vicvic

Segment 8 was the first who sought you out. A little boy with striking eyes, always glancing around like he expected danger to emerge from the shadows. Knowing his later selves perhaps that idea wasn't too far-fetched. Hands that were far too small to bear the weight of future deeds had reached for the blue vial hanging from his ear.

"Tongue out," he'd said while you stared with wide eyes. The top of the vial had been popped off.

You'd always figured the earrings were an aesthetic choice. You should've known better.

The youngest segment had tugged on your hand insistently (the touch itself surprising) while hurriedly urging you to kneel down. You'd smacked at his hand while he tried to pry your lips apart, any frustration with him gone the moment you saw the petulant pout on his lips when you didn't oblige.

"It's good for humans. Just a few drops so no one notices.." You'd seen the hesitation in his eyes before he softly added 'do it for me?'

It swiftly became routine. Every few weeks, the little 'boy' would bring appear out of thin air and clasp your hand tightly, dragging you into a corner of the laboratory where he'd feed you a little bit of what you came to learn was an elixir of immortality.

Segment 25 was the second to offer you this boon of their research. Perhaps you shouldn't have been as surprised as you'd been, 25 had always been the most forward.

He'd cornered you one day just before you'd retired for the night, exhausted after a long day of maintaining equipment and preparing various experiments for them.

Gloved fingers had squished your cheeks together before you could do as much as ask what he wanted. That usual feral grin on his lips bared the sharp teeth of a predator.

When you hadn't tried to fight him, he'd cooed and praised you although surprise had been clear.

"You really trust me this much? I'm flattered." You'd been released with a pat on your cheek before he put the earring back on. "Consider this a little gift, one the others don't want you to have. It will keep you young, and you will keep me company."

There'd been no uncertainty within him, only pure confidence that he knew what you wanted. Or knew that you would be too afraid to argue with a harbinger.

It only took a week or so before segment 18 appeared uninvited in the doorway to your private chamber. He'd refused to look at you while expaning the purpose of his visit, the contents of the vial they all carried, and what he expected in return for this favor.

For all the severity in his crimson eyes, the 'demands' were so tame you'd almost laughed. An attentive listener when he rambled on about his ideas. The so called privilege of resting his head atop your thighs and having you comb your fingers through his hair.

18 looked like he wanted to slip through the cracks of the floor while he listed what he wanted in exchange for 'wasting resources keeping you alive' as he'd put it. There'd been particular emphasis on how the rest of the segments did not want the precious drops wasted on some lowly assistant like you. It had taken all your composure not to chuckle at that.

45 and 65 had appeared together. The older looming as 45 explained their awareness of what 'the youngsters' had been doing. They both found it quite amusing how the three had been trying to cover their tracks. Elixir disappearing (to refill what they gave you from their vials). Their sneaking around. The furious and harebrained arguments they'd make when questioned.

But, as 45 had said, what the three had been independently giving you was only enough to stagnate the aging process, not halt it completely.

While your attention had been focused on 45, the older one had moved, making his presence known with the touch of his beaked mask nuzzling against your cheek from behind.

"Which is why 45 and I decided to step in. You see, we have grown quite fond of you as well."

"Of course," 45 had chimed in, "we expect a little more in return than innocent pecks on our cheeks and hugs. We're certain you understand."

Omega had, unsurprisingly, been the last to approach you.

"You've not aged a day in decades. I've been willing to turn a blind eye since you're useful. Don't you think that deserves special thanks?"

Masterlist

Pantalone was always nearby; he made his mission to be next to you after the tragedy. You were surprised at seeing the fact that he somewhat.. moved on from Zandik, as the human part of him had been transferred eventually to Omega. The main segment of Dottore, and the one who wears your husband's face, yet is still.. not him.

You were the last one to come to the pair. You were the last one to come to love them both; Dottore and Pantalone.. and you were the last one to move on. Of course you eventually did; yet didn't miss every single time it hit the anniversary of his death. Dottore would have thought that putting flowers at his grave would be boring, repetitive, and useless. As they would die.

So, instead, to honour his wish, you placed plastic, resilient ones, and replaced them each year. Same day, same blue.

The feelings got lost in the past. Somewhere long ago. But the tradition remains.

Yet, despite your somewhat annoying tradition at this point, your two partners were always so dotting with you.

Pantalone always made sure to love and dot on you. He draped you in fine silk, with beautiful chunks of roses at your feet. He kissed your hands, both of them equally. He kissed the ring on your finger, then flipped your hand and kissed your wrist. Your veins, and up, up, up...

Dottore was more quiet with his affection. Not so loud, yet so vulnerable with you. At long, silent nights, he rubbed at your face with his long fingertips; hardened from so much experimenting. His love was more his than anything. He took care of little things, small problems that itched, and that only he could reach.

One day, it was the date of the original's death. You went calmly to the graveyard, and paid your respects as usual. Once you were back home, you decided to go to your lovely spouse, Pantalone. In days like this, neither of you liked to talk to Dottore. It was a sensitive moment that Omega just didn't posses the humanity to comprehend so.

You found your spouse sitting at the edge of his bed, your bed also. He was facing the wall with so much intensity, as he did not heard the door's creak when you opened it.

"... Darling?" You asked out loud as you walked closer to him. Your steps echoed in the long space of the room. You watched as Pantalone slowly looked back at you, his shoulders, always steady and ready for you to lie on them, now trembled just slightly under your gaze. His face was bare, no glasses in sight.

"Ah..." Pantalone whispered in realization. He brought his hand up to wipe at his eyes, then murmured back to you in that always composed tone of his. "Welcome, my treasure.. how was the visit?" You saw how his hands shifted amxiously on his lap, like ready to hide something, and that was when you realized.

Pantalone had some kind of long... book on his lap. "To keep memories intact! You can never trust the human mind as much as a book, he said when he bought it for you three. Your eyes drifted to it, and you heard Pantalone curse. But not at you. Oh never at you.

