#rocking that silhouette void look

[canisalbus]

my mother says machete gives audrey hepburn vibes

I went to look her up, thinking "surely not", but I mean

#I knew of her but I'm not sure if I've ever seen any of her films actually #yeah she really loved black it seems #rocking that silhouette void look #also I know we've been through this but who are these cool moms people are sharing internet furries with #who #how is that a thing #answered #raytoroinmybackpack #own characters #Machete

[mooishbeam]

『♡』 Treasures of the Fraud

♡ featuring: pantalone x f!reader

♡ summary: it's been forever since you've seen your friend, and as the hero of liyue, a new interruption has arisen. you pursue it, only to find memories awaiting you. wc: 9.1k+ (D:)

♡ cw/tw: long lonnggg fic, obsession, mentions of murder, mention of suicide, mentions of blood, manipulation, toxic pantalone, mean pantalone, possessive, spanking, degradation, mild praise, fingering, thigh riding, missionary, overstim, begging, edging, comeshot, pet names (darling, slut)

notes: helloooo!! ive been slow to get stuff out college is kicking my ass rn so sorry. not proofread so i apologize for any mistakes. I can't wait to have more time :) art by yion_yi on ig! <3 comments and reblogs are appreciated!

12 years ago 

“Come get me!” 

The boy with inky curls spiraling down his back dips through trees, ducking under low hanging branches embellished with vibrant autumn foliage. Messy blends of pink and purple melt across the slowly bleeding sun carried into the night. His silhouette resembles that of a malevolent spirit peeking behind the boughs, leaping over tangled twigs and shallow ditches. His excited screeches signal you to chase after the leading direction. You’re both screaming and laughing down the undoubtedly dangerous shortcuts. If your mother knew about the adventurous risks you were taking at 13, you’d never leave the house again. Tag is a troubling game—despite the thousands of times you’ve played with him, you regularly end up being “it”. You don’t care about losing, though; having someone to call a friend is enough.  

You turn into a clearing with columns of trees overseeing your small presence, hundreds of them. The colder night is rising, not a celestial body to shield.  In this deep blue void, the leaves seem to be aggrieved at your interruption of some secret meeting, angry and smiling faces crumpling in the whispering wind. You spin around frantically, looking for signs or laughter, but neither reveal themself. It’s quiet besides the downy linger of grass. Your shoulders are snatched back and shaken to a rattling shock. You scream, and he laughs. 

“Rahhh! Did I get you?” he jests. Your eyebrows narrow, and you push him lightly to a stumble. 

“You scared me!” 

“Hah, that’s the point. C’mon, it’s late. Let’s go.” He's scared too, swiftly grabbing your hand as you both brave the darkness back to the village. 

“We should’ve been home a while ago” you say quietly. You feel the chill in your bones and press yourself closer to him. 

“Yea.” He holds your hand tighter at the sound of a small rock bouncing down a steep hill. 

“I had fun today. Let’s do this again tomorrow.” 

“I have something to tell you.” 

“Okay.” 

“I’m moving in the morning” he states. It was nonchalant, but your stomach turns a churning sickness. One you can’t understand yet, it makes you uneasy. 

“Oh. Okay, then.” It isn't okay, not in the slightest. But it had to be. Your best friend of 8 years looks at you, aiming to register the gravity of the situation. You both say nothing, but tears start to brim in your eyes in the silence. You wipe them with your arm. 

“Will you miss me?” he asks. 

“A lot.” 

“I’ll miss you too. Lots and lots.” He sways your interlocking hands. You pass by vacant homes tattered and aged by abandonment, overgrown with invading ivy. Homeless reside, caring each other to warmth from the freezing draft. You were lucky to have a home in this little forgotten sector of Liyue. It's a small, unfortunate room, with holes in the roof that drips when it rains and bags over the windows to keep the heat in. The stove never works, and you share a bed with your mother, but every birthday she makes sure to save just enough for a slice of cake with one candle. There isn’t more you could ask for. Everyone in the village suffered from poverty but they made it work, sharing crops and dairy to persevere until the next year. That’s how you met him, sitting on a rock as your mother collected rations. You perform two pebbles in your hands, mumbling sea shanties while imagining voyage on a grueling journey—he sat next to you. 

“Those aren’t dolls. They’re rocks.” 

“You’re a rock” you retorted.  

“No, I’m not.” 

“Do you want to be a rock?” 

“...That’d be kinda cool.” You gave him a pile of pebbles, and he joined the trip. 

You’re getting closer to the village, still processing who you’ll play with once he’s gone. You glance at him, he’s spaced out in a faraway stare. You crave the power to read minds. 

“Can we talk about something? I’m getting sad” you sniffle. 

“What should be talk about?” 

“What are you going to do after you move?” 

“I’m gonna be super rich” he assures, looking up at the starless sky as if a meteor would shoot across and grant his wish. “What about you?” 

“I’m going to save the world” you proclaim.  

“Cool. I hope you do.” 

“Me too.” 

You arrive at your makeshift door drawn together with scraps of wood and twisted rope for hinges. A dim candle glimmers inside, most likely your vexed mother waiting for your tardily return. He makes space for your entry, and you undo your hands for the last time. Before you go, he snatches your wrist. His eyes are foggy, cheeks an anxious tinge of pink. He isn’t sure what he’s feeling, but the strings in his heart are tense. His mouth shapes to say something, but nothing returns. 

“Yeah?” 

“...I... I’ll really miss you a lot” he whispers with a lump in his throat.  

“Then don’t forget me, okay?” 

“I won’t.” 

“You promise?” you say and raise your pinky towards him. He curls around it. “I promise.” 

“Good. By the way, you’re it now.” 

“I’ll get you back when I see you again!” he chuckles. You bid your goodbyes, unaware that it would mark the unforeseen conclusion. 

Leaves crunch under your feet as you make your leisurely traverse to Liyue Harbor. It’s just before sunrise and you finished helping the elderly in Qingce Village carry copious amounts of heavy produce to their homes. The thankful candies from seniors' jingle in your pocket as you stretch your weary arms. Your mom offered to cook, but you're determined to locate the best commissions Katheryne had before afternoon. “Maybe I’ll pick up some rice buns” you think out loud at the rumble of your growing appetite. You still had a long way to go before you got to the harbor. 

This was your new normal. After your thundering battle with Ningguang and Keqing against Osial, you became an example of Liyue’s triumph. You also became more aware of Fatui tactics, wiping out their swarms with the raging fury of your pneuma and swinging vision. Days of grueling bloodshed resulted in your victory, cementing you as the lionheart of Liyue. Beat up and bruised, the only request you made after your fight was a hot meal and a place for your mom to retire. They delivered both, and you used your recent hero status to provide help to the villagers where needed, be it casual favors or ruthless assault on Fatui agents. You were neither rich nor poor, and lived off the land and kindness of the Liyue Qixing. They often suggested you focus on less mundane tasks, but to you, the most vulnerable age groups warranted priority. There was something about the lighthearted innocent squeals of children and mellow grandparents rocking in their wooden chairs that made you protective to an almost volatile extent. 

Bustling interactions of trade and commerce carry through the wind as you enter the harbor—a sound that’s brought you peace for years. The smell of food vendors has you drooling instantly. As you devour the complimentary rice bun, you feel the yank of a little hand on your skirt. You look down and a boy with brown hair searches for familiarity in your face. You recognize him, babysitting him numerous times. You kneel and pat his head, but he doesn’t react or move.  

“Hey, what’s up? Where are your parents?” you question, briefly scanning your immediate area for his family. He’s hesitant to speak, as if he can’t find the panicked words, and rushes into your arms. You hug him instinctively and let him sniffle into your shoulder. You pick him up in your grasp and raise his head with your other hand so that he’ll hopefully be open to your compassion.  

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?” The boy wipes his chubby tomato-red face. “Grandma is on the floor, what do I do?” You quell your rising nerves to suppress his alarm and speak calmly.  

“Where is she?” 

Speed walking towards the destination, the commotion of a small crowd surrounds a kneeling woman in the distance. She’s on her sun-spotted hands and knees, wailing for some bygone Archon. “Grandma!” he yells and jumps out of your arms. You run after him, relieved that the worst case scenario hadn’t occurred. You push through the group and get eye level with her, forehead pressed to the ground spouting religious scripture. 

“Are you okay? Do you need medical assistance?” Wise sunken eyes wrinkled with age and torn by tragedy stick to your heart. Her feeble hands encapsulate yours, and tears stream down her cheeks. “They took my baby!” she rasps, rocking back and forth. “Who did?” you ask, and she weeps harder. “They took her memory...my baby, my daughter!” You support her weight and lift her hunched figure off the pavement. “What did they look like, ma’am?” 

“A black hood...red mask” she recalls shakily. Instantly miscellaneous chatter ensues. They whisper nervously in each other's ears, he who shall not be named steals their voices. “Fatui probably got ‘er” you hear the mumble of one. Fatui. Your blood boils at the word, and you direct your view to the shrinking man with hands in his pockets. “‘He’ got all of us” he scoffs. “Did they hurt you guys, too?” you ask, and they stare. They’re pained but accepting.  

“500,000 mora.”  

“194,000 for me.” 

They list off their debt one by one, and you’re horrified at the accumulating number. They seem to endure, however; no longer phased by the incurable tally haunting their lives. “H-how are you paying any of this?” 

“We can’t. It adds up. Interest, late payments, it always does. So, we give everything, and ‘he’ takes everything, until we have nothing left. We die poor without a possession to our name” a woman sighs. As a child, you heard of the loan sharks that purposely fed false promises to the poor, and once they were reeled in, charged insurmountable payments to blackmail—it was the origin story of most people in your birthplace. Your soul aches for them, but is there anything you can do? 

“...I’ll help you, all of you. I’m sure I can-” 

Ningguang arrives. She's a nurturing figure to you, the kind that asks if you’ve been eating well and politely scolds you.  “What happened?” You lead the tired elder to the Jade Chamber, and she tells her story through choked sobs. You didn’t expect Keqing to already be there, arms folded and turned away from the situation. Ningguang can barely glance at the woman. 

“They stormed my home and took my jewelry and belongings. They took the pendant my daughter gave me; it had her face in it. Archons give me strength, my baby! I can’t afford it; I have nothing!” she quakes. You rub her back and Ningguang nods, listening—you can’t help but notice the anxiety blooming on her abstracted face. They take her through the process and once she leaves, Ningguang and Keqing look at each other with a silent understanding. The room is eerily quiet, and Ningguang paces back and forth in front of the intel wall contemplating an uncertain danger. You fumble with your thumbs. 

“What are we going to do about this?” you wonder. Keqing clears her throat loudly, attracting the attention of Ningguang. She looks at you, and sighs deeply. “We already know about this issue.” 

Your ears perk up. “Great, so how can I help?” 

“By doing nothing, (Y/N)” Keqing says. 

“...What?” 

“I have eyes everywhere; I’ve known for a long time. The Fatui are not people to be taken lightly, especially the harbingers. A few of their skirmishers were caught trading exotic goods and taxing medicine at high prices, on top of extorting the impoverished regions.” Ningguang points to one of the many Fatui exclusive headquarters on the wall. “Pantalone is the richest man in Teyvat, he has more political influence than anyone can imagine, and they answer to him. We can’t risk getting involved with this. They’ve brought this upon themselves, and unfortunately, they must deal with the consequences.” 

You can’t accept this response. How can they just desert them? It doesn’t comprehend in your naïvity—you scold yourself for not spotting the signs sooner, furrowing your brows and looking at them with distaste. “I expected this. You shouldn’t have said anything” Keqing chides. “...Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve helped before-” 

“You’re the last person I wanted to know about this” Ningguang interrupts. Your anger feels misplaced, and you bite your lip in restraint. She sits next to you and offers fleeting comfort with a graceful hand on yours. “You’re quite the reactionary type. In due time, this will be sorted. But right now, I need you to calm down, and trust me.” It sounds desperate, you know you shouldn’t go looking for answers, but a snagging thread pulls at the back of your consciousness, all too convincing. You bounce your leg. “You should want revenge just as much as me. Where we came from, where they end up, it isn’t fair.”  

“You know I do, more than anything. But we must handle this with care, before too many people get hurt. I’m doing this for the betterment of Liyue as a whole. It’s not easy to make these decisions.” 

“We can’t just go around serving justice, there’s laws we have to act with” Keqing adds. You don’t reply and stand up abruptly to leave. The worried Tianquan grabs your wrist one last time. “Promise me you won’t make a mistake, (Y/N). I’m trying to protect you” she pleads. 

“I promise. Thank you.” You flash a half genuine smile, already planning to rebel against her wishes. 

Who exactly is ‘he’—Pantalone. You don’t even know where to start looking. Too many headquarters, infinite possibilities. The best way you have to find him is through Fatui agents.  

You start taking up odd jobs late in the evening, scouring for the possibility that a fatui agent might fall into your hands. Though you considered playing the part of an impoverished villager taking out a loan at Northland Bank, it didn’t guarantee that you’d meet Pantalone in the flesh—it’s more likely that would raise unnecessary suspicion in the process. It’s awkward at first, seeing the hero of Liyue fish on the dock for petty change throughout the night. As you do, the malicious fire in your eyes burns bright at the occasional voice in chill silence. Your vision glows as you toss the hunting knife between your nimble digits. Listening closely to conversations, hoping that one might be unguarded enough to slip up, but nothing of the sort appears—not even the boldness of Fatui skirmishers enables them to divulge secrets under the baleful existence of Celestia.  

