screamingcrows

[screamingcrows]

Piercing anon, someone is asking for a detailed list of where the multiple piercing crew has theirs ;3

[screamingcrows]

IN POWER WE ENTRUST THE LOVE ADVOCATED

Celestia fell and the future remains uncertain, preventing you from finalizing the gift intended to convey what mere words alone could not. Zandik, in turn, struggles with his own creations. A trip to Remuria, now uncovered by the sea, provides some clarity for you both. Official (or unofficial) sequel to 'Dream a Little Dream of Me'. Rated Mature to be safe, minors DNI. TW: pregnancy. 10,154 words. Available on AO3 here. Reblogs, kudos, and comments appreciated. Note: This was on my Fics For Gaza donation list and I ran with the idea. Donations were low but this was a story I wanted to tell regardless.

You rearranged the sheets across the stand, shuffling them until the first page was showing again and then staring at the notes so carefully written.  This was the third draft, as marked by the linear strikes in the top left, your way of keeping track of which version was the latest.  The first three pages in particular were disarming at a glance.  Their notes were meticulously inked and set in stone.  You were happy with each note’s placement, the rhythm and cadence and melody.

A strong beginning would carry through the rest.  That’s how it always worked.

After massaging your bow hand and testing your fingers, the joints less than agreeable today, you pulled the pendulum on the metronome and began again.

The first bars were practically woven in your very essence, a scattering of rests and triplets that attempted to capture exciting youth.  Closing your eyes, you allowed memory to carry you through the first dozen and a half bars.  The octave dropped, flowing notes giving way again to staccato frustration and shifting sands before they bled into crisp tundra and warm hearths.  

It led right into the second movement, legato curves that mimicked the way Fontaine’s water seemed to stretch on forever.  Hope, passion, dulled for a time by low notes and shuddering breaths, before a promise twinkled in the tide.  A journey, more notes stretching into eternity, disrupted again, only this time, an echo of earlier bars in a different octave, certain and slow.  

This would have made a better duet and could have been arranged as such; the thought crossed your mind more than you cared to admit.  The recording of it would have been easy to achieve but you didn’t want that.  This was your work and you wanted to play it in a single performance because otherwise…

Your fingers found the familiar patterns, an amalgamation that you hoped sounded like a push-and-pull.  They brought back such vivid memories for you but would that be the case for your audience?  A motif from a god’s request, a flurry of emotion as destructive as its cause, and then a closing bar that mimicked the first, long and full of hope in the flickering light of a burning tree.

Inhaling shakily, you pulled the next paper to the left and followed your latest addition, pencil marks harder to read between the erasures and the smudging.  You carried through the first five bars, certain of their arrangement and then felt out the rest, fingers slower than your mind as your thoughts raced forward, unease and trepidation taking hold.

A burning ache ran through your knuckles and up to your elbow and you pulled your bow away, a wolf tone coming with it.

You swallowed the scream clawing at your throat and instead let out a shuddering breath through your teeth.

It shouldn’t be this hard.

A sonata was something you could write in your sleep, backwards, and upside-down.  Especially given your source material.

The world might have changed but your love hadn’t.

Dreams were little more than solitary moments of brain activity with Celestia gone.  And while that meant having to more consciously work on your relationship, it didn’t make it any less organic.

Maybe this was all pointless.

He had to know by now.  His power of observation knew no bounds.  He would not have missed the fact that you had been gone longer than usual the other day to obtain proper evidence in black and white.  Especially the day after a visit from Tsaritsa where she asked to speak to you privately.  

This entire idea was a waste, absolutely insane.  It would have been easier to just…

You settled your cello back into its stand and rose, idly smoothing out your sleeves as you tried to pull yourself together.  The arrangement would come to you.  It always did, in the end.  There was time.  For now, walking away was best.  You didn’t want to restring either your instrument or your bow all because you’d tried to force what instead needed coaxing.

Gathering up the tray on which you’d brought in the small pot of coffee and a pitcher of water, you left your study and headed back into the kitchen.  There was already a fresh pot percolating on the counter, the smell enticing and yet stomach-churning all at once.  This was a new blend from Puspa Cafe, one you had picked out yourself weeks ago.

Well, at least he could enjoy it properly.  For now, you basked in the scent, the unease in your gut settling as you rinsed your dishes and settled them into the device on the counter.  You hooked up one hose to the faucet and put the other near the sink’s drain, as Zandik showed you, and turned it on.  The motor whirred and you watched water splash on the glass door until suds began to rise.

Your home was full of such little devices.  Dishes were a waste of time for both of you when your minds were better equipped for other things, he had said.  That, and you’d been unable to hold anything for more than a few seconds for months at a time as your hand healed.  He used extra parts for a clothes laundering machine and a special typewriter for your sheet music and even a special percolator to extract the most out of coffee grounds and tea leaves.  

And that didn’t begin to cover the little wind-up creatures you displayed on the windowsills or the hand-crafted ring with a new stone in place resting in your jewelry box.  The swimming otter was your favorite reminder of Fontaine.

The layout and design was different from what you had conceived in the dreamscape, save one decision.  A proper basement, reinforced and deeper than the standard to allow for most of Zandik’s larger projects.  Whatever was too unsafe for the house was kept in another workshop nearby.  So far, nothing ever caught on fire or caused an explosion.  The only things that both of you agreed to keep were the tall windows, this time attached to a small glass sunroom where you loved to lounge when the mood struck.

Today, however, was gray and heavy with the promise of rain.  While you didn’t put much stock into such things, the weather was not a help to your mood nor your creativity.

The steaming pot on the counter clicked and you poured some into a handmade clay cup, the glaze matte and rough against your calloused fingers.  You held it tight in your good hand, your other supporting the bottom, and savored the warmth as you brought it down into the basement workshop.

Distractions rarely ever helped but you were running out of steam; maybe seeing Zandik busy would reinvigorate you.

Zandik frowned as he heard the wolf tone; the sound itself was faint but it spoke volumes of your frustration.  They were more common lately.  Despite the stone foundation and the insulation, your studio was not entirely soundproof and therefore he could still make out faint melodies if he listened hard enough.  Your footsteps, too.  You paced sometimes, occasionally stepping in time with the signature you were working in.  Breakthroughs were a flurry of steps, sometimes the vibrations of the piano to compare, over and over, only one change applied at a time.

He did his best to tune out what he could, for your sake.  Questions were only met with a harried shuffle of papers and an attempt to be nonchalant.

You were a terrible liar, the skill worn down from a lack of practice, but he would not press.  After all, you’d made it clear that if something was wrong , you would tell him.  So he could only conclude that whatever you were working on was for him and it was intended to be a surprise.

But why did you always stumble over the same section?  Was the composition too difficult, did your tendons seize up?

Zandik tightened the bolt harder, wrench slipping when its target would move no further in the same way his thoughts ran from him.  He tested the joint, and, satisfied with the range of motion, stepped back to assess the whole picture.

Which was a whole jumbled mess of…

What was this meant to be, anyway?

Pierro had offered a stash of blueprints, barely legible and all of the missing crucial details.  Briefly, Zandik wondered if the old man was considering a trip to the depths of the Abyss for one final battle with the way the conversation went.  The entire encounter was as bizarre as their initial meeting in the desert, perhaps more so with the glimmer of pride that exuded from his former superior.

He’d been unable to stop the curling of a sneer for the better part of several hours afterwards.

Faintly, Zandik heard your footsteps in the kitchen, the rush of water, and then a beeline for the basement door.  Usually, weather-permitting, you were outside or at least closing your eyes in the lavish warmth of the sun.  You were tired as of late, even if you smiled through the daze of fatigue.

He counted each steady beat of your steps as you descended, the familiar bitter and smooth scent wafting down along with you.  It was the closest roast to what he had in the desert all those centuries ago and now that supply was finally beginning to even out, he did not mind indulging in occasional memories.  It was a shame, however, you were only carrying one mug.

Every time you were around the scent, you were tense and he could practically smell the acid on your breath.  You began abstaining, even from the decaffeinated blends, and avoided being around it for too long, otherwise you were liable to be sick.

Another adjustment you waved away.

And on top of it all, your mind was clearly burdened, otherwise you would not be struggling as you were.

“I thought you’d like it fresh,” you said, offering the mug as you drew closer.

White knuckles on one hand, your grip tight: overcompensating.  Your other hand cradled the bottom, fingertips grazing the unfinished ring, trembling with weakness.  The very last thing he wanted was you burdening yourself over something so trivial when your hands had much better purposes to serve.

“I was going to come upstairs, rooh’ albi ,” Zandik said.  “There was no need to trouble yourself.”

Something flickered across your face that he couldn’t name, gone before he could identify itself, lips pulled between your teeth in thought.  He took a sip, savoring the bright bitterness, pleased with how the adjustments in temperature and the efficient filters brought out the Ajilenakh nut subtleties.  

You stepped further into the workshop and dragged your eyes over the workbench and the metal arm, Pierro’s blueprint pinned on the wall above as a guide.  Between the burns and the flaking of the material itself, Zandik was surprised he’d made it this far, just assembling a series of moving arms.

“It’s not ‘trouble’, Zandik.  I needed the break, as I’m sure you heard,” you replied wryly.  “No use pretending you didn’t hear me banging on the piano yesterday; I’m almost certain Sumeru City heard me.”

Your voice wavered ever so slightly, a warble that anyone else would have passed off as simple frustration.  This block went deeper for you than a mere lack of inspiration and it was beginning to seep into your very bones.  No wonder you were always exhausted.  He was painfully familiar with the other end of the spectrum, one that often kept one of his younger Segments in cycles of ennui and despair because he happened to take the portion of his life during which he was bored by the Akademiya’s authority and illogical rules.  Not all ideas could be pushed through as if they were little more than a target for your claymore.  

But you knew this.  Of course you did.

You held up a finger and turned your gaze back to him.  The circles were fading but your eyes were still a little puffy.

“Before you suggest that I work on something else, I’ve tried .  I attempted working from the end but that requires having an ending in mind.  Other pieces feel as if they’re just standing in for the rest, hollow shells that are perfectly adequate compositions but empty arrangements.   It’s all up here,” you gestured to your head, “but it won’t work its way down into my hands and put my fingers in the right places.”

Zandik placed his cup down out of range of the workbench and took your hands in his after removing his gloves.  Nothing was more infuriating than when the connection between one’s heart and mind was lost, severed entirely.  There were several projects over the years too ambitious for him to endeavor as a student or even in the early years as a Harbinger.  He’d scribbled them down in vain and his Segments came across them decades later, finally equipped with the experiences necessary.  Usually they all fell to Omega.

The words forming themselves on his lips were not what most wanted to hear but he was never one for empty platitudes.  What good was comfort if all of it was a lie?