Pantalone patted the space next to him with a small, tender smile. You sat down, and he wasted no time in hugging you.

Pantalone was offering something. A tender and vulnerable moment on his chaotic life; he knew it was small, but it was something. You see that expression on his face, vey rare for an occupied business days.

He let go of you after a few seconds, but his hand remained securely on your back.

"I was.. observing some old pictures, my beloved." Your eyes drifted to his lap, where the book was at. He grabbed your hand, and spoke as he kissed it.

"You always get so.. sad, whenever the day comes. I see the light of your face wash off whenever the date arrives."

"So i.. " he pressed another kiss on your hand. "I thought we could take look at this. Together. It contains a bunch of pictures of ... him."

At the end of the book, Pantalone's head was resting on your lap. A rare moment of tenderness that he allowed himself to have by exposing out his heart.

Your fingers, so untoched compared to your spouses, carefully threaded through his hair. His mouth sung out a lullaby that didn't fit with the tone of his voice, but at the same time, it was so him. Your expression remained affectionate under his closed eyes, but you fully knew he was still watching you.

You leaned down and pecked his cheek, breaking the lullaby he sang. You chuckled, he did too. You pecked him once more, his forehead and his lips. But this time they brought you something rare.

A red peeked from his ears, and you had to take a second look make him realize.

"Oh, uhm," he murmured with an akward chuckle. "Well, after so much time, perhaps i am still not inmune to your charms."

The next day, Dottore saw you both. You looked giddier than usual, whenever Dottore raised his tone, grumpy like usual, you just weren't... there. Like your head was in a dream that you were not willing to wake up from. And Pantalone? That man wasn't any better. He looked surprisingly refreshed, as if he just had the best bath of his life.

"Hey, what is going on between you two?" Dottore pointed out accusingly. "You're both.. stupidly giddy, and for what i have observed, your dopamine leves are higher than usual,"

'"Are you both hiding something from me?"

You both shook your heads.

"My, my... are you jealous, perhaps? I wouldn't have dreamed of it."

You merely watched as Dottore gritted his teeth. You smiled, hid it beneath your hand. Pantalone patted the seat next to him on the couch, and Dottore, very much against his will, sat next to Pantalone.

"Did you eat chocolate? I've heard it makes humans quite happy.. any sweets?"

"Well, i sure eat a plenty of sweets." You teased back with a giggle, and Pantalone could only pat your back, as he was discreetly laughing too. Dottore merely swatted at both of you.

"Hey, you two! Stop laughing at me!"

Despite being incredible controlling and with less patience, he would always take care of mundane things, such as: doing the laundry, cooking, cleaning. Often letting his lover rest while he takes care of everything.

Loves to talk about his research and new inventions, talking for hours non-stop, but will get pissed off when you ask him about anything if he doesn't bring it first. Very contradicting.

When his partner gets sick, he refuses to let anyone else check on them, taking care of everything with his huge knowledge on medical herbs and treatments, followed by muttered scolding and half bothered complaints. "You should have listened to me when I said cutting the moldy part doesn't make something edible."

Dislikes cuddling before sleep but craves closeness before waking up completely, arms wrapping around you and holding you close.

Very attractive young man, and knows it, as a matter of fact. Yet instead of using that at his advantage when given the chance, he often replies to every person the same: "Unfortunately for you I have a very possessive partner, and believe it or not, I'm actually a married man." Not giving them the chance to flirt.

Out of all the stages in his life, he was the most romantic and the most reckless during this time, making out sessions in the library halls, small walks around Sumeru City that ended on him spending some of his savings (which for a student, isn't a big amount of money) and buying goods for her, from seasonings and spices to notebooks and pencils.

Zandik refuses to take her in any degrading way, refusing to do it in a position where he isn't able to stare at her expressions. "I'm not an animal, neither you a rag doll. Let me see your face."

Always decides what is best for you, and when you complain about it he will always say: "I'm just practicing how to be a father if that possibility happens." How can you possible reply to that?

He does not only want to be the best, he wants YOU to be at the same level, he will help until dawn in every research or experiment you are working on, perfection should be with perfection.

The lighting that day had been perfect. Deep red satin shining in the afternoon. A perfect, shining gem coveted for its luster and cut.

His days were numbered. So many patients said they felt their body failing them. Feofan had confessed as such over the decades.

His hands had always been so steady, so capable. Surgery was nothing more than child’s play. Fine motor work that was second nature, honed and refined in long hours few ever bothered with. Painting was your forte, your second love, but you’d taught him with patience that almost outpaced his own.

How did someone barely in their third decade be so willing to wait? At that age, he was only patient when it mattered, but you?

You felt at ease in this world. He didn’t so much envy you as he did long to capture it, understand it, so he too could feel it, one day.

Zandik stepped back from the canvas, brow furrowed as he forced his bad eye to focus. Depth perception was difficult and his heart sank.

Nothing but a shadow. Colors stood too sharp against one another, his fingers having been too sore for longer blending periods. It was obvious he’d had more energy for your face, the finest part of the entire masterpiece. Ten years ago, this would have been so easy.

Useless.

Old.

Decrepit.

Why did you bother with him, he wondered. This was meant to be your birthday present, the way he saw you and what you meant to him.

Would you feel compelled to fix it? Straighten the lines, smooth the colors, make quick work of his shaky splatters?

He couldn’t hold a wrench anymore, nor were his eyes good for small mechanisms. With all of the major projects outsourced to the better and more capable parts of himself, this was all he had left. How else did one capture their world visually?

He sat down, palette knife in hand, contemplating just slashing the thing to pieces.

“Zandik?”

Your voice, a melody.

One he didn’t deserve, not right now. The sentiment must have shown or you would not have hesitated as you said, “I can come back.”