The moon illuminates sweetly on the tranquil waters lulling you to drowse. You hadn’t heard much since the start of your escapade. A fishing pole is weak in your resistless hold, and you’ve evidently given up on the idea of portraying the hardworking fisherman tonight. You vowed to help the people of Liyue, but justice was seemingly unfeasible. Maybe a direct approach? Should I ambush their headquarters? More so a suicide mission, you’d have no luck achieving that. Just as you’re about to leave, the crunch of withering grass straightens your posture. You make yourself hidden with a burst of energy and slouch behind the bushes as a Fatui pyro agent charges along the route. Through the glutted leaves obstructing your vision, you can just make out the heavy bag on his shoulder and jagged blade waiting restlessly on the other. His stride points towards Qingce Village. You hold your breath disguising yourself with the scenery and allow him to take a few feet between you before you begin following him. He’s rather shifty, those veiled eyes darting back and forth at the lightest noise. You’re careful to glide behind trees, moving with the heartbeat of the wind and taking advantage of the various melody's nature offers. You suck in a breath and duck behind a boulder a few inches too close, and his head snaps in your direction. The feeling of being watched besets him, but with no way to prove it and time running out, he secures his knife for the hypothetical ambush, and makes haste towards the target. Turning a tree, you watch as the pyro wielder knocks on the house of a small worn cottage. A short stocky man appears, shading half his body behind the door. 

“H-hello...” you hear faintly. The Fatui keeps his hand firm on the door, one boot propped under the hinge. He presents the flaming knife loosely as he towers over the man. “We’ve given you time.” You were sure now that he's working for Pantalone.  

“I don’t have it. P-please, if you could just give me some more-” He slams his fist against the wood, a resounding thump shakes the home. The man cowers. “Give me everything you have. The Regrator won’t wait any long-” 

A small rock flies past his mask, skidding on the ground until it comes to a stop. He glares in the direction of the tree you’re hiding behind. You have no plan, nothing but the distracting impulse to stop the assailant from attacking. “Stay here” he commands, and stalks towards you. His slow footsteps get increasingly louder, playful stomps toying with your obvious whereabouts. He twirls the razor-sharp knife, and as he sharply peeks around the corner, you’re nowhere to be found. “Here, kitty kitty” he taunts, spinning towards the lake, then the village grounds for footprints. He severs the air aimlessly in mirth, believing some amateur fighter came to challenge him. As he monitors the tracks under you, you drop down from the wiry branches. Legs wrap tight around his neck, and you catch hold of his hood trying to pull his mask off. He gags but he’s too quick, throwing off your steadiness as he slams your spine on the grass. He whips around to take a stab at your chest, but you roll away guarding the vital arteries. You kick him in the crotch, and he recoils giving you ample time to stand.  

You can’t feel the wet laceration dripping down your abdomen as you take a slash at his throat with your weapon, infused with elemental energy. He leans back and meets your strike. You trade blows, the strength of your smite bursting sparks of light above the scratches and bruises. Your wrist burns with the unmoving knives stumbling you. He begins to manifest blazing knives circling his figure, and you jump back from the singing cut melting the cloth. You wipe the dried blood from your mouth, and in the blink of an eye, he disappears. Suddenly, red auras similar to the pyro agent surround you. One by one, the clones charge at you, and you parry their overhead onslaught. Something is different about the last clone, your vision revealing a brighter outline than the others. When the next clone attacks, as you counter you pretend to fall for his trick. With your eyes on the other, he immediately passes through the black fog to deal the killing blow. You’re quicker this time and heave a heavy tear into his chest. Crimson splatters the grass, it shatters his element and rips open the robe. You tackle him on the dirt and wrestle until you kick his weapon away. Your knee digs into his back, and he can barely breathe with his arm locked behind him and knife rigid against his neck. He ttempts to swing at you, but you wrench his arm tighter and slice into his skin just enough to draw blood. 

“Fuck. Okay!” he wheezes. “Where is Pantalone?”  

“I don’t know what you’re- shit!” You’ve lost patience long ago and twist his arm to dislocate the shoulder. He lets out a blood curdling scream thrashing in pain—you tug hard and focus him. “Shut up and answer my question. Where is Pantalone?” you demand. He hisses in pain and coughs up phlegm mixing with reddening soil. “Kill me.” 

“Just tell me and I’ll let you go.” 

“I’m a dead man, either way.” he rasps and hangs his head waiting for the execution. You grit your teeth; a drop of guilt leaves a bad taste as you thwack the pressure point on his neck that forces him unconscious. You glance at the bag he left and limp over to rummage through the contents. Useless papers crumple under stolen items, but one note catches your eye. Presumably a to-do list, you read to the bottom. A list of homes, goods on standby exchanges—at the bottom of those, a rendezvous point: 

Report back- Yilong Bank, Liyue 

You rest in a plot of prickly bushes and leave in the morning after patching yourself up. You couldn’t stop now, not when you were this close to facing him. You soothe your body from the twigs prodding you all night, and check the wound suppressed by gauze. It’s a light scar now, apparent after bathing in the warm water on the outskirts of Qingce. You contemplated telling Ningguang about what occurred, but imagining the look on her face once she knew kept you moving. 

Tucking your vision where it can’t be viewed, you take a waverider to Yilong Port into the afternoon. You concoct a half-baked scheme, one that relies on every scenario being perfect to a tee. Unreliable, but probably your only chance. The plan amounts to scaling the building and breaking in through the office window, snatching everything owned by the villagers and breaking out before anyone notices. Easy in your capabilities, but you have no idea what the building looks like, nor do you know where the office is. The man driving wears all black, an outfit that stands out from the rest of the region. He stares at you blankly, and once you’re aware, you meet eyes. His smile is uncanny, stretching across his face with an abnormal friendliness. 

“Is this your first time at the port?” he asks, finger tapping the wheel. Be it sleep deprivation or ignorance; you don’t recognize red flags in his behavior.  You smile at the courteous face. “Yeah, the weather’s beautiful out here.” 

“Mhm, hot weather up here. On vacation?” 

“Nah, I have business here.” The minuscule edge of your vision catches in the light. He homes in on the passing twinkle. You wonder why his eyes widen momentarily, and his finger starts to tap methodically, as if memorizing a coded pattern. 

“Business...what kind?” 

“Oh...I have some items to trade.” You close off your answers feeling that you’ve said too much. He subsides with a stale expression. “If you’re looking to trade, you might find luck at Yilong Bank” he utters monotonously.  

“And where is that?” You feign disinterest, but victory is too loud on your tongue. 

“Up the mountain.” The waverider halts at the harbor, and he turns his head away from you unusually cold, akin to a mechanical bot shutting down. “Welcome to Yilong Port.” 

You make yourself invisible in the crowd and wait for nightfall. People still roam the port along with Fatui monitoring the front of the bank, which gives you leeway to blend in as you find passage around the back of the mountain. It’s a steep, dark incline jutted with irregular jagged stones. The imposing size of the climb tangles knots in your stomach, and you wipe the persistent sweat on your top. In one huge leap, you latch onto a craggy indent, and begin your ascension. 

Your legs feel like jelly with each contact of the unforgiving breeze. You sway alongside the spirit of anemo and swallow your anxiety before leaping to the next rock. Shoes plant into rock and nails excavate fresh cobble on the next jump. By the time you’ve realized, you’re already up most of the mountain. You tug yourself even with the land as a barreling gust of wind goads your glance to the ground, kilometers beneath you. Your breath stills, and for a second dizziness overtakes your nerves at the thought of slipping. I could die, one mistake and I’m dead. You focus, and spring to the next piece. Without warning, rock gives way into pebbles at the weight of your foot. You nearly plunge, but anchor onto the small bump out with one hand. You’re dangling off the edge, playing with death while you fortify your body. Hyperventilation makes your heartbeat thrum incessantly and stress palpitates tired muscles; If you didn't have your vision, you would’ve fainted to your demise. You bite the bullet, push your heels in and persevere through the hurdles. The next thing you clutch is malleable in your palm. You vault over the cliff, the smell of dew is overwhelming. The back of the bank—the end goal—is visible.  

One Fatui member remains in the front. You scale up the building effortlessly, nothing compared to the hell you just went through. Shifting window to window, your eyes land on the pitch-black darkness of the room at the top of the building. An ideal glow casts on the fraction of precious gold resting on a coffee table. This has to be it. You slink through the window soundlessly, and land on the balls of your feet. Analyzing the dish, you don’t discern the pendant. You can faintly identify some bookshelves near the dish, and tiptoe further inside. You creep around luxury sofas, and squint at the embellished glass case next to the door, containing all manner of jewelry and valuable possessions. You won; this was it. You scurry to it, moving with abrupt carelessness. One more step. 

Click 

The fireplace you didn’t heed is set aflame. It flickers sneering shadows on the opposite wall and brightens the case. You pause and hope. There’s a confining silence stirring in the room, like someone is with you. The case is visible now, and so is the key to opening it. 

You fell into a trap. 

“Looks like I have a little thief on my hands.”  

A bittersweet voice in the sable, reminiscent of rich dark chocolate, rolls off the room. He steps out obscurity behind his desk and your eyes adjust, revealing the tight black turtleneck compressing his willowy torso and gloves adorned with silver rings. You can’t see the upper part of his face, but the chains of his glasses hang in front of that duping smile. You expected the Fatui harbinger to be on the stronger side, physically intimidating. It’s not physical, but you feel a certain fear boiling in your body. He’s not terrifying, but you tremble. His presence makes your hair stand and sends waves of goosebumps up your arms. You can’t find the will to move your wobbly legs. His charmed laugh rings in your ears and causes you to hold your breath. He has no vision; you shouldn’t be afraid. You could take him on easily, why can’t you fight? 

“Hello, honored hero of Liyue” the headless man taunts. It makes it worse that he knows who you are. How long had he known you were coming? Was your plan doomed from the beginning? Your feet are stuck in molasses as your fight or flight shuts down at the man before you.  

“Now, tell me. What is the little thief doing, barging into my office to take the possessions I worked so hard for? Not very heroic of you, If I may say.” There’s power in his stature—you forget how to speak. He holds his palm out to you. Tangled between his fingers, is the ornate golden pendant you’d been searching for, a woman’s face in the frame. Your eyes widen, and the sweet familiar curve of his lips stretches in amusement. 

“Is this what you’re looking for?” The plod of low-heeled boots accompanies unveiled darkness, and you can observe his entirety. Amethyst eyes drunk with an orchid hue pool into your being. Lazy curls brush against his glasses and kiss his porcelain skin. He’s beautiful, a calm enticing rip current that sweeps you with immeasurable pressure before you can pull yourself out. He leans on the desk, observing the chain halfheartedly. If you weren’t careful, you’d mistake the look on his face for genuine kindness; you’d drown, just like he craved. Nonetheless, you can’t shake the emotion his smile grants. 

“Yes. That’s all I need, and I won’t bother you again” you whisper meekly, hoping that he’d let you go with the pendant in a spur of forgiveness. The jest in his eyes says something different. 

“Come get it.”  

Come get it. Your mind begins to piece the man into a stage of your life you’d forgotten. It can’t be him. Memory tells intrusive truth in short flashes. Inky curls spiraling in front of you as you chase. He was consistently miles ahead of you. It was irrelevant how far apart you were; he’d always find you. That big, curving smile for every match he won. Purple eyes glancing back at yours; the same ones that withheld tears when you said goodbye. 

“Come get me!” 

Tears stream down your eyes for the friend you thought you’d never see again. Childhood laughter bleeds into his current cat-like conniving snicker, and you gaze at his face. 

“I... remember you” you choke. He looks up without a smile, perceiving an unexpected thought, and meets your eyes. There’s a hint of affection in the warm smile beaming on his face. “My my, (Y/N). You have quite the memory.” 

You’re motionless, full of something that catches in your lungs. This isn’t the triumph you wanted, and now that you’re face to face you feel powerless. He must’ve known the entire time. Watching you fight and work alone, sending Fatui to roam in Liyue, all done to toy with you. Your lip quivers, swelling in your already deafening heartbeat.  

“How long...” you utter. He inquires with the tilt of his head. 

“How long have you been messing with me?” Your eyes adhere to the floor, pride that won’t permit you to shed misery for Pantalone. He drinks in your resistant frame, the kind he desires to break; perhaps this game of cat and mouse isn’t done, after all. 

“This hurts me too, (Y/N). I wouldn’t be doing this if you weren’t so…persistent.” Your confusion spills over in shaky, weak huffs. You can’t maintain your composure, and make yourself first to oppose the authoritative man on his own territory. 

“How could you do this to anyone? We grew up poor!” You shout with balling fists. 

“It’s inefficient to dwell on the past” he replies with gentle cadence and languid grace unrepresentative of his cruel tactics. You nearly regret raising your voice. 

“These people are at their wits end and you’re taking advantage of them” you chide. He slowly paces towards you. Pantalone looks down on you from height disparity, but the royal glower pities you, judges worth you can’t see. 

“Driven by emotions, are you that simple? You presumed that if you stormed in here, and professed a touching story, that I would suddenly see the error in my methods?” You’re not sure what you’re here for anymore or why you haven’t left yet. Subconscious urges can't determine if they should slap or hug the man inching towards you. “I simply enforce contracts and exchanges. No one can be swindled by a debt accreted on their own.” 

“No one asks to be poor either” you interject. Pantalone’s a foot away from you now, analyzing your reactions to his personal entertainment. He recalls the blurry past—the pranks you pulled together that ultimately failed from your loud hurried sneakiness tripping to alert the farmers, helping out for loose change so that you’d split a snack between each other that wasn’t big enough to share, gazing at the twinkling night imagining a distant future—you changed and stayed the same, but he keeps wanting more.  

“Weigh the odds. They either die impoverished or live by passage of loans. I merely provide a service. Does that make me so cruel?” You can’t find an answer. 

“You’ll always be my friend, but I need it back. It can’t be much to forgive someone’s debt” you plead.  

“You still consider me a friend?” 

“I think…you’re hurt. And you’re trying to heal. We all are. I know I’ve dealt with a lot as I’ve gotten older and I think you have, too. Power corrupts even the best people in this world, so maybe you’re not a bad person. But you’re doing bad things, and this isn’t the right way to get better.” 

Pantalone is quiet for a few long moments. His hands web his face, but you can clearly see the pearly fangs in his open-mouthed smirk. Then he laughs—dulcet and mocking, it lingers for too long as he throws his head back and relishes the obtuse notion. He gazes with insulting compassion and stalks towards you. 

“Incredibly…. gullible. Mora is the pathway to all endeavors. Devoid of gnosis or divine knowledge, wealth has rendered me impervious to control. Suffering and destitution only manifest if I will it. I am the guise of a false god, an emblem of achievement.” It’s borderline delusional the way he regards himself, arms moving in theatric grandeur, the star of his own opera. 