Your hands were warm still from holding the mug, 

“Perhaps this particular piece isn’t ready for you, yet,” he said at last.  “Continue to force it and you’ll hate your craft entirely.”

“I don’t have that luxury, Zandik,” you murmured.  “This is the only way I know how to…”

You squeezed his hands, the tightest he felt in years that no doubt hurt you in the process.  There it was again, that nameless apparition gliding across your brow and the color of your cheeks.  Ever since that visit from the Tsaritsa (he knew not what to call her now, old habits died hard) and a subsequent trip from Pierro, you were acting as if you were…

But if you were , he would know .  Because you would tell him and there would be signs and he would be able to research and mitigate and stop it from taking you from him.  The world changed with Celestia’s downfall but the event had not taken his intelligence and all that came with it.

“It’s important to me that I express what I need to through my composition.  I know it doesn’t make sense to you to do that—“

A spark flared in his chest and he inhaled through his nose.  He kept his tone even, for he wasn’t angry, but did you not see how hypocritical and illogical this was?  Wasn’t this a repeat of the very situation that gave you a physical traumatic response over playing?

“Do consider the consequences when I tried to keep something from you thinking it was a clever and romantic idea.  What can’t you express in words, rooh’ albi ?”

“It’s a gift , Zandik.  The whole thing is a gift for you, speaking defeats the purpose when I’m trying to invoke particular emotions and memories.”

“But you feel stuck .”

You shook your head.

“Less stuck and more foggy.  Uncertain.”

“About?”

You pulled your hands away and threw your arms up, gesturing all around as you paced.  “Everything before was always a given.  We could dream and build and the world we knew stayed as it was with little changes and the rules were static and the stars never shifted.  The average person knew the world was safe and steady and I can assume that here , too, but the rules changed .  The future is a foreign land for everyone and here we are, continuing on as if…”

Strange. You never expressed that before, not with such animation and intensity.  And you saw enough of Teyvat away from Celestia’s rule to know that although Visions and Archons and leylines were no longer present, the landscape didn’t change entirely.  Most nations stayed the same, except for where the Abyssal corrosion struck hard and had already eaten away at the land.

Change was different for everyone, he reminded himself.  To talk about it and know it occurred were merely conceptual in nature; to see it meant living through it, which in turn shook the equilibrium, and it took time for it to set in.  A scarce few years of this compared to one’s life in a couple of decades or so was still a shock to the system.  

What scared you so?  What needed to instead be translated first and foremost in such a manner rather than simply spoken aloud?

You were hardly this obtuse before and he was beginning to understand why his previous decisions were so infuriating for you and so many others.

Zandik let out a slow breath, the love he held for you winning out against the rising flare of annoyance.  He didn’t agree with it but on the other hand, if you were truly dying , you wouldn’t have the strength to continue essentially running head-first into a brick wall every day.

You met his eyes and a silent plea marred your features, begging him not to press.

Maybe that was precisely the problem.  You were pressing yourself too hard with no alternatives as of late.  The weather was too poor and he was only using Pierro’s pile of Khaenri’ahn blueprints as a distraction away from a solution to further slow the Abyssal corrosion that was slowly eating at him.  Ironic that Celestia was the very thing that kept the balance of the burden of immortality and slowed it down as punishment for daring to survive.  Both of you were too far in your own heads.

A curse of its own, really.

He stilled his brow and instead held his arms open, beckoning you back to him.  Your warmth was instant, curling around him like a well-tended hearth.  He nuzzled the crown of your head as you burrowed into him.  Amid the scent of your shampoo and soap, sweet and fresh, was a note that he couldn’t figure out and yet drew him closer to you all the same.

“A change of scenery might be beneficial,” Zandik murmured, idly rubbing his nose against your hair.  “There’s only so much to do when one’s environment is the same.”

You nodded, turning your head to brush your cheek against his.  Per your request, he’d attempted to keep the facial hair you found so enticing, but a recent trim left it shorter than usual and a little scratchy.  It didn’t prevent you from touching it, either with your own face or a traveling hand.  He would figure out a preferred style, given time.

“You’re more of a field researcher than a classroom scholar, I’m sure you’ve been feeling rather stifled too,” you replied.  “Hard to figure out possible options when you’re cooped up in here.”

“I haven’t been—”

“But you haven’t exactly left Sumeru since we settled here, either.  Not without me or at least not without a very specific purpose.”

He huffed against your ear.

“You can’t not explore this world, Zandik, that’s like asking a fish not to swim.”

“And you never asked me not to.  It’s my own doing.”

Deep down, he knew could you manage without him if he chose to disappear for weeks at a time to explore and study the changes in this world.  Hell, he could find a way to travel to the fractured moon in the sky and you would be perfectly fine in his absence.  That was part of the driving force behind so many of the devices around the house.  If your hands hurt, then you had a means to do dishes or cut up vegetables or restring your cello with ease.  

The frown that tugged at your mouth any time the weakness in your hands struck or the wound flared up was enough to revitalize a second life’s purpose in finding ways to make tasks accessible to you again.  

But what good was seeing any part of this world without you by his side?  At least dreaming provided a means to close the distance, as Natlan had proven.

This time it was your turn to shift and burrow your head under his chin, no doubt in an attempt to stop craning your neck to reach him.  There it was again, that faint scent that was so familiar and rooted to you , sticking out like a thorn, enticing nonetheless.  His chest constricted, stomach dropping as he felt the familiar fire beginning to creep up on him.  Had you laced yourself with an aphrodisiac?  

If you were down here any longer, he was liable to sweep off the workbench’s contents and replace them with you.  And while both of you enjoyed spontaneity, something in your body language told him you would not be up to it right now.  Perhaps after lunch, nestled on the chaise, listening to the rain, little more than closing distance.  Yearning settled itself into the pit of his stomach and every cell in his body just wanted to be near you.

“Consider it, rooh’ albi .  You don’t need to answer immediately,” Zandik murmured.  “We’ll discuss it further when I come upstairs for lunch.”

Zandik felt your nod against his chin and your hold on him eased as you stepped away.  You looked better, a little more lively, and your departure kiss was petal soft and full of conviction.  As it always was.

Nonetheless, when the door upstairs closed, he couldn’t help but wonder: what had you, his unwavering and steadfast soulmate, so terrified and uncertain?

You hadn’t expected the company after lunch but it was welcome nonetheless.  He settled behind you, finding the perfect spot on your neck.  Your body responded instantly and neither of you bothered to fully undress before he rocked into you, slow and languid.  Just when either of you drifted off, the other moved or twitched, starting up a series of thrusts all over again.

The goal wasn’t pleasure but you both came easily in tiny gasps and choked groans.  Neither of you moved after that, uncaring about the rest as sleep crept up on you.

It had taken everything in you not to ask why, of all things, Zandik had chosen that blueprint.  It was obvious what it was from the picture alone.  Pierro was to blame, really, for even passing it along.  No doubt the Tsaritsa confided in him about her finding, both of them under the impression that Zandik was already privy. 

No wonder he, too, was having a block of some kind.  He was creating something from an ancient blueprint that, to him, was utterly useless.  All to keep himself occupied while his brain idly attempted a remedy for something that…

You rubbed your face against the pillow for a second, willing yourself to relax.

Zandik was right.  A vacation was needed.  More than.

So much of Sumeru was an adjustment, both in the temperature and the culture.  You hadn’t even seen the desert yet, despite asking, but Zandik was adamant about never stepping foot out there again if he could help it.  You’d taken to everything just fine, except for the brief stop at the top of the Tree, where a little spout saw fit to mock.  

But when you pushed through the fog, you felt your heart tugging towards home.  Or rather, your old home.  Arguably, it could be said that you were home as long as the man next to you was there, but the sentiment didn’t quite fit at present.

Fontaine. It had been so long since you left, you’d lost track.  After burning Irminsul, you found yourself in Sumeru and never quite managed to go beyond the reaches of the land of Wisdom.  You heard numerous discoveries through letters and reports, from chatter in the city and from Zandik himself when he did, in fact, venture out for days at a time.  What was it the Tsaritsa mentioned on her last visit?  Something about Remuria, Petrichor’s successful growth now that old ruins surfaced again, visible from even Chenyun Vale?

Maybe a trip to the mainland could fit, too, if either of you wanted.  You would have to inquire about the Opera’s schedule of events.  Zandik had probably been to Fontaine, or a Segment had, but perhaps some remnants of the Research Institute would pique his interest.  This wasn’t just for you, after all.

And it might be the last excursion for a while, depending.

You pushed away the faint thought that came with a memory of a young sleeping boy in your lap years prior.

When Zandik finally stirred, you tangled your foot with his and pulled him back, earning yourself a hot gasp against your ear.

“There’s too much of a good thing, rooh’ albi ,” he teased.

You bit back a laugh, agreeing silently for a different reason.

“I was thinking,” you began, Zandik’s form enveloping you again.

“Always a good place to start.”

You shifted just so and the hand on your hip gripped tighter, squeezing you in silent warning.

“What if we went to Fontaine for a bit?  Perhaps to Petrichor, see the ruins of Rumeria?”

“You truly wish to see what the myth was like, whether it measures up to the tales?  It might be far less grand than what you grew up hearing,” Zandik countered.

“That’s not a proper reason not to see it,” you replied, turning your head to look at him out of the corner of your eye.  “In fact, I would argue that would be precisely the point.  It’s silly to not expand my knowledge of where I was born, even if that means it might not match the expectations set by millenia of epic tales.”

Zandik pulled you closer and settled back against you, burying his nose in your hair.  He’d been doing that every chance he had ever since that morning.  You’d done nothing to change your routine but the increased physical affection only managed to give way to doubt that perhaps you did a poor job hiding these last few weeks.

His lips found your earlobe, teeth grazing the soft flesh just enough to extract a sharp exhale from you.  Against your skin, he whispered, “Fontaine it is, then.”

Without the leylines, traveling from deep within Sumeru’s forests was half a day’s journey in and of itself.  You passed a grand palace on your way to Bayda Harbor, a hidden jewel that resembled something you might have once attempted in the dreamscape.

You heard the harbor before you saw it, a soft swelling of shouts and the hum of crane motors amid the usual bustle of port activity.  Over the hill, you caught a glimpse of colorful houses, their chimneys smoking, and the scent of cooked fish and fresh fruit wafted across the landscape.  Sparkling water came into view as the dirt path gave way to flagstone, iron railings sweeping down the curve of the path, guiding travelers down towards the main thoroughfare.

“Exponential growth since I was last here,” Zandik said, leaning close to be heard over the noise.  “Half of these buildings are new.  I remember when this had nothing more than the port authority and a three boat pier.”

He pointed to the sweeping curves of the building to your immediate left, one of the only buildings in pure Sumerian style.

