staring at him, but then he glanced back at the automaton still laying on the lab table, the pool of blood beneath it now larger. Luckily, his gaze didn’t linger on it for long. 

“I’m going to enhance humans so that we can rival gods,” Zandik said, raising his chin to focus his eyes back on the man. “What do you mean? Prove yourself useful? To whom? You?”

“Lofty goals,” was all he received as a response. Zandik bristled. “How do you plan to do that? With what resources?”

Zandik opened his mouth to respond but no words left his lips. Finally, he pushed out, “I’m making progress just fine.”

“Yes,” the man said dryly, his visible eye drifting over to the mess behind Zandik. “I can see that…”

You didn’t think you liked where this was heading. Zandik was still suspicious but now he was intrigued, ready to listen to this man and whatever he had to say, and you had a feeling that this man would bring nothing good.

“I can provide you with resources,” he offered. “Funding, rare materials… new test subjects. All of the finest and as much as you need.”

“What do you want in return?” Zandik asked.

“There is a war coming,” he responded cryptically, “and you are going to help prepare us for it.”

“A war?” Zandik asked, baffled. “A war against who?”

But you knew. 

You knew. 

It was the same war that had the Hydro Archon’s paranoia escalating. The war that forced you to hide your soulmark and thread your entire life, that had you looked down on and whispered about because you had to tell people you had no soulmate. The war led by the same organization that had sent your stepfather to Fontaine as an infiltrator, the man who had killed your father and ruined your life. 

At once, all of your nightmares and all of your worst fears came true. 

“A war against the gods.”

Betrothed?

Dottore was appalled, reeling at the knowledge that was just forced onto him. The scene shifted, Dottore was now in a smaller room kneeling in front of a woman that he recognized from the first dream he had of his soulmate but he couldn’t even focus on the situation at hand.

Betrothed?? 

Since when had she been betrothed? Dottore thought that would have been one of things that she mentioned when she was rambling on about her days at night. He thought it might’ve been something that was at least hinted at when she couldn’t control what words were being sent to him. 

“I have to leave, mother,” Dottore’s lips were moving as she spoke but quite frankly, he didn’t give a shit about whatever conversation she was having with her mother. The lack of emotions she was feeling left a vacuum that allowed his feelings to spiral and he was having trouble trying to keep control of them. 

He couldn’t even tell what the emotions rattling him were. He thought that he had become better at pinpointing emotions ever since he was forced to deal with hers but this was foreign--green and ugly, beyond just anger or sadness, stronger than anything he’s felt in centuries.

“You do not have to leave, you’re choosing to.”

Dottore thought he might feel insulted--disrespected, even, being given a soulmate only for them to be married off to someone else. Another cruel joke played by the gods to spite him, a cruel joke played by her to spite him. He wondered if this was her getting back at him for never responding to those goodnight tugs she always used to do: talking to him, trying to get him to fall for her trap and respond, only for her to be with someone else. 

“I do, I have to go. There’s something I have to do.”

He shouldn’t feel insulted, or disrespected. He shouldn’t care at all whether or not his soulmate was betrothed to someone else. He never planned on speaking to her. He never planned on meeting her. And he absolutely never planned to do anything about the bond forced on him by Celestia. In fact, this should make him feel better. It meant that there was less of a chance for her to reach out to him again if she was in a relationship with someone else. 

It freed him of her. This should be a good thing for him, so why was he so angry?

“You won’t even tell me where you’re going,” her mother snapped. “Best not be to the north, there’s only so much more I can defend you from peoples’ suspicions. They’re starting to ask questions.”

But it was not a matter of whether or not he should or shouldn’t care. It was the sheer audacity she had to keep reaching out to him when she was set to marry, or even has married someone else at this point. She was trying to play games with him and if there was one thing that Dottore couldn’t stand, it was someone trying to play games with him--be it the gods, other Harbingers, or some random girl that Celestia decided to tie him to. 

“It doesn’t matter where-”

“Of course, it matters,” the mother said, fingers digging into his soulmate’s forearms. “What am I to tell Her Excellency when she asks about where you went off to? The last thing our family needs is the speculation that would come along with people thinking you went off to Snezhnaya.” 

Finally, he felt something from her--something sharp and jagged tugging at her chest that drew him from his thoughts, an emotion he had become acquainted with through her intimately over the past few years: sadness, disappointment.

“Wow,” she said dryly, “that’s what you’re worried about. Suspicions against your family. Not whether or not I might be going somewhere dangerous.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” her mother said, livid. “Of course, I care about whether or not you’re going somewhere dangerous. I’m your mother.”

“I’m not going to argue with you,” his soulmate said after a moment, rising to her feet and pulling her arms from her mother’s grip. “You can tell the Hydro Archon I’ve left for Mondstadt.”

“Is that where you’re actually going?” her mother rose to her feet after her, taking a step forward, but his soulmate did not respond. Her mother’s face fell. “You’re going north, aren’t you?” 

Dottore finally focused on the situation at hand. North? But the only thing north of Fontaine was-

“Aren’t you?” her mother demanded. “You’re going to Snezhnaya? Why are you going there? To find him?”

Him. She must be referring to Dottore. But why would his soulmate come looking for him if she had…?

“I didn’t say that,” his soulmate shook her head, looking away out toward the window. It was a dreary day, dark clouds hanging low and rain sprinkling down to the streets below. “I told you to tell the Hydro Archon I’m going to Mondstadt.”

“Why are you going there? Why? Answer me,” her mother’s voice rose, eyes tearing up as she stepped closer to his soulmate. She stepped back, freezing her mother in place.

“Have you ever communicated with your soulmate through thoughts? The words that show up on your forearm?” she finally asked, tone harsh and accusing, a sudden change of subject.

Dottore paused, trying to put together what this might be about now. This was another reason why he hated these damn dreams, he never had any context behind what was happening and Dottore hated not knowing things.

“What sort of question is that?” her mother hissed, taken aback. “Of course-”

Her mother cut herself off suddenly, brows furrowing and lips twisting into a deep frown. Dottore could feel his soulmate swallow thickly, watching the reaction to her question. She had been expecting this and he wasn’t sure if it was dread or satisfaction pooling in her stomach--maybe both.

“Have you ever thought about why you don’t communicate through it? Have you ever tried and he just doesn’t respond? Do you try flicking your thread? Does he flick it back?” his soulmate let loose a barrage of questions and a creeping suspicion began to arise, wondering if she was implying what he thought she was.

“What are you trying to say?” her mother shook her head, stepping away. “Enough.”

“I’m not trying to say anything,” his soulmate responded, turning on her heel to leave the room. “But maybe you should think about it.”

She didn’t say anything else as she left the room and finally, Dottore could think.

She was accusing her stepfather of faking the bond with her mother, Dottore realized. But how would he do that? He knew people were capable of faking bonds through old magics but as far as he was aware that type of magic was all but lost… Dottore’s mind was suddenly racing, remembering all of the things he had forgotten in the last dream he had of her past: what he had figured out about the spy in the upper ranks of the Fatui and they had a spy in Fontaine, one of Arlecchino’s spiders and Arlecchino was capable of the old magic, and his soulmate was coming north to Snezhnaya so obviously she must have reason to believe that it had something to do with the Fatui, could it be-

Dottore felt a headache coming on. 

He had a feeling that this was going to be very, very bad.

You woke up with a sharp, shaky breath. Your hand flew to your chest as you sat up straight, reeling from what you had just experienced. Blood, anger, betrayal, hope--what could you remember? What could you remember?

You scrambled to the small table at your bedside immediately, grabbing your notebook and panicking to find the pen that had fallen to the floor. You dropped to your hands and knees, fumbling around in the dark until you found it beneath your bed. You didn’t even bother rising to your feet again as you made yourself comfortable on the floor so you could start jotting down everything you remembered.

A cold, empty room. Six people. Exile? Sins and virtues. Lots of blood. An automaton. Uncontrollable, sickening rage. An unfamiliar figure. War. 

War.

But what was the context? Your head was pounding as you tried to remember, you wondered if Celestia was warning you against trying to push too hard for information you’re not meant to remember yet. You didn’t care. You had to know. 

War. The rebellion stirring in the north. But what about it? What was the damn context?

You glanced down at your forearm, frustration pricking at you as the window above you rattled against the Snezhnayan winter storm. You could feel the freezing air even from inside the warm room with the fireplace burning on the opposite wall--it was unlike anything you had ever experienced before, the cold storms at the estate that you thought were the end of the world paled in comparison to this.

You wanted to yell at him, demand to know who he was and what he had done, beg him for the answers that you should’ve received by now… but you remembered the words scrawled across your forearm, the cruel words that cut deeper than any of the nasty words that had been spat at you by people throughout your life.

He did not care about you, you reminded yourself, you have more self-respect than this. Do not reach out to him.

You sighed heavily, arm dropping to your side as you stared back up at the window, watching a branch scrape against the glass over and over and over again. You were only on the Snezhnayan border but already you were feeling anxious--you had half a mind to turn back but the only thing stopping you was the memory of your father, the lust for justice, vengeance. You couldn’t turn back, not until you had all of the information you needed, not until you were sure you could return to Fontaine and have your stepfather imprisoned in the Black Cells.

There was a heavy feeling in your heart as you pushed yourself back off the floor, putting the notebook away and taking a seat back on the thin mattress of the inn you were staying at, the wood of the bed frame creaking beneath you. 

You had a distinct feeling that your journey to find proof against your stepfather would lead you to him as well.

He sat upright, eyes wild as he tried to figure out where he was. His heart was racing, anger was still flooding his blood, he breathed in and out deeply as he tried to regain control of himself. He was back in his lab--not dealing with any more of those god forsaken dreams. He wanted to spit out a string of vile curses up toward the gods but he refrained, trying to piece together what he could remember before the vague memories faded. 