“Does that make you feel good? Stepping on the backs of the community that raised you, and abandoning them because they chose not to be influenced by greed?” Pantalone towers over you. His fingers brush light against your sensitive ears, trail to your clenched jaw, and finally cup your frustrated cheeks with the cradle of a long-lost lover. 

“It does, in fact. I’m not easily swayed by ridiculous optimism, that’s why I’m at the top. You’ve devoted your blood and tears to a region that will succumb to adversity in your absence. Is that not a pointless feat?” 

“So what? That doesn’t mean we just don’t help people. You have nothing without the Fatui, you’re a pawn just like the others” you retort. He brings his lips close to the shell of your ear, and his breath hot on the untouched skin drags a tingle up your spine. 

“And what do you know about the Fatui?” he whispers. 

“I know enough. You’re all disgusting.” He huffs out his nose. 

“Disgusting isn’t the right word. I’d say...opportunists.” Pantalone backs up, sliding his hand up your chin and tilting your attention to the intense glint. “But you’re clever, I’ll give you that. If only you were clever enough to know your place.” You'd forgotten you were acting out of line. You refocus your mindset to negotiation. 

“I’ll do anything you ask for the debt. Please, just give it back.” The word “anything” evokes a malicious yearning—so forthcoming without understanding the implications of “anything”, of eternity. He caresses your cheek. 

“Anything, hm? Even if I said to give up being a hero for good? Would you still call yourself a heroic traveler if you weren’t allowed to travel or adventure as you please?” he teases. Your mouth opens to refute, but you bite your bottom lip instead. Pantalone walks back to his desk and leans while dangling the golden chain. Now that he’s far, the invading space between you two shows how insignificant you are in this luxury palace. 

“Your resolve moves me. Consider this; make an exchange with me, and I’ll guarantee not only her debt, but the debt of all residents in Liyue forgiven” Your face instantly lights up, ready to accept it without thinking. 

“What is it?” you ask. 

“In exchange for regional loan forgiveness, I want you.” 

“...What?” 

“I want everything you have. It’s the fairest exchange I can make. Your obedience, your loyalty, and your body.”  

The choice turns in your frontal lobe. You can’t fathom giving yourself to a man, let alone a Fatui harbinger. It’s unbecoming of a hero to lie with the enemy. 

“Absolutely not” you assure. 

“Alright. Then allow their village to be reduced to nothing.” No, wait. “You may leave. However, if you do, you’ll cause great misfortune to that woman and her struggling family” You play into his covet so smoothly as you stand in the center of the room, reluctant to leave.  

“I’m not a complete monster, so I’ll give you 5 seconds to make a choice.” He sways the pendant in his hand like the transient time of an hourglass. 5 seconds, all you have to sign your life away. 

“4.”  

What if no one ever sees you again? What’s the point of sacrificing your happiness and freedom, are the people of Liyue truly worth it? 

“3.” 

You could threaten him, take him hostage so that a harbinger might bow to your demands. That, or they kill you, and the village suffers anyway. 

“2.” 

You think of your graying mom, the sweet boy with his chubby red face who cries over the smallest things, the grateful elders that give you candy after every good deed, Ningguang and Keqing stressing over the next financial impact. 

“1.” 

“I’ll do it.”  

Pantalone swings the chain into his palm, an undefeated smug overbearing as he sets it on the desk. There was never a point in resisting; he always got what he wanted, no matter how long it took to achieve it. He waited months—no, years—to get you in this exact moment. There’s a daunting beguiling charm in the way he closes the gap between you two. You glare at him; a temper common people would dread shooting. He assesses the pending punishment and lowers himself eye-level. He grins, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. 

“I can see the defiance in your eyes. Do you want to talk back? Go ahead, challenge me.” You don’t test this scenario and turn your head. “Don’t patronize me. Get it over with, ‘Pantalone’.” 

He quirks an eyebrow, and pliable flesh strains your teeth as your face is gripped rough by satiny leather. You’re twisted sharply to the calm expression—it humbles you. 

“That’s not how you address your superior. What should you call me?” You don’t answer promptly to his liking, and he tightens his grip. “Answer me properly, darling.” 

“...Sir.” Pantalone plants a sickly sugary kiss on your forehead, the kind that makes you forget how petrifying he can be, and lets you go.  

“Good.” He walks back to the desk and sits in the onyx chair embellished with silver jewels fit for a king. His chin rests on bridging hands. “Strip.” 

You don’t move, your heart hammers in your chest at the request and you stir uncomfortably. You have no experience with sexual gratification, let alone exposing yourself to an old friend.  

“(Y/N). Don’t make me say it again.” Keen agitation in his voice serves as a final warning. He eats you with his eyes, homed in on your hands clumsily snaking the top over your head. A glimpse of the scar you received during your fight with the Fatui captures him. He takes a mental entry, for an explanation that might justify why the agent suddenly goes missing. You were generally too busy to look in the mirror or analyze your assets, and pleasure was a removed afterthought—so the hungry fervor warming your skin and permeating the room clamped your thighs shut. You’re visibly flustered and nervous fumbling with the clasps on your bra while stabilizing your anxiety, and he delights in every second of the accidental strip tease. It feels like fresh meat introduced to a savage animal, and the instant your bra omes off, a new vulnerability coils in your gut. You move to your bottoms; the sheen of sweat polishes your plush thighs to wiggle out of them. You’re left in nothing but tantalizing panties hugging you in the right places. His eyes undress and redress you, tracing up and down the perk of your nipples, tempting fullness of your thighs, each unseen curve and perfect imperfect mark on your glistening body. He lets out a deep breath to stop himself from jumping over the table and taking you right there. 

“The underwear. Take it off” he says, an undertone of lust. You shimmy the fabric off and fully expose yourself. You impulsively cover your intimate parts and avert your eyes, but you can still feel Pantalone on you, ravaging you. He doesn’t bother telling you to put your arms at your sides, your bashfulness combined with an attempt at stoicism is comical. 

“Ah, the little thief is trying to act tough. That's cute” Pantalone teases and leans back in the chair. Manspreading, he pats his thigh. “Crawl.”  

He’s hellbent on shaming the defiance out of you. It’s a vile command, but you begrudgingly drop to your hands and knees. You drag your chaffed knees on wood, balancing like a newborn fawn adjusting to its legs. It’s humiliating and downright degrading; the cold floor fails at cooling your burning fever. You’re on the verge of tears, but Pantalone can’t help but smile. You get around the desk and look up at him, waiting for the next horrible thing he’ll have you do. “Unfortunately, the stunt you pulled impeded my paperwork. Be a good thing and sit on my lap until I’m done.” A “thing”—that’s all you were now, a shiny trophy meant to be ogled at but never taken seriously, used and thrown away. You stand off your scraped raw knees and straddle his thigh, hands balancing the leg so you don’t fall. 

And Pantalone starts to work. Working as if you’re not there, filling in the spaces on his documents. For some reason, it’s more demeaning this way, you truly are just a prize. One hand dances beautiful penmanship in masterful motions on embossed paper, the other fondles and explores your being. The gloves brush down your delicate spine, nonsensical shapes drawn on your lower back that make you shiver and pool heat in places you’ve never thought of. You’ve never been touched like this, it’s needles light on your skin. They move to your stomach, pleasant circles above the pelvis that threaten to go lower. He’s careful to trail his hand up your cleavage and behind your neck, neglect your hardening nipples and repeat the process over and over. He’s painstakingly slow, savoring the dazed arch of your back, massaging your inner thighs and dragging the sleek material over your rear.

Middle and index sweep across your lips, pulling your bottom lip to reveal teeth, and prods your mouth. Pantalone’s fingers are invasive, they exploit your gums and twirl around the squishy tongue molding to his appetite. He plays with the pink mass, and it fills you like a kiss. He’s everywhere and he hasn’t looked at you once. You hate it, the kind elegance and refinement of his technique that makes every calculated word and action reek of opulence. Yet, arousal pools on the surface, sticking to your labia and clouding your drowsy mind. It’s an extreme ache that doesn’t go away from cold showers or shrugging off like you usually would. You can’t remember what you did today, yesterday, or the day before that. The sensation of him consumes you and persists in spots he left. He smells of expensive cologne, hints of heady wood and sage. You’re lucky his fingers are in your mouth, or piteous moans would spill out of you. Flat on his thigh, the subtle jolts of his leg rub against your hypersensitive clit and set your nerves on fire. Throbbing swells in your core, and you struggle to stay stiff as your hips stutter.  

Pantalone knows exactly what he’s doing. Your labored pants sound like saintly melody while you writhe on his lap. The fabric goads your pulsing pussy, and you hang your head in embarrassment of the juices soaking your thighs and his. He’s surprised you have strength left to withstand the itch. You do your best to hover above it, trailing thick strings of slick. “There’s no need to pretend you don’t like this. Just give yourself to me” he whispers. And it’s so enticing, an invitation that might let you come if you ask. However, remnants of pride cling to your melting resolve, you can’t give in yet. He takes the fingers out and presses on your nipple, flicking the bud. You can’t hold the mewl, and he snickers.  

“So indignant for the hero of Liyue, to be on a harbingers lap, reduced to a pretty pet.” Your ears tune out the insults. The damp gloves pull and pinch your puffy nipples, then knead to soothe the pain. He does the same to the other, switching between both as he feels you squirm.  

He works on the last few pages. Piles upon piles of reports and records—they detail the deaths, or “suicides”, of clients who’d disappeared mysteriously after extended absence of payments for millions of mora, people who dared go against the Regrator. Unruly, uncooperative clients that take advantage of fair exchange, and pay the price for it. 

Your arms get tired, and you settle on him again. Pantalone starts to softly bounce his leg, enough for you to notice the friction on your clit. It’s too much, you can’t take it anymore, and start to rut your hips on his thigh. You look messy, smearing your essence on those overpriced slacks and biting back your moans. Pleasure flows in your veins, and you give up. His cock throbs nonstop, print stealing space in his pants. “Did you believe I wouldn’t catch you? You’re not sneaky enough. You’re not good enough," he taunts from the corner of his eye. You hump his leg like a desperate bunny, chasing the addictive high.  

“Nasty slut, fucking your hips on a man you barely remember.” He moves his hands to your clit and replaces the slacks with slippery leather. You grind on it harder and hold your moans. More, more, more. He coats it in the mess and finally diverts his attention to you. He teases your entrance gliding vertically on your vulva before pushing one finger in. It hurts at first, but your walls hug him eagerly, pulling it deeper. He coaxes it to take another and starts scissoring your gushy walls.  

“I’ll devour you. I’ll inscribe my name upon every surface of your physique until it adorns your lips, and I’m the only thing that remains.” Pantalone starts pumping rhythmically, tormenting, poking everywhere but your g-spot. Gloss drips down his knuckles and glazes his rings. 

“S-sir please, s’too much” you whimper, mustering up an ineffective stable voice. “Hmm? Can you hear the lewd sounds you’re making?” Loud squelches sing from him fucking your insides. Each time you try to speak, he elicits another moan. 

“M-my sto-mach hurtss” you whine. He holds your waist in place with the other hand and continues the assault. “I know, it hurts? Would you like me to alleviate the pain?” he coos. You nod fast. 

“Hold it in. You ask for permission every time you’re close, do you understand?” You don’t reply and try to angle your body to get more contact. You make the mistake of guiding yourself to your clit and earn a harsh stinging slap on your hand. “Don’t touch what’s mine” he orders. You’re frustrated and he’s doing it on purpose, it’s entirely too hot where pleasure and pain blur. “N-not yours” you stammer, and he stops. He pulls out your warmth and you whine from loss of pressure. Looking at him, there's no smile, and the irritation on his face makes your heart drop. You're really in for it. 

Without delay, your stomach flies over one of the chair arms, and you hold onto it for dear life. It presses firm on your ribs, and he slants your ass to the air. “You have courage, speaking back to me” he says. He pulls his gloves off and hurls them. They’re lovely, the silken soft hands of a man who hadn't lifted a finger through combat a day in his life. They sink into your sex, and you moan out for him. The other winds back, and you feel the palm hit brutally on your unsuspecting backside. Crack. It echoes in the room, and you almost fly forward. 

“Disrespectful.” Crack. He keeps pumping through it, and tears collect in your lashes. 

“Disobedient.” Crack. There’s blood rushing to your head, and violent smacks make your pussy flutter and ass ripple; his control won’t give you adequate touch.  

“Little.” Crack. Every time he feels you getting there, he pauses. A masochistic pleasure whirls innermost. 

“Brat.” Crack. Both cheeks are a sore fiery color and beginning to welt, but he resumes. You’re drenching his palm, sobbing from prolonged edging and Pantalone laughs. “Pfft, you’re crying? Too embarrassed to beg? Perhaps I’ll give you what you want, if you grovel hard enough, darling.” An incoherent orchestra of please’s mesh with broken moans. “Sir m’sorry. Wan’ it so bad, p-please!” you mumble. There’s no dignity on your lips, no residue of the hero you once were. Drunken ardor floods your short-circuiting brain. 

“Oh, what do you say? You want it? Is that it? I'll let you have it... but only if you say it loud and clear for me” he croons. He winds his fingers in a come-hither gesture that licks your core. 

“Please...I won’t misbehave again!” He spreads your ass apart and watches your hole pucker from lining the brink. 

“I’m not sure I want to give it to you now. It's a lot more enjoyable watching you squirm and beg.” 

“’M yours, sir. Please give it to me. I’ll be s’good, promise!” you mewl. You’re so pathetic, it’s endearing. He simpers and maneuvers impossibly fast while gyrating your clit. “How humiliating. You’ve satisfied me.” Your eyes roll back, and you dissolve in pure euphoria. There’s black dots in your vision, and it doesn’t stop as he starts torturing your overstimulated clit with the pad of his thumb. Your tears only encourage him. You jerk and spasm, but he moves where you move with insistent skill. “T-too m-” 

“Aww, what’s wrong? Isn’t this what you wanted, where are your manners?” Pantalone pulls out and delivers staggering mean swats to your pussy, and you recoil. “Say thank you” he demands. 