The rest of the buildings were a jumbled array of styles, plaster and brick painted in soft colors with tiled roofs, a maze of stairs and outlooks carved into the very hills.  You got the impression that, no matter where one stood, they were privy to a unique and stunning view of the water and the land beyond.

Newly invigorated, you began to climb, mindful of your path as to remember the way down.  With all of your belongings packed neatly and only a hand’s wave away along with your weapons (Zandik determined that the void used was a pocket of the abyss and therefore unconnected to Irminsul), neither of you had to lug cases to the dock first and backtrack.  Some rules remained, regardless of Celestia, and you were thankful for their convenience.

Once you reached the top, where a white plaster building was perched and the scent of spiced meat trickled out through the open doorway, you finally dared let your eyes skim past the coastline.

Petrichor had been little more than a small remote island when you were a child.  Your last visit was short, a curated walk around the buildings and the festival square, with a history lesson about the power of music.  The cats were friendly and your entire class took turns trying to earn their favor when the tour guide’s back was turned.  Last you heard, the Traveler followed some keen treasure hunters and uncovered the entrance to the long-forgotten world trapped beneath the waves.

Nothing prepared you for the swelling aqueducts, rising spires, and the amphitheater that spanned most of the basin beneath the plateau. An entire civilization built on music, determined to defy the fate laid before them, exposed to the world once more.  Its very essence glittered under the late morning sun and all you could do was stare.

Fairytales held their grains of truth after all.

“I imagine this is what it felt like to lay eyes on that Ruin Golem for the first time and clamoring inside,” you said.  “All of the paintings about the myths were so very wrong .”

“It was said that no true civilizations were built in Fontaine for millenia; Gurabad grew and fell all before Remus’ arrival from Sumeru,” Zandik replied.  “Always a shocking perspective, how advanced some areas of the world became while others struggled with their environment.”

“Gurabad?”

“A story for another time.  I prefer not to discuss those expeditions when we are about to board a vessel upon which my inner ear will be displeased for most of the journey.”

You swallowed your own wave of nausea, a normality now, wishing you could commiserate properly.

Instead of returning the way you came, Zandik led you through the rest of the cliffside, through terraces and up and down small flights of stairs.  You came upon a better view of the amphitheater, which, from this angle, looked more akin to a large…transmitter.  There weren’t any seats, from what you could make out.

When you said as much to Zandik, he agreed and said, “It would not surprise me, given it was a land where music was central to its culture.”

Eventually, you made your way back down and boarded the small ferry to Petrichor, packed with people.  Zandik, of course, selected a secluded spot towards the back where there was relative privacy.  You weren’t certain if your nausea was aggravated by the smell of the fuel, or the boat’s movements, but you emptied your stomach in the first ten minutes of rocking waves.  Zandik was green in the face, quiet and leaning his forearms on the railing to focus on his breathing; you felt his eyes on you as you took a swig from your canteen to rinse your mouth, ridding yourself of the acrid taste.

“Small boats and I never agreed,” you said.  “Too little surface area.”

He stared at you a second longer than necessary, relenting only when you joked about getting sick so he didn’t have to.  You could see the gears turning in his mind out of the corner of your eye.  He knew.  There was no way he didn’t by now.  Even if the boat made for a good cover, he must have put all of the pieces together himself.

All of this was so silly.  He’d made the arrangements himself over the last week, determined to plan a trip that was bound to at least spark a chance for both inspiration and new memories.  Ambitious in its scope, you knew he put every forethought and afterthought into each choice from the length of time to the destination.  Your Zandik loved to plan, after all.  He’d muttered about needing to account for spontaneous variables but if he was nothing if not thorough.

For the rest of the short trip, the two of you discussed your itinerary in short fragments, distracting one another with the prospect of being on land again.  You would spend the rest of the day exploring Petrichor, getting a lay of the land, do Remuria’s ruins tomorrow (and the next, if it was needed), have one more day on the island, and then take the aquabus into Fontaine proper if you still needed time away. 

The ride concluded sooner than expected and the newly-constructed wooden pier gave way to a winding stone path up through Petrichor’s streets.  You couldn’t help but pause and stare.  The trees were the same, if a little weathered, the flowers and the grass seemingly frozen in time.  A once-grand Statue of the Seven laid not toppled but modified, Lady Focalors seated on the ground while Sir Neuvillette rose from a splash of waves behind her.  In comparison, Sumeru’s statues were toppled entirely at the behest of Kusanali herself, who no longer wanted to be separate from her people as an idolized leader.

Your eye tracked a few more buildings towards the coast, bigger and a little flashy.  It all paled in comparison to the ruins visible from the beach, their scale on par with Fontaine City itself.  Here, the very air seemed to hum with notes, like windchimes nudged by a breeze.  The longer you looked at the rising spires and sweeping aqueducts, the more prevalent the sounds became.  They were trying to form a song but when it was this disjointed, it was difficult to—

A hand on your waist and a whisper of your name snapped you out of your reverie.  Zandik’s garnet eyes searched your face before boring into your own for a second.

“Need I worry about you sleepwalking into the sea at the correct note wafting through the air?” he asked, sardonic.

“No.  It’s unusual, is all.  You hear it too?”

“Everyone can.  If you look, the spires are all different sizes, as if they’re—”

“Tuning forks,” you concluded.

Zandik nodded.  “We’ll adjust and our brains will likely sort out the sound in a few hours.  People would not be living here if it was that much of a nuisance.”

You could tell by the twitch of his lip that he had more he wanted to say but instead, he settled one hand on the small of your back, silently ushering you onwards.

It must have been the memories stirring up all of your energy; in the last few weeks, you never seemed as lively as you did now.  Every time your eyes laid on a building, you were full of tales of childhood fun and nostalgia.  You could seemingly trace a single brick with your eyes and have an entire moment come back to you with striking clarity.

Zandik wished he could say the same but perhaps it was for the best that his home village was no longer on any map.  As much as he wanted to reciprocate, he much more enjoyed the warm swelling in his chest at your smile and the way every cat you encountered bumped its head against your palm.  One went so far as to weave itself between his legs and yours, slowly blinking before it settled down for a nap near a flowerbed.

You were so often hidden behind a veil as of late.  Such moments were common for most, some temporary and others not, but his skin itched at the notion that something was amiss.  It had to be.  Even if it was a matter of neglecting your mental health as of late, at least it would be an answer.

But then there was the matter of the boat.

On the trip from Sumeru to Snezhnaya all those years ago, you had the smallest bout of nausea but quickly acclimated.  Like most, you adjusted perfectly fine; by comparison, the crystals in his inner ears never quite found the right angle and he suffered every time.

His second lamentation of burning Irminsul was the lack of leylines through which to travel freely.  An act he took for granted for centuries.

That you were compelled to be sick on such a small boat so quickly…

Unusual, to say the least.  Were you nauseous prior, he wondered.  If so, why?  You’d eaten nothing out of the ordinary and already long overcame the agony of caffeine withdrawal.

Zandik listened and watched your expression as you regalled him with a story about the bakery you were stopped in front of.  All the while, he felt the pressure around his ankles as another cat wove between them, purring so loudly he wondered if it was mechanical.  His trousers would be covered in fur by the time you reached the rented cottage and he made a mental note to acquire a lint roller as soon as convenient.

He watched you, bathed in the late afternoon sunlight, your eyes focused on the golden interior and drinking it all in again.

“We’ll have to stop by first thing in the morning, when everything is warm,” you said, turning back to him.  “I had the best brioche here.  There was a pâtisserie not too far, unless they moved…best desserts outside of Fontaine City…”

You continued to lead the way to the town square, small but full of garlands of flowers, where musical motifs were carved into stone pillars around the stage.  A gaggle of children ran past, one of them claiming to be God-King Remus in a theatre mask, another pretending to be Chief Justice Neuvillette, Melusine plushie in hand.  From what Zandik gathered, they were fighting over who was the rightful ruler of all of Fontaine.  They took to the miniscule stage, gesturing and making sound effects, captivating their entire audience.

A white cat with mismatching eyes presided over the performance, tail flicking occasionally.  It laid its eyes on you, blinking slowly once, before turning its attention back to the children.

He never had the time for such antics growing up.  Or rather, whenever he did try, he was too logical for the rest of his peers and supposedly ruined the fun.  That was before, of course, he grew smart enough to know how to build counter-arguments.  He had not yet returned to his parents with bruises and welts from stones at that point.

An experience he would never relate to.

But it was why Celestia’s downfall was so important.  No one would be subjected to a fate tied to a name, to a constellation, born to suffer.  All were equal.

Even the shy ones on the sidelines were included in the play-acting, less an audience and more stagehands and storytellers.

Zandik’s eyes fell to you, your gaze lost again for the briefest moment before you blinked.  The expression differed little from your time overseeing your students at the House of the Hearth, with a little fragment that escaped him.  Did you miss teaching?  Perhaps it was worthwhile to reach out to the Zubayr Theatre upon your return, to see if they needed an extra hand.

After all, you needed to have something else to call your own, not just your music.

“There were hardly any people here before,” you said as you left the square.  “Let alone children.  School visits were really the only time this place was filled with anything other than desolate silence, except for the cats.”

“They’re akin to their brethren from Sumeru, well-tended to and beloved by most,” Zandik observed.

The two of you finally reached the small house, nestled closer to the beach at the foot of the small rock formation.  At one end, a view of the glowing Harvisptokhm beyond the high mountains; the other bore a glittering view of bygone eras, gaps in the aqueducts glowing with strings of what the locals referred to as Ichor.

Late into the night, you watched the strings, waving a hand over them in mimicry of plucking them as you drifted off, humming a new motif to yourself.  

Some of his worries began to slip off of his shoulders as he held you tight, a sliver of your brightness finally within your grasp again.

The only thing keeping your fatigue at bay the next morning was the excitement to trek up the partial aqueduct to the Clivus Capitolinus, the entryway into the Domus Aurea and Sacellum Requietis.  It was there that the God King Remus gave his final orders and the Grand Symphony self-destructed, taking everyone with it.  Little survived the shattering of several sub-level-bubbles within Teyvat itself.  That Remuria rose from the sea was, perhaps, a final usurpation of the prophecy Remus fought so hard to defy.  

Or so the tour guide said.  You were still recovering from your trip to the viennoiserie for breakfast.  Your eyes were bigger than your stomach and you’d openly stared at Zandik’s coffee with intense longing.

The air here was fresh and cool, kissing your bare arms with a faint breeze.  You’d missed this.  In the deep jungles, the air was so moist and heavy, leaving you sticky on particularly humid days.  But here, you felt as if every breath was easy and clear.

You gave a side glance at Zandik.  He shrugged, letting go of your hand just enough to shake his own in a so-so gesture.  The guide wasn’t wrong, then, just inaccurate.

The bronze aqueduct was full, it turned out, of the Golden Ichor that made up its harp-like strings.  It was only when the role the Ichor played was brought into the narrative by the guide that you paused and properly looked at the shimmering liquid.  