He flipped over the parchment he had been taking notes on before he had fallen asleep, rubbing the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes shut as he pressed his pen to the paper and noted down all of the hazy details.

Flowers. Wrio? Betrothed?? Mother. Leaving. Snezhnaya. 

Dottore exhaled, gaze zeroing in on the third word of his list--betrothed. He glanced down at the thread connected to his thumb, inhaling deeply as an unfamiliar emotion began to churn inside of him. Before it could take hold, Dottore diverted his attention to the last two words.

Leaving. Snezhnaya.

What did that mean? What was the context? He couldn’t remember. Was she coming to Snezhnaya? Was she in Snezhnaya and leaving? Or did the two words not have any connection? 

No, they had to be connected. It was something important, he knew that much at least, but what? The answer was on the tip of his tongue and again that temper of his began to thin, what was the answer? What was the goddamn answer? Why was she coming to Snezhnaya? 

Should he ask?

The option rang damning through his head as he looked down at his forearm. She could be in danger if she came to Snezhnaya--the nation was becoming more and more antagonistic to outsiders, especially outsiders from Fontaine and Natlan and especially because of the masked hostile that was running through Fatui camps and slaughtering their underlings. No matter how much Pulcinella and Pantalone demanded that they take caution with outsiders, there was no telling what a heat of the moment reaction could lead to if there was a possible threat and Arlecchino had made clear that Fontaine was on the verge of becoming a threat to the Fatui. 

As he contemplated his choices, Dottore suddenly paused, another realization hitting him suddenly: if he had dreamt of her past then…

Then she dreamed of his past.

Dottore waited, staring at his forearm--waiting for the questions, the disgust, the horror. It was inevitable, he knew it. Last time, he assumed they dreamed of similar time periods of their life. Hers was when she was young, five to twelve years old between both dreams, he assumed; and the word he received from her was cursed, which was directed at him from when he was a child up until he was chased from the village at ten. And if the time periods were similar… that left his Akademiya and post-Akademiya era up as options for what she could have dreamt about, and neither of those periods of his life were particularly pleasant.

He waited and he waited and he waited… but nothing showed up on his forearm, not a question nor an accusation, no emotion spread through him that he thought might’ve been hers--just emptiness, just like it had been for the past week and a half. 

Dottore exhaled heavily, leaning back against his seat and staring up at the ceiling above him, trying to figure out what he was supposed to do with this and how he was supposed to make sure she didn’t get herself killed traveling through Snezhnaya.

The week and a half of peace was over and he realized, quickly, that it had only been the calm before the storm. 

rbs appreciated!

HELIOTROPES: A SIDE STORY

pairing: dottore x fem!reader & segments

summary: the gods were sick and twisted. for five hundred years, he believed he was fated to be alone. he had long accepted it—embraced it, even. that is, until a midwinter night when that elusive red thread finally appeared on his finger. but as much as he wants to ignore it, the pull of a soulmate simply cannot be ignored.

genre: soulmate au, canon compliant for the most part.

warnings: fem!reader, worldbuilding, brief mention of alcoholism and implied child abuse (not to reader), totally unedited (didn't have time! sorry!) reminder that segment list is on the masterlist if needed!

notes: THE BDAY SIDE STORY IS HERE, sorry i couldn't get it out on time i've been so busy i literally did not have the time to format or do anything sobs but i hope u guys enjoy because i had so much fun writing it. i originally came up with the idea for milk's bday a few weeks ago hehe. i rlly love it because it gives more background into reader and some of my fav segments (minus theta </3 he didn't make it in this one. but perhaps i shall do a christmas side story and make him the star).

THREE TIMES THE SEGMENTS MET YOU WITHOUT REALIZING IT,  AND ONE TIME THEY DID.

I. THE KAPPA SEGMENT & THE EPSILON SEGMENT; READER, AGE 6

You were cold. Soft puffs of air left your lips, shaky and weak. You were curled up in a ball on the ground, and a part of you knew that you needed to move but you couldn’t bring yourself to, your limbs felt as if they were iced to the ground—maybe they were, you could barely even pry your eyes open to check. 

The storm had died down, brief and brutal as they usually were, but you had been unable to find shelter before it hit. The town had to be close, you could hear people leaving their homes to fix up their properties from destruction of the harsh winds. It was only a matter of time before someone spotted you curled up on the ground, you were wearing a bright purple cloak. Your mother would find you, she would come to your rescue, she’d bring you home and make some hot cocoa for you just like you guys used to do during the bad storms before your father left for Fontaine City. 

It felt like an eternity. It might’ve been an eternity, you couldn’t tell. All you knew was that everything was cold, and you felt sluggish and slow, and you were starting to struggle to breathe because the air felt like icicles scraping at your lungs. You were tired, you could feel yourself falling asleep but living on the northern border, you knew better—you had to make it somewhere warm before you fell asleep, otherwise you might not wake up. 

But you couldn’t move, you thought you should feel scared and you thought you should definitely be crying but you couldn’t even do that. And as the minutes passed, slow and agonizing, you began to question whether or not someone would find you in time. The more those doubts began to surface, the more appealing the relief of sleep became—at least if you slept, you wouldn’t have to wait out these freezing and harrowing minutes alone. You could dream of your mother and father, of Sylvie and Elliot, maybe you would even dream of your soulmate. You heard that some people who were favored by the gods had dreams of their soulmate well before they ever met. 

Your weak breaths began to even out as you gave into the lull, but just as you were on the verge of falling asleep, you heard it—the crunching of snow, fast and loud heading in your direction. You forced your eyes open now, whimpering as the ice and snow caked on your face ripped at your skin painfully, and through little slits, you watched a figure dashing toward you.

At first, you thought it was your mother, wishing you could cry in relief because of course she found you, she would always find you. She would always come to your rescue. She would wrap you up in her arms and cry at you for being such a fool, but you knew she would just be happy you were okay. 

But as the figure drew closer, you realized that it was far too small to be your mother—you thought maybe it was Sylvie or Elliot, rushing ahead to get to you and maybe your mother was right behind them, but again, you were proven wrong as an unfamiliar boy knelt at your side, red eyes wide and silvery-blue curls hanging in his eyes as he peered down at you. 

He pressed his hands against both of your cheeks, as if to warm you up, but you thought it might’ve made it worse, because with the small bit of warmth against your skin and the feeling of someone else’s touch after being alone so long in the blizzard, you found your eyes drooping shut again, being lulled to sleep far faster this time. 

At once, the boy ripped his hands away and you could hear him pulling off his own cloak. He wrapped it around you tightly tucking one of your arms inside the thick material but hesitated before stuffing your other arm in there too. You forced your eyes back open, watching as he stared at your hand in confusion, and you parted your lips to ask what he was doing but no noise left them besides a wheeze of cold air that had ice slicing down your windpipe and your body shuddering in pain. 

Noticing your reaction, he put your arm into the cloak. He stood up, and you wondered if he was going to try to lift you himself, or leave you, but then another voice reached your ears, loud and tired, calling a name that you couldn’t quite make out but it had the boy lifting his arms and waving them frantically. 

A few moments later, there was a new figure kneeling next to you, brows furrowed as he looked down at you. “How did you get out here all on your own in this weather?” he murmured more to himself than you, and careful to keep you wrapped up in the small one’s cloak, he took his own off and wrapped you in that one too, easily lifting you up into his arms.

He was a stranger, and you knew you shouldn’t feel so comfortable in his arms, but you couldn’t help the way you leaned into his chest, basking in the warmth and relief of having been found, even if it wasn’t by the person you wanted it to be. You started to doze off again but found yourself disrupted as he jostled you in his arms suddenly, eyes blearily reopening to give him a confused look. 

“No sleeping,” he warned, giving you a steady look before motioning for the boy to follow him as he brought you into the town.

He took you to the inn, bustling with people who had taken refuge from the sudden storm, and immediately the innkeeper recognized you, gasping as she hobbled over to the man and led him in the direction of the fireplace, shouting for people to go fetch your mother or stepfather. He placed you down on the ratty couch of the inn, keeping you nestled inside both cloaks before pushing it as close as possible to the fireplace. 

He stepped away and at once you felt cold again—not physically, but mentally. Empty in a way that you’d never experienced before. You wanted to tell him to come back but you still couldn’t speak, your throat hurt and your lips still felt numb. 

The boy lingered for a moment, standing in front of the couch and staring at you as if he wanted to say something, but couldn’t—much like you.

“Come, Kappa,” the man who saved you said just as you finally began to drift off to sleep with the warmth of the fireplace next to you and the weight of their cloaks pressing down on you. “She will be fine. Delta is waiting, you know how he feels about wasting time.”

You could only watch them leave, confused as to the warmth you felt when you were wrapped up in his arms—you knew it was different than normal but didn’t know why—and Epsilon never noticed the thread tied neatly around your finger, which was hidden by his and Kappa’s cloak. Kappa, mute and anxious, was unable to force the words out of his mouth as Epsilon held his wrist and led him from the tavern away from you. 

II. THE IOTA SEGMENT; READER, AGE 11

You shuffled through the streets, sniffling and wiping at your eyes with baggy sleeves. You were getting odd looks from all around, wondering why an eleven-year-old was wandering around the streets alone wearing clothes that were far too big for her body. You had stolen Wriothesley’s jacket and gloves to cover your nice dress and the rings adorning your fingers, you probably should have taken them off before leaving the palace—the last thing you needed was for your mother to yell at you for losing her grandmother’s pearl ring and the city was out of control with pickpockets the past few months. 

It had already started raining, much to your displeasure, you remembered the prophecy that spoke of the day Fontaine City would be drowned by the gods and not for the first time, you wished that the day would just come already. You were so tired of dealing with your stepfather, and you hated the way he looked at you, and you hated how now he was even turning people against you and your father. 