He held out a hand, dropping the knife and beckoning you. You took it upon reaching him, fingers finding the sore joints you always worked. So warm, like morning sun on dewed grass.

Your appraising silence was a strange comfort to the voice in his head.

“You are unhappy with it, I take it?” you asked, nestling onto his leg, skirts rustling as you pulled the palette knife from his other hand.

“I can’t do anything anymore,” Zandik whispered. “What good am I, when parts of me are so much more efficient, quicker witted, not prone to failure? What do you see in me?”

You pressed a hand to his cheek and he turned to look at you, still barely halfway through life and full of vigor. Eyes that spoke far beyond their years. Those were always his favorite part of you, so expressive, vibrant.

“I see a man determined,” you started. “Who sacrifices himself in hopes of breaking a wheel he may not be around to see shatter.”

You picked up a brush and without breaking your thought, mixed colors nearby.

“Who looks at the world and understands he still has much to learn, even now.”

Skilled hands filled in the space above your shoulder, painting hands, a jacket, red eyes.

“Who looks at me as if I am a marvel despite having experienced every cruelty this world has to offer. Who has let me chip away at the rational transitional walls that stood between us for many years and given me a treasure unimaginable.”

His eyes stung but through a fog, he saw a soft expression, watched as you turned your pose from a stoic mirror into a dynamic, private moment. Your pose originally involved looking off to the side, away from the viewer, but now you looked at the new figure.

Him.

Two styles, not quite clashing but not blending together, either. Faces the only parts in focus.

“I see a man who loves me, Zandik. And that has always been enough.”

He pulled you closer once you put the tools aside, burrowing his head against you. Other parts might say he grew sentimental in his old age despite ripping apart his soul. Perhaps he had. What else was there for the world to teach him?

Let me preface this by acknowledging that my reading is informed by the fact that I ship them. I’ve been writing them as lovers since A Winter Night’s Lazzo came out, based solely on a familiarity with the Commedia dell’arte, a degree in identifying queer subtext, and a dream that Hoyo most definitely fulfilled. But the game is not being subtle here. Even if you don’t see their partnership as romantic, it is, at the very least, queerplatonic.

Regardless of how you interpret their relationship, the game makes it clear that Pantalone is the most significant person in Dottore’s life, more significant to Dottore than Dottore himself. Dottore’s primary record—his first memory in a game where memory is tantamount to life and identity—is a meticulously kept catalogue of every time his many selves saved and extended Pantalone’s life. It is Anomalous Tree Marrow I on purpose because Pantalone’s survival is written into every part of Zandik’s soul, down to the 8 year old who scolds Pantalone for misplacing his glasses. Forget the bickering Segments, forget the god-making, world-changing experiments—Pantalone’s safety, survival, and even comfort (looking at you, Alpaca wool) comes first.

I hardly have words for how incomprehensibly tragic they are.

Feofan spent 50 years with Zandik, the notoriously unsympathetic scientist who had already cauterized his compassion by the time of their first meeting. This is the heretic who preferred to view humans as test subjects and machines rather than leave himself open to more rejection than what he had already experienced.

This guy sets his eyes on Pantalone and immediately wants to keep him forever. Zandik fell hard enough for Test Subject 3 after a single meeting that he not only decided to refrain from experimenting on him, but went and learned his name, put in a good word with Pierro, and spent the rest of his life (and death!!!) guaranteeing Feofan's continued existence. This is U-hauling to the nth degree.

Now for some quick math: Pantalone is 72 years old when Zandik dies on his 85th birthday, meaning it was a 33-year-old Zandik who first met a 20-year-old Pantalone.

I don’t think it’s a coincidence that the 35-year-old Segment is the one who sees himself as the most selfish. He’s the closest to the 33-year-old Zandik who only needed one encounter with this nameless, injured, smooth-talking test subject before saying: “this one is mine. I’m keeping him. Not just until I get bored. Not just until I need a new test subject. Forever.” And this means that 35 is the first version of Zandik who sees himself as having something to lose. This is the Zandik who experienced a desire to keep Pantalone at his side for the rest of time. And also the Dottore who is still in the throes of NRE lol.

Prior to their in-game appearance, I headcannoned Pantalone as avaricious and possessive based on the Moment of Cessation artifact description. I still think he is in some respects, but Dottore definitely has him beat when it comes to sheer obsessive devotion.

If Dottore is the Segment who is closest—temporally speaking—to the moment in which he found a genuine partner whose views and values align with his own, then it doesn’t seem surprising that he would be the one most threatened by Zandik’s existence. Again, his selfishness is the same selfishness that made Zandik want to keep Pantalone in the first place. His envy is that of knowing what it is like for someone to look at him and not see a monster for the first time, and it makes him monstrous. Dottore might not have actively killed Zandik, but the Anomalous Tree Marrow III certainly makes it seem as though he, at the very least, persuaded the other Segments to agree to a DNR should Zandik end up in critical condition:

The fact that he often refers to his fellow Segments as “me” and “myself” makes me think he’s talking about getting the other Segments onto his side here rather than to Zandik, who he often describes as being somewhat apart from himselves.

I think it’s important to note that Dottore recognizes how Pantalone’s immortality cannot be guaranteed until Zandik dies. Zandik is the missing ingredient and Dottore understands this much. His willingness to let Zandik die can be partly attributed to his own selfishness and desire to supplant the original in all ways (including as Pantalone’s partner). But, regardless of intent, it also succeeds in ensuring Pantalone’s immortality, which has to be a fairly bitter pill for the latter to swallow.

Although Pantalone plays off the fact that he was unsettled by Zandik’s death and dissection (interjecting with “I never said that” when Dottore calls him on his past reaction during story time), it is abundantly clear that Pantalone experiences a potent emotional response every time one or more Zandik dies.