Putting memories and souls into bodies of metal was part of the legend but the Ichor was thought to have been long since lost or merely a mechanism for the tale.  Seeing it now, before you, only managed to ground the dawning realization that others achieved a system not unlike the one Zandik had.  And Remus had done it long before Celestia’s rule.

He must have sensed your train of thought, for he chuckled softly upon seeing your fixated gaze.  

“It’s little more than Primordial Water mixed with what other legends call a Philosopher’s Stone.  Pierro would call it something else but it’s the very pinnacle of alchemic achievements,” Zandik murmured.  “Both materials are archaic and do not take erosion into account.”

The Segments were a part of the past, long gone.  He rarely, if ever, spoke about them beyond a longing for more hands.  

“Is that your way of saying you did it better?” you teased.

He shot you a warning smirk.  “How foolish, rooh’ albi.  My work speaks for itself.”

You continued on, ears perking up at the description of Capitolium as a paradise overflowing with beautiful melodies.  When you reached the summit, your eyes traced a soaring and sweeping structure reaching for the sky; Domus Aurea, King Remus’ palace.  You wondered briefly if pipe organs were based on what little Fontainians knew of their predecessors.  The towering copper pillars glinted in the sun, winking at those who stared up at them.

The interior made the Library of Daena back in the Akademiya seem like a playpen.  Copper everywhere, except the stone floors, Ichor flowing through every free inch and only adding to the majesty.  The acoustics were impeccable, providing a means by which a speaker could address an audience with ease and shapes for soundwaves to flow and encapsulate listeners.

You came across a small crossroads on the way down to the Sacellum Requietis and grabbed Zandik’s arm when the tour guide glossed over the perfect tiles on the ceiling.  Your soulmate paused and he, too, began to look around, wondering just what caught your eye.

“Go stand over there,” you whispered, pointing to a corner diagonally from you.

Zandik’s red eyes lingered on you, narrow in their curiosity.  You nudged him gently before he complied and stood in the corner, facing you.  

You gestured for him to turn around, and when he did, you shifted and whispered into the corner in front of you.  What you said was of little consequence but when you heard Zandik’s reply as clear as day, you felt a wild surge of satisfaction.

“The low arches and the curve here allow the sound to travel and follow the arches perfectly,” you whispered.  “This entire crossway could be packed but two people would be able to get messages to each other easily as if they were right next to each other.”

“Exceptional eyes.  The material must matter, though.  And the distance.  Too close and the individuals might as well just turn around.”

You grinned and whispered one last message that left Zandik’s cheeks burning as you returned to his side.  It earned you a graze of his teeth on the shell of your ear and a threat he intended to make good on later.  He would, you had no doubt.

Continuing along, you caught up with the rest of the group.  As you reached the Sacellum Requietis ,all sound immediately perished.  A beautiful amphitheater, silent as a grave, you imagined ancient performances in honor of the Grand Symphony, of Phobos.  The tragedy of the very harmony that glued Remuria together was not only in its attempt to subvert the fate written for its people but that in order to do so, it needed to absorb their souls in the process.  Its corruption came from those it was meant to save.

Acoustically, the structure was undoubtedly perfect for containing and enveloping audiences in waves upon waves of sweet notes.  You strained in the silence, trying to hear anything other than the hushed whispers of the fellow tour-goers and the guide.  Distantly, you could make out a faint ringing, its pitch changing as the breeze whispered by.

As you descended into the center, your eyes trailed up towards the spires surrounding the arena.  If you turned your head, the ringing seemed to have an origin point in one direction or another.  Somehow, though, you doubted they were only tuning forks.  They were too tall, too narrow to do more than provide a faint hint of a note.  Not quite a transistor in function, either.

You stepped up to the podium, where the God King would have given his final command, and closed your eyes.

Like every leader that came before, Remus only wanted to protect his people, you mused.  All it took was one dissonant note amid the harmony he intended for it to all go wrong…

You swallowed, hands gripping the stone stand where the sheetmusics made of souls would have once made its home.  In the depths of your heart, you heard an agonizing dirge, felt the pressure of the sea beginning to encroach, ready to swallow an entire era and its mistakes along with it.  

Change was a constant and perfection was the antithesis of it.  Did Remus realize that, in the end?  Was he terrified of failing his people?

What was it Zandik had said all those years ago?  And we must change, mustn’t we?  Otherwise we give in to what is laid before us.

Your hand pulsed.  Opening your eyes, you blinked slowly before you craned your neck back and shielded your gaze.  A flock of seagulls soared nearby and the clouds still floated, crisp against the bright blue sky.  You turned your attention back to the stage to find Zandik examining the remnants of golden bees, completely enamored with the prospect of a creature no longer in existence.

Regardless of whether Celestia still loomed overhead or not, you would feel the same, suffer the same block.  This wasn’t just about you, what your body would endure, but everything that laid between you and Zandik.  What was the point of building it all, if not to face a curve in the road together ?

Already, you felt the notes beginning to weave themselves together, a marriage of the first two acts culminating in the creation of a brand new tune.  Slow, tentative, and then picking up the tempo again…

You scribbled notations on napkins at lunch and tried to keep yourself from humming.  Inevitably, you let a few notes slip before the day was out, earning you a quizzical stare before bed.  It took everything in you not to blurt out your breakthrough but to do so would ruin everything.  He so often graced you with creations and you wanted to do the same.

“I missed hearing you captivated,” was all Zandik said.

It held more weight in your heart than he knew.

The gnawing frustration in the pit of his stomach was beginning to wear him down.  His patience would hold until you returned home but by then, he would have a comprehensive methodology in place to test for various illnesses.  Zandik was never one to settle and leave an issue be, not when it came to your wellbeing.

He could forgive your desire to curb caffeine, considering the rebound and withdrawal migraines were agony.  Your fatigue could be mental as much as physical.  Same could be said for some of the dietary changes you made recently.  

But when you leaned over to kiss him the morning after the visit to the ruins, Zandik could not get his mind off of the way you smelled .  Just…in general.  Beneath the scent of the new soap during the stay and the hint of salt water, there was a shift in your own chemical composition.  Similar to the fluctuations you normally endured yet stronger, more potent.  It stirred a strange visceral reaction in the recesses of himself he was still trying to unravel and he couldn’t get enough of it.

It was the only logical thing that stood between him and the conclusion you were not disastrously ill.  He knew the smell of death and disease.  Neither came close to you.

Today, you decided, was best spent in Petrichor itself and among the people.  Already, you seemed to have more color in your cheeks and life in your eyes, although your attention seemed almost wistful at times when you thought he wasn’t looking.  Previously, such an expression had an edge of sorrow in it, but whatever resonated with you in Remuria had done its job: you were hard at work, thinking of combinations and patterns that were invisible and silent to all but you.

The first stop of the morning after breakfast was the bookshop near the square, specializing specifically in sheet music, history of various instruments and musical theory, with the smallest section of general interest.  Zandik browsed the theory section after pressing a kiss to your forehead and wishing you a successful journey; your smile might as well have bundled the sun itself and tucked it into his gut, the way excitement exuded from you.

Zandik picked a few tomes and settled into the cafe nook towards the front of the store.  He knew the rush of a new idea and the fixation that came with it all too well.  But too much, too fast, and you might burn yourself out before it was finished.  After everything that happened, you did not deserve to flicker out like a dying star.

Although he tried to delve into a collection of various theaters and performance halls, and a comparison of their layouts for acoustics and which provided the richest sound, your joyous exclamation tore his attention away.

“A full collection of recreated compositions!” you held up your find like a hunter with a prized rabbit as you approached.  “All of these are based on the music box the Traveler found!”

Your eyes practically glittered with stardust, the way excitement illuminated your face.  How long had it been since you last looked at him, at anyone, like that, Zandik mused.  What plagued your soul in such a fashion that made these moments rare occurrences as of late?

He watched as you returned to the bookseller charged with opening shift, your enthusiasm met with understanding nods and additional questions.  From here, the sun hit your hair perfectly but it wasn’t the star in the sky that made your entire being exude such brilliance.  There was, of course, something to be said about the return of one’s demeanor and true capacity, but this…

It was as if you had a renewed lease on life itself, unfettered, your mind having worked through something in the Sacellum Requietis.  Zandik leaned back in his chair, thoughtful.

Possible.  It was always a possibility, although not necessarily probable .  Besides, everyone exhibited differently.  Would explain most of your symptoms.  And the enigmatic smile the Tsaritsa had given on her visit.  Surely you trusted a physician in addition to a mere Archon’s sentiments?

If that was the cause.  Speculation would do little good without further evidence and a proper blood test.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t entertain the thought, though.  From that perspective, he allowed the train of logic to continue, and envisioned the blueprint tacked to his workshop wall, faded and illegible.  What would a collection of thin metal arms be good for?  Not strong enough to function as a claw, too light for a set of windchimes to dangle.  But there was a motor, and a little soundbox attached…Pierro’s stilted slap on the shoulder made far more sense in this context…

By the time you were finished, and paid for the large armful of bound compositions, Zandik was already used to the notion of laughter and shouts in the background, wide eyes and an excitement for the world, all a layer to your music while he worked.

You would tell him when you were ready, he knew.  Just as you would anything else.  He couldn’t help but let his gaze rest on you periodically after he took your purchases and tucked them under one arm, your hand safely in his free one.  Mindlessly, he brushed his thumb over your knuckles, the size and pattern of them memorized long ago.

“What, do I have something on my face?” you asked, catching his gaze.

Zandik took the time to trace his eyes over your brows, your eyes and cheeks, the tip of your nose, and your welcoming lips.  Not a detail out of place.  He let go of your hand long enough to brush away stray hairs, which were immediately taken by the morning breeze.

“Let’s keep going, shall we?”

The rest of the trip was a complete blur wrapped up in sunny days and relaxing evenings, productive even if it meant lounging on the hotel balcony and watching the remains of the Research Institute from a distance.

In the end, you settled on visiting the mainland, too; you were already halfway there, after all.  It was Zandik’s turn to fill your luggage with more blueprints and parts and you watched as he disassembled a wind-up frog powered by a tiny Pneuma cell.  Both of you spent a whole evening craned over a table of gears and tiny arms as he put it back together as if by memory.

He was never far from reach.

And your resolve only settled further.

You were filled with what you could only describe as a new sense of self, cradling the fear that once gripped you the same way one might hold a baby boarshroom: tender and with care.  It found company amid excitement and happiness and hope.  Although movement was still a long while off, your stomach flipped itself into tangles as you returned home and began assembling all of the sections you created while away.  