“Thank you, sir.” He hums and picks you up in his arms. Before color can return to your numb cells, he lays you on the desk. You watch him pull his shirt up to his pecs with haste and uncover the lean skinny midsection. Unzipping his pants, he unsheathes his leaking thumping erection. Even his dick is pretty, it curves upwards and shades a starving dusty pink past the thin strip of tissue on the underside of his bulbous tip. Composure thinning, a bead of pre come runs down his tip at the sight of provocation sluicing your ass and thighs. His glasses plunge down his neck, body blushed wildly, but he doesn’t care. Pantalone slides between your labia and groans at the sound. Engulfing the tip in awaiting velvet warmth, “You’re so good for me, hm?” he sighs. You embrace him, delicious searing stretch of your walls forming to his cock. Your orgasm builds just from your body accommodating the size. He places your hands on your calves and holds them at your sides. He slips out, and in one swoop, drives into you. His heavy balls smack against your ass as he thrusts frenetically in the gooey grip he’d been waiting for, stalking and spying for. He digs crescent shapes in your waist and uses you to his abundance. The desk base creaks and grinds on abrading wood and obituaries float to the floor with overturned calligraphy ink from the unrelenting momentum. You throw your head back and indulge the carnal lust washing over you both. 

“You’ll never see anyone ever again. Fuck- you’re mine, and mine alone. You’re nothing but a come dump, your purpose is to please me, hah, until I say it’s over” his voice is unexpectedly deprived and weighty with vulgar whimpers. Pantalone eyes your neck and encapsulates it in his slender hand. He clenches tight and releases in sporadic bursts that have you seizing around him. For a split second there’s the image of you—exorbitant pearled collar wrapped around your throat, with “Pantalone” inscribed in bedazzled letters—and he loses it. He swipes your clit rapidly and feeds you deep strokes; you’ll definitely die. You speak, but it’s unintelligible rambling. 

“Use your words” he lilts, squeezing your airflow taut. “C-can I, sir, please?” 

“You’ll do it on my command.” Pantalone thrusts frenetically, you can feel him bucking, twitching and quickly approaching his climax. His hips sputter, chanting some mixture of your name and curses under his breath. “You’re so obedient for me, aren’t you? F-fuck, darling, go ahead. Come on my cock.” You permit yourself to surrender, white noise streams in and time slows as you come down his shaft. A creamy ring forms at the hilt of his slaps. You recite “thank you” through wails with the semblance of a follower at the altar of their savior. Then he grabs your face and goes in for a kiss.  

It’s sloppy and misses half your lip, but its doughy attachment mellows your blissed out head. His lips taste like the bitter excess of green tea, and you crane for a better sample. His tongue does things his fingers couldn’t, and swirls around yours in a passionate bruising waltz. Pantalone breaks away, a string of saliva when he frees himself. “Mm, coming. Gonna claim you everywhere” he whimpers. Sweat on his lustered abdomen, he pumps his tender cock before spurting thick hot ropes across your tits and stomach. He paints your vulva with the rest and plunges the tip in your entry so as to not waste the endless globs of white. He tremors inside you until soft, and when some dribbles out he fingers it back inside.  

Afterwards, Pantalone opens one of the drawers on the desk and takes out an embossed loan dismissal form. You can’t read the finer details through hazy eyesight. “It’s already signed, so don’t worry. I won’t deceive you.” He caresses your face in his normal sing-song attitude. “We depart in the morning.” You don’t have a clue where you’re going or how you’ll get there as you drift unconscious. Once you’re asleep, Pantalone shuffles in a different locked drawer. He twiddles the stunning purple geode in his hand, a crystal lined mineral you gave to him years prior. He looks at you, then the druse, and cackles. 

“Mine. Always.” 

#genshin impact #genshin smut #genshin au #pantalone smut #pantalone #pantalone headcanons #headcanon #pantalone x reader #pantalone x you #pantalone x y/n #genshin impact pantalone

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Special Order 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen, Steve Rogers

Summary: You wake up in the trunk of the car, unaware of how you got theere or where your going.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You groan as you rock with the motion of the wheels. A veer has you rolling against the interior, the cloth in your mouth so dry you nearly gag. Your arms hurt, bent and bound behind you, your ankles tied at a cross. You’ve lost circulation in your fingers and toes, your digits throbbing but numb.

You're dizzy and dazed. Your memories are splinters. There were flashing lights and vodka chasers and your friends were all so happy, babbling in bubbling tones as the music pulsed. One minute they were there and the next, you were walking down the hallway, following the beacon of the restroom sign.

Then it all went foggy and you woke up in the dark. The steady whir assures you that you’re in a vehicle, stuffed into the tight trunk. What you don’t know is why. Who would do this? Why you?

You try not to think about it, not beyond how you’re going to get out. You don’t want to think about what your accoster will do to you. Or if you even can get out of this.

You don’t know how long you’ve been in there, how long they’ve been driving. You could be twenty minutes down the road or eight hours; days even. As you try to count, your anxiety mounts. You keep losing track. One minute, five minutes, however many seconds. You’re counting too fast.

Breathe.

You flutter your lashes, fighting another wave of exhaustion. You don’t know if it’s the adrenaline or something else causing these spikes of wakefulness and unconsciousness. You plunge into another void, only to come to with teeth chattering.

You’re still. The engine is quiet and the noise of crickets fills your ears. You try to turn but only jar your shoulder. You lift your feet, trying to kick. You’re too weak for that. The effort has you woozy.

Your eyes round and you gulp as you hear a mulch. Footsteps, steady and certain. You hold your breath as you listen to them get closer. Your eyes tinge and your heart hammers as the stop, just on the other side of the metal. 

Click. The trunk pops and the lid flips up. There’s a shadow over you. You twitch but can’t do much more than that. Even if you weren’t tied up, you wouldn’t have the strength.

The silhouette is broad, shoulders limned in the moonlight, muscles obvious beneath the taut black fabric. A man by your guess. He lifts you, folding you over his shoulder as he slams the trunk shut. You moan around the gag as he pivots sharply.

You can’t see much around him. There’s light coming from somewhere. As you wriggle, a sudden spank on your ass stops you. The impact ripples down your muscles.

“You don’t wanna mess around, toots,” he warns, pinching your thigh. “So be a good girl and settle down.”

You squeak but stop squirming. He’s right. You don’t want to get yourself in worse trouble. You just need to play along until you can get your bearings. He purrs and tickles your leg before dropping his hand.

He climbs a set of steps, the incline making your head spin, and there’s several short beeps. A door opens and he carries you out of the night chill. He puts you down, the sudden change gives you vertigo and you slump sideways on the bench.

“I’m impressed, you shouldn’t be awake yet,” he says as he fumbles around. 

Your eyes flit across the walls, lit by a light overhead. It looks like a typical house. Nothing out of the ordinary. The man before you is vaguely familiar. You squint at him as the edges of your vision cloud.

“It’s alright, I can pop you another dose, it’ll help your head,” he chuckles and pulls you to sit straight, “let me get a good look at you.”

He grabs your chin and bends. His eyes scan across your face and down your body. He tilts his head and clucks.

“Mm, you looked different in those lights,” he remarks as he lets you go. You lean against the wall and whimper. “Not bad though.”

Your blink, eyes stinging. Who is this man? What does he want? You stare him in the face; his eyes are deep blue, almost teal, and a trim of brownish hair bristles across his lip. The sides of his head are shaved close and the longer strands are combed back on top.

“That’s right, get a good look. Just means there’s no going back.”

You blanch and he laughs louder, “relax,” he pats your head, “all you gotta do is listen. That’s all I want from you, baby face.”

You stare at him, terrified. The way he’s talking, fills you with dread. His laughter tapers off and he hauls you up again. You whine around the twisted fabric.

He swings you over his shoulder again and continues down the hallway. He comes to a door on the other side of the staircase and opens it. He descends, a step at the time, following the right angle down to another door. He unlocks it with another series of high-pitch beeps.

This isn’t good. This isn’t spontaneous. This is… planned. This is worse than you could ever expect.

The world whooshes around you as he throws you off his shoulder. You hit a mattress with a squeak. The man stands at the foot of the bed and tuts.

“Well, you can be proud, you made it through day one,” he declares, “but trust me, that’s nothing compared to day two.”

#lloyd hansen #steve rogers #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #lloyd hansen x reader #steve rogers x reader #drabbles #series #mcu #marvel #captain america #avengers #the gray man

[narcissusbrokenmirror]

ugh i can't be normal about this con. I'm falling into a void. But something that keeps amazing me is Madison Reyes. I mean, just tell me this isn't a supernova and i know ur lying.

I love her outfit, seeing her dressed like that in the first night blew me away, red and black are terrifying good colors for her and she knows how to play with her silhouette and the accessories, her tulip earrings are so gorgeous, her hair is so well done. She's eating up everybody stealing the scene.

She always got a great sense of style and she can rock so many different scenes, she went so radical with the first look and then the second day, this two piece dress with a tie pattern?? The bracelets, the hair style, i love specifically how her hair is way more black when she wears dark pieces and heavy colors and when it gets lighter if she wears lighter or neutral pieces or when she styles it that way.

#julie and the phantoms #madison reyes #do u ever cry bc madison reyes is the most beautful girl ever? no? just me alright #i mean i love her sense of style and how its so ecletic #she can rock so many different looks and its really amazing how her confidence is also a real bright feature of her #ngl tho to rock those pieces on first day she had to keep adjusting the cleavage which is a struggle but its worth it bc she looks fabulous

[thatcheeseycandle]

//GUESS WHAT I DID SOMETHING RANDOM-

So basically a few days ago I had this idea of Merlin, in YIAU (by @tornadoyoungiron), returning but in a less happy way. The theory that formed this idea will be explained at the end of the short story so dw, for now enjoy the story!!

——

YIAU, Twist of Fate: New Folk and Smoke

The last thing he remembered was being in that void, the image of Sir Gresley disappearing in the flutter of Gold Dust kept replaying in his mind as he walked on the long train track, his memories tugging on his heart as he started to remember.

Remembering it all? All the horrific things he's done, all because one man had ordered to basically tear out his own soul?

It haunted him.

Though was oddly used to it, like he had already witnessed it all. I mean, those are his memories.

Or what felt like his own memories, but they didn't really feel like his memories, it felt like watching himself in third-person.

He'd let out a shaky breath as he tried to brush off those thoughts, his balance unsteady due to his blurred vision and exploding pain in his head.

He guessed it would've been a headache from the amount of pressure his head had gone through.

But it felt overwhelming. Like it came from a flower, similar to a scent. Maybe it was that “gold dust” that had been talked about so much, he guessed.

As he took a glance around the foggy area, his train of thought would be cut off by a sudden thud noise.

He looked behind and infront of him, but no one was there.

Maybe it was a rock? It didn't exactly sound like a rock, sounded more of the stomp from something, someone?

The thought would somewhat put Mallard on edge with anxiety sinking back into him.

What if- Did Scotsman really recover that fast?!

He thought alarmed as he held the blood-stained metal bar in his hand firm, starting to pick up his pace and run as fast as he could from the then stomp came from on the track.

The fog would form a path as he ran through it, he didn't exactly know where he was heading but he truly hoped it was somewhere safe.

At least somewhere he could rest for the meantime until he gets back to his little pond area with his ducks, well until he gets Gadwall back technically.

But considering recent events, that chance was low. With the memories he's started to see of ‘himself’ he knew that Gadwall wouldn't be too willing to join him back.

Though he'd start to hear the stomps fade into footsteps, that were alarmingly getting closer to him as he tried running away from it.

His anxiety peaked as he started to get a glimpse at this figure, starting to slow down his pace to then a stop. Just frozen on the tracks with a face mixed with baffledness and anxiety as he stared at the figure longer and longer. 

The figure seemed to have had a rough stop to his walk as well considering his body-language and posture had given it away.

It somewhat unnerved Mallard as he observed this strange figure, their shadow being the only thing to make the silhouette of them in this thick fog.

Mallard would hold up the metal pipe he had a firm grip on into a defensive stance, trying to hold back the trembles that ran through his legs to keep a proper balance as his mind whirled into a tornado of thoughts.

He didn’t know what to do. If he ran back he might run into an upset Gadwall or a disappointed Quicksilver, if he ran forward he'll risk himself being knocked out or being brought to somewhere he didn't know all over again.

He didn't know if he should even run back or forward. 

Everywhere wasn't safe.

He's gonna die, oh he really is gonna die.. He's doomed, he's gonna be killed by this figure! How is he gonna get out of this, oh dear god-

“Ah, hello there.” the figure suddenly spoke out of the blue as it stood on the rusted tracks eerily, it felt awkward considering how much had happened beforehand.

Though soon enough, Mallard would gain up the courage to speak out to this figure.

“Wait, who exactly are you?.” Mallard asked hesitantly with a shaky breath, tightening his grip on the blood-stained metal pipe he held.

The figure would walk towards Mallard, getting closer and closer.

Mallard would move back a little considering this could be Truro or Scot, or dare I say Sir Gresley himself! He thought anxiously to himself.

As the figure finally was cleared of the fog enough, the figure would start to be more visible to Mallard as he observed them.

They seemed to have a suit, similar to North's but in a simpler way. The suit coat was practically covered in soot, most likely from coal, and the left sleeve was half torn at the elbow.

While underneath the suit coat, the vest would still be connected but just with some splotches of soot, the tie was still well-kept to mention. The pants were the most covered in soot, but at least the dress shoes were clear. 

His hair somewhat in a mess, but generally well-kept enough to be presentable.

But as for his face, or any clear sign of his skin, wasn't as clear before he would step one more time forward to get a better view of Mallard. 

As the figure lended out a hand, his other holding onto his suit coat, the shadow on the figure's face would disappear enough to reveal a warm smile. 

“You may simply call me, Merlin.” Merlin finally answered back, despite his physical condition, in a relaxed tone. 

That name. It felt like something clicked in his right when he heard it. But something inside him, felt upset hearing that name, it was a feeling of despair

Thought Mallard was slightly unnerved at how casual this ‘Merlin’ guy was, he’d lower the metal pipe he held as a sign of piece, not letting go of it just in case.