In the medical logs, for instance, Dottore makes a “joke” about developing antidepressants for Pantalone. But, given the timing and the fact that there had been no prior indication that Pantalone suffered from depression, one can easily assume that Pantalone is grieving and Dottore is being an envious asshole about it. (“Unsettled” also feels like a very Dottore way to describe someone suffering the grief of losing their partner of 50 years).

Similarly, when Dottore eradicates the rest of the Segments, he pithily describes Pantalone as behaving like “little more than a decorative vase” at the Harbinger meeting, which again comes across as a rather cold way of telling us that Pantalone is dissociating to cope with the grief of losing five more versions of Zandik—aspects he had, by then, lived with for four centuries. Ouch.

(At least Dottore thinks he’s pretty.)

Pantalone never shares his emotions with us players directly—his feelings are always focalized through Dottore’s mocking asides about Pantalone’s behaviors—but that honestly makes me think that Pantalone was even more distraught than what the text tells us. If even Dottore is making flippant comments that speak to him picking up on Pantalone’s distress, then it has to be pretty bad.

Partners, at the End, Even Still

And so Pantalone’s ongoing decision to maintain his partnership with Dottore is utterly excruciating on multiple levels. There is, of course, the fact that it dooms them both to death—Dottore immediately (big asterisk here because I don’t think he’s dead for good but that’s another essay) and Pantalone once the Elixir runs out and old age finally catches up to him. But the emotional registers beneath all this are, in my mind, even more devastating.

Dottore is all Pantalone has left of Zandik. And yet Dottore is also the reason that he’s all Pantalone has left of Zandik.

When Pantalone follows Dottore and stands at his side, he is standing beside his partner and his partner’s murderer at the same time. The only way Pantalone can reckon with the abject tragedy of this fact is by holding onto the belief that Dottore is Zandik and Zandik is Dottore and that he will always be part of him.

Feofan and Zandik had 50 years where they (presumably) continued to learn, grow, and evolve together. Dottore is fixed in time at 35, but Pantalone is mentally fixed in time at 72, the year Zandik died, after which 35 perfected the Elixir so that it would pause physical and mental aging.

When Dottore explains that the other Segments had erased his “uniqueness,” he talks about how “a soul living forever in the past inevitably holds different views than he did in his later years,” acknowledging that he’s imprisoned by the moment of his own creation. The fact that he immediately pivots to then focus on Pantalone’s preservation is important because it reminds us that Pantalone is also frozen in time. He says:

There are a lot of ways we can read these lines. On the surface, we can simply read it as expository information to give the player some background on Pantalone—it definitely is that for sure. We can also read it as an example of Dottore’s callousness, how he casually brings up Pantalone being trafficked.

But I think there’s another layer, too. It’s an example of how Dottore still latches onto the Pantalone that Zandik met at 33. And this isn’t the first time in the conversation that Dottore demonstrates how fixed his perspective is. Nearly four centuries have gone by and yet he still thinks the reason Pantalone is helping him is because he spared him as a test subject. Pantalone has already had to remind Dottore that he ascended to the rank of Harbinger on his own merit and that he isn’t there because of some quid pro quo from centuries ago. Rather, he sees their values and goals as fundamentally aligned. Pantalone is there for Zandik because he still sees Dottore as Zandik.

And so, when given the opportunity to say his final farewell, Pantalone says goodbye to Zandik. Despite the literal words he speaks, I don’t think he’s actually asking what 35 prefers to be called. He already knows that 35 sees himself as Dottore from their prior conversation. What Pantalone is really asking is who he can say goodbye to in this moment, at the end, when they are finally free from fate itself. After the enormous personal sacrifices Pantalone has made, Dottore gives Pantalone the choice to see him as Zandik. And how heartbreaking is it that Pantalone does even though, by this point, it is Dottore who has spent some 330 years with Pantalone—centuries more than Pantalone had ever experienced with Zandik.

It is, as far as final acts go, surprisingly selfless of Dottore to recognize what it means for Pantalone to see him that way, even though he himself despises being forever tied to Zandik. It is especially surprising coming from the Segment who wholeheartedly embraces his own greed and repeatedly proclaims himself to be the most selfish of them all. So much for not being able to change!

For me, their greatest tragedy is the fact that they are out of time from one another, asynchronous, yearning for each other in different forms and ages. Dottore is forever looking for the Feofan he met at 33; he sees their present relationship as contractually predicated on saving Feofan in the past. Pantalone, frozen at 72, looks for the remnants of the man who shared his worldviews in the most selfish version of Dottore.

The scholar analyzes that feeling, where it comes from. Is the difference, perhaps, because you are already his? This is you, sharing something precious that feels too vulnerable to admit to him - a feeling he knows very well - not a stranger gushing over him without properly knowing him.

When you meet next time, Alhaitham seems lost in thought. Yet at the same time, you feel his gaze following your every move. Because he is. He notices everything. Between the two of you, you might be the more outspoken one, the one who tends to confess your feelings more directly. Right now, though, he can see you speak his language of love fluently too - more than he gave you credit for, too blinded by how easily you seem to express your emotions aloud and trying to meet you there.

Now he sees it, though. Every little gesture, every lingering touch, every indirect admission that you care. You startle when he slides his hand across the table to catch yours. Maybe this is enough, maybe just as he knows now, you understood his feelings the whole time.

Ayato

It is not his style to be hiding in the shadows but Ayato always keeps his mind open to trying new things. Such as now, biding his time in the cool shade the tree offers while he listens to the voices approaching. There’s something about the hushed excitement with which his sister speaks that already piques his interest, yet it is only when he hears the unmistakable shyness and panic in yours that he considers abandoning his previous plan of making a surprising appearance. He’s a curious man and if you’re not careful enough to make absolutely sure nobody hears what you’re saying, it can’t be that important after all.