You were supposed to have joined your mother and siblings in visiting your uncle for dinner, but instead, your mother had made an off-handed comment about how you should go spend some time with your father and grandfather instead, and you knew it was because your stepfather must have said something to your uncle. You didn’t know what, you had never been close to your uncle but you’d thought that since he was still family, he wouldn’t care for the words of an outsider.

But you should have expected this, in Fontaine, nothing came above the word of a person’s soulmate, Celestia’s gift to humanity. Of course he would believe your stepfather, because your stepfather was his sister’s gift from the gods—he only ever wanted the best for her, and he had somehow convinced your uncle that you, her own daughter, were not the best for her. 

Another sob bubbled at your lips, you pressed the sleeves of Wriothesley’s jacket to your mouth to muffle it. You wondered if your mother thought you were stupid, that you wouldn’t know what she really meant, but of course you knew. You spent too much time just observing people to not know. You didn’t have any friends to talk to besides Wriothesley, and Wriothesley was always busy. All you could do was sit around and observe until you got bored. 

Maybe you should have just gone to your father or grandfather and tell them what happened, but you knew if you did that, they would be livid and it would escalate things even more, and you were the one that would deal with the backlash of that, not them. So instead you went to Wriothesley, and stole his jacket and gloves, and refused to tell him what happened before you fled from the room to leave the palace. 

Just as you were about to turn the corner, you slammed into a figure and hit the ground hard, crying even more when mud splattered all over your face and into your mouth. You tried to wipe the mud off of your face through choked sobs but now the gloves were covered in mud too from you trying to catch yourself, and you only smeared it even worse.

“Oh.” 

It was a young boy who you had slammed into you but you couldn’t make out his facial features through your blurred vision. You were caught off guard when he was suddenly pressing his cloak against your face, using it as a rag to try to wipe off the mud. It didn’t help much, all he did was smear it around more because his cloak was drenched, but it had at least cleared your vision. 

“... Better?” he said hesitantly, looking down at you.

You sniffled a bit, using the clean part of Wriothesley’s jacket to wipe at your eyes before you nodded, but you didn’t stand up from where you were sitting on the ground. You didn’t want to. The boy leaned in a bit closer, frowning, “Are you… crying?” 

“I am not,” you denied immediately, but your voice betrayed you, cracking and breath shuddering over another sob. The boy looked suspicious. “I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not!”

“You are.”

“Not!”

“Yes, you are!”

“I am not!”

You glared at him. 

He glared back. 

Then he sat down in the mud next to you, plopping down hard and splattering mud all over you again. 

“Are you crying because you fell because of me?” the boy asked.

“‘m not crying,” you muttered, but with far less vigor this time. When he only stared at you, red eyes wide and earnest as he waited for an actual response, you finally said: “My stepfather is mean to me.”

“Oh,” the boy said in response, and the two of you just sat there for a moment, ignoring the way people kept giving you strange looks. Then, he reached up and patted your head, getting mud in your hair and on your forehead. Your brows furrowed as you stared at him, trying to figure out what he was doing, but he looked just as confused as you. “The Doctor pats my head when I get sad sometimes. It makes me feel better. Do you feel better?”

He drew his hand back swiftly into his lap, as if the single touch had poisoned him, and then you noticed how he was sitting with a large space between the two of you, the hand that had touched your head trembling and his body stiff. You wondered if he was like Wriothesley, Wriothesley used to get scared whenever people touched him, even just a kiss on the cheek or a pat on the head, and he never initiated contact with anyone else—you were pretty sure it was because his grandfather drank a lot, and when he drank a lot, he hurt people but whenever you asked your father, he said it was none of your business. But your father didn’t like Wriothesley’s grandfather, and you supposed that said enough, your father liked pretty much everyone. And then, realizing he might be like Wriothesley, you felt sad because he still tried to make you feel better even though he was scared. 

“I feel better,” you said quietly.

He smiled, brightening up a bit, but just as he was about to say something, you heard your name being called, loud and panicked. Your eyes turned up to where Wriothesley’s father was rushing through the rain in your direction, a few of his men following close behind. 

At his side, Wriothesley was with him, looking guilty as he refused to meet your eyes.

“Traitor!” you cried at Wriothesley as his father gently hauled you out of the mud to your feet. “I don’t want to go back there!” 

“He was worried, little one,” Wriothesley’s father patted your head, voice quiet as he spoke. “We all were. The city has been dangerous lately, you cannot go running off on your own. Your father just about had a heart attack when Wriothesley came to us and told us that you took his jacket and left the palace grounds.”

Wriothesley’s father pulled off the muddy gloves and coat to drape his own cleaner one over your shoulders—if he had been a second faster, maybe Iota would have caught sight of the thread tied to your finger before he ran off to get back to Delta. 

III. THE GAMMA SEGMENT; READER, AGE 16

You had made it your goal to attend every festival you possibly could across all of Teyvat. The music festivals of Fontaine were an easy tick to your list, but it had taken a lot of convincing to get your mother to agree to the Lantern Rite Festival of Liyue. With you, Sylvie and Elliot combined though, it was impossible for her to say no. 

It was all you’d been thinking about for days now, and as you walked over the bridge to enter Liyue Harbor, you thought the city might’ve been the most beautiful sight you’d ever seen, eyes drawing upon all of the decorations and stands—it was dark out already, but somehow the city was still completely lit up and alive. People were singing and dancing, chatting loudly and laughing.

It reminded you of Fontaine City before the curfews were set and you were confined to the palace. 

“Look at all of the lights,” Sylvie whispered excitedly, tugging at your arm as she pointed to the lanterns decorating each corner of every building. 

“They say that they release thousands of lanterns at the end of the festival into the air,” Elliot said, squinting as he dipped his head down to see the words of the book he was reading. “They send their soldiers traveling throughout Liyue to collect all of them after Lantern Rite ends.” 

“Do you think we’ll be able to release one?” Sylvie asked, bouncing in her feet as she turned to look at Elliot, who just shrugged. “Can we go explore? Please, mother.”

Your mother looked tired from all of the traveling, sharing a look with your stepfather before nodding. “We’re going to go check in at the inn we’re staying at. Be sure to meet back here before nightfall, we have reservations at the Xinyue Kiosk tonight.”

Delighted, you lit up, watching as your stepfather told Elliot and Sylvie to go buy themselves a kite from the Toy Shop before handing them each a pouch of mora. You should’ve known better, but still, you glanced at him after Elliot and Sylvie ran off in opposite directions. His eyes glazed right over you as he held your tired mother by the waist and led her off in the direction of the inn. 

Your smile faltered but you refused to let it ruin your mood—you were in Liyue Harbor during Lantern Rite. You weren’t going to let him make you sad, you had your own coins anyway that you got from tutoring the Beaumont kids. Instead, you rushed off across the bridge and down the street, in the direction of the main area of the city. 

There were people everywhere, all of the shops stayed open, your smile widened as you watched a bunch of kids Elliot and Sylvie’s age run around with kites in their hands, ignoring how the adults were chiding them for doing it while the streets were so busy. 

You peeked around at some of the market stands, tempted to try some of the food but you figured that you’d get yelled at if you filled yourself up before the reservation, knowing that your mother spent a lot of time and mora getting someone down to Liyue a few months ago to make sure you guys were put on the waitlist. 

Instead, you found yourself in front of a jewelry shop, looking through the glass windows at the gemstones perched up on pretty purple cushions. They were already sold out of Emeralds, Topazes and Agates, but they had a full stock of Turquoises, Jades, and Diamonds. Distantly, you wondered who the hell was going to buy Diamonds from the jeweler, knowing that the rest would at least be bought by people with a vision. 

Your eyes narrowed, and just as disappointment was about to hit you, you caught sight of what you were looking for:

Varunada Lazurite. 

Your gaze shot open in surprise—the gemstone was always sold out in the Land of Hydro with so many people who had hydro visions living within the city. You had managed to get your hands on three chunks the last time the shop near the palace restocked, even though you had to wait in a line for nearly twelve hours to make sure you were the first one there after the restock. You had thought you’d have to wait another month or two for a chance at obtaining the other three you needed. 

But right there were the three brilliant and shiny chunks of Lazurite you needed tucked in the corner of the glass box. Excited, you realized that you wouldn’t have to wait as long as you thought—once you got home, you’d be able to grab the three you already had and crush them down into dust with your father for the second-to-last vision ceremony, to give you the increased connection with your hydro energy that you needed to finally start learning your family’s passed down hydro art. 

Then, you would start the long process of trying to acquire the full gemstones, which were far more expensive and rarer than the chunks. 

“Unless you’re going to buy something, I suggest you move on. You’re holding up my customers,” the woman behind the stand said boredly.

“How much for the three chunks of Lazurite?” you asked, raising your chin. 

She only quirked her brow upward. “Forty geo sigils each.”

“Geo sigils?” you gasped, eyes wide and lips parted as your elation immediately disappeared. 

How were you supposed to get geo sigils? You weren’t a Liyue native, you had no way of knowing how to find them. You barely even had any Hydro sigils and you were from Fontaine. 

“You’re a foreigner?” the woman asked, squinting her eyes a bit as she looked you over. You nodded, and she sighed heavily. “Very well, seventy-five thousand mora. Each.”

You blanched, knowing in your heart that she was ripping you off. Forty geo sigils was worth closer to sixty-thousand than seventy-five thousand but you weren’t going to argue that when she was doing you a favor by taking the common currency for you already. 

Defeated, you asked: “Do you take bank checks?” 