Once or twice, you spotted Zandik out of his workshop, ears stuffed with cotton on the days you were playing; when you questioned him, he gave some answer about the air pressure difference getting to him and that he would hear your music when you intended to share it.  In turn, he was equally cagey about keeping his workbench covered and asked you to flick the lights at the top of the stairs first if you insisted on coming down.  He had been practically vibrating all the way back from Fontaine after a visit to a mechanical artisan and, much like yourself, could not wait to channel renewed energy.

You completed the final bar in the early hours of the afternoon within a week of your return, more than satisfied.  Zandik, in turn, proclaimed his finishing touches were done some hours later that very day.  If fate were still a presence in the world you knew now, you would have allowed it to lay claim to the coincidence once upon a time.  He forbid you from entering one of the few extra rooms, distracting you with teasing kisses until you all but forgot about the possibility of what laid beyond.

That evening after dinner, you handed an envelope to Zandik, its edges flattened to oblivion from running your nails along them.  You half-expected his nimble fingers to pull out the top flap but he merely examined it and then gave you his undivided attention as you settled in and took up your usual position.  The Cryo panels of your cello’s body were a familiar form against your knees, a solid comfort you could rely on to help convey the sentiments words could not.  

With your back to the large pane of windows and sunset providing you light, you dove through the first two movements.  The third began as it always had, the beginning of the end that circled around and offered a clean slate for all.  Slow and tenuous, plucks of curiosity and drags of uncertainty, winding themselves into a motif that pulled from the first movement, and then the second, forming a new pattern that made your rib cage rattle every time you played it.  The approach was literal, too on the nose perhaps, but it was accurate.  You had allowed yourself to delve into the slow and stilted structure from before the trip and proceeded to drag it out, mold it, and bring in some of the bars from a recovered Remurian symphony.  Upon first hearing it, you imagined the lapping of waves and desire for a future safe from destruction, where more than just life itself could prosper.  

You allowed the last note to hang, counting before you pressed your hand to the strings to still them.  

Your audience of one had tucked the envelope into his shirt pocket and closed his garnet eyes.  He wasn’t sleeping, although his breathing was steady; an idle hand played at the air above his knee, his mind seeking the patterns you presented and working to unravel them.  Quietly, you settled your cello into its stand and padded over to him.  You took his other hand, still and resting in his lap, and laid it flat against your abdomen, the heat of his palm searing through your clothing.

Slowly, Zandik opened his eyes, blinked, and then flexed his fingers.

“Quite a gift,” he whispered.

“One that warrants a lengthy discussion and decisions.”

His hand, once tracing your composition, found your bow hand and pressed it to his lips, his breath kissing every inch of your scars.

“I already have mine.  Come.”

Legs trembling, you followed him through the living room and upstairs to the door he previously barred your entry from.  Words failed and instead you swallowed, silently staring at him, your question heavy in the air.  Zandik merely leaned forward to unlatch the door and push it open, nodding his head to direct you inside.

This room was always sparse, little more than an obligatory guest room used occasionally for storage.  It never held more than a bed to begin with but your heart lurched at the device hanging from the ceiling.  Charms and trinkets spun idly, a star and a music note among them.  You stepped into the room and brushed your fingers over the arms, watching it spin.

You turned back to Zandik, lips quivering and eyes burning.  He closed the distance between you and reached up, finding a winding key with ease and twisting it thrice before he nudged you back.  You watched as the arms slowly spun, all the while, a familiar tune played softly.  As the rest of the music played out, you nestled yourself against Zandik, the final scratches of anxiety falling away.

“We did not come this far only to not see what laid outside of a fated existence,” he murmured.  “I have my own trepidations but I am intrigued by the possibilities presented.  However, if you feel—”

“I knew that day standing on the conductor’s podium that I wanted this.  Us,” you replied.  “And I can think of nothing more worthy of the future we’ve carved for ourselves.”

Zandik buried his face in the crook of your neck.  Once again, you pulled one of his hands and pressed it to your lower stomach, intertwining your fingers over his in a new, silent promise.

[screamingcrows]

Crow's partner addition: "I'm sure Kaeya would have gotten a prince albedo as well"

Rewritten list of piercings for characters:

Belly button: I think I saw glassrowboat say they think Baizhu had one, but it got infected when he was sick/ Serval/ Acheron has one but lost the piercing/ Mualani

Eyebrow: Gaming (this is canon)/ Luka/ Guinaifen/ Yoimiya/ Silver Wolf

Nose: Sushang (she got pressed into it by Guin and has never worn it again)/ Kinich/ Rosaria (was forced to take it out)

Lips: Hutao/ Heizou

Nipples: Yelan/ Zhongli/ Nigguang/ Kaeya (he lost a bet to Lisa)/ Ayato/ Jade

Pussy: Yae/ Navia / Himeko/ Kafka

Dick: Dottore (obvi)/ Wrio/ Boothill (before he was a cyborg)

Multiple: Rappa/ Xinyan/ Sampo/ Itto

Absolutely wheezing at Kaeya having lost a bet, real question is: did Lisa then do the piercing?

[screamingcrows]

Rewritten list of piercings for characters:

Belly button: I think I saw glassrowboat say they think Baizhu had one, but it got infected when he was sick/ Serval/ Acheron has one but lost the piercing/ Mualani

Eyebrow: Gaming (this is canon)/ Luka/ Guinaifen/ Yoimiya/ Silver Wolf

Nose: Sushang (she got pressed into it by Guin and has never worn it again)/ Kinich/ Rosaria (was forced to take it out)

Lips: Hutao/ Heizou

Nipples: Yelan/ Zhongli/ Nigguang/ Kaeya (he lost a bet to Lisa)/ Ayato/ Jade

Pussy: Yae/ Navia / Himeko/ Kafka

Dick: Dottore (obvi)/ Wrio/ Boothill (before he was a cyborg)

Multiple: Rappa/ Xinyan/ Sampo/ Itto

Absolutely wheezing at Kaeya having lost a bet, real question is: did Lisa then do the piercing?

[screamingcrows]

It’s me, your local massive fucking idiot

[screamingcrows]

have you seen the newest hoyofair by any chance...

The trailer for it? Oh yeah. Ooooooh yeah. Yeah I saw... Saw it and [hoyoverse forcefully removes me from the internet]

[screamingcrows]

I was actually electrocuted today at work!

But don't worry, nothing ~shocking~ happened!😃

(My stupid ass touched a cable when we were closing and my hand got zapped.)

pffft zap zap

[screamingcrows]

Snezhnaya's most controversial scientific publication

Tags/warnings: nsfw in the way a national geographic documentary is, absolute crack, segment incest, near noncon, non graphic violence mention, implied cannibalism

Note: I feel like an absolute mad lad. Please read the appendix as well guys.

Minors do not interact

"The Jester requested that I make public some of my research to dismiss concerns among the populace - a ridiculous demand."

"But, Doctor, we can't just.. Do we even have anything that wouldn't be dangerous?"

What was The Jester thinking? To make such a demand during an already busy period.

Dottore waved a dismissive hand, clearly having to restrain himself from letting further venom into his words, "We do not. Which is why you are relieved of your duties for the next week. Figure something out. I don't care about the contents, make it harmless and get it published."

You blinked at him, well aware that you must look like a fish struggling to breathe. With a tight jaw, you lowered your head in acceptance, already mourning all the extra hours you'd have to put in to catch up next week.

Well. If he doesn't care, why not make it interesting? As The Regrator said; sex sells.

Courtship and mating behaviours observed in Duplicare Dottorensis

Note that full taxonomic classification remains unclear as the class this species belongs to remains a heated topic for debate. The scientific community is in agreeance that the species belongs to one of the classes within the phylum 'chordata'.

Though asexual reproduction is speculated to occur most frequently - the exact process has yet to be observed, but bears some resemblance to that of some single celled organisms - fully matured individuals have been seen partaking in behaviour interpreted as courting.

As this species is rumored to exhibit an unrivalled level of variety in the strategies they employ to secure a mate, this study aimed to monitor a population and document every observed strategy. By doing so, the authors hope to quell the countless rumors currently circulating and causing unrest.

By employing a variety of techniques including, but not limited to; usage of subdetection units, combing through historical records, eye-witness accounts, and catching and marking select individuals, this document attempts to provide a detailed account of behavior associated with sexual reproduction.

Pacify with food

A younger segment, around the age at which The Doctor was still a student (~20), was watched closely for three days after exhibiting a strange shift in behavior. During feeding time, he would sneak off to the kitchens and, while staff was unaware, pocket scraps and spares of various foods. Strangely enough, he seemed to gravitate towards dishes that wouldn't require utensils, but instead take a bit of time to prepare and eat (various fruits that would have to first be peeled seemed to be a preference, although desserts also held his interest).

On the third day, he spent nearly two hours trying to wrap the bounty up neatly, cursing the entire time. Once satisfied with the - in our opinion rather crude - wrapping, he singled out Prime's partner going about their routine and approached carefully. Once he was within range and had their attention, he placed down the 'gift' and gave it a little kick before backing off. While they were opening it, he continued to hover around them, preferring to stay behind while continuously checking how far with unwrapping they were.

When he finally gained the courage to shorten the distance, the gift was fully unwrapped and inspected, yet they made no move to start eating. This seemed to cause the young individual a great amount of discomfort as he promptly turned and fled the room. (1)

Non-violent display of physical prowess

Another, slightly older (~25), segment exhibits drastically increased confidence compared to the younger version. By employing bribery and coercion, this version (believed to have been created to emulate the mindset of The Doctor shortly after attaining his title) recruited several other segments, all younger than himself, and spent about a week putting them through rigorous training.

This took place in a secluded room, often during the late evening or at night, and would go on for about two hours per session. We were lucky enough to have already installed a surveillance device in this room, meaning we had access to large amounts of video material (send an inquiry to The Doctor if you wish to gain access).

The segment of interest would instruct the younger ones to accompany him in an elaborate routine with his weapon, seemingly having them act as 'backing' to further highlight his superiority. The youngest of the group would be seated atop a table and simply observe, possibly standing in for the role of a prospective mate. (2)

Rough displays of physical prowess

As it quickly turned out, the above display is only utilised by a minority of the segments at that age. By far, the most frequently observed behaviour among segments of The Doctor's early days as a harbinger would be attempting to establish dominance.

While segments frequently engage in discussions and even loud arguments, these had a tendency to derail - sometimes to the point of violence - in the presence of Prime's partner.

During our period of monitoring, a total of 27 heated arguments took place in the presence of Prime's partner with all of them devolving to personal insults, 15 to minor acts of violence, and two of them escalating to the point of both segments being deactivated temporarily to undergo repairs. (3)

Occasionally, older segments were prone to display this behavior as well, but preferred to argue with Prime instead of fellow segments. This made for an interesting discovery, as younger segments would use these periods of distraction to attempt sneakily approaching Prime's partner. By keeping an eye on the argument taking place, the younger segments could time their attempted courtship and escape before neither Prime nor the older segment could discover what was happening. (4)

The impersonal approach

While only a single segment was observed to display this behaviour, it was still deemed essential to include due to the objective of this paper as well as the particular segment's relative importance.