And thinking that is his undoing. He has to stifle a laugh. How foolish he was for dismissing what he’s going to hear as a simple ammunition for teasing. His posture shifts, now he leans against the trunk comfortably as he gets lost in your sweet confessions. He stares up at the sky obscured by the leaves. You’ve said those things before, maybe not with the same words, but he’s never doubted your feelings. So why does he feel this way now?

His surprise is postponed. Instead of scaring you by jumping out of the shadows, Ayato surprises you with dinner ready on the table, the servants dismissed for the remainder of the day. Your home is quiet, safe for your husband describing the delicacies on the table and teasing the special dessert he prepared for later - no doubt something he thought of himself. And while it’s not unheard of for him to make romantic gestures such as this, something feels off.Yet when you press him about it, Ayato offers only a mysterious smile and a playful can’t i adore you for no special reason? accompanied by a fleeting kiss to the corner of your lips.

Baizhu

“You have to promise not to tell anyone.”

“Qiqi will forget this conversation soon. Your secret is safe with her.”

Intrigued, Baizhu ducks closer to the wall. Secrets? Secrets between his two favorite people? He’s curious and amused at the same time. Should your voice be strained, he would worry and interrupt whatever was going on, but seeing as you were giggling along with the little girl, he barely expected more than a silly exchange that would warm his heart and provide him with sufficient energy to push through his tasks for the day.

Instead, what he hears makes his heart stop for a moment and his legs weaken. Perhaps he should make his presence known. Perhaps he won’t need to, simply collapsing on the spot should be enough. 

Once the dramatics leave his body with a quiet, shaky breath, he carefully peeks into the room. His eyes land on you in a second, on the shy, embarrassed smile and eyes, fortunately, closed while you laugh with Qiqi about the foolishly sweet things you’ve said. Baizhu bites back a smile and finds another route to his destination.

Later, however, while you’re getting ready for bed, he comes up behind you and wraps his arms around you. His lips leave a trail of soft kisses from your shoulder to your jaw, no different than if he was running a feather over your skin. But his arms, they keep you in place without fail. 

“The effect you have on me is concerning, my heart,” Baizhu whispers into your ear before you can voice your surprise.

His hand finds yours and guides it to his wrist, allowing you to feel his racing pulse. He feels your confusion growing, but he doesn’t explain - how could he? He will treasure the secrets he heard, although they’ve perhaps never been secret at all. Not when he can see them all now that he looks into your eyes.

Dottore

He bristles when he hears a voice responding to yours, and soon the irritation is doubled. Dottore assigned you a task of utmost importance and time sensitivity. It’s a test of sorts, sure, yet the notion that you’d fail and what’s more - that you’d skirt your duty to mindless chatter makes a confusing mix of irrational feelings well up in his chest.

Yet he’s stopped in his tracks before his steps can get within your earshot. His enhanced senses can perceive what a regular human couldn’t, such as your voice, calm and poised, explaining the inner workings of your heart to the other person. 

It makes his face contort like a child’s after drinking a bitter medicine. Then an incredulous laugh bubbles quietly up his throat. The world tilts on its axis, nausea follows. Those words are not unheard; they’re simply usually heard much more quietly, privately, behind locked doors and between the sheets. You whisper them to him, mumbling them against his skin because he won’t meet your gaze or acknowledge them. He never thought he’d hear them aloud - spoken without hesitation, doubt or shame. 

You don’t flinch when you find yourself trapped between his body and the desk a minute later, the other bolting away the moment he appears. He doesn’t feel you stiffen or tremble at all when his breath hits the vulnerable skin of your throat, nor when he bites down on the side of your neck. Not hard enough to draw blood and, he realizes belatedly, not hard enough to hurt. Only enough to leave a faint mark. Somehow his fingers find their way between yours, pinning you to the desk. He’s already panting so hard it makes him laugh. 

This is not the experiment he had in mind for today, or any other day for as long as he lives, but inspiration is known to strike at the oddest of moments.

Flins

He wakes up to a voice. Which is strange because he also wakes up to a feeling of safety, and Flins has grown so used to safety meaning loneliness. It takes him a moment to fully process all that he can hear and feel, and for the time being he remains still as if he was resting. First is the touch - a hand combing through his hair slowly, which threatens to lull him back to sleep. Then the voice gets clear enough. Your voice, your words. Suddenly, sleep is no longer tempting.

Fortunately, his face is hidden against your stomach enough that he can allow himself a secret smile. He has to express himself somehow without also being discovered. It’s been so long since he’s known intimacy such as this. Compromising this moment is the last thing he wants. He promises to himself he’ll make it up to you somehow, he has to, but for the time being he chooses to stay as he is. 

You don’t seem any wiser when Flins pretends to wake up. Very slowly, uncharacteristically affectionate. So much so that you don’t tease him, skipping straight to suspicion and mild concern. But he only reassures you, telling you about a beautiful dream he had while kissing your wrists, your hands, all the way to your fingertips. He doesn’t let you pull away - every attempt is met with a gentle squeeze and a pleading look. And you’re no monster to say a no to that.

Despite his best efforts, he can’t quite figure out how to make you feel as loved as your words spoken while he was supposed to be oblivious to them made him feel. He ends up hovering around you, and it’s so unfair how effortlessly you pile onto that feeling with every touch, every word of concern. He doesn’t think you understand why he holds you so much tighter when he finally breaks and pulls you close.

Neuvillette

He knows it’s wrong. The Iudex of Fontaine, listening in on hushed voices, albeit voices behind his closed doors, inside of his own office. There’s already been a precedent of a secret being kept from him, and he’d rather not think about an event of similar severity being repeated when the voice he recognizes is yours. The gasps of the melusines do nothing to calm his beating heart, he can only press his ear to the wood of the door and close his eyes.

They don’t stay closed for long. It makes little difference as Neuvillette stares blankly at the ground, his sight unfocused and shaky. He holds his breath, he doesn’t mean to, but if he misses a single word of your confessions he feels he’d regret it for eternity.