The woman nodded, and you pulled out one of the Northland Bank check slips that your mother had given you a few months back—it was your stepfather’s, he was the only one that had a bank account with the Northland Bank, and you figured that he would be mad when he realized you’d spent over two-hundred thousand of his mora on your Lazurite chunks but you thought that he deserved it, and signed the check happily after making it out to Mingxing Jewelry. 

She handed you the bag with the Lazurite chunks and thanked you for the business. Smiling to yourself, you made your way down the street again, this time looking for Sylvie or Elliot.

You got no further than a few yards before someone slammed into you, sending you both sprawling out to the ground. 

All the air left your lungs as a heavy weight dropped onto your stomach, scrambling off of you almost immediately, panicked. Your eyes met a pair of red ones and a face flushed pink in embarrassment, burn scars decorated the upper half of his face and for a moment, you thought he was familiar from somewhere. He was around your age, you couldn’t help but notice.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted out. “Sorry, I was just-I wasn’t looking where I was going. I’m looking for someone and-”

“It’s-” You began to say ‘it’s fine’ but the words died on your tongue when you realized that the bag you were holding was significantly lighter. You shot an accusing look at him, thinking that he had pickpocketed you but as you did that, your eyes caught a glimmer from the corner of your eye. 

The Lazurite.

You rushed toward it, but not fast enough, only able to watch as a small child darted through the crowd to steal the shiny object.

“Hey!” you shouted angrily, glaring back furiously at the boy who had bumped into you, who looked even more humiliated now, pressing his knuckles against his mouth as if refraining the urge to gnaw at them. “Look at what you did!”

You didn’t even spare him another glance, ignoring his apologies and his offers to help you get it back as you gave chase to the child who had stolen your seventy-five thousand mora gem. 

You hadn’t noticed the warm feeling that had swept through you when he had crashed into you, nor had Gamma noticed the thin red thread wrapped around your finger in his panic.

IV. THE ZETA SEGMENT; READER, AGE 19

The Windblume Festival.

You smiled as you stepped into Mondstadt City, the beams of the sun washing over you and a gentle breeze sweeping through the city. You had heard that Anemo Archon makes the days of the Festival the most beautiful that the city sees all year—you had doubted it, partially because the Hydro Archon thought it was the greatest entertainment to douse the city in rain and storms whenever the music festivals were taking place. It never deterred them, the musicians would always play on even through the rain and thunder, but you had never quite experienced a festival like this, even during Lantern Rite, you had been unlucky with dreary clouds draped over the harbor. 

You didn’t even know where to go first, you were so overwhelmed with all of the colors and all of the people and you thought you shouldn’t be, you should be used to crowds by now, but you’d spent so much time locked up in the palace after your father’s death that you were getting anxiety just being in the vicinity of so many people. 

Your father. Your throat felt tight just as the reminder of him. He was supposed to be at Windblume with you—he had promised to bring you last year knowing how excited you were to see all of the nations’ different festivals, but he’d died before he could. You hadn’t even been able to bring yourself to go without him, but you forced yourself to go this year, to enjoy it for the both of you. 

And you couldn’t enjoy it with such a cloud of gloom hanging over you, so you squared off your shoulders and pushed away all of the dark feelings, forcing the small smile back onto your face as you made your way into the city, although it wasn’t quite as bright as before. 

You sighed as you made your way up the steps to the city’s main square. There were kids dancing to the music of a bard and flower stands set up all around the fountain in the center of the square. You wanted to buy one to give to someone, as per the Windblume tradition, but you didn’t have anyone to give it to. Sylvie and Elliot were supposed to have joined you for the festival, but their stepfather forbade them at the last minute, forcing you to attend the festival alone.

You looked around, eyes falling upon where a pretty woman with brown hair and green eyes was leaning into a tall blonde woman, and next to them, where a shorter blonde man was being dragged to the center of the square by a little girl dressed in red, who was pointing excitedly to a stand somewhere behind you. 

“Are you waiting on someone?”

You jumped at the unfamiliar voice, turning to the side only for your eyes to fall upon a handsome man with dark skin and blue hair. His lip ticked up a bit as you studied him, and a bit embarrassed, he added: “Sorry. I was just wondering, you’re not from Mondstadt, are you?”

“Is it that obvious?” you asked dryly, glancing down at yourself. You wondered if it was the way you were dressed or if it was the way you looked like a lost duckling trying to figure out where to go. Disappointed, you thought you had made sure to wear an outfit that leaned more toward Mondstadt’s typical fashion than Fontaine’s but either way, it was a bit embarrassing. 

“No,” the man said immediately. “I was just throwing it out there for a conversation starter, I’ve found it works wonders.”

“Does it?” you asked curiously, peering around the pavilion as more people began to wander around.

He hummed in agreement. “Usually, they start asking me why I think that because they are from Mondstadt,” you laughed a bit and the corner of his lip pulled up, “and if they aren’t, I explain to them why I asked, and then they laugh, kind of like how you are now.”

“You’ve got it all figured it out, don’t you?” you asked, letting the tease slip into your tone as you relaxed against the stone wall behind you, glancing up at him.

“Not at all,” he corrected. You gave him a questioning look and his grin widened a bit as he leaned in, as if to whisper to you in conspiracy. “I just made all of that up.”

You laughed louder this time, more in surprise than humor, but he seemed to take it as a positive regardless, straightening back up and looking down on you. “I’m Kaeya,” he greeted. “Cavalry Captain of the Knight’s of Favonius.”

“I’m…” you began, but found yourself trailing off as you caught sight of a figure ducking into an alleyway. All you caught was a head of silvery-blue hair, but somehow you could feel yourself drawn in that direction as if something was pulling you and were a puppet on a string that could only follow along. “Excuse me for a second.”

You didn’t hear his response and though you felt a bit bad about leaving him hanging like that, you were more focused on trying to figure out whatever the pull to this person was. You took off in that direction, relief hitting you when you realized he was still lingering at the mouth of the alley, fiddling with something in his hands.

“Excuse me,” you called, trying to get his attention. He didn’t respond, he didn’t even look up, so you repeated yourself as you drew closer, reaching out to touch his arm but he jerked away, dropping whatever was in his hands and your eyes widened as it hit the ground hard, shattering. 

You couldn’t even bring yourself to look at him, you could feel the cold and harsh gaze set on you as he waited for you to say whatever you wanted to say, but now you were at a loss for words because you didn’t even know why you came after him and you didn’t know what you wanted. 

“Did you need something?” Clipped and icy, the thin smile on his lips did not meet the red of his eyes, and any words that you might’ve been trying to say to excuse your actions died on your tongue. 

“I’m sorry,” you finally said, grateful that your voice remained steady even under his severe look. “You looked familiar. I thought we might’ve met before.”

He looked ridiculously familiar, in fact. You swore that you’d seen him before—the red eyes, silvery-blue hair and the scarred upper half of his face—it was all so familiar but you just couldn’t place from where. He looked taken aback a bit by your words, examining you for just a second before his lips twisted down again. 

“We have not,” he said, voice frigid as he knelt down to pick up the broken pieces of the object that he had been holding. It was a dismissal if you’d ever heard one, but instead of leaving, you knelt down next to him.

“Here, let me help-” you tried to say, but at once, he grabbed your forearm, fingers pressing deep into your skin to stop you.

At once, a jolt shot through you and he seemed to feel it too, if the way he drew back as if he had slapped had anything to say about it. He stared at your hand as if he had just seen a ghost, lips parted in shock and eyes wide, and just as you were about to ask if he was okay, he spluttered something out about being late for something and then he was moving, disappearing around the corner before you even knew what was happening. 

You sat there for a moment, stunned, and completely oblivious as to what he had seen.

Zeta’s heart was racing and his head was pounding, red eyes wide with disbelief as he leaned against a wall around the corner, far away from you. A part of him was embarrassed at the way he had run, he couldn’t even remember what excuse he had given—something along the lines of having to go because something important came up, a load of bullshit of course, but he thought it was better than what would have happened if he stayed there any longer after seeing that thread. 

The thread.

Zeta didn’t know what to think. He had known of your existence—he knew because the moment the Iota segment found out years ago, the boy went running to every segment to tell them how a thread showed up on the Doctor’s finger, how they finally had their soulmate. He never expected to meet you though, much less before any of the other segments, and even then, a part of him had been convinced by Lambda’s persistence that this was all just a ploy for them to drop their guards, a fake, a means to destroy them in a way they had yet to be destroyed. 

But you were there. You were right there. Zeta couldn’t help the way he peeked back around the corner, eyes immediately drawn to where he had left you in the middle of the alley. You looked upset, expression downcast as you glanced around, still trying to find him. A part of Zeta wanted to walk back over to you—talk to you, study you, try to figure out just who you were and why you were tied to them, there had to be something unique about you that made you their soulmate, that made them have to wait five hundred years just to meet you. 

But he knew better. 

The Doctor would already be suspicious. 

It wasn’t unlike Zeta to have bursts of emotion when dealing with too many people—he got overwhelmed quickly after spending years having to keep up a friendly mask at the Akademiya. No matter how hard he tried to keep himself calm and learn new methods for not exhausting his thin tolerance of social situations, he never seemed to be able to do anything to fix it, an unfortunate side-effect of having been created with this mindset, because he would always revert back to the one in which he was originally made in.

But it was not the sudden outburst that was the issue. It was that shock that spread through him when your hand brushed his arm. The warm feeling. The familiarity with someone who should not be familiar. The Doctor would have noticed it, and he would have questions.

Zeta sighed heavily, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose as he leaned his head back against the wall. He cast one last long look backward, eyes lingering on you, memorizing your face and your body, the outfit you wore and the gems that donned your fingers and neck. 

With a tight feeling in his throat, he pushed himself off the wall and head in the opposite direction of where you were standing, knowing that it was only a matter of time before the Doctor reached out demanding to know what had happened and Zeta needed to figure out what he was going to say before that happened, wanting to keep this little encounter a secret to himself because he knew that Lambda would inevitably find out through the Doctor and then he would try to hunt you down. 