He'd hesitate to accept the handshake, but looked the figure in the eyes as the shadow on his face disappeared. He noticed some details that would catch his attention.

Merlin's eyes were, sunken in thoughts. His eye color, felt familiar. It was steel blue, but was more gray than usual. But he guessed it was a layer of fog that was between the two that made his eyes look gray.

He must be disassociating a little from either the fog or his headache to notice this, but he could've sworn he saw cracks right underneath Merlin's left eye, maybe it was simply a shadow from one of the loose strands of hair.

“Mallard, I'm Mallard.” He finally replied back, mixed between the feelings of being confused and the cold air creeping up his spine slowly.

“And I see you aren't one for handshakes, Mallard.” Merlin remarked with a soft smile as he lowered his arm, he would turn around to where he seemed to be previously looking.

Though Mallard did notice a look mixed with dread and anxiety flash on Merlin's face, but didn't question it considering the head trauma he's had that could result to hallucinations. 

“Walk along with me Mallard, I think it'll help you. Seeing you look quite lost here.”

“What?”

“I heard you running earlier, so I thought you'd need some direction.” He explained as he gestured for Mallard to catch up.

Mallard would soon follow along beside Merlin, walking on the track with silence, a somewhat comforting silence that gave a sense of nostalgia to Mallard. A strange nostalgia.

The fog started to clear from the cold winds that came in, and with how the sun started to set the atmosphere started to feel more similar to that around Autumn.

The warm fire-orange color scheme, the smell of warm oak, and the cool winds all combined. It was nice. But considering Mallard's current situation, it was a reminder of the mark he left on Gadwall, the side of himself that he didn't even know about until now.

It felt like a thousand cuts from the cutter's torch, is that how he felt when his soul got apparently “ripped” out? Is that how he was to those who saw this corrupted side to him, cold?

He's heard that word before, cold, and he remembered how much that word had to it beside from being the feeling of Winter. It was the feeling of loss.

Of loneliness.

Of War.

Of acceptance.

Or mostly known to him as, Cold Iron Sleep. Something Sir Gresley had mentioned before as the two were talking about Gold Dust on their daily trips on that branch line down to the pond, it unnerved Mallard with how he had described it to him.

A look of fear flashed on Mallard's face for a minute, remembering all that information. Is that how he felt when he apparently had black smoke? Just cold as ice? It- It didn’t make sense, it didn't connect up on how he even bared Black Smoke.

He would've succumbed to immediate death without even a full minute of being infected with it, considering how Sir Gresley had described it to him every time Black Smoke had been brought up it basically terrified him.

But to think about it, from what he guessed, over time he oddly feared it less. Maybe because of the fact he was apparently kept alive by it for years.

“You don't talk much, do you?” Merlin said bluntly, sympathy only appearing in his eyes as he glanced at Mallard.

Mallard would return a glance, trying to pull away from the thoughts.

“No no. Well- I don't exactly have the longest conversations with,  anyone technically.”

“Ah, I see.” He said with a surprised look on his face, he would place a comforting hand on Mallard's shoulder as he’d let out her thoughtful hum.

“So, let me help you. How did you get here in the first place?”

“Well, it'll be a long story that's for sure.” Mallard warned Merlin as he took a glance in front of him.

“I'll be glad to hear this story then, Mallard.”

——

So right, the theory goes this way:

Basically what if Merlin reformed, but absorbed some of Mallard's blacksmoke while reforming, and that would've lead to him being more weaker than usual.

And when Mallard got rid of the black smoke from North, it just reformed and infected Merlin (aka just forming together with the black smoke that had already been in him) which lead to him basically getting the "possessed character, except they're still conscious just witnessing everything that their possessor is doing" trope

Doing this work, I tried out a different writing style (seeing as my writing has had many variations over the months) to just try to get a grab on a solid style.

(I do apologize if this is out of line from the recent events as my memory might've not been the best while writing this, and if any of the characters are OOC)

#cheesyversial rants #cheesey writes #ttte young iron au (??)

[bruiseeedknees]

C!SUNSHIPDUO RANDOM THINGY I WROTE FOR DOLL!!

hope y like i just got bored and was listening to arms tonite by mother mother so this came outta that!

— — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Aimsey rested in his lovely bed, melting into their cushioned bed, snuggling under a blanket that felt like the summer sun.

Well, except this blanket could never compare to the summer sun, it could never even fathom the warmth of the sun.

…He’s spiraling again.

Time to sleep before star goes into the thoughts.

———————-

Hhhn..

Huh?

Where is this?

Aimsey looks around at the emptiness of this wide white void.

This felt familiar but the puzzle pieces couldn’t click.

She gets up, brushes themself off, and looks around.

He sees a faint silhouette of a..Building?

…They suddenly feel the uncontrollable urge to run over.

So he runs.

He runs like the wind.

They reach the silhouette, which has become a cabin in their sight.

He feels a hand on their shoulder.

She immediately turns around, and sees..

..No.

No, no, no, no-

Why-

Why is-

“Guqqie?”

She smiles.

“Hello dear.”

Aimsey swallows down a lump in their throat.

“You’re..You’re supposed to be dead.”

Guqqie smiles, starting to laugh, borderline cackle.

“W-What are you laughing about-?”

Aimsey feels afraid to ask.

“I just thought, don’t you think it’s kind of cute that I died right inside your arms tonight!”

Guqqie smiles wider,

wider and wider,

a dark abyss of goo drips from her mouth and nose.

Aimsey watches in shock, in fear, a shudder trickles down his spine.

They take a couple steps back, until they can’t.

Why does it feel like he’s standing at the edge of a cliff?

“But I’m fine! Even after I died, because,”

Guqqie walks closer to Aimsey, her body seeming more and more unlike what Aimsey thought she looked like.

“It was in your arms that I died.”

Guqqie’s smile turns into pure black, and the guck and goo that drips from her forms into hands, grabbing ahold of Aimsey.

“Wh-“ Aimsey looks down at the hands that are gripping her arms tight.

“LET GO!! LET GO, LET GO OF—“

His feet suddenly don’t feel like their on the ground anymore.

He’s falling.

Falling down,

down,

down.

Air gushes on his face harshly, like daggers being thrown at them.

But they still fight it.

His hands grab onto the edge of the building that now reminds them of…

A tower.

A pair of rough hands lay on Aimsey’s.

A polar opposite of the hands that once held his with such care, that felt like clouds against their knuckles and palms.

“G-Guqqie?” Aimsey asks with tear-filled eyes, smiling the tiniest smile at the baring thought that she was being saved.

“Tell me, Aimsey, are we soulmates in every universe?”

Guqqie asks, face forming back to the warm sun she once was.

“O-Of course! Yes, of course!” Aimsey replies cheerfully, tears falling down his face with a smile that could battle the Gods.

“Guqqie?”

“Yes?”

“Are we soulmates in every universe?”

Guqqie laughs.

“Are we even soulmates in this one?”

“Wh-What?” Aimsey’s eyes widen.

“We used to be, at least, but you ruined it.” Guqqie says, her face going deadpanned, like a rock wall slamming into Aimsey’s face.

“See you in another universe, Aims.”

Guqqie grabs Aimsey’s hands, and throws them off the edge.

As Guqqie gets up and dusts herself off, walking away,

she can hear the body of whom she once loved slam against the floor, noises of the dammned filling her ears.

And she smiles.

#aimsey #guqqie #sunshipduo #c!aimsey #c!guqqie #guqqie arg #sunshipduo angst #fic? #uh tell me if u want me to make this a fic?! #for Doll <4 #love u dad #so ur gonna suffer #🫶🏽

[venuscrashed]

Star Soup

I wanted to try out the oc thing so here…

No pronouns used but intended as gn!reader

Surrounding by stars and the void you looked back at your first encounter with him.

Your family and you were in the hospital. You all surrounded the hospital bed of your mother. She laid there with tears in her eyes as your father quietly yelled at her. He was berating her, calling her names and blaming her if he gets caught.

“You goddamn idiot. If my business gets investigated by the goddamn police I will beat you.” He spit harshly in his thick country accent. “All cause you couldn’t watch what you eat. You fat pig. Telling everyone where my stash is!”

She cried and pleaded with him. Begging for her life, begging to be forgiven. She truly didn’t want her husband to go to jail, let alone beat her. “I’m sorry,” she sobbed through tears. “I mean it! I didn’t know. I’ll check next time.”

“Next time? Next time!” Your father yelled.

“Leave her alone! She didn’t know.” You yelled at him pulling him away from your mother. Only for you to regret it as he turned towards you. “I’m-“ before you could finish you heard a slapping sound. Your face burned, he started to yell but your fight or flight instinct kicked in.

Your feet started to move and soon you were running out of the hospital. Behind you, you could hear the sounds of your father yelling. You ran into the forest, the trees surrounding you.

“Let me get off of this damn planet!” Only you fell deeper into it. You screamed as you fell to the floor. Scraps and blood was on your knees, soaking through your pants. The sound of the forest grew as nature came to life at night. The darkness surrounded you, engulfing you in it as a comfort blanket but only gave you fear. Looking up at the sky as a pale blue light blinded you. “God?”

The light above you began to grow. Within it another source of light was born. Rocks and pebbles began to float as gravity was turned off. Soon pieces of the ufo came into view. It glowed and tony sources of light illuminated its silhouette.

The ufo lowered to the point where it was only hovering above the trees. Your hair started to float and soon you were lifted up off the ground. The sound of the ufo engine cut of your screams. The bright light blinded you as you floated closer.

Animals and people watched as your kidnapping took place. News cameras and phones were videoing it. None daring to help you. Your father stood there with his mouth opened, his business won’t get investigated now. Your siblings and mother watched from the window. Your mothers scream grew louder, unknowing to you.

You fell onto the cold, hard floor. The room was blinding with different colored lights painting it. Footsteps could be heard as they came closer to you.

“Captain! You were successfully,” an eager, young voice yelled.

Murmurs was heard around the room but by the time your eyes adjusted someone was in front of you. A man was crouching in front of you. His electric blue hair covered parts of his hair but from what you can tell he was handsome. His hand reached out to your shoulder and his lips were moving.

He violently shook you, then his voice made way to your head. “Hey!”

“Huh?” You stared at him as he chuckled lowly. His soft smile quickly faded to a stone cold look, one that sent shivers down your spine.

“Are you okay? We didn’t mean to scare you but you looked like you needed us.” He gestured to the rest of the crew as they stood there. One awkwardly wave before they ran down the hall behind them. Two fingers were placed on your chin as the man in front of you checked you over.

“Ma, Kyla,” he firmly said while two woman turned towards him. “Go to the infirmary and get rid of these injuries. Have SiR check for further problems internally.” He turned back towards you and lifted you off of the ground. “I’m Vetex, glad to me you!” His hand sat there in the air as you stared at it, “shouldn’t you shake it?”

“What? Oh yea! Sorry.”

An older woman took you by the arm and lead you down the hall. Looking back, you saw Vetex command the whole ship.

A tall woman popped into your view as she bashfully smiled. “Hi there! I’m Kyla, I’m the nurse in training.”

“Training?” You whispered as you studied the ship.

“Yup. That over there is Ma. She’s like the mom of the group and is the human nurse.” Kyla saw the fear in your eyes as she laughed and grabbed your other arm. “Don’t worry. SiR is the robot nurse. You know? Safety Robot.”

Her tone made it hard to understand if she was nice or not. It was on the brink of teasing and teaching, country accents.

Two doors separated and a room filled with medical technology. A robot that imitated a male with both his looks and demeanor watched as the three of you walked in. The medical instruments started up with a beep and soon you were being scanned. The robotic hand let out a green light while in another computer your health was being transported.

“Healthy,” SiR had said in a robotic voice.

“See SiR is the nurse cause he’s like programmed for that.”

SiR grabbed your arm and stuck five needles in it. You let out a gasp of pain as he turned away.

“But we have the Ma cause she understand pain. Cause you know that happens.” Kyla smiled before pulling you towards a table. “Get on there. Ma will clean those cuts.”

Looking around you saw all three of the nurses, or two and one training, be in their natural environment. “When can I go home?” Your voice was groggy and sounded hoarse due to your crying. You internally yelled at yourself for being so pathetic.

Ma placed down a bowl and a box next to you. She wore a sympathetic smile and started to clean your cuts. “You’re not going home. You’re apart of us now. Apart of our family.” She squeezed your hand in an attempt to comfort and you would be lying if you said it didn’t help.

“But why?” God, you hated how your voiced came out pathetic. It was irritating despite the fact you just got kidnapped.

“You’re one of us! And we stick together,” Kyla yelled as she was practically jumping up and down. “We were all livin a bad life before we came here. Space changed the way we were. And boy I don’t regret it.”

In the background, pans and metal objects could be heard falling. Kyla groaned while running, screaming something about SiR crashing again. Ma had finish up cleaning your cuts and she gave the softest smile you had ever received. She patted your back before getting up to leave.

You swung you feet back and forth as the ship gained speed. Slowly everything began to lift off of the surfaces. Gravity was being slowly lost until it all fell back down again. A window sat high up the wall, showing the stars running by. Earth grew smaller and smaller until it blended in with the rest of the stars.

“Space. Who would have thought?”

“Certainly not me.” The voice of the captain caused you to jump. Your pupils dilated as he moved closer. He watched as you scooted away, how your hands were shaking but your eyes told a different story.

“Vetex? I mean captain!”

“Vertex is fine. Although don’t tell anyone else that you could call me that.” He winked and gave a sly smile.

“Shouldn’t you be driving the ship?”

He hummed, staring at the wall. For a couple of moments nothing had happen until he grabbed your arm. He quickly pulled you into the hallway before the nurses could see.

“Captain? I mean Vetex.”

“My co pilot is driving. He’s got it, went to flight school or something.”

He went down several different hallways. Making lefts and tights while picking up the pace. The ship was a lot bigger than originally thought, but it seems everyone knows where everything is. Truly like a home.

He finally stopped in front of two metal doors. They slide open and reveled a grand kitchen. No one was in it but it was freshly cleaned. I’m t was made of crystal like material. Fresh ingredients sat out in the counter.