The moment passes too soon. Steps get closer to the door and he does his best to act as if he witnessed nothing. He thinks he must be doing fine until you stand in front of him - he feels the facade crumble. Neuvillette leads you back into the office despite your playful scolding that you’ve already held up his work enough. 

He confesses to listening in before you can decode the expression on his face. The tips of his ears turn red, his voice wavers. Then the silence stretches, before he eventually, softly, admits how hearing you speak that way about him has affected him. Like you couldn’t tell from the uncertainty radiating off of him. 

So now it’s your turn to take his hand and pry details from him. With utmost patience despite your racing heart, you delve to the root of the issue - that he feels just as strongly about you too, yet struggles to come up with a way to show you. The realization comes with a self-depreciating chuckle and an apologetic smile that becomes a little more relaxed when you inform the hydro dragon that a simple kiss will suffice.

Pantalone

It’s almost time to leave. The annual ball is about to start and Pantalone means to be fashionable late. He is the main star, so to speak, after all. Your handmaiden should also be aware of the time, and so he sees no point in knocking-

“I’ve wished the marriage wasn’t a matter of convenience for a long time now.”

His hand hovers above the doorknob and retracts. His brows furrow. While your voice is somber, almost desperate, the voice of your handmaiden is excited, albeit concerned. He doesn’t understand.

It’s only when, upon the woman’s insistence, you let the floodgates of your feelings open that he gets the full picture. 

Smirk tugs at his lips, one he can barely contain. A man should not feel as he feels hearing such confessions from the one he’s wedded to, yet here Pantalone is. Pride soars through his chest, a sense of victory, the satisfaction of a beneficial deal struck. And all the while - peace. Like a guard dog with no master stumbling upon a lamb, given purpose anew.

There seem to indeed be some things the value of which cannot be expressed or evaluated.

Nobody, of course, dares to comment that your late arrival at the ball borders on rude instead of fashionable. The talk of the town, or rather the content of the hushed whispers that the speakers think cannot be heard over the music, is all about you and your husband.

About the way the regrator’s hand remains possessively on your lower back, both seemingly to guide you and to prevent you from straying too far away. In fact, it seems the closer you remain, the better. They talk about the many instances when his lips brush right against the shell of your ear whenever he’s talking to you privately. 

The whole hall wonders - did the ninth harbinger fall in love?

Tighnari

His ears twitch and turn in the direction of the sound that does not belong this deep in the forest. A smile’s already tugging on Tighnari’s lips when he listens for a moment longer and recognizes the voice as yours, accompanied by another’s. It’s impossible to keep you away from the more dangerous parts of the forest, he’s made peace with that, but he’s at least relieved you listened to him and didn’t venture this far alone. 

He finishes the task he was devoted to and is about to greet you and join you, should his company be welcomed, when he hears it. The way your voice drops lower, barely heard above the songs of the birds and the hum of the trees, and how it grows softer, fonder. For a moment he hesitates, some part of him worried about what he might hear because a tone like that is supposed to be reserved for him. Only it turns out it is.

He breaks into a wider smile - then he reels himself in. He shouldn’t be listening in on your private conversation, even if he’s the topic of it. A very, very cherished topic it seems. But his body won’t listen. His tail has a life of its own and his feet remain stuck to the ground. His expression grows softer, fonder. He might’ve remained there, staring in the direction of your voice like a fool if it wasn’t for his emotions simply growing too overwhelming. 

Tighnari grins sheepishly when you yelp the moment he appears from between the trees, more so when your friend suddenly has a very convenient excuse to flee - though he calls after them that they shouldn’t be by themselves in these parts. Even if he prefers to have you to himself. Suddenly it seems like all your eloquence disappeared. But that’s fine - that’s cute, he chuckles. He can do the talking now, if you only take his hand.

Zhongli

Idle chatter is a rare occurrence without the director around. Any sort of lively energy, really, especially on days like this one. And so with her out on business, Zhongli is intrigued by what made hushed conversation resonate through the empty halls of the parlor. Above all, he picks up your voice, strained by emotions. Hardly a surprise after the display you’ve all bore witness only hours prior.

Meaning to check on you, he approaches slowly. Yet finding himself to be the topic of the conversation, his steps pause, then stop altogether. His brows furrowed. It’s not that he doesn’t understand why the sudden outburst or why you’d feel the need to talk about your feelings with a third party - what he doesn’t understand is the trembling of his own heart. How can it still be so fragile after aeons of heartbreak?

Later, in the quiet privacy of your bedroom, Zhongli comes clean. It remains a mystery to him why his heart flutters again when he watches you get flustered - first by the realization, then by him recounting similar sentiments to you. It only gets strangers, the feeling shifts into an ache first, then into a stable pressure that feels almost crushing.

You’re lying on his chest, at his insistence as much as your desire to remain close to him. It’s been hours since he coaxed you to sleep but he himself can’t bring himself to drift off. He’s watching you, marvelling at the feeling stirring inside of him. Perhaps it is because of the funeral and the young widow you’ve all witnessed earlier, sobbing at her husband’s grave, that you are - that he is - so desperate to make the feelings you harbor for each other known. 

When Zandik gives 18 permission to use you (for an experiment of course — to see how much you could handle, what else would it be?), he goes wild. All those nights having to jerk off alone with a pair of your panties pumping his aching cock where he had to use his imagination. Imagining you on your knees, one hand gripping his balls and the other holding the shaft as you run your tongue from the tip to his balls and back up, or you on your hands and knees on his bed, back arched so deliciously that your ass is enhanced even more. Oh yeah, he was gonna devour you.

His movements are definitely rushed. Poor baby doesn’t know what he’s doing. His grabbing at your breasts quite roughly and sucking so much. Your entire neck is covered with adoring bites. When he goes down on you, he can hardly contain his excitement. At first he gives experimental kitten licks on your clit, red hues gazing up from blue eyelashes as if waiting for your approval. Your soft moans is all he needs before he eats you like you are his last meal.