One last look, he told himself, again. He glanced back as he reached another corner, the alley where he left you only barely visible from the distance, but you were already gone.  

HELIOTROPES

pairing: dottore x fem!reader & segments

summary: the gods were sick and twisted. for five hundred years, he believed he was fated to be alone. he had long accepted it—embraced it, even. that is, until a midwinter night when that elusive red thread finally appeared on his finger. but as much as he wants to ignore it, the pull of a soulmate simply cannot be ignored.

genre: soulmate au, canon compliant for the most part.

warnings: fem!reader, worldbuilding for snezhnaya & fatui & fontaine, reader not in the best mental state (esp in first scene).

notes: FINALLY!!! its unedited so bear with me, i dont rlly have time to go through and edit + i've been sick as hell for two weeks straight now. but i hope u guys enjoy!!!

ALEA IACTA EST

You were trapped. 

You didn’t know what sort of witchcraft Pantalone used but you couldn’t leave his wing. You thought you might be going crazy, it took two days of making excuses for you to realize that something was severely wrong, and another three for the anxieties to start embedding in your head. You had your first panic attack in years on the sixth day, and now on the seventh, you were sitting in the small library alone—there was a book in your lap, but the words were swimming off the pages and your head was spinning. 

How was this what he wanted? 

You couldn’t understand how either of you were benefiting from this. He wasn’t getting whatever knowledge he wanted from you and you weren’t getting what you needed to know. You were just stuck here, alone and lost. Not even Pantalone was around for the past few days because he went to finalize a business deal in a Mondstadt port town, he should be coming back soon but even when he did, you knew he wouldn’t spare you much attention. 

How was this what he wanted? You wondered if it was supposed to be some sick sort of torture, wear down your mental fortitude so you’d be more apt to answer the questions he wanted. If that was the case, he would be severely disappointed when you spat in his face the next time he dared to make an appearance. Another part of you wondered if this was just how it would be—he would keep you locked up and alone so he didn’t have to deal with you but he also didn’t have to fear you running off and putting yourself in danger.

The more you thought about it, the more you convinced yourself of both options, and the more you hated your own soulmate. 

Seven days. It had been seven days of being trapped in this place with only Pantalone to occasionally talk to and of the few times he spoke to you, the majority were just of him going on a vicious rant about how the Tianquan of Liyue kept sidelining his proposals and how the wineries of Mondstadt were icing him out of the wine market with Liyue’s merchants. He claimed it was all some big conspiracy against him because there was no reason they should be blatantly disregarding his letters, all of his proposals were mostly targeted for their profit, which the Regrator thought was blasphemous in itself—the Jester apparently cared more for building relationships with the administrative and economic sectors of each of the nations than Pantalone’s dignity as a businessman. You, evidently, did not give him the outraged reaction he wanted and he hadn’t come back to speak with you since, leaving for his meeting across the nation without a word. 

Now you were alone, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching you—and you knew it was not Dottore. 

You exhaled as you tried to focus again on the book laying on your lap but your head throbbed and you were forced to avert your gaze back to the ceiling, trying to quell the pain through sheer willpower alone. The Regrator’s library was filled to the brim, but with nothing that would be of use to you trying to figure out how they had trapped you in this sector. Books on economics, the aristocratic families of Snezhnaya, the history of the northern lands and all of the old traditions and folklore that noble children were brought up learning, undoubtedly so he could fine tune that mask of his, pretending that he had always been one of them in order to shear more money from them.

A part of you wanted to warn him that the more he tried to fake it, the more they would ridicule him, but you didn’t want to be totally isolated again as soon as he came back so you figured you’d just let him figure it out himself. 

Regardless, even with the massive amount of books that stacked his library’s walls, not a single one could help you in figuring out this spell. You’d never seen magics like this before—it was not elemental based, it was psyche-based. Every time you got down the hall, to the eighth window from your room to the right, your head started feeling light and dizzy, you felt sick and nauseous and were forced to turn back lest you put yourself in a very, very vulnerable position in a place where you could not afford any vulnerability. 

As nervous as it made you, at first, you found amusement in it. You were irritated and scared, yes, but more than that, you knew that Dottore could feel everything you did. So, you made it your mission to stay right at that eighth window for as long as you possibly could, just because you knew that you were racking your soulmate with that same nausea and dizziness and light-headedness that you were experiencing. 

Now, the amusement was gone and you were just scared. You were scared that you would be trapped here forever, never again to see your mother and your half-siblings and your grandfather. You were scared that you’d disappoint your father, that you wouldn’t be able to succeed in your mission and he would never be able to rest peacefully without justice having been exacted. And as much as you hated him, you were scared that you would never see him again either, that he would just leave you here to rot, live out the rest of your miserable existence confined to a single hall with books that you would rather burn than read. 

You hated that you felt so attached to him already—that even though the thought of him filled you with vile rage and agony, your body still ached for his touch, your eyes still longed for the sight of him walking through the dark doors of the library, and your bond still screamed for you to somehow end this war between the two of you so it could find peace. 

Even if peace negotiations were in your hands, you would still stubbornly throw them out the window, but they weren’t because he continued to completely deny you his presence. You were at his mercy, only when he decided, would a white flag be lifted. 

“Excuse me.”

You stiffened, an unwelcome chill ran down your spine as you looked over your shoulder to where an unfamiliar figure was standing in the doorframe of the library. With golden blonde curls and green eyes, no more than a decade older than you, you thought that the man might’ve been handsome were it not for that there was a dark gleam behind his eyes that reminded you a lot of your step-father, one that promised danger and deceit. 

He smiled and even though his teeth were not sharpened, somehow they looked more like knives than Theta’s did. “You’re the aristocrat from Fontaine that the Regrator took in, no?” 

“I am,” you said. Your voice was hoarse from days without speaking, you cleared your throat, closing the book and placing it down on the couch next to you just in case the man tried to take a seat there with you. “And you are?”

He wasn’t as unfamiliar as you originally believed. You recognized him from the event, standing with the rest of the Harbingers—immediately, you were on edge, trying to figure out what he wanted from you. He came closer to you and you bit the words that tempted to fly from your mouth as he picked up the book you had placed as a deterrent to take a seat on the couch right next to you, too close for comfort. You could feel his thigh brushing yours as he looked to the side to watch you, eyes tracing over your body once before settling on your face.

“Brighella,” he greeted, holding a hand out to you. “Tenth of the Fatui Harbingers, delighted to make your acquaintance.”

You placed your hand in his, albeit reluctantly, watching raptly as he lifted your hand up to his lips, kissing your knuckles gently before letting go. His lips were soft and pleasant against your fingers yet it still made your skin crawl. You drew your hand back into your lap immediately, waiting for him to explain what he wanted.

“I was just curious,” he said, answering the unspoken question. “The Regrator is a very proud man, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, he never responds well to help. It came as a shock to hear that he was taking in an aristocrat from Fontaine as an advisor.”

He was lying—about what, you weren’t sure, but you knew somewhere in that statement of his that there was a lie, and though you had no way of confirming it, you suspected that it had to do with his initial claim: that he was simply curious. 

“He intends to expand the Northland Bank into Fontaine City,” was all you replied with, a thin smile painting your lips. “Even someone as proud and intelligent as him is not capable of such a feat alone, the Court of Fontaine is notoriously anti-Snezhnaya.”

“Yes, so I’ve heard.” Brighella waved off your words and relaxed into the chair next to you, eyes disarmingly beseeching as he watched your reactions. “But we have our own operatives in Fontaine City, I was surprised that he didn’t just come to me for information, rather insulting, actually.”

He laid the information in front of you like meat to seduce a starving beast, all the while he lurked behind the bushes and waited for you to lunge at it so he could drive his blade across your neck as an execution. You didn’t respond, maybe for a second longer than you should have, but the sudden information had thrown you off guard. 

It was him. 

The words rang resounding through your head, Brighella was the one running the Fatui’s operations in Fontaine. Why had he told you? What did he expect to gain from this? There was something you were missing still, but after a week of forced isolation and no progress in your mission, this was like a feast handed to you on a silver platter.

“Perhaps your operatives are just not capable enough for such a scheme,” you said dryly, but your voice sounded vacant even to your own ears, it was clear that you were focused on something else. 

Brighella raised a hand to his chest as if he’d been wounded by your words. “Oh, but the Knave and I had trained so many of them personally,” he sighed. “What use am I to this organization if my colleagues won’t even rely on me or my agents to deliver when necessary?” 

It was a rhetorical question but you didn’t know what to make of it, or of him. Faux-mourning tainted his tone as he spoke, a regretful expression on his face as he turned his eyes up to the ceiling above. 

What was he trying to gain from this? You asked yourself again, more desperately this time. His lips, still tilted up as they’d been this whole conversation, had a bit more of triumph in them than they’d had before and you knew that somewhere you had slipped up, revealing something you shouldn’t have. But you rewound the conversation in your head over and over and over again and you couldn’t quite place where you had. You’d been careful with your words, nothing to set off alarm bells—your cover with the Regrator’s expansion in Fontaine was true, but you were just not being quite as helpful as he would like you to be, and Pantalone was very clear in his opinions on their Fontaine plants and their inadequacy. 

It had to have been your tone, the emptiness in your response to his reveal about his subordinates in Fontaine. It gave away your interest, and you could play it off as if it was just a general interest in how they’d infiltrated Fontaine, but if your stepfather truly was his agent, then he would know very well who you were and your ulterior reasons for being here—or he would at least now have confirmation. 

Pantalone had told you that Pulcinella, Brighella and Tartaglia would be the three Harbingers who would be the least of your worries, but you thought that the Friar was much more dangerous than he made himself out to be. 