The Omega segment, recognised as the most arrogant segment (and seeing himself as superior to the rest, the bastard) took a much more subdued approach to courting Prime's partner. During the daytime, Omega let himself into Prime's quarters - the author managed to sneak in behind him - and searched around for a brief moment.

Once he'd located a drawer of interest, Omega proceeded to rid himself of the lower half of his outfit, revealing (to the author's surprise) what appeared to be a fully functioning reproductive organ. Even more surprising were the subsequent actions, as Omega then detached this part, gave it a quick rinse, and placed it in the drawer.

Looking awfully satisfied with himself, the segment left Prime's quarters. The content of the drawer were confirmed to be a selection of toys. (5)

The unapologetic approach

Interestingly, segments older than Omega displayed the same levels of detachment from the copulation itself, but adopted a more direct approach to guarantee their succes.

This culminated in a confrontation when a segment assessed as middle-aged brought Prime's partner into the vivisection room. The segment in question had been observed tinkering with a vial of milky fluid and a device for automated injection, likely its own design.

Upon leading Prime's partner inside, the usually mild-tempered segment proceeded to forcefully restrain the other, strapping them down on the table. (At this point, the author was following events closely and alerted Prime).

The segment stripped Prime's partner and proceeded to carefully disinfect their abdomen while seemingly debating if a sedative was necessary. Upon picking up the delivery for injection and letting the sharp tip rest against their skin, the segment was interrupted by Prime breaking open the door.

Though no harm came to his partner, the segment received a rough scolding and was promptly sent to Liyue to check on a minor operation there. (6)

Minimal risk approach

The most baffling display was, by far, the strategy employed by some of the older segments. At first, their behaviour was written off as irrelevant to this study, but a chance discovery unveiled their cunning scheme.

During or after the fights between younger segments, described earlier, these segments would single out ones that looked interested in joining the fight but hadn't, or approach the loser afterwards. Under a false guise of kindness, they would then offer to teach the younger segment how to approach Prime's partner, claiming that they themselves "weren't interested, but sees no reason to not help".

This would in nearly all instances end in some form of sexual activity during which the older segment would discreetly tinker with the other segment's leyline connection. To figure out the purpose of this, one of the older segments were approached and questioned on the topic.

Apparently, the process finetunes the connection between the two segments, allowing for a period of time where they can - if they've discovered how to access it - feel on their own body what happens to the other. This usually lasts around a week, and the older segment will then sit back and simply wait. If the younger segment manages to engage in mating with Prime's partner, the older segment will be able to feel every part of the pleasure, while risking none of the repercussions of being discovered by Prime. (7)

Long term investment

Though initially outside the scope of this study, it was impossible to avoid observing Prime himself interacting with his partner. As such, it was decided that his behaviour would serve as an interesting reference, as he is the sum over time of the segments.

Prime is, perhaps unsurprisingly, much more relaxed about courting his partner, likely because he does not feel threatened by the segments. Still, it was noted that Prime would at times discard his work to enter his private workspace. Upon leaving, he would head straight for their shared quarters before returning to his scheduled work again.

When questioned, his partner immediately realised what I was referring to and invited me into their quarters (stating that they found it humorous to include Prime in this). Upon entry, they began showing off various gadgets, drawings, and trinkets, some of them elaborate and others of a simpler nature, stating that they could hardly mention any contraption that would make their life easier without Prime returning with it a few days later.

They also showed decorative pieces made by Prime as well as a few pieces of jewellery, explaining that his hands were always busy with something, and that often resulted in little gifts. Interestingly, the vast majority of these gifts wouldn't be announced by him, but simply placed where his partner would notice, and when questioned, he usually just shrugs. (8)

Conclusion

Though many different strategies for courting were observed, it still remains unclear if they are constrained to different ages. Setting up such experiments would be the next logical step.

If this is representative of how Prime courted at different stages of his life, then the author would love to know how on Teyvat he managed to land a partner???

Declaration of conflict of interest

The author of this paper is employed by The Doctor but ensures he had no influence on data collection, analysis, or writing. Furthermore, the author is aware of their bias regarding segment Omega (take the credit for my findings one more time, and I'll break that artificial dick of yours).

Appendix

(1) In many species of arachnids, the male risks being cannibalised when approaching a female to mate. For this reason, he brings a nupital gift, most often consisting of food in hopes of distracting the female while he mounts her. Some males will stuff their woven packages with not only food, but inedible scraps as well, to increase the size. There are examples (Latrodectus hasselti) where the male will willingly wriggle in front of the female to tempt her into eating him. This supposedly increases his paternity compared to males that don't sacrifice themselves. (2) The blue manakin (Chiroxiphia caudata) performs a courtship dance for the female. The male is backed by several younger males (they jump over each other on branches while moving sideways) and does various movements to display his health. The dance ends with the male swooping over to the female where he waits for her decision. The birds spend a good amount of time on practice, and will have a young male stand in for a female during these trial runs. It's incredibly fun to watch videos of. (3) Members of the Cervidae (deer) family have bucks going through ruts, during which they become increasingly aggressive. While fighting over females, the bucks will occasionally get their antlers stuck - either in its surroundings or tangled with another buck's antlers - in cases where the buck is unable to free themselves, they may starve. (4) Mirounga spp. (elephant seals) employ 'sneaky' behaviour during breeding seasons. An alpha male will establish a territory to protect and lure females in to establish a harem. Smaller beta males will often wander around along the edges of these territories and observe the alpha. A beta male might attempt to fight the alpha for the rights to the territory, and during this time, younger males might sneak past the two fighting to mate. The beta male will also sometimes wait for the alpha to be busy copulating and then try his luck in the other end of the territory. (5) Argonauta spp. (paper nautili, a genus of octupuses) has a funky way of mating. Males are around a tenth of the size of a female and only capable of mating once in their life. They approach the female, inserting a specialised arm (hectocotylus) into the female (the pallial cavity) and then proceeds to detach the arm from his own body. Fun facts; when the hectocotylus was originally observed in females, it was assumed to be a parasitic worm. Live males have yet to be observed in the wild. (6) Some beetles, such as the Hydrophilidae family (water scavenger beetles) will mount a female and pierce her abdomen with his reproductive organ. In this particular family of beetles, the female must consent and lower herself, but that is not the case for all beetles. (7) Drakaea glyptodon, along with many other orchids, have developed a distinct leaf known as the 'labellum' (commonly called the 'lip') to better attract pollinators. This labellum is specifically modified to resemble females of the orchid's selected pollinator (in this case a species of thynid wasp). Most orchids have few or just a single pollinator (there's a cool example of an orchid whose pollinator is extinct and we only know it from the shape of the labellum, the plant is Ophrys apifera has since developed self-pollination but retains the labellum). Once an insect has been lured to attempt mating with the labellum and thus lands on the orchid, some pollen will be slapped onto it and it then carries that pollen along to the next orchid that tricks it into landing. (8) Members of the family Ptilonorhynchidae (bowerbirds) construct elaborate structures to impress a female. These bowers will also be decorated using a plethora of items, all of them carefully selected based on colour preference of the individual species. Items typically include fruits, stones, shells, flowers, and feathers. Some species have also been observed to place these items in a way that essentially creates an optical illusion, making the male and his crafted bower appear larger and more impressive.

[screamingcrows]

I'm so glad you're back. I had a mini heart attack after seeing your blog being blank. I thought your account had been nuked by Tumblr. Anyway, I hope your day is going well.💕

-Caprisun urethrae anon

aaaa this is so sweet >< Just me taking a little crow rest hehe~ Hope you're having a good day as well!

[screamingcrows]

I sent an ask about what genshin/hsr characters I think have piercings. So yes, it was piercing anon

devastated that it was eaten, it should've been [redacted] getting eaten

[screamingcrows]

wait yae has one down there, too

Over the two days this has been in my inbox, I've deduced two things; 1. You're probably piercing anon 2. There must've been a part one to this that my inbox ate xD

[screamingcrows]

₊ ˙ ⊹ . 𝓛𝒂𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒓𝒚 𝒓𝒐𝒐𝒎. SUNDAY ₊ ˙ ⊹ .

₊ ˙ ⊹ . a hotel maid and the young head of the oak family? with such affair, you two need to hide and crumple the laundry that you will have to clean again.

ৎ୭ — · · 2.8k ノ fem reader — possible dubcon or noncon warning because he ignores your request once or twice — implied that both agreed to ‘free use’ dynamic. slight pain. forced discomfort. overstimulation. restraint — tying wrists with a belt. secret affair. hiding the relationship. controlling behaviour. cumming inside. assume there is some sort of protection ノ reposted from my old blog, so pre-playable sunday!

The room smells of detergent, a pleasant freshness of imaginative flowers and meadows, though it’s thick and damp from the opened doors of the washing machines.

Your clothes are soaked through with sweat from the heavy and stuffed air, a sign that the day was long and laborious. The usual of the hotel maid, always running errands and exhausting yourself even though all you had to do today was just to fold these clothes and towels, and sheets, and handkerchiefs… All done neatly and put into categorised baskets.

The dim lamps cast a cappuccino-coloured light, scattering in the subtle fog of moisture until you can’t see much apart from your hands on the perfectly white fabrics.

However, your peace doesn’t last forever. It seems Sunday has been following you not so long ago, for his scent is filling your nose like an expensive perfume as he walks up behind you. You don’t need to turn around to know who it is, so you remain hunched over the pile of linens in front of you.

“Don’t bother looking at me, dove.” He orders coldly, and you freeze where you are standing. “Finish folding these up first, will you?”

You exhale deeply, but there’s no room for you to object. With quick movements of your arms and precise turns of your wrists, you continue working, but it’s getting difficult as he hugs you tighter. He buries his face into the back of your neck, leaving lazy kisses that send shivers down your spine. His touch burns through your uniform.

As he palms your hip, he adds more force to his hold and pulls you against him until you feel how hard he already is.

“I can’t believe we have to hide in the laundry room to spend time together, angel… I wish I could just take you to my apartment,” he whispers quietly between planting kisses along the side of your throat. His voice is soft yet impatient. He speaks words as if they were prayers, his lips worshipping you with each word. “I long for the comfort of your body. Everything else is so stressful.”

Sunday leans in so close now that he feels your shoulders stiffen a bit before relaxing again as his gentle palms keep massaging your sides and hips. However, despite what his tongue whispers in your ears, your heart skips a beat as soon as he locks the doors shut with one hand.

You’re trapped here now. He isn’t planning to let you go anytime soon.