He hooks your thighs over his shoulders with a firm grip to keep you from moving. His tongue moves frantically, from your clit and down your folds before slipping inside your cunt, moaning against your pussy. He’s so messy but it feels so good !! He replaces his tongue with two fingers and pumps in and out and attacks your clit, sucking and nibbling just enough and loves how you writhe from his touch alone. It makes him feel proud and he wishes the other segments can see this act.

He’s so desperate it’s almost pathetic. His hips grind against the mattress in a weak attempt to pleasure himself and small whimpers emit from his lips. His moans alone as he devours you is enough to send you over the edge.

When it comes to the official act and he finally gets what he’s been longing for, he almost finished on the spot. Choked gasps leave his pretty mouth as he stares down at you in almost disbelief. He can hardy contain himself at this point. Your cunt squeezes around him graciously and continues to swallow him until he bottoms out, his flesh against yours. A small “Zandik” leaves your lips and its enough for him.

His thrusts are fast pace, his hands are roaming everywhere on your body, from circling your overstimulated clit that causes you to cry underneath him, to your breasts where he rolls the mounds between his fingers, to your neck where slender fingers grip the sides in attempt to cut off some air.

Your pussy is so warm and welcoming, as if you were designed perfectly just for his cock, a complete opposite of his hand and a spare panties that barely had your scent on them. You just take him so well and he lets you know how much of a good girl you are, and oh don’t forget he thinks you’re the prettiest woman he has ever seen in his life, especially when you’re begging for him to fuck into you harder. Despite being inexperienced and fast with his movements, he will make sure he tastes every inch of you before its the next segments turn.

25

Probably the most stuck up one besides Omega. In fact, he was probably the meanest one who thought he knew everything. This was the stage of Zandik’s life after being expelled from the Akademiya and pursuing other research with the Fatui, so it would make sense in some twisted way that he was mean and stuck up.

Unlike 18, this segment was more sneaky with his gestures. You’d often come and help inside the lab with the other segments or Zandik and 25 would be incredibly jealous. If you were beside him, he might accidentally knock over vials near you, and of course he would immediately blame you for being so careless and stupid, he’s just so mean to you. But as planned, you’d get on your hands and knees to clean it and would never notice the way this segment would stare you down.

Like 18, he would desperately jerk off but this time to the thought of you crying and it turned him on so much. He wondered if you would cry from physical pain or emotional pain (which he could do both) and that would make his desire for you grow. Sometimes he would sneak into your room when you are sleeping and just watch. He wanted nothing more than to strap you down and use you there but even he knew his limits with Zandik around.

After 18 had his fun with you and it was 25’s turn, you were definitely in for some form of torture (or pleasure)

Instead of the comfortable setting in 18’s room, this segment takes you to the lab as if you were his patient. At first he does a general assessment but don’t mind his wandering hands in between your thighs that graze against your cunt and flick at your clothed clit. The doctor is working of course ;)

He definitely loves to tie you down to the table completely naked. It’s so humiliating to be the only one nude while he is still dressed, but the way he looks at you behind glasses is enough to slightly wash away that shame.

At first he teases you. He blows hot air on your pussy and watches you squeeze around nothing. “Wow, you’re practically begging for me already and I haven’t done anything. Aren’t you a slut?”

He looms over you and leaves so many marks on your skin, sometimes even drawing blood but would lick it clean as some sort of apology. He’d stare at you and lick his lower lip to wipe off the little but of blood.

Besides his fingers, his scalpel is probably his tool of choice when playing with you. The sharp tip drags ever so slowly against your skin and the coolness of the blade causes your breath to hitch. Excitement or fear, you weren’t sure what you were feeling. Occasionally he might accidentally dig in ever so slightly to see the beautiful crimson color you produce and enjoys the face of pain you make. But don’t worry, the doctor will make you feel all better !!

Whenever he was satisfied from examining you, he fucks you without care. This segment really only cares for his own pleasure and doesn’t care about yours. He could go about this day even if you didn’t finish, it didn’t matter to him, he’d still go on his day. He just wanted to use you to his heart’s desire.

Always so kind and devoted.. ignoring the definitely-not-threatening letters you wrote to one of his colleagues behind his back and your unwavering possessiveness over him. To the outside world? No one would comment. With how your eyes seem to look almost dead while you wait in the cozy living room, staring aimlessly at the cold clock ticking on the wall.

The adult segments hold some affection for you, but it's so painfully obvious that you are poisoning their human counterpart. But does Zandik heed their warnings? Unfortunately, no. He loves you too much to ever resist you. He already knows what you always put in his breakfast before He leaves for work, how stressed he mysteriously becomes while running tests in his cold lonely laboratory, and how all of his troubles wither away as He comes back home to you.

The Elixir of Immortality has frozen you in time, making you appear forever as a young adult while He aged like any other human, yet you still continue to cherish and shower him with affection. You could've gone chasing after his younger segments, probably the cool and clinical 25 year old segment (only from 18 did you hear that 25 was popular with the female staff… yikes) or the Zandik in his prime , the 35 year old segment "Omega." Even so, you still willingly chose the original over the segments.

Speaking of segments, 65 was the only segment who you interacted much with. He's closer in age to the original, He handles your possessiveness with ease and He's practically the stand-in for when Zandik is too busy to visit his darling spouse. Omega is second place mostly because He finds you interesting but He was too.. social and charismatic for your liking, and Zandik was afraid that your interactions would end up in a messy quarrel. "Why is he contacting the Regrator so much? And why is he so interested in his little experiments?" He could almost hear your sweet voice in his ears, nagging to him about Omega.