How were you supposed to proceed? You tested words on the tip of your tongue but you could not figure out what to say—if you were suddenly interested in him, he would know it was only because of the information he revealed, but if you were cold and distant, you risked him not returning and you needed more information one way or another, even if it meant consorting with a man that made your hair stand on end. 

You didn’t get the chance to speak up again though, as your lips parted to speak, Brighella rose to his feet.

“I should get going. I’d prefer not to draw the ire of my fellow Harbingers, but it was a pleasure talking to you,” he murmured, a small smile and eyes turned upward as he nodded his head down in acknowledgement. “I’ll stop by again soon, it’s cruel of the Regrator and the Doctor to leave you alone the way they have.”

Two days later, the Friar returned. 

You’d spent the two days alone reeling and trying to understand where you had gone wrong and how you could compensate for it. You needed a plan of action, and a fast and efficient one at that. Freezing him out would be stupid, as much as it might be the most comforting course of action, but you also couldn’t just suddenly be trying to get closer to him because he would realize something was up.

You weren’t stupid. If he had truly just been curious about you, he would have come much sooner than he did. He waited because he wanted you to be worn down and utterly alone, so you would latch onto him like he was a buoy in the raging sea. Unfortunately for him, you were far too used to being alone. As agonizing as a week of isolation was, it was not near enough to make you that desperate. 

But he had information you wanted desperately, so you wanted to let him think whatever plan he was concocting was working in hopes that he might reveal more to gain your trust and dependency. You thought it would be a slow and arduous process, not to mention agonizing, but considering neither Pantalone nor Dottore have come to see you in over a week now, you figured you had nothing better to do anyway and this was your best shot at getting what you wanted… and maybe, if you ended up being successful with this, you could free yourself too but you thought that was far less likely.

At the very least, it might force Dottore into action if he thought you were starting to get close with Brighella.

But that was a long shot anyway. Brighella was a type of beast that you were unfamiliar with. He kind of reminded you of some of the crueler members of Fontaine’s aristocracy, the ones who found entertainment in setting up trials that they knew would lead to one terrible sentencing, all the while smiling to the defendants face, but even then they were nothing like this. He was a wolf that portrayed himself as a sheep in the truest sense of the proverb and you just didn’t know what he was capable of, or what he wanted, and that was what scared you most—you didn’t like it when you didn’t know what someone’s intentions were with you.

Your stepfather was easy, all he wanted was more power in Fontaine, evidently to report back to the Fatui for a promotion—you and your father were obstacles in obtaining said power, so he removed your father from being able to influence your mother and you were certain that if you had stayed in Fontaine City, he would have gone after you too.

Dottore was somewhat frank in his intentions with you: he wanted you out of his life so that you couldn’t affect his research but he was keeping you here because he wanted information from you… and a part of you was certain that he was keeping you here also because it prevented you from going out and getting yourself hurt or killed, and that scared you because you didn’t know just how long he planned to keep you isolated here. Or if he ever even planned to release you.

Pantalone had been upfront with you: he wanted a way to get the Northland Bank into Fontaine, you had offered your help in exchange for assistance with removing your stepfather from the courts but you had no intention of giving him any help until he had pulled through on his end. And even then, you had never specified how much help you would give him—you were not going to give the Fatui more of a foothold than they already had. 

Not after what they did to your father. 

Brighella was an unknown. He had come to you with a goal two days ago, and whatever that goal had been, he had achieved it. You still couldn’t figure what it was, even after days of recounting your conversation to figure it out, and that unnerved you more than anything. 

“You actually came back,” you said quietly, eyes flickering up to where Brighella had entered the library. He brought something with him, you couldn’t quite tell what it was but it smelled good, and familiar. 

“I promised, didn’t I?” Brighella replied, amused. He came around the couch to sit next to you. He sat closer this time. 

“It’s been two days, I was beginning to doubt.”

“Yes, well, the Regrator grew a bit suspicious when he saw me coming from the direction of his wing, the last thing I needed was to draw his ire. The Doctor already has it out for me even when I do no wrong.” Brighella sounded aggrieved as he spoke but your ears rang loudly at his words. 

“The Regrator already returned from his meeting in Mondstadt?” you asked, keeping your voice free of all tightness but when Brighella only shot you a confused look, one that did not appear to be feigned in the slightest. “Ah, I see.”

There was no meeting in Mondstadt. 

You wondered if it was by Dottore’s will or his own that he had lied and left you here in isolation. You thought it would be easier to believe it was Dottore’s, you had already made him out to be your villain, but you knew better than to assume that. Dottore was obstinate and prideful, yes, but Pantalone was the one who had clawed his way from the bottom tiers of society to the very top, his manipulation would know no bounds—he knew that you were already struggling with Dottore’s refusal to acknowledge you, and he probably thought that his disappearance, after entertaining you for a few days, would put you over the edge.

Jaw tight and trying your best to keep your emotions off of your face lest Brighella take advantage of your distressed realization, you forced yourself to turn your attention back to the Harbinger.

“Here,” Brighella said, passing the covered dish over to you. “Tartiflette, I figure you must be missing home. I hear tartiflette has been rather popular amongst the aristocrats lately.”

I hear. 

Bitterly, you wanted to ask just how he managed to hear that but you refrained. Instead, you glanced down at the dish—it was covered with foil but it smelled good, just like the one you and Sylvie used to get from Cafe Lucerne before your father passed away.

You wondered if it was poisoned, or laced with something, you didn’t exactly put it past Brighella. Even if there were ulterior motives behind him bringing you the dish, it was thoughtful nonetheless. So instead of voicing your suspicions or refusing the dish, you took into your lap, letting the warmth of the bottom of the plate and the familiar scent sink in.

“Thank you.”

Brighella looked pleased, green eyes glittering. “You’re welcome.”

The two of you sat in silence for a moment, and you listened to the way the wind rattled the glass nearby. It was getting late already, you could see the moon rising over the trees in the distance. Nine days now with no word from Dottore at all. You were sure he was probably keeping the segments away from you too because you hadn’t seen a single one since that night.

After a few moments of silence, Brighella asked, “He told you that he had a meeting in Mondstadt?” 

You didn’t respond, you supposed that was answer enough because he let out a heavy sigh. 

“The Regrator does love his underhanded tactics.”

“And you don’t?” you couldn’t help but press, eyeing him curiously.

“I do.” At least he didn’t bother hiding it, shooting you a deceptively friendly smile as he relaxed back into the chair. “But it’s different, my underhanded tactics are for the greater good.”

“Many men have claimed to do terrible things for the greater good,” you murmured. “What makes you different?” 

Your subordinate killed my father, you were saying, tell me how that was for the greater good?

Brighella watched you for a second and then said, “Perhaps you’re right, but I’d like to believe otherwise.”

You hummed, looking away but you could feel that he was still looking at you and it was making you feel antsy, like a cornered animal. 

Finally, Brighella spoke up again. This time, his voice was far more quiet, as if he didn’t want someone listening in. “I wish we had more time to talk instead of rushing straight to business, but I fear that I’m testing many boundaries and patiences by coming to visit you and I’d like for you to understand why I am.” Curiously, your eyes focused onto him, he was still staring at you, watching your reactions. “The Regrator cannot give you what you want. He has no power in Fontaine, nor jurisdiction over any of the subordinates there, that is why he’s coming to you and trying to get your assistance. He does not want to use me as an intermediary for his business.”

There it was. You raised your chin a bit in surprise as Brighella’s words reached your ears and his motives became clearer. You didn’t doubt that there were other ulterior ones that he was keeping to himself, but this one was enough for you to get some clarity on the situation: Brighella and Pantalone were playing a game of chess for Fontaine, and both thought that you would be the piece that would win them the game. 

You realized, slowly, that you might just have a bit more power than you realized, and that Pantalone had been trying to keep you ignorant to it. 

It also gave you more insight on the Fatui itself, and more specifically, the relationship between the Harbingers. You had a feeling that the camaraderie shown during the event was just a show but you hadn’t thought the rivalry ran so deep as to having Harbingers competing for power through using outside sources. 

You wondered if Brighella realized just how much he had revealed to you. From the steady look in his eyes as he watched you, he very much did. You wondered then why, because it had to be something beyond just trying to get you to not help Pantalone—unless he was that desperate to keep Fontaine in his grasp. But you had a feeling that wasn’t the case.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you finally responded with, pointedly meeting his eyes. 

He was studying you carefully and finally, he nodded, rising to his feet. “It’s alright. I’ll come back soon and give you some time to think. Just remember, what the Regrator promised you is not something he is able to give at this point and time. He’s making you think that you are the one dependent on him but without your cooperation, he doesn’t have a foothold in Fontaine, which is what he desperately wants.”

You didn’t respond as he walked out of the room, but before he stepped through the door, he turned to look at you one last time, “Enjoy the tartiflette—perhaps next time, I’ll bring you an even grander gift.”

You were not in the library the next time Brighella came to visit. You were lounging in your room preparing for bed when the knock came at your door. For a second, just a second, you might’ve hoped that it was Dottore, finally ending the war between the two of you—but as you called for the person to come in, and a head of curly blonde hair and green eyes peeked from around the door, the bit of hope that had sprung up withered in an instant. 

“May I?” Brighella asked, motioning for him to come into your room.

How improper, you thought to yourself, trying to force away the heat that rose to your cheeks. But you needed to keep talking to him, milk him for all that he knew before you made a decision about what you were going to do. 

“Of course,” you responded with, watching him carefully as he slipped into the room and made his way over to where you were sitting. He sat on the window nook next to where you were sitting at your vanity, leaning back on his hands as he studied you carefully. 