Vetex had moved to a door in the wall. He pulled out a magenta box and went straight to the stove.

“What are you doing?” You asked lowly while slowly walking towards him.

“I’m making star soup. My mom would make it for me when I was sad.”

“I’m not sad though.”

He turned his head towards. Looking you up and down before going back to cooking. The pot was heated up and the soup was dumped in. The place smelled comforting, a different childhood then the one you had.

“Go sit down. The soup will be done soon.”

There was an eating area connected to the kitchen. A small table sat in front of a glass wall. Now you could tell that you left your far from earth. It seems that the ship is leaving the galaxy.

A bowl was slammed down in front of you. Vertex smiled as he sat on the other side of the table.

You stared down at the soup. It didn’t look to be poison nor disgusting. It seemed to be regular soup.

He watched as you slowly took a bite. His smile grew bigger as you ate more. Vertex raised his hand and cupped your face. He pushed back a strand of hair before pulling your chin closer to his. He stared into your eyes as you felt his breath on your face.

“I think I’m going to keep you,” he whispered before letting you go.

You say they’re frozen, “What? Keep me?”

“Yup, originally we were going to sell you but I like you. So your mine now.”

“Sell me?” Sell you? Alarms were set off in your head. This was clearly not right.

You bolted out of the room causing your chair to fall down. You ran down the hall trying to run away. There could be smaller ships attached, you thought to yourself. Maybe we weren’t that far from Earth?

Finally you found a door leading to ships. There were rows of smaller ships. Some looked ready for war while others look liked oranges.

Freedom was at your feet before you were pulled back. Vetex somehow caught up to you, he seemed tired. His face held no expression as you thrashed around in his arms.

“Let me go!” You demanded. Trying to bite or scratch him but he wouldn’t budge. He was dragging you to a room that you didn’t want to stick around to see.

“I said you were mine,” he threw you into a room. It had a bed with decorative trophies. “Why should I let you go?” He crouched in front of you. His hand grabbed your chin as he stared at you with a bored expression. He brought a knife out, tracing it along your face. Here and there he would press it harder so that blood was dripping.

You cried, begging to be let go but he didn’t care. He locked your wrist with a metal gadget. It linked up to his own and you could see all your information on it. Your vitals and location were in bright red as he looked back at you.

“You’re never going to leave. I’ll make sure of that.”

#x reader #x gender neutral reader #x gn reader #x female y/n #x female reader #x ftm reader #x male y/n #x male reader #oc #my oc #My oc vetex #Vetex #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x darling #yandere x y/n #venuscrashed

[drops-of-moonlights]

I got an ask about favorite winx transformations and if my thoughts have changed at all in the last couple years that was lost to the void when my computer crashed like 3 hours ago and while I made one post about that aeons ago I don't want to go edit it again so I'm just remaking it wholesale lol. I think at this point y'all are familiar with my TakesTM so I don't need an intro, all the shit is below the cut. also this is for. all of them. like the comic ones included. also gonna provide images for them because it is all of them and most people don't know about the 9 comic ones.

*takes a look at the amount of transformations* oh god we're at 24 of these fuckers? lord. anyways we're going worst to best and honestly most of the worst ones will be the comic ones lol. Also I'm grouping MW and Charmix as Charmix Specials-style because they are just an accessory on top and the rest is the same so they will be judged together so that brings it down to 23.

23 - Paintix

This is by far the most creatively bankrupt of the transformations. Literally the exact same ugly top skirt boots combo 8 times. I have never found scans of the issue its featured in but they could have done so much more with a transformation themed around color? like c'mon here.

22 - Greenix

This one is better than Paintix for at least giving the girls different colors for more than just one (1) part but it's still the same exact dress 6 times with only minimal variation on the vines along the top, and it's sad, because this is supposed to be THE vegetation transformation as it represents the ENTIRE POWER OF LYNPHEA at your fingertips.

21 - Trendix

[IMAGE NOT FOUND]

THIS ONE DOESN'T EVEN HAVE ACTUAL GRAPHICS BECAUSE IT'S FROM A BOOK but the idea is that it's just Fashion Cheatcode the transformation and only Bloom, Stella and Flora get it so it's low, but above Paintix and Greenix for cheating in a way I find funny.

20 - Magic of Sports

Okay this one isn't even a real transformation as they just get wings with their regular fútbol fits (it's from the 2014 world cup issue) but at least the girls are wearing different outfits and the wings are also different colors so it has that going over Paintix and Greenix.

19 - Magic Rock

this one's a crime. but a crime with more thought put into it than the rest, so it's higher than them. Props to them, they all have different silhouettes and there are forms higher than them that can't break that treshold, but that still is not enough. What are they wearing. what is that. Musa why are you a makeup brush. Also they use this form to beat ghosts and win a music contest. what.

18 - Tynix

I've never been shy about my dislike for Tynix, and I feel this shows it well enough lol. bullshit obtainment aside I just think it's ugly - the construction paper gems, the shitty undersuit, the clunky broken glass heels, the random ruffles, it's all bad. The wings and the hair are cool and. that's about it really.

17 - Enchantix

I've also never been shy about my utter hatred for Enchantix, so I won't really rethread old ground here, but basically I think it's bullshit overall and it's only above Tynix despite hating Enchantix more because I can begrudgingly agree some of them are pretty. Still hate they're all flowers tho that's just bad. if you removed or adjusted the extra pink and restored everyone's skintones so they're not whitewashed S8 Enchantix would kick the ass of OG Enchantix to the curve visually (except Flora's she took a downgrade)

16 - Mermaid form

Yeah I also hate this one. I just don't think it makes sense to have fairy mermaids when mermaids are already a species in Winx and when the show cannot make up its mind if being fairy is a CHOICE or if being fairy is a BIOLOGICAL CONDITION, we don't need this shit muddling things up further. Points for giving Tecna proper wings tho good for them.

16.5 - S8 Sirenix and Crystal Sirenix

I'm also throwing the two S8 Sirenix ones in this tier because I don't like them either lol. S8 Sirenix fairs better than Crystal but not by that much.

15 - Travelix

We start the area where I just think they look... fine. I like the idea of the visuals and this is a transformation that SHOULD'VE been in the show proper (really they would've made more dolls that way) but it's also not anything groundbreaking. For those curious this is the transformation granted by the Stone of Memories that allows someone to travel in time. hence me saying it should've been in the show proper lol.

14 and 13 - Sophix and Lovix (position changes)

Some of them are good! Some of them suck ass. And therefore they end here because they aren't more than just Believix, Summer and Winter editions.

12 - Butterflix

I love the Butterflix wings and hairstyles and I think it had a solid IDEA but they put TECNA in a tutu and some crimes cannot be forgiven. points for having Stella's bodice be sunbeams tho.

11 - Dreamix

I don't really care all that much for Dreamix, but it edges out Butterflix, and that's the reason for this placement. I still don't get what the netting is supposed to be but I do love the wings.

10 - Onyrix

Onyrix also only slightly edges out Dreamix - the colors are worse and the wings are bad but I find it more visually interesting than Dreamix and it gave us Blue Stella back, so it has rights on that alone.

9 - Harmonix

We're getting into the ones I'm more positive for! but half of Harmonix is gorgeous half of Harmonix is bad. LOVE the idea of the trails and it has THE best spells out of any transformation but I genuinely don't think it's a transformation SUPER fit for being underwater and given that's its purpose it kinda. falters lol. Also I don't get how the trails are meant to be like mermaid tails? Everyone says that and I just don't see it. I see them as waterfalls more than anything else really.

8 - Magic of Food

Yes. I'm ranking the food form this high. Why? Simple - it's actually. really well done? Flora and Bloom's hair is trash but they went for a weird concept and made a transformation that actually looks pretty appropiate all in all, and I know this is because it's a sponsored transformation but hey, that cash went to a good-ass look lol.

7 - Magic of Joy

LOOK AT THIS. LOOK AT IT. ENCHANTIX WISHES IT HAD THIS EFFORTLESS ELEGANT SIMPLICITY. The wings being the same is lame but they all just look so pretty AND THEY TOOK THE TIME TO MAKE SURE TECNA HAD PANTS and I have to commend that. Bless you quokkas you funky animal you, thank you for giving this to us.

6 -Cosmix

OH COSMIX I WISH I COULD LOVE YOU MORE I genuinely find it pretty for the most part and it's the best Tecna and Musa have looked in years but I just cannot forgive Stella's vagina collar. I cannot.

5 - Charmix

What even IS there to say about the OG? the very first? It's iconic all on its own but I know my love of it is mainly guided by the happy memories of watching S1 and S2 as a child. That and some of the bags are not that great.

4 - Mythix

MYTHIX HAS RIGHTS AND I STAND BY THAT. IT'S WHAT ENCHANTIX SHOULD'VE BEEN. I am a person of simple tastes, I see magic wand I go apeshit. Also peak wings no wings rival the Mythix wings if you disagree you are wrong hate the dresses if you want but you cannot argue with me about the wings. I do agree some of the shoes are ugly tho.

3 - Sirenix

Yeah I love Sirenix. I understand the complaints about it being samey but I just love it - the ribbons, the hair streaks, the fins in the legs, the fish scale pattern leggings, I just think it slaps and it being wetsuit-based is so fitting for it. Shame about the same wings tho. Also we all know Sirenix has THE best transformation song ever made and that's a FACT.

2 - Bloomix

Bloomix is, objectively, the BEST the Winx have ever looked like. you cannot beat armor, you cannot. Stella's hair is a disgrace but it was the tradeoff for Flora being freed from her shitty hair blades for ONCE in her life and it's overall really good looking.

1 - Believix

Believix is peak and always will be. The perfect blend of fairy whimsy and modern aesthetics (for the time). The wings. the song. the transformation sequence. Really the only bad is Musa's shitty aerobics instructor pants and even then that fits her so I can't be TOO mad. Believix is love Believix is life.

#Winx Club #Drops screams into the abyss for Winx #I am not tagging all the transformations are you insane.

[iamthecomet]

Mushy May Day Four

Love At First Sight Pairing: Ifrit/Mist Rating: Everyone Featuring: Ifrit's smitten. Mist is kind of unknowable. Ifrit trying so hard not to be creepy but is kinda creepy. Word Count: 850+ This was supposed to be a First Kiss, but it didn't work out that way...oops. Read it under the cut or on AO3.

Ifrit notices her right away. She’s the first thing he sees when he peels his eyes open, legs still shaky. He flexes his bare feet against the warm stone of the summoning circle—and he stares. He doesn’t even think not to. Doesn’t have the wherewithal to drag his eyes away from her petite form.

She crosses her arms over her chest and glares at him. Eyes narrowing the longer he stares at her.

Someone drapes a cloak over Ifrit’s shoulders and pulls him away from the summoning circle, away from the ghoulette. He tries to keep his eyes on her, tries to commit her to memory.

The ghoul steering him away laughs, it sounds like water on rocks. He squeezes a big hand on Ifrit’s bicep. “Good luck with that, spitfire.”

“Who is she?”

“Mist.” the ghoul—void by the ozone reek of him—steers Ifrit down a long dark hallway. His knees feel like jelly. He’s driven along only by the ghoul’s pressure on his shoulder, stumbling forward.

It’s only hours later, sitting alone in an infirmary bed, that Ifrit realizes he never asked about anything else. Not where he is or why? Not the name of the void ghoul who brought him here, or the names of the other ghouls that were brought in after him—equally as shaky and confused.

He lays back, drags his hand through his mop of dark hair. He finds he doesn’t care about the answers to any of those questions—he just wants to see her again.

He doesn’t see Mist again for a long time. He gets comfortable. Learns his purpose, gets a guitar shoved into his hands and finds he enjoys playing it. He gets close with his packmates. Learns to love them like family.

He swears he sees glimpses of her. Flashes of spiky white hair disappearing around a corner. Her slight silhouette bathed in moonlight out by the lake—only to disappear when he does a double take.

As the nights pass—those glimpses become full sightings. She goes for a swim every night after midnight. Ifrit finds himself standing at the windows and watching her disappear beneath the surface of the lake. He knows he shouldn’t be doing this. That he at least should have a proper conversation with her. But he’s smitten. And he never sees her anywhere else—hasn’t had a chance. Doesn’t even know where her room is. Late one night Dew finds him standing in front of one of the large window at the end of the ghoul wing hallway. His fingers shoved into the pockets of his sweatpants. He’s waiting for a glimpse of her.  

He tries not to feel weird about it—this strange voyeurism of a woman he’s never met. But it isn’t for lack of trying, and he’s not creepy. He swears he isn’t. He just wants to know her—wants to know how to know her.

Dew nudges him with his elbow. “You spying on Mist again?”

Ifrit jumps, drags his eyes away from the glassy stillness of the lake in the distance. “No—what—I’m not—”

“Relax,” Dew rolls his eyes, he grabs Ifrit hands, lanky fingers lacing with Ifrit’s thicker ones. He pulls him down the hallway with surprising strength. Ifrit tries to protest, but Dew doesn’t look back at him.

“Where are we going?”

“To see Mist.”

“You know her?”

Dew looks over his shoulder at Ifrit, fair eyebrows raised up to his hairline. “We’re both water ghouls.” He says as an explanation.

He tugs Ifrit forward and shoves him toward a door.

“Knock. Say hi. Don’t be fucking weird.”

And then Dew’s gone, his own door slamming shut behind him. Ifrit swallows the tightness building in his throat. He’s hot. When did he start sweating?

He raises a fist and knocks softly on the door. Silence answers him. He feels a wave of relief. Good. She’s not here. He doesn’t have to embarrass himself tonight, he can go back to his room and-- The door swings open. He looks down and is met with Mists icy stare. She taps her painted nails on the door as she drags her eyes over his frame.

“Ifrit,” she says. It’s not a question, even thought they’ve never been formally introduced. She runs her other hand through her short spiky hair, dragging her palm over the undercut on the side of her head.

“Yeah I uh—”

“It’s about time you introduced yourself.” She crosses her arms. Despite being so much smaller than him—there’s something in her gaze that makes Ifrit feel like he’s already on his knees. Her lips tip up toward a smirk. “You’ve been watching me enough.”