His frail health is declining thanks to the definitely-not-poisonous powder you laced his tea with, even to the point that He's bedridden for almost a week. Yet almost always, he comes back from the Palace as healthy and unaffected as ever. Zandik only laughs at your pushy questions and that panicked look in your eyes, only looking at you with adoration as you try to figure what's going on. The segments don't seem to care much, and his colleagues prefer not to look in your direction.

But it's alright.

Always standing nearby to have a sight of your body under the shower, never wary enough to check around you to catch his presence and the smile on his face. Oh he loves to see the soap run down your body, mind too imaginative to not picture all this being his cum running down your skin.

And just when you start getting closer, something shifts in him. He’s done being a spectator of your life. He wants to get in, be part of it.

So when you invite him over he knows he’ll do it. He’ll have to, whether you want it or not. Call it whatever you want but you were always his and he’ll have to make sure your body knows if not your mind.

Dottore waits for the right moment, catching every smile you shoot at him in appreciation. Oh, you’re so adorable. So vulnerable and innocent.

And he’s all the things you’re not. A complete freak, a psychopath ready to hurt you if he can’t get what he wants from you in kindness. He’ll hurt you. He swears he will.

He needs just a minute, enough for you to get up and go get him a glass of the fine drink you offered him to taste. One that you discovered just lately by chance at the store down the street.

He gets up to keep you in his line of sight, rummaging in his bag for the tiny bottle he prepared just for you, and a piece of cloth. A glove on his hand and he spills the chemical on it with a satisfied smile.

Dottore loves to hear your voice yap about just anything that comes through your mind. Your day, the weather, what happened at your friend’s birthday, the wedding you’re attending next week. Fucking hell you just tell him everything, everything he already knows about.

It all gives him enough time to circle a hand around your waist. His cock twitches at the sound of your voice hiccuping in surprise, suddenly trapped between him and the counter where your drinks stay. Drinks that will stay here for most of the night surely.

He giggles, placing his chin over your shoulder and when you start pushing him away as nicely and politely as you can — just how he thought you’d do — his hand comes up to cover your mouth and nose.

He swears he could cum in his pants at how your adorable strength tries to squirm out of his grip. So lively, so full of determination.

Your hand trying to grab his face in an attempt to press a spot that would make him let go instinctively but the scent and effect of the chemical gets to mind faster than you can react.

“shh, shh, it’s okay, it’ll be over in a few seconds”

He sounds already foggy and way too calm to your ears when the words fall out his smiling lips.

“chloroform will do the work, just breathe in f’me”

A few seconds and you’re going numb in his hold, at his mercy. Your fighting ceases, your whimpers of fear cease, and your breathing under his arm around your waist is slowly becoming steady and relaxed.

“I’ll take good care of you”

He smirks, too satisfied to be able to have you all to himself, your mind too intoxicated to refuse him anything. Your body is just like his subjects, just an empty body for him.

When he sets you down over your bed, limp and asleep — because all he can see is how close the flutter of your eyes is to the ones you do when you’re deep asleep.

Not even an ounce of him feels guilty when he pulls your pants and panties down, spreading your legs so gently. He handles you like a collectionner about to pin a butterfly to an empty frame. So delicate and beautiful.

He looms over your figure, inhaling your scent in the crook of your neck like a maniac.

“Mmh, divine”

He whispers his actions as if you were one of his experiments, but your body will be his clipped paper where he’ll write down all the filthy work he’ll do.

Dottore leans back on his heels and knees, staring down at the pink folds spreading with the movement of your thighs. Studying the functionality of how your pussy opens for him like he used to study the reflexes of frogs in biology.

He moans at the sight, his breath melting into pants — his cock pulsating at the mere sight of your body. He knows it’s not right, it’s not right to do that while you’re unconscious.

Oh how he would have loved to see your eyes widen in terror while he discovers your body but he has to admit it’s easier this way.

Two digits find your folds, spreading your lips in curiosity. It’s so pretty, so soft and well done. How can pussy be such a piece of art in anatomy.

He pushes your legs up to your chest, lowering his face over your heat. His nose grazes your clit, causing your body to jolt, and it makes him scoff.

He didn’t know this could work like this. Or did he not wait enough on the chemicals for you to be deep asleep ? Are you just pretending to be unconscious ? No. Surely not.

His nose nuzzles over your clit again, inhaling your scent — hell, you smell so good.

He laps his tongue flat over your folds, a mix of sweet and salty, he doesn’t know. He’s never tasted such a perfect thing. He licks up once, twice, thrice slowly before he loses his patience and all he can think of is whether your body can cum on his tongue when you’re unconscious.

The sounds are desperate, yet calculated. Thirsty and hungry like he hasn’t been fed for days.

When he catches his breath, Dottore places hot kisses up your tummy, your skin his favorite fabric. He wants to ruin it and mark his name in it, crave it so anyone that’d be next will read his name when they’ll be inside you.

He pulls on his pants, lowering them just enough to pull his cock out. Hard and leaking for your core. Begging to be roughly pressed inside you. Oh but you won’t be moaning his name, he hates it.

His tip nudges past your entrance, and all he does is tease himself. Fucking just the first inches of his length inside you, just enough to begin, to feel how warm you are around him.

But he knows he’ll lose his patience the moment he’ll cum, burying every inches of his girth between your tight walls. Filling you so full of him, so willing to take him.

Your body rocks over the mattress at every single one of his thrusts, deep and hurried. Your breast bouncing for his eyes to stare at, and the bulge in your stomach where he hits the spot. Fuck, he loves you.

If he could even call this love at all. Oh you would never love him. Not after this, that’s for sure. He burned his only chance with you. He’ll never get a second chance after this either.

But when he cums, feeling your walls flutter around him it’s all nothing. He doesn’t care. If you’ll never be his, he’ll find the perfect mix in his laboratory that will make you change your mind and make your body his.

Whether you want it, or not.