His mouth travels into your hair, breathing hot against your sensitive scalp, which sends an unexpected wave of pleasure to the very bottom of your stomach. His fingertips slide across your thighs, and your hands tremble against the damp towel you just picked up to fold it once more.

Slowly he unties your apron from behind, fingers touching and fumbling around your waist longer than necessary, as if trying to make sure he missed no single spot that belongs to you.

With how distracted you’re getting, you finally give up on folding the towels any further. It’s futile. The cotton soft strands of his fluffy locks tickle your exposed skin until you squirm and yelp in his hold as he disrobes you piece by piece, the dewy air sticking to your skin like a layer of unspoken desires.

“What would happen if anyone finds out, hmm?” You breathe softly, trying to look calm. You shift slightly. “Your reputation could be tarnished forever.”

“Perhaps,” he admits. You hear the rustling of clothes, and you realise he’s pulling out his belt. Then there’s silence in the room aside from the droning rumble of the machines and the sounds of your overlapping breaths.

“That doesn’t scare you?” you whisper, even quieter, a bit concerned about being caught or something happening to him. But the moment Sunday twists your arm behind your back to tie your hands with the strip of leather, it becomes quite obvious that he is the last person you should ever worry about.

“I think I prefer having my image dirtied than going mad without you for another day.”

With a gentle push of his hand between your shoulder blades, he bends you against the counter, the collision soft and lovely thanks to all the towels. You lay your cheek on them, still warm and damp after the laundry. You don’t mind though, since it smells good.

But that smell doesn’t stay in your head for too long as he taps your ass, grabbing and squeezing the cheeks between his desirous palms. Even though you’re used to this type of play, your hips sway in surprise, and you inhale sharply, biting on the edge of your lower lip to muffle out any sounds, just in case.

The excitement rises gradually as his fingers roll down your pantyhose to the middle of your thighs, patting and fondling the flesh, spreading your ass apart just to glide between your hot folds.

Curiously, you watch him from a discomforting angle take the alabaster white glove in his teeth, pulling by the expensive fabric just to free his hand, now elegantly swiping thumb up and down your core, sending tremors up your legs.

He traces your clit up and down until the glide is smooth, slippery — skin glistening in the dull light. Your toes curl in your shoes in anticipation, and there’s an ache in your abdomen as he gives you only small caresses instead of taking you just as roughly as he spoke about it.

The tension in his grip tells you he’s just as fed up with teasing, yet his fingers continue their soft journey along your neck, sliding over the thin threads of your baby hair, grazing over your ear. His breath is hot and shallow on your sensitive nape, sending a thrill through your body.

Then, finally, you feel his erection rub along the opening of your core, smearing in your essence as his other hand clutches on your tied wrists in one palm, holding you firmly down.

“S-Sunday, please… nngh! Do whatever you want with me…” You mewl quietly against the frotte towel you are bent over, but he immediately stops humping into your wetness, growing tense for a split second. You shiver when you feel the cold of his rings trail under your jaw as he forces you to meet his eyes.

“I’m doing what I want, dove. Be quiet,” he breathes above your parted mouth, leaving a quick peck before pushing your head into the plushy cloths. Your bodies lock into each other perfectly as he enters you in one smooth thrust, sheathing himself fully inside.

With a shudder and cry, you take him whole, barely spreading wide to let him in. Both of you exhale with satisfaction.

“M-mmh! I know you’ve been waiting for it, but, Sunday, ah—!” You grunt between his deep lunges. “You gotta give me time to adjust, or you’re gonna ruin me…”

He moans breathlessly, watching where he sinks into you as if he needed reassurance that you weren’t just some hallucination he’s making up to relieve his stress.

“Good,” he says and smiles as you gasp in mild protest.

The squelching and slapping noises that follow along with his desperate groans make you burn, and your walls pulse around his cock. So satisfied, he watches how your folds tighten and ripple around his girth as he snaps forward, diving into your heat as it gives in under the pressure. He grips on your wrists, not tightly enough to leave a mark. Every time you feel him dragging along your insides, your thighs quiver, threatening to give up if not for your tummy resting on the counter.

All the energy drained from your hard work makes you weak and vulnerable as he pounds you just to sculpt you into his shape. He’s just the perfect man to melt into, the best way to forget about your aching limbs.

It doesn’t take long until he picks up the pace and your blissful voice fills the laundry room with all sorts of moans and whines, gasping his name again and again. The profane sound of your arousal being sloppily pushed and dragged back as he keeps ravaging your sweet cunt gets mingled with the hypnotising noise of the running washing machines.

For a while neither of you says anything apart from your synchronised pants and sighs. It’s nice like this, enjoying each other without speaking any words. Sunday enjoys you. That’s enough. He keeps thrusting, giving you sharp bucks of his hips that shake the counter you’re sprawled on.

As your arms bend into an awkward position, the metal buckle from his belt on your wrists bites into your skin. The pain is unexpected, causing you to choke out a startled sob. You know Sunday must’ve noticed how it hurts you, and it feels like he’s purposefully doing it. He stops for a moment, perhaps to see if you’re alright or if he wants to do it more. Your juices flow down his shaft, and he exhales longingly at the sight. You catch yourself drooling on the damp sheets as his silky tongue licks the outline of your shoulder blade before stuttering with a deep moan and switching positions.

“Wait, Sunday,” you murmur in confusion. You know there’s no stopping him now, yet you try anyway.

Without a word, he pulls out of you unexpectedly, a worried yelp of yours accompanying his actions. All that standing in front of you just to spread your thighs and turn around with a few firm pushes of his palms, guiding you to sit back down on the counter, this time facing him in suffocating proximity.

“Mm, now you should be able to enjoy the view together with me. That’s much better, right, love? Look between us, how we’re made for each other…” He orders sternly, not in a way to scold you but still leaving no room for negotiations. You could never tell him no. Not in your right mind.

His slender fingers clutch the underside of your thighs and push your legs up until they rest on his shoulders. In such a way he can shove himself inside once more, seeing all of you stretching for him so eagerly.

A drawn-out, raspy whine escapes him, and he mutters a soft “fuck” — inappropriate for his current status and importance to curse openly, its harshness numbing to your mind like honey. His eyes trail over your curled-up figure, trembling like a leaf in the span of a heartbeat. Then he leans down, taking you into a kiss, a messy mingle of spit and tongues.

Despite your efforts, you can’t keep up with his demanding tempo or the overwhelming tension. It just feels too full, your neck falling back as you whine at the stretch of both your muscles and your pussy. He can reach just the right spot, and your eyelashes flutter each time he drives his tip against your innermost depths.

You squeeze around him with your calves, begging him to stop a little, to slow down, but he doesn’t let you rest at all. There’s something addictive about fucking you, even though it’s obvious you have things to finish here. The warm softness of your breasts cushions against him, trying to fold you further, rubbing deliciously with every shove until he almost forgets you aren’t his.

So he just buries his face into your cleavage, planting hungry kisses on the flushed skin there as if wanting to apologise for the earlier impatience. He even bites and nibbles at your exposed collarbone, worshipping and pleasing you however he can, losing himself completely.

There are several moments in which you try to break through his mania, to make him notice that your legs are getting numb from exertion and that your arms sting from being still tied behind your back. That your neck hurts from throwing your head back to pant louder and sweeter for him. But your futile attempts only make you tighten around him.

Eventually Sunday fumbles with the belt restraining your wrists, allowing you to bring your hands up so fast, so desperate for contact, and grab his hair. He mewls in surprise at your tug, lowering his head and pulling you in for another wet kiss.

“H-hurts… and I’m tired. I just can’t, can’t continue…” You weep, whole body trembling and numb from the tension, your muscles feeling like jelly from the stretch. “I won’t be able to work after that…”

Sunday curses quietly under his breath as you bury your face into the crook of his neck, stifling a weak sigh when he continues nonetheless. He doesn’t pay attention to what you said.

“If you can still speak to me so gently, then we shall keep going.” He smirks devilishly, his voice smooth and confident, as if he expected this to happen. You hear his husky laughter against the top of your head.

“No… It hurts, Sunday. You gotta slow down for a while! Just let me rest my legs.” Your tone is pleading, yet you doubt that will be enough to convince him. It isn’t.

“I’d be lying if I said I care for your well-being now, dove. You just have to handle it.”

You pout, grabbing his fluffy locks firmly as he spreads the petals of your pussy wider, opening your throbbing insides further for himself. Tears collect in the corners of your eyes. The angle of your legs prevents you from shifting into a comfortable position, leaving you in his full control.

When his powerful thrusts hit the deepest parts, your chin tucks into your chest as your body seizes in the same position. The familiar rush of your orgasm envelops you again, extracting quiet whimpers against his torso.

Despite it all, Sunday doesn’t show any sign of slowing down, no, even if it’s overflowing now, drenching your inner thighs with slick and precum. It’s difficult for you to take anything more as your fingers grasp onto his ashy locks desperately to warn him about what happens next. His rhythm changes in a heartbeat as he lets out a lewd groan. There’s a tight sensation that is squeezing him, too addicting to pause.

The edges of your vision darken, your jaw slacks as a jumbled string of syllables pours from your mouth, just incomprehensible cacophony in a voice that is unfamiliar to you — not once have you heard yourself mewl so dramatically. Evidently, your body commences shutting down one function at a time until there is no longer any control left.

“Fuck, I’m so— I apologise, angel, but you just feel so good— ah…”

Nothing changes. Your cries don’t affect him. They become background noise as he buries his cock within you. You feel it pulse against your velvety walls; it’s burning hot and hard. It doesn’t take long until a wave of ecstasy spreading from the bottom of your belly overwhelms you. To make you contract and tense uncontrollably, rippling around as you feel it expand.

And then it fills you — an abundance of pearlescent cum spurting deep, splashing between the sticky, intertwined bodies. Your combined essences flow and drip out of your heat, trailing down Sunday’s balls, covering everything in a layer of glossy fluids.

The man gives you one last thrust, making sure you take all of him until his fingers slide through the mess on your sizzling-red cunt. His palm strokes your temples gently, as if trying to calm you down from the devastating pleasure, slowly and surely coming to the realisation that you took all of him. Every single drop.

“Well done…” he murmurs into your ear, and you shiver under his embrace, enjoying the intimacy of the moment.

With the way he moves his hips to push them upwards into yours, it feels like Sunday doesn’t want to let go, letting his cock get soft in your pussy before he pulls out. You wonder why. That neediness, longing for your closeness.

The two of you breathe heavily with smiles on your lips, his palm rubbing soothing circles into your abdomen as it finally stops tensing, the other hand carefully putting down your numb legs as the white noise spreads from your knees on both sides, balancing on the edge of cramping.

“You were so obedient. Good work. Almost. The next time we meet, I would like to work on your unnecessary comments, angel. Can I have your pretty face nodding now in understanding?”