“I—“ Ifrit tries to think of a way to defend himself. A way to sound less creepy than he feels. Heat rises through his face. Mist’s small smirk breaks into a grin. As his panic rachets higher. “It’s fine. Trust me. If I didn’t want you to see me—you wouldn’t have.”

“I’m sorry—”

Mist opens the door a little wider. She gestures into her dark room with her free hand. “Come on, pretty boy. Let’s get to know each other.”

#comet writes #mushy may #ifrit ghoul #mist ghoulette #mist ghoul #ifrit/mist #ghost fic #ghost fanfic #ghost fanfiction

[toxicanonymity]

Rock Bottom Ch 1 - In the Womb of God

Words: 2.2k chapter, 22k+ overall.

Chapter Pairing: Corey Cunningham x Corey Cunningham; Corey Cunningham x Michael Myers (unconsummated)

Summary: Corey wakes up in the sewer and gets choked by Michael, which arouses something in him, in more than one way. He jerks off. This fic is from Corey's POV and he's obsessed with Michael, including sexually, but he is very into women as well (so is Michael).

Yeah, the chapter is named after a bible study book that came up in a reverse-image search looking for that gif of Corey's silhouette leaving the sewer

18+ Choking, jacking off, fantasizing TW: Brief reference to suicide-adjacent thinking

After leaving the Halloween Party and storming off from Allyson, Corey Cunningham was in a very bad place.  The party was the first time Corey got up the courage to go out in public and really let loose since before Jeremy Allen's accident.  For a moment on the dance floor, he wondered why he had waited so long to try living again.  Seconds later, he came face to face with Jeremy's mom, who cruelly reminded him he had no future worth living for, especially not in Haddonfield.  The light at the end of the tunnel had been a mirage.  Corey wouldn't be one to kill himself, but he was at the lowest of lows and didn't care if he lived or died.   

When Terry and his crew pulled over, Corey had nothing to lose and only knew he couldn't keep being the Haddonfield punching bag. When he plummeted off the bridge, he was already a shell of a man, worn down and hollowed out.  If evil was infectious, Corey's immune system was severely compromised as he lay unconscious and empty on the ground.

-

Corey had the kind of night where you wake up the next morning and just want to crawl in a hole, but when he woke up, he was already in one.   As he stirred and opened his eyes, he felt grime on his clothes and air on his skin where his jeans had torn.  He was damp from head to toe. Even his cotton underwear was slimy.  Corey reached in his pants and adjusted himself. 

Judging by the size of his member, he must have been freezing, yet he didn't feel cold.   He didn't feel anything.  Corey blinked for at least a minute, but nothing came into focus.  His mind flashed to his glasses, crushed by Terry on the side of the road.   Visually, Corey could only make out that he was surrounded by rock or concrete.  There were other clues though, like rats, and the plink of dripping water. He was underground. 

Despite the nasty circumstances, Corey felt sheltered and unseen, which was a best case scenario.  For Corey, to be seen was to be shamed or pitied.   Wherever he found himself now, there was a comfort to this void.  He felt unborn. Corey lay there on the ground until a dusty beam of light assaulted his eyes and stirred him back to reality. 

On one hand, the obvious thing to do would be to follow the light and climb out of the hole, but that would mean facing Haddonfield, which had already chewed him up and spit him out.  Instead, he felt drawn in the opposite direction, deeper into the dark.  It might hold rabid animals, jagged debris, or even a crackhead, but nothing that compared to the emotional hazards on the other side of the drain.  Corey would welcome whatever hazard lurked in the shadows.  If evil was infectious, his immune system was severely compromised. 

Corey struggled to his feet and surveyed the space.  Behind him, there was a perfect circle of light.  The plinking of water drops told him it was a metal drainage pipe.  The circle had opened into a rougher space where Corey woke up.  It felt like a cave.  Corey started hobbling toward the darker end of the space, holding his injured palm in his good hand and squinting in a fruitless effort to adjust his eyes. 

Still nothing came into focus, but there appeared to be crevasses in the walls, with an even darker void beyond them. There seemed to be no end in sight.  Corey tripped over something that made a hollow-sounding clatter.  He looked down, and his eyes betrayed him - it appeared to be a human jaw.   There was a similar clatter as he stepped forward.  Corey shuffled closer to the wall to help keep his bearings. 

As Corey inched close enough to hug the cool stone wall, out of nowhere, part of the wall seemed to lunge out, and a leathery human hand was firm around his throat.  Corey gagged as his whole body was yanked upward and toward the wall.    Corey’s lungs gasped for air and the soles of his shoes scraped the ground in search of footing. 

He reflexively wrapped his hand around the arm that held him, trying to tug it looser in search of room to breathe, but the grip only tightened.  With impossible strength, the leathered hand forced Corey close enough to the crevasse to see he was face to face with Michael Myers.  Corey continued to struggle for air, and now he couldn’t blink.  He felt penetrated by the eyes he could not see behind the mask. He stared into the mask and saw warm black holes with flickers of his own reflection.  He stopped struggling.   

Corey was dwarfed and consumed by Michael's presence.  It was a rush to yield control to something so powerful.  With Michael’s hand around Corey’s neck, and Corey’s face inches from Michael’s mask, his body was flooded with adrenaline and something he didn't yet understand.  Corey let himself change shape in Michael's hand, and his blood began to rush with new warmth and pleasure.  He was electrified.  His nipples and balls began to tingle, and his cock twitched.

The blurred mask sharpened into scratched, chiseled features.  Almost as soon as Corey had given in, Michael released him with a gentle shove.  Corey gasped, refilling his lungs with oxygen as Michael faded into the wall.  Regaining his balance and his breath, Corey expected to collapse from the exertion of his initial struggle, but instead his muscles surged with new life and his loins swelled with heat.   He braced himself there for a moment, hands on his knees, chest heaving, soaking up the energy that continued to vibrate through him.  

Part of Corey longed to stay underground, even back in Michael's grip, but a stronger part of him compelled him back toward the outside world.   Corey crawled through the round pipe and it expelled him into the homeless encampment yard where he was swiftly attacked by a hobo and fatally stabbed him in self defense.  

As Corey watched the life drain from the man, he felt the exact opposite of how he felt watching Jeremy’s blood leave his body a few years earlier.   He felt invigorated and empowered.  His transformation wasn’t just psychological - Miraculously, Corey could now see without his glasses, but even more surprising, he wasn’t afraid of being seen.  He didn't think about the past. He didn't want to disappear.  He wanted to take control.  

As he left the scene, Corey felt the ghost of that leathered hand on his throat and felt pangs of desire in his gut, chest, and taint.   His cock twitched again.  He remembered the way Allyson had looked at him hungrily the night before.  Corey had to have her, and his damp briefs began to strain, begging him to get on with it.  His hormones told him to go straight to Allyson but he was still coherent enough to know he'd have to shower first if he had any hope of bedding her.   Corey reluctantly started the walk home to Joan and Ronald's house instead.  

On the walk home, he tried to distract himself with efforts to piece together what happened the night before after Terry ran him off the road.   The back of his jeans and sweater were caked in mud, so he must have landed on his back, but he wasn't sore. The gash on his hand was ripped open too, and seeping something black - it didn’t hurt either. 

From the height of the bridge, he was lucky he was alive. Corey found himself hoping that Michael had brought him into his lair deliberately.  Michael Myers was a predator.  That would make Corey prey – a curious thing to want for oneself.  It was a foregone conclusion that Corey would return to the sewer, it was just a matter of when.  First, he wanted to make up with Allyson and fuck her brains out.  Another reason for going to Allyson? Conveniently, no one knew Michael better than her family.  

***

Joan was hysterical that Corey hadn't come home the night before, but Corey pushed past her on the stairs and ignored her completely for once, locking himself in the restroom.   For a moment, he could hear the muffled drone of Joan's crying outside the door, but it faded as he looked in the mirror. 

The man staring back at him was not the boy who got bullied by band kids.  Wilder curls framed darker eyes.   A gash adorned his hardened jaw.  His nostrils flared.  For all his efforts to calm himself on the walk home, his hard-on had returned and his need was surging.  

Corey resolved to take a cold shower and get to Allyson.  He would give her the best fuck of her life.  He hurriedly pulled his dark cranberry sweater up and over his curly hair, and in the mirror he was surprised to see the muscles of his broad chest and shoulders straining his filthy white undershirt as his chest heaved. 

Either he was physically pumped up from the action or he was finally seeing himself with clear eyes.  He was filthy and banged up, but the only thing that hurt was his throbbing erection.   Corey palmed his arousal through his jeans and peeled off the soiled undershirt.  His hard pecs were relatively unscathed aside from his excited nipples being slightly raw from the chafing of his wet shirt.  

Corey kicked off his shoes as he frantically unbuckled his jeans and slid them down over the bulge in his briefs and his muscular thighs.  He wanted to save his arousal for Allyson, but the friction was too much. He left his jeans half on and yanked down his briefs to free his cock. 

A swollen pink head slapped against his stomach, catapulted by a girthy shaft. He doubled over, bracing himself with one hand on the wall, and winced as he gripped his shaft with his cold and filthy hand. His balls shrank into him slightly but the erection swelled on.  He admired it in his hand. 

He was the same familiar length, but the girth took his breath away.  Normally, he could close his fingers around his shaft with ease, considering his large hands. Today, it was more of a reach.   Corey desperately kicked off his jeans and briefs and turned on the hot water instead of the cold.  

Corey tried to slow his breathing as he waited for the water to warm up.  He used a thumb to caress the head of his manhood, which was already weeping.  Pleasure shot through his lower back.  As he wrapped his fingers around the shaft, he felt it pulse against his fingers like it had its own heartbeat.   His mind flashed back to the sewer with Michael's hand around his throat, his jugular vein pulsing rapidly against Michael's callous fingers. 

Corey began stroking himself.  He thought about kissing Allyson in the photo booth the night before, dancing with her, feeling her lace sleeves on his skin and admiring her fishnet tights.   He ran his hand up and down his length in rhythm as hot water wet his curly hair and the filth began to roll off him, gray water trickling toward the drain.  

Corey tried to imagine what it would feel like fucking Allyson, but in between images of her milky breasts and spread legs, Corey's mind kept drifting back to the mask.  Corey resisted this at first.  He replaced the image of the mask with a vision of Allyson touching herself.  He saw the mask again and tried to conjure the sensation of Allyson's lips around his cock.   When that failed, he tried to access what little spank bank he had - losing his virginity in a green station wagon, hard nipples grazing his chest as the windows fogged, a soft ass bouncing on his upper thighs as she slid up and down his cock.  

Despite his efforts, the only tactile fantasy Corey could conjure as he stroked himself was the large hand around his throat, a thought that made his member spasm, followed by intrusive thoughts of the hand gripping him elsewhere.  Corey groaned.  Desperate for relief, he succumbed to his vision of the mask, letting it once again stare into his soul as he jerked faster.   The water got hotter, nearly scalding his skin.  Corey tightened his grip, hastened his stroke, and closed his eyes. 

He could feel the hand tightening around him.  He could hear Michael’s breath loud in the mask.  Corey's breath quickened and his knees felt weak.  His body remembered the electricity it felt in Michael's grip.  His ass clenched and his cock erupted.  He unleashed one rope after another of hot, thick come.  Three…….four….… five…….. He had to steady himself on the shower bar.  

Corey let a breathy groan escape the back of his throat as the last of his cum was spent.  He had never come that hard in his life.   He watched his spend circle the drain, then closed his eyes.   He stood there breathing for a moment, cradling his deflating member, grateful for the relief that washed over him. 

When he was finished showering, he turned off the water and stepped out of the tub and into the steam that had filled the bathroom.  He wrapped himself in a towel and wiped the fog off the mirror.  He leaned his head back and inspected his thick neck, caressing the red marks gently, which sent a pang of pleasure to his ass.  His brow furrowed and his eyes began to well up.  

--------

Notes: did anyone else notice the giant penis graffiti when Corey comes out of the sewer IN CANON?

Rock Bottom Chapters

#michael myers x corey cunningham #slasher smut #michael myers fanfic #corey cunningham smut #halloween ends #corey cunningham x corey cunningham #everyone is bi #bisexual!corey cunningham #michael does things to people #corey cunningham x michael myers #rock bottom fic #toxicanonymity ☠️ #rock bottom ☠️ #rock bottom fic ☠️

[emerald-onion]

Idea Given Form (Discarded Drabble)

The moment Dream opens his eyes, he immediately knows that this is a dream.

For one, he still remembers the softness of his mattress, the way it dips under his body as his consciousness unravels beneath the heavy weight of exhaustion. For another, as the Guardian of Positivity, Dream has visited a numerous number of alternate universes, and yet none of them looks even remotely close to this one.

The sky is a vast ocean that stretches from the inky shore to the hungry skyline, filling up with twinkling constellations. One particular playful shooting star zips through the endless void, trailing the faint smell of stardust in its footsteps. A heavy and enormous planet hangs overhead, and from there, he can see the flickering silhouettes of long-forgotten cities, of crumbling skyscrapers and barren wastelands.

Dream marvels at the sight in front of him. It is so beautiful, and at the same time, so haunting, as if he is cutting open time itself and peering through the gaping wound of reality.

Shaking away the thought, he starts to walk, admiring the many islands that lazily drift through the unending Cosmo, each one of them seems to be a universe of its own. One has been overgrown with vegetation, wisps of green gently dancing in the wind, another lay domain to slumbering mountains, looming over everything else like an ancient beast.

In all of his awe, the Guardian bumps against a piece of stray rubble, the force nearly sends him tumbling on his pelvis. Rubbing his sore nasal cavity, Dream grumbles, ducking under the floating rock-

And then he sees it.

A towering tree woven from human arms, forever grasping for something unreachable. If Dream thought the mountains were big, this... thing, it can crush all of them in its grip. The skin is scrawling with black tattoos, indecipherable language in indecipherable patterns. Hundreds, thousands, millions of eyes blink in slow discordance as they quietly weep rainbow ichor.

It is something out of this world, unfathomable, incomprehensible, something never meant for a mortal’s eyes.