“Have you thought about my proposal yet?” Brighella murmured, his eyes were intense as he watched you, you could barely even hold his gaze and you had never had trouble holding anyone’s gaze before. 

You had. Of course, you had. With the newfound knowledge of Pantalone’s inability to actually get you what you want without you giving him what he wanted first, everything changed. Your whole position in this situation changed. You were still a prisoner, naturally, but you were a prisoner with power right now. You had two different Harbingers vying to acquire your support. It could change in a second, you knew that, you couldn’t get ahead of yourself, but you couldn’t just disregard the opportunity this presented.

You also could not take everything Brighella said at face value. 

You remembered the look in his eyes when you first met him, the skeevy one that reminded you of your stepfather and all of the other men and women in your life who had done terrible, terrible things without remorse. 

“I still don’t know what you’re talking about,” you replied instead, and Brighella sighed, disappointed but not surprised.

“Ah, I see,” Brighella said. “I haven’t quite gained your trust yet—well, perhaps this will change that.”

From his pocket, Brighella pulled out a piece of parchment, sealed with a wax Fatui insignia. He held it out to you and you reached out cautiously, taking it into your hands and turning it over to view the blank back of the parchment. You had no way of knowing the contents of it without breaking the wax seal, you looked up at Brighella, questioningly. He looked pleased, a small smile teasing at his lips. 

“This is a letter I have addressed to a particular subordinate of mine stationed down in Fontaine,” Brighella explained, leaning his chin on his hand, elbow propped up on his knee as he watched you. You could only barely bite back the sharp intake of breath as you looked down at the parchment again. “Yes, yes, I know, you don’t know what I’m talking about. But hypothetically, if you did, I was willing to gift you one of two options.”

“What are these hypothetical options?” you asked, your knuckles just a bit too tight around the parchment to pass it off as normal.

“You can keep that letter, and we can work together as partners. I can work with the Knave to set up a mission with the Jester and the Tsaritsa to have you head back to Fontaine, where you can use the letter as evidence to put said subordinate on trial before the Hydro Archon and Chief Justice,” Brighella said, your throat felt tight and swollen, your lips on the verge of trembling. 

Everything you wanted, but there had to be a catch. You knew better. For all you knew, the contents of the letter was empty, he could let you go down to Fontaine only to make you look like a fool when you presented the letter as evidence. 

“The second option?” you asked, proud that your voice remained steady and void of the turbulent emotions rushing through you.

“I will send it south and summon him back to Snezhnaya. You can exact your own justice here.”

What was the catch?

There had to be a catch, but you couldn’t for the life of you figure it out. You knew it was something more than just preventing Pantalone from stepping into his territory but Brighella was impossible to read and far more unpredictable than you expected. You were baffled that he would go to this length to try to get you to trust him. 

“You can hold onto the letter until you’ve made your decision, I-”

“My, my,” a familiar, smooth voice drawled. “What is this?”

At once, your blood ran cold as you looked up to see a familiar figure standing in your doorframe, violet eyes cold and cruel as he stared at where you were sitting with Brighella. Brighella only smiled thinly, mocking, as he looked at Pantalone and said: “Regrator, I hope you don’t mind me spending time with your new advisor, she’s quite the lovely little thing. I’m rather fond of her.”

“Is that meant to mean much?” Pantalone asked dryly, the smile on his lips tightening at the corners and you braced yourself for whatever he was about to say. “You’re fond of everything with two legs that will open for you.”

Your face felt hot, fingers tightening around the parchment as his words registered. Two legs that will open? 

How dare he?

Who does he think he is?

The barrage of livid questions battered your head, begging to be let loose but you bit your tongue, sharpening it as you instead responded with: “How crude, I know you had an unfortunate upbringing but I thought you’d learned better by now than to speak every vile word that crosses through that repulsive mind of yours.”

Next to you, Brighella hid his smile behind his hand and you at least felt a little validated even as Pantalone’s eyes bore down into you, you could see the promise for bloodshed barely veiled beneath his calm expression. 

“I’ll take my leave.” Brighella rose to his feet and to your horror, he leaned in close to you, taking both of your hands in his and you wanted to pull away, ask him what the hell he was thinking, but the words died on your tongue as he took the parchment from your hand before Pantalone could catch sight of it, subtly letting it drop to the floor before using his foot to slip it beneath the bed. His lips flickered upward. “Think about what I said. I’ll come by again.”

“No, you will not,” Pantalone interjected coolly. “I believe I have mentioned before that you are not welcome in my wing of the palace, Friar.”

“Then I will send one of my subordinates to fetch her to bring her to mine.” Brighella waved off the comment. “It’s no bother.”

He directed a faux-smile toward Pantalone as he slipped past the other Harbinger and left the room, leaving you alone with him. Pantalone stared after Brighella for a moment before turning his attention on you. 

You raised your chin and asked sweetly, “How did your business deal down in Mondstadt fare?” knowing damn well that there was no business deal down in Mondstadt.

He very clearly understood what you were getting at, the sweet smile on his lips just as fake as your tone as he said, “Very well.”

“I’m sure.”

The mockery in his eyes slowly slipped away the longer he stared at you—he wanted to say something, that was for sure, but he either didn’t know how to say it or he couldn’t, and you had a distinct feeling that Pantalone spoke more than he breathed so finding a way to say it was not the problem, he felt that he couldn’t. 

“The Friar is not to be trusted,” he finally decided. 

“There is not a single soul within this palace that is to be trusted,” you countered icily. 

He smiled, but the smile did not meet his eyes. “Fair enough.” 

There was a quiet tone to his voice, you wondered if any of Brighella’s statements held any truth to them, if he was worried that you would side with the Tenth instead of him, and he would lose his shot at expanding the Northland Bank into Fontaine. 

Something wicked swam in his eyes as his gaze cast over where you were sitting once more, voice more scathing now. “I do wonder how the Doctor will feel about your newfound relationship with the Friar,” and you realized that the Regrator did not fret over anything. And if he was backed into a corner like a wounded animal, he would lash out ten times as deadly. 

He was threatening to tell Dottore if you did not speak to his liking, if you did not dismiss Brighella’s option. 

Your eyes widened, just a bit—you knew there was nothing wrong with what you’d been talking about with the Friar. Dottore knew that you were here for one thing, and one thing alone: obtaining the evidence to convict your stepfather of your father’s murder. But you had a feeling that Pantalone would be spiteful and describe what he had walked in on as not what really happened, he’d put it in the worst light possible and blow the slim chance you had for Dottore ever showing up…

Or, it would finally force him into action. 

It was a risky gamble—one that you weren’t sure if you should take. Dottore was prideful and stubborn and you didn’t know how far it extended. It could blow up in your face, or it could finally get you what you wanted: the upperhand. 

You had never been a gambling woman before, but ever since you got to Snezhnaya, you were being put into situations forcing you to change and adapt just so you could survive, so you could bring justice to your father.

You didn’t think you liked the person who you were becoming, but you didn’t think you had a choice.

You smiled at Pantalone, but the smile was as empty as you felt. 

“I don’t particularly care what the Doctor feels concerning my relationship with Brighella. Tell him whatever you please, do pass on my regards to the younger segments though.”

“I must say your soulmate truly is a little spitfire, she has proven it time and time again.”

Dottore sighed as he looked up from his vial, heavy eyes focusing on Pantalone as the man slunk into his labs as if he owned them. His smile was tight and his eyes were not in the typical upturn they usually turned up whenever he was amused—whatever you had said to him had severely pissed him off, it nearly made his own lips twitch upward, wondering what exactly you had said to get under his skin so badly. 

“And what did she say this time?” Dottore drawled, not even bothering to feign curiosity, placing the vial back down on the burner as he looked up at Pantalone, whose eye twitched at the question. 

“It’s about time you stop playing this game with her, Doctor.” Was all Pantalone said in response, observing a failed, burnt test subject disdainfully, poking at it with a long, gloved finger before drawing his gaze back up to Dottore. 

“And here I thought you were playing the same game,” Dottore dismissed, although he would beg to differ that it was not a game, but the last thing he wanted was to get into a battle of semantics with Pantalone. “Was that not why you’ve been loitering around my labs this past week?”

“Yes, I was,” Pantalone agreed, but there was an edge to his voice that made Dottore suspicious, “and it backfired. A certain snake rose from the grasses to take advantage.”

“Hm?” Dottore tilted his head to the side, red eyes narrowing as Pantalone’s words registered.

“Now is not the time for your stubbornness, Doctor,” the banker warned. “Continue to disregard her and she will turn to someone else… or I suppose, she already has. I caught her acting rather intimately with the Friar in her quarters just before I came here.”

Dottore’s lips flattened and his eyes went cold, Pantalone caught the physical reaction, eyebrows shooting upward, mockingly. But Pantalone could only see the physical reaction, he could not feel how Dottore’s blood somehow felt like it was burning and freezing at the same time, he could not see how his vision tunneled and he could not hear how his ears were ringing. 

Intimately?

There it was again—that prideful and possessive feeling rearing its ugly head. You were his, only by fate and by chance, but you were his nonetheless, even if he was loathe to admit it. He ignored the hypocrisy of his thoughts, you were his and yet he had ignored you for over a week? He was laying claim to you after all of his denial and anger?

He had been doing what was right, separating himself from you to prevent the bond from getting any stronger. He wasn’t playing the same game that Pantalone was, isolating you to try to make you more malleable to his requests when he finally came back around; Dottore did not play games, not with anyone, much less with you. 

But was he okay with you turning your attention elsewhere with his absence?

No. No, he was not. The thought filled him with an emotion he hadn’t felt in over four hundred years, not since his years as a Fatui recruit before he’d learned to separate himself from his emotions.