“Y-yes, but… not now, please. Please, I n-need rest…” But your thoughts are quickly cut off as you clench around the sudden emptiness as more of his load spills out along with your own juices, down the crumpled towels needing another wash.

“Of course, love. I’m at fault for pushing your limits, that is true. I will think later of compensating for your excellent performance.”

[screamingcrows]

⭒ DR RATIO, SFW ﾉ FLUFF

gn reader. fluff. waking up with ratio. a soft moment of respite between you both. maybe ooc ratio or maybe i’m just insecure lol. wc. 1.2k. ₊ 𓂃 masterlist.

Ratio had always been somewhat of an early riser. Wake up, workout, throw himself into knowledge — that was the routine.

Though, you have become somewhat of an abnormality in that. He’s been awake for close to 10 minutes now and still, he’s yet to move from where he’s buried beneath the soft fabric of his comforter. It’s bunched up low around his hips and his fist is propping up his head, elbow sinking into the plush fabric of his pillow as he rests on his side.

Ratio is watching you as you still rest quite soundly next to him, and he finds it quite silly that you were able to derail such a solid routine so easily. It’s laughable really. Afterall, he didn’t get to where he is now by being lazy — though the time he’s spending with you now is hardly enough to stunt his routine too much.

He’s planned for this time with you afterall, and when he’s reminded of that, the realisation of what’s become of him almost makes him scoff.

But then you seem to fidget restlessly in your sleep and any distaste he was feeling towards himself seems to melt. His free hand comes to quite gently pull the comforter over your shoulders a bit more as he tries to make you comfortable, and he finds himself hoping that he gets to enjoy this peaceful repose for a few seconds longer.

Until the rational side of him intervenes that is, alongside the fear of accidentally rousing you as the comforter falls across your shoulders, and he thinks that it’s maybe best he begin his day anyway. So, in accepting that, he offers himself a sigh before he begins to push himself towards the edge of the bed — only for his movement to earn him a soft breath from yourself before he can even reach it.

Your voice is soft as it calls out to him quickly, “Are you getting up already?” Though he suspects you must only have just woken up by the way it scratches. It makes him mutter to himself— making a mental note to leave you a bit more carefully next time as to not do the same again.

This was exactly what he was hoping to avoid. Mostly because you’re insufferably hard to leave behind when you’re giving him that adorable look.

Ratio continues to move his legs over the edge of the bed before he lets himself rest there, feeling the cold floor beneath his feet before he’s offering you a look back over his shoulder. “It would seem so. Did I wake you?” And you watch the muscles in his broad back move as he begins to stretch them out.

“No, not really.” You mirror his movements with a stretch of your own, though the adorable little whine that slips from your lips makes the doctor smile subtly to himself. “Have you been awake long?” You ask sweetly and he hears the bedsheets rustle a breath later.

“No, just a moment ago myself. But it’s best I not dilly-dally.” He’s lying ofcourse, it would be quite embarrassing for Ratio to tell you that he’s actually been awake for much longer than he’s letting on. And simply with the intention of admiring the cute curvatures of your features as you slept next to him?

That’s definitely something he would rather keep to himself.

But Ratio can feel your gaze on him as he squeezes out the aches in his joints, leaning into his own hands as he stretches out his arms and it makes him clear his throat beneath your attention. “Feel free to reward yourself with more rest, you must be exhausted.”

But that does little to stop you from closing the distance anyway, as by the time he’s finished his sentence — you’ve already pulled yourself close enough to be able to kneel behind him on the mattress. Your palms press softly into his back, flat against the skin before you’re massaging at the muscle there and you feel him ever so slightly press back into you as you work.

Your movements are quite amateur and still very sleepy, but you can tell Ratio appreciates it anyway when he offers you a soft groan.

You mumble, “I think I’m okay. I slept pretty well. Plus, now that I’m awake, I can come with you.” before pressing your thumbs into the space between his shoulder blades and he hums back before stretching his neck to the side.

His mused hair seems to fall along his features as he does so, though it still seems to rest almost perfectly anyway.

“Hm, is that so?” Ratio offers you another look over his shoulder— a tired, yet gentle look that urges you to stop your movements and drape your arms over his shoulders instead. It’s a position he welcomes quite nicely when he feels your chest press against him back.

And he finds himself taking both of your hands into his own as he holds you there. “Well then, I guess it cannot be helped. If you’d like to accompany me then the choice is yours, I won’t entice you into partaking should you not wish— so do ponder upon your decision.” His fingers squeeze at yours before he’s intertwining them, and he lets his gaze drop to admire how small they look, encompassed completely by his own.

His awe of it makes you smile. But then you’re humming like you’re considering his words— only to speak again not a second later. “I pondered. I want to.”

And that makes Ratio scoff, playfully. “Very well.”

He gives your intertwined hands another squeeze, “Maybe with your company I shall find myself willing to transcend even that of my own expectations. One’s most fierce competition tends to be that of his own limitations afterall.” It’s not meant literally when he says it. Well, not completely — it’s true that he was quite capable of taking control of his own learning and ofcourse, your company was not required for him to do so. That much was certain.

But, what really makes Ratio scrunch his brows to himself despite the playfulness of his own statement. Is the hopefulness that you would accompany him today anyway.

Though, his words seems to have given you an opportunity to tease him as he feels you press yourself a little closer, quickly squeezing a fleeting kiss onto his cheek as you lean over him from behind. “Oh? Does that mean I motivate you, Veritas?”

And now suddenly Ratio is turning his head to give you a soft frown, maybe it’s due to the fact that he can’t explicitly deny that completely. So instead, he scoffs, “A genius is simply a genius of his own doing. Mere observation does little to satiate one’s hunger for their own personal development.”

Now that much was true. But, your hands are still in his and despite the way he doesn’t need your company to motivate his thirst for knowledge — his thumb is still smoothing over your fingertips like he wants it.

Ratio thinks you know that well enough yourself when you meet his frown with a sleepier sort of smile, and suddenly he’s looking away from you again before he’s giving your hands another, tighter squeeze.

The softness of your positioning now seems to put a few things into perspective and he’s nothing if not an honest man. So he finds himself pressing back into the hug of your arms before he’s breaking the short silence with a soft, long sigh.

“But were I to speak of my own experiences and motivations. Well, amongst that of other things. Yes.”

star divider by @ saradika-graphics

[screamingcrows]

Linkhttps://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTYqLaqFW/

I can't sent it otherwise but it's crows dancing and uh just watch and you'll see

Link

This was delightful xD caw caw

[screamingcrows]

milestone post... what the hell guys (affectionate)

[screamingcrows]

Trick - Il Dottore x Reader

A/N: Not proofread nor edited. And yes. I'm two days late. Oopsie Also: if you recognize this concept and feel like you've seen it before, then you have. I got the idea from The Arcana (Asra's route, IX - THE HERMIT, "The Magician")

You could feel your cheeks burning as you processed his - their - words.

"You need only figure out which of us is the real Prime," said Zandik (or his segment, or both?), "and your reward is sure to be sweet."

What a cruel trick; how were you supposed to tell them apart when they looked identical to one another? You would know your Zandik anywhere - so you had thought about five minutes ago, at least - but now he stood next to his clone, donning the same attire and identical beaked masks painted black and blue. Squint as you might, you couldn't spot a single difference in their hair style, either - not a strand out of place to indicate which of them was yours.

A well executed idea. Zandik's brilliance could not be matched, that much you had always known, but you were beginning to discover that he was clever in ways that you didn't like.

You only wondered why he would come up with something like this. To test your loyalty? Unlikely. Zandik would be more straightforward in doing something like that. No - this served another purpose entirely.

"Do I get any hints?" You asked, carefully examining them one after the other.

"The mere notion that you would require one is almost insulting, my dear," said the Zandik on the left, and the way those words rolled off his tongue - my dear - made you think he was the one. Surely, for you'd heard that pleasant lilt enough times to know it by heart-

But then the Zandik on the right opened his mouth, crushing whatever confidence you had. "You're clever, are you not? Surely you can figure it out."

Celestia above. They even sounded the same. How were you supposed to...

You bit your lip. Zandik made for a great liar, an excellent actor, but his sincerity bled through every act of affection shared between the two of you; one of his few virtues.

Thus an idea formed in your head, and the question tumbled from your mouth before you could stop yourself, "can I kiss you?"

The Zandik on the left chuckled lowly, as if he had expected you to ask that question all along. The one on the right barely reacted; he stood still, the corners of his lips twitching faintly - just enough for you to notice.

"Whyever not?" He said, "but, hm... no, let's do it another way."

The Zandik on the right approached with slow and heavy steps. You willed yourself to remain calm; Zandik didn't scare you, hadn't scared you for a long time now, yet the idea that this was a fake - one of his many segments disguised as Prime - made your heart race in trepidation.

"Close your eyes," he said, to which you reluctantly obliged, "you have one chance. Let's see how well you know your Zandik."

Whatever words you had intended to say were taken from your mouth when Zandik's mouth met yours in a rough kiss.

Prime had kissed you like this before, in heated moments shared after long and grueling days apart; when his hunger for you overpowered all sense of poise and rationality. An expert at crushing your self-restraint with just his lips, his hands on the back of your head and on your hip.

Now, Prime - or his segment - kissed you with the same fervor you had always known, and you returned the kiss in kind - sighing in exhilaration when his tongue slipped past your lips. His beaked mask poked your cheek, but the discomfort was drowned out by him; his touch, his mouth, his want, which oozed from him and seeped into you.

But there was still something off. It became more and more obvious with each second that passed by: this Zandik sought only to satisfy himself, as though he believed he would never get another chance to do so again.

Shortly after, he pulled away, leaving you flushed and panting. You'd half the mind to open your eyes, give up on playing this guessing game that you never wanted any part in... but what of the reward?

"Got a little carried away, did you?" Zandik uttered (the one who had yet to kiss you, you presumed). Having failed to register the sound of his footsteps approaching, you gasped when his hands found your hips and pulled you forward, straight against his firm chest.

"Hold on, I'm not-"

And another pair of lips found yours albeit in a slower, softer kiss.

You knew immediately that this was your Zandik. It was evident from the get-go; for unlike his segments, Prime had learned tenderness. His kiss didn't ooze desperate hunger but rather a sense of fondness that filled your chest with warmth, made you involuntarily smile against his mouth (and you ignored the possessive edge to his touch, for if you acknowledged its existence you would surely lose your self-control).

But you knew, now. When you pulled away, it was with newfound confidence that you opened your eyes and said: "It's you."

[screamingcrows]

*Very distressed assistant barging into Dottore's lab* "Doctor, Doctor! The experiment is running!"

*Dottore, calmly reading at his desk, looking up with a hint of annoyance* "Good, so what are you yelling for?"

*The assistant pointing towards the doorway as a very disoriented person runs past* "The experiment is running!!!"