“She asked for me to pass on my regards to the younger segments.” Pantalone smiled as he spoke, knowing that the words were bound to set Dottore off even more because how dare you send your regards to the children as you let another man into your quarters. “I’ll be heading to my office now. I have some paperwork to finish filling out. Do think on what I said, I expected a branch of the Northland Bank in Fontaine to come out of this arrangement. If it does not, you will have to make up for it.”

“Your expectations are not my responsibility,” Dottore said, voice clipped and icy and far more strained than he meant for it to be. 

Pantalone only let out a huff of laughter as he spun on his heel, shooting Dottore one last long look that had Dottore’s body begging for violence as a response. Nearly twenty years of him being forced into a corner because of you, and it was only getting worse.

“It is in this situation,” he said as he made his way out of the lab as quickly as he had come, leaving Dottore there alone with raging thoughts and turbulent emotions. 

The Friar. 

Brighella. 

Lip curled up in a type of rage he hadn’t felt in a long, long time, he finished putting his equipment away and reached for his mask, intent on heading to your quarters himself to understand just what was going on between you and the Tenth. 

It was the first time you’d been in Snezhnaya where there hadn’t been a storm battering the night. Once the Regrator had left you to your business, and you were finally able to finish getting ready for bed, you curled up at the window nook to look outside, where the air was still bitter and cold but the harsh winds had subsided and the moon was reflecting prettily over the frozen lake north of the palace. 

It looked calm and peaceful—you thought there was a beauty to Snezhnaya that was unique. The Hydro Archon and her acolytes liked to frame the nation as one big frozen wasteland but the more time you spent there, the more you realized that it was just not true. It was frozen, yes, but there were towering trees and massive lakes, the snow sparkled beneath the sun and moon in a way you’d never seen before.

You pressed the pad of your finger against the glass, a longing feeling sweeping over you as your eyes focused on the line of trees on the opposite side of the frozen lake. You thought that this might be your chance—the storms had subsided, you could make a break for it, but you knew deep down that the lack of storm was a deception you couldn’t afford to fall for. Just because the winds had died and the snow and ice had stopped falling, it didn’t mean that it was safe enough to travel through. You would still freeze. Perhaps if you had a pyro vision, it would be different but your hydro vision would do nothing to protect you against the cold.

You sighed, laying your forehead against the window and letting the chilly feeling spread through you, a stark contrast from the warmth of the fireplace emanating throughout your room. 

You wondered if you made a mistake. You had antagonized Pantalone, and he had likely antagonized Dottore on your behalf. It had felt good in the moment—a sharp jab that relieved some of the heavy pressure that isolation had put on you, but now the pressure was back and worse than before. 

You were not wondering. You knew it had been a mistake. 

Even if Brighella had been telling the truth and you held more power than Pantalone was leading you to believe, you couldn’t afford to isolate yourself from the option he presented. Dottore clearly trusted him enough to trust him with you, which you thought was about the biggest show of trust anyone could get from the Second.

And neither of them trusted Brighella. 

Your pride and anger had gotten the best of you—they had gotten the best of you when you had thought you had been in control. You laid everything out logically, convinced yourself that the option Brighella posed was just as appealing as Pantalone, forgetting that at the very least, Dottore and Pantalone were known threats to you. That yes, Pantalone wanted to use you and Dottore wanted nothing to do with you, but neither of them would risk your safety. Brighella was an unknown, just a charming and manipulative one that knew precisely when and how to strike.

You weren’t cut out for this. You let your eyes slide shut as you tried to force away the tears building in them. Frustration, anger, desperation, they were all becoming too much for you to handle. You didn’t know what to do. If Brighella was telling the truth, he really was the key to getting what you want, but you couldn’t trust him, you didn’t know what his motives were. Behind the pretty eyes and glittering smile was a snake with venomous fangs that could clamp down at any moment. 

You thought the courts of Fontaine had prepared you for this but the Snezhnayan court and the heart of the Fatui was a beast that you were not equipped to deal with. The courts of Fontaine were a beast, you would never think otherwise, but you’d been foolish enough to let yourself believe that they were similar enough to Snezhnaya’s that you’d be able to handle it. 

In Fontaine, your name had power and words were as sharp and lethal as daggers—as long as you put on a pretty mask and an entertaining performance, you would survive, but the aristocrats and observers of justice would eat alive anyone who could not put on a convincing and beguiling show.

In Snezhnaya, your name meant nothing and the only coat of protection you could place over yourself was Dottore’s position in the Fatui, and his forced bond to you. Your mask was shattering the longer you were stuck in the cold, and the entertaining performances you were so adept at putting on were becoming more pathetic than anything else. Danger lurked around every corner, not even just those who wanted to kill you as a means to weaken the Doctor, but also those who hated you for the country you come from. You had seen the way one of the Harbingers had looked at you during the event, and having even one Harbinger against you meant that you had hundreds of subordinates out for your throat to try to gain her approval. 

You were well beyond your depth. A vast ocean all around you and the currents were dragging you under, water filling your lungs as you tried to thrash your way back to the surface but there was an anchor chained to your ankle that you simply couldn’t fight against. 

You took in a deep, shuddered breath. You thought back to the old prophecy, the one that whispered that one day Fontaine and all of its citizens would be washed away by the rising waters, drowned by that which is supposed to protect them, finding their eternal rest in the sands until they became one with the sea. 

Sometimes you wondered if it was a literal or metaphorical fate, you had always taken it as literal and dismissed it as an old wives’ tale, but now you were questioning everything you held as true: you felt like you were drowning, your identity dissolving as the water closed in around you, and you felt helpless to it, just like how the ancient prophecy threatened.

Finally, you raised your head and looked back outside, eyes widening when you caught sight of a figure standing in the frame of your door through the reflection of the window, tall and imposing. You hadn’t even heard the door open. Even with the mask, you could feel the coldness behind his gaze. 

He only spoke one word:

“Come.”

reblogs appreciated!

HELP I WAS LOOKING AT DOTTORE FANART FOR SOME INSPO ON MY DESIGN WITH HIM AND I GOT A BIT CARRIED AWAY BUT LATER WHEN I WENT ON PINTEREST I-

Thirteen day of cringetober :]

Needle warning I think

Plus the references I used

If you repost this on another website, please give credit. Do not put my art in any ai or repost it as your own work. You are free to use this as a pfp as long as you credit. Any like or rebblog is greatly appreciated. Thanks for reading! -dixidin

strong believer that dottore has an opposite partner. . . but realistic version !

♡ to be honest, i don't think he'd purposefully look for someone who was different. he's a literal criminal who does vile things to other human beings

♡ everything in his personal life (if he has one) is locked up tight within his own confines of his chest. he's cold but logical, meaning that brain comes over heart. .

♡ with a person who is the complete opposite, things such as personality, style, habits, thinking, etc, he'd be so irritated at first lol. as he got used to your antics, maybe he'd find them somewhat amusing. . especially if you're working under him or beside him.

♡ if you were expecting an epic romance falling, you are sorely wrong. it takes so much to even have someone be in the same space as him when he's working. he's a high and mighty harbinger, he thinks that weaknesses (human emotions) would hinder the fatui's business.

♡ but if you do crack his first shell, you'll definitely know. he'll have you write notes while he speaks aloud when experimenting. . which is huge.

♡ as soon as you do make progress, he'll probably try to push you away. it's probably involuntary as he does it with everyone and thing. if you stay, his confidence with you rises steadily. anything that seems shaky will hinder the progress.

♡ when it gets to the point where he acknowledges something is going on, he talks with you directly. he's blunt with his thoughts and feelings, telling the truth instead of hiding it beneath tricks and tribulations. when that's over with, he'll let you make a decision over a couple days as he also needs to understand the gravity of what might happen to you if he doesn't succeed with his work and goals. pierro could use that against him as blackmail and he couldn't afford to be put down.

♡ when you two do eventually start dating, dates are meticulously planned between his trips and work. he tries his best and sometimes it isn't perfect like he anticipated. even though things can fall through, he still makes sure to make you feel appreciated and loved.

♡ if he's in sumeru, he's definitely cautious when you ask to come along. but that's the time he literally took two gnosis' from nahida so he declined that round. however, he does take you under disguise once.

♡ i believe that the whole "future" talk wouldn't come up until you two are trench deep into the relationship. i'm thinking six months? eitherway, he's clear on his wishes but is willing to hear you out; he doesn't want kids but he would like to marry you. the whole murderous father thing doesn't stick well with him. . you can't blame him.

♡ if you do want kids, he won't shut you down. i mean, he could literally make a child for you and him via his vast knowledge and DNA. that's if you couldn't carry one at the very least. he'll compromise with you about kids, the cutoff is two.

♡ strong believer in the importance of traditional marriages on his end. he might not follow any ethics in the lab but when it comes to something as sacred as this, he does want something normal. i'm thinking he'd want something related to his heritage and home country, sumeru but also something snezhnayian.

♡ would prob marry you around 3 years of dating ngl. even if it seems quick (at least in my opinion), he finds normalcy in this affectionate system you two have created.

♡ bedroom wise. . i think in the early stages of the relationship, he wouldn't initiate anything for the sake of not spoiling the reveal after months of building up bliss and curiosity. i don't care, he's not as big as a whore!

♡ when you do finally get into it, he's mindful about boundaries and whatnot. he also has to be careful with his teeth because they are both pointy and sharp. he hopes you won't kick him to the couch if he accidentally forgets one too many times about his teeth.

♡ i think he's a top but it varies. like, he can be soft when you ask but he can also be rough. his actions rely on your wants, icks and emotions. as much as he likes to say he isn't great with the whole "complex human brain immediately", he still can pick up whatever you're feeling based on faces, habits and even how you breathe.

♡ in my opinion, i believe that he is banned from giving head with teeth and sex in the lab. not explaining.

♡ overall, he's a decent person to be with but it is a LOT of work.