Dream can’t help it. He gasps.

Wrong move.

At the foreign sound, all of the entity’s eyes synthetically snap toward him, peering at the small, insignificant mortal who dares to intrude on its home. The Guardian sucks in a sharp breath, taking a shaky step back, only for his spine to hit the rubble he bumped into just earlier.

There is a rumbling sound that shakes the whole island, and when Dream realizes it, a lone hand has detached itself from its coiling mass, leaving trails of dripping rainbow strings. He barely catches the sight of an entire galaxy stuffed inside that gigantic body before he is snatched from the ground, any form of thrashing or struggling completely useless against the fingers that are doubled his size.

This, he thinks, is the strangest dream I have ever had.

Getting stuck in an unfamiliar universe? Being killed by an eldritch monster made of human hands? Dream would laugh if his being isn’t struck with an overwhelming fear, the bone-deep terror that brushes its icy touch against his SOUL, leaving him paralyzed.

Completely powerless, Dream has no choice but to squeeze his eye sockets shut and wait for the inevitable end.

Except-

Except... Nothing happens.

Cautiously, he opens his eye sockets. The entity doesn’t hurt him, doesn’t grind his skeletal body into paste or fling him so far he will instantly turn to dust the moment the Guardian touches the floor. Instead, those many eyes seem to... sparkle?

Another hand lifts, moving toward him, and he instinctively jerks back. But if the entity has any harmful intentions, Dream cannot find any of them because at the moment, the only thing he can focus on is those gentle, caring strokes against his spine. Blink, and suddenly, the inky tattoos have shifted, surrounding him like over-hyper toddlers.

“Uhhhhhhh,” he mumbles, more confused than ever. “What...?”

HI!

Dream flinches. The sound seems to come from his own mind, echoing inside the confine of his skull. Fortunately, the entity doesn’t notice anything, too busy vibrating with excitement.

YOU <FRIEND, GUARDIAN, POSITIVITY> ARE FINALLY HERE <LOVE, JOY>! YOU <FRIEND, GUARDIAN, POSITIVITY> HAVE NO IDEA HOW LONG I <GUARDIAN, CREATION> HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR YOU <FRIEND, SLOW-POKE, GUARDIAN, POSITIVITY>!

It has?

No, wait, the voice is familiar. Very familiar. Dream has heard it before. But where...?

A puzzle piece clicks into place.

“Ink?!”

THAT’S ME <BESTEST-FRIEND-EVER, KIN, GUARDIAN, CREATION>! The entity, Ink, beams.

“But... How...?” He sputters. “Why do you look like that?”

<CONFUSION> LIKE WHAT?

“Like that!” Dream gestures sharply at the towering mass that is his friend. “Last time I checked, you are a skeleton, not some eldritch horror of unfathomable power.”

Ink lets out a gasp of realization.

YOU <FRIEND, GUARDIAN, POSITIVITY> DIDN’T KNOW?

Know what? Dream tries to say, but Ink has already continued.

SILLY ME <IDIOT, FORGETFUL, GUARDIAN, CREATION>, OF COURSE YOU <FRIEND, GUARDIAN, POSITIVITY> DIDN’T KNOW! UNLIKE ME <VOID-BORN, GUARDIAN, CREATION>, YOU <VOID-FORMED, GUARDIAN, POSITIVITY> WEREN’T BORN A GUARDIAN <CHILD-OF-VOID, IDEA-GIVEN-FORM>!

“Ink,” Dream struggles to catch the jumbled mess of his friend’s thoughts. “Ink, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

The millions of eyes blink, clearly gearing for another ramble, only to freeze when the world flickers around them.

OH DEAR <SADNESS, GUILT, REGRET>, IT IS TIME TO SAY GOODBYE.

“Time to-?” He scrambles to interrupt the Creator, as if it would stop the way everything slowly melts into colors around him. “No! Wait!”

SEE YOU <BEST FRIEND, FAMILY, LOVE-YOU-DEARLY> SOON, DREAMBOAT!

A splash, a faint sense of loss, the smell of freshly-painted canvas.

And Dream wakes up.

#undertale #utmv #utmv au #ink sans #dream sans #eldritch horror #Idea Given Form #IGF #repost my deleted headcanon from ao3 #or drabble #please note that if I plan to expand this AU this drabble will be discarded #just want to show case my eldritch ink design #idea given form au

[kedreeva]

(Not All) Those Who Wander Are Lost

A fic wherein Eddie and Max wake up in the Upside Down a little monstrous, and decide they're not done fighting for their world.

-----

Past the caves by just over a week, the world breaks completely. Like the sky above, the ground turns into a field of large, floating rocks that get smaller and smaller into the distance. Eddie’s pretty sure this is not how planets work, but he cannot see ground below, so it looks as if the Upside Down just trails off into space. It’s beautiful, the red lightning turning blue out here, crackling constantly at a low tone instead of arcing, giving the whole area a shivery sort of lighting that makes the only denizens of the area seem ethereal.

They are deer, or as close to deer as an alien world can get, but they’re smaller than Max, with lighter frames. Their wings are not like hers, not bat-like wings at all. They’re thin in some places and thick in others and tough, the ends of them splitting into blades like a fan’s. They are graceful and springy, leaping and playing, carefree among the broken remains of the world.

As soon as Eddie dismounts, Max bounds off after them all, massive compared to them. Eve joins her as well, but Lars stays crouched over Eddie, protective. He doesn’t like the light out here, doesn’t like the electricity. Eddie’s fine with that. He sits with his back against Lars chest and watches it shimmer amidst the dust of the world, and thinks about supernovas. This is as close as he thinks he’ll ever get to something like one.

When Max finally lands in front of them again, breathless and radiating joy, Eddie rubs her jaw and smiles widely at the friends she’s brought down with her. “Have fun?”

Eddie, it’s beautiful out there, she tells him, sharing the memory of it with him. Come see.

Lars whines about it, but when Max takes off with Eddie astride her shoulders, he follows. They duck and dodge between shifting boulders and small land masses, and just when Eddie thinks it might go on forever, they clear the debris and the lightning and emerge into an endless night.

Stars, as far as he can see. A galaxy spread out above and beyond them like an ocean, speckled in bright lights. Max locks her wings open, silencing them as she glides smoothly along the edge of the word, the void to one side and a field of crackling blue energy to the other. Eddie sits up to stare, breathless, as Lars drifts up beside them, dark form a silhouette against the black, lit by the reflection of the lightning.

You were right, Eddie thinks at Max, and feels the warm surge of her joy curling around his mind. It’s beautiful out here. Is there… an end to it?

Somewhere, Max says, beating her wings to curve her path and then stretching them wide again. The damaraks say there’s more land on the other side of the Rift. When the suns come this way, you can see the bottom, like an ocean. Maybe it was one, once.

Eddie swallows and ducks down closer to her back. The mindflayer did this to them. Split their world apart. Took the water.

She doesn’t answer, just flies, silent, along the edge of the world. The shore, Eddie thinks, now that he knows. Somewhere below them is an ocean floor. He cannot imagine the bones it must contain, the destruction it remembers, etched into its face.

He isn’t sure when the damaraks join them, but he notices when the first overtakes them, and it’s only moments before they are surrounded by the small, flighted deer Max had spent the day with. Unlike the creatures closer to home, they are blue or green or purple, and the light that plays over them only makes them look brighter. They do not glide like Max, but their wing beats are silent, like an owl’s, and they fill the sky around his small family.

(Read the story on AO3!)

#stranger things #stranger things 4 #eddie munson #max mayfield #stranger things fic #found family out on adventures in the upside down #max gets to be a monster.... as a treat #my writing #those who wander

[mikuish]

pixlriffs skulk-horror piece (1/2)

(This feels like an odd first post? But I’ve been working on this for a bit and wanted to share)

…

Night floods the Ancient Capital. It seeps through the roof of the museum. It sinks into the ruins and submerges deepslate and leaves. It drowns the bridge in shades like the deep, murky water below. Skulk-light glimmers faintly off the surface. Pinpricks like so many sharp teeth. Dodos shift in the dark, their feathers a rippling void.

Shadows creep from cracks in stone to twist around pillars, to smother glow lichen. In this newfound darkness, Pixlriffs gropes his way around another corner, hands scraping against rough cobble. Was he even near the staircase? One hand reaches ahead and grazes a crumbling wooden spike. He yanks the extinguished torch from its bracket, flinging it to the ground. It splinters with a soft sound. 

Dammit. The scattered storage rooms had been difficult to navigate even before darkness overtook them, transforming Pix’s messy arrangements into a labyrinth. Now he walks forward with hesitant steps, arms outstretched. His boots collide with stone and his hands feel for another wall but grasp only air. Stairs, finally. 

One cautious step at a time, leaning against the wall for support. Bat clicks echo behind him, buried in the halls. As he climbs, a chasm widens between him and those bats. Between him and everything locked below. It is an escape from the musty, metallic tang of copper and the maze of his belongings. Pix makes one final turn and ascends into the night. 

. . .

Above ground, the surrounding scenery melts into unidentifiable silhouettes. These smudges lurch towards him when he looks to the path, but remain eerily still when he dares to glance back. Pix’s heartbeat thumps loud in his ears. In this shadowed landscape, it is the only sound other than his shallow breathing.

Come on. Come on, I have to move. Do something. 

He bites his lip until the sting brings him clarity. Just enough to shift one trembling foot before the other. His mind is too uneasy to focus on anything but breathing and his steps. One breath of thick, humid air. One pace forward. Slowly but steadily making his way down the road, through what he knows to be farmland. 

Wheat fields, just wheat fields…

Thousands of gaunt, spindly spiders fill his peripheral. Below the road, they stand where wheat should be and their long legs twitch in the non-existent breeze. He can’t make out their eyes, but they must be staring up, up into the dense smog which has swallowed the atmosphere. Pix chokes down oxygen as he shakily continues onward. It is slow to fill his lungs and leaves a bitter taste sticky on his tongue. 

A moldy smell congeals in the air around him. Distantly, there is a snapping as if wires were pulled too tight. Heads turning. Necks breaking. Eight red beads like drops of blood. The feeling that there are too many eyes on him is impossible to escape. One foot in front of the other, quicker like his breathing. He can’t get in enough air. Such heavy air, bordering on blistering, clinging to his skin. Sweat dampens everything below his clothing, but he can’t strip off any layers. No, he can’t let the smog come into direct contact with any more of him. 

Dizziness sends him swaying down the path. Arachnids must be scuttling below, legs on rocks and dirt and twigs, following. Following, their eyes set on sweat dripping down his face, the dull white of his teeth piercing down into his lip, red trickling down, everything going down— a brief glow lit up his vision, turquoise shades so cool they seemed like guardians of Saint Pearl, here to help him, here to save him, and he tripped down, down— crawling on all fours, illumination in this dark night, it will rid him of the spiders following him, of the nightmares all around him, closing in on him, dragging him down, down, down—

The skulk grasps his wrists, tendrils pulling his hands deep inside of the pulsing mass, center warm and swampy and syrupy thick, so when he screams and tries to yank himself out it is an effort to pull back even an inch. An inside like blood— when Pix finally frees himself it drips from his hands, hot ooze and fetid steam which burn his eyes and send tears dripping down. All that heat but it feels as though his limbs are frozen, bones chilled through. 

An oppressive silence drapes itself over the world. No more skittering legs, no more clicking of sharp teeth. Even the roar of blood in Pix’s ears lulls into a gentle murmur. Before him, the skulk breathes steadily, exhaling charcoal-black puffs that reek of mold and rot. Pix gags through his wheezing, feels the burn of vomit low in his throat. More ooze dribbles down his hands; dark and viscous like black hair melting. It splatters onto his boots. 

#esmp pixl #pixlriffs #horror? #tagging is an endless mystery

[appledaggerst]

Tagged in this by @infinite-orangepeel ❤️❤️ seemed like fun!

rules: post the first lines of your 10 most recently published AO3 stories. if you have less than 10 fics posted, post the first lines of all your fics.

Heartbreak Hotline

“You should do it.” Robin leaned over the counter at Family Video, chewing her nail and grinning around it while looking up at Eddie Munson. The man was playing with his curls and couldn’t help the mischievous smirk that was spreading across his face.

That's One Romantic Poltergeist

It has been three weeks.

Three, excruciatingly long and arduous weeks.

Heartbreak Hotline: Redial

They were scheming.

Steve peered through the shelving of Family Video at the front counter where his best friend stood and committed atrocities against their relationship with a curly haired menace.

A Hawkins Hallmark Christmas

Two weeks before Christmas a party gathered

They had beaten the evil and nothing else mattered

A wizard, a bard, a warrior, a ranger

December rolled in and there was no more danger

With magic and retcon no members had fallen

So now they sit with the written names all in

A hat on the floor, they looked on with delight

Who would be their Secret Santa on Christmas night?

We're Better Off as Lovers

Crunch

It reminded him of something. When he was a kid, looking for something to fill the time while his dad left for days at a time. He would screw around behind the trailer park near a creek. One day there was a big old june bug there.

We Could Never Be Unhappy

In the inky black void of the inbetween of everything in the span of time, a formless creature floated through space, eerily and aimlessly. Fate, as some would call it. Created before mankind, over and over again.

If we make it out alive (will you be my Valentine?)

The skyline was a jagged silhouette against a blood red atmosphere, clouded fog bleeding out from cracks in the ground. The world was shaking, crying out. Metal screeched against itself shrilly, rocks crumbled down, houses were being razed to the ground by the sheer power of what the open gates wrought.

Tagging whoever wants to do this! ❤️❤️

#steddie fanfiction #steddie fic #steddie #steddie fic rec #steve harrington #stranger things #eddie munson #steve x eddie #fanfic #fanfiction #disaster bi #appledagger #steddie list

[appalamutte]

For the WIP game! What is An Unwitting Act of Delegation?

I was hoping someone would ask about this wip because it's my omgcp au fest one, and now I'll feel more motivated to work on it haha.

It's my zimbits arranged marriage // medieval au! It takes place on a continent that looks....shockingly like North America, except larger, and is controlled by a High Court similar to that of the Holy Roman Empire.

This means that arranged royal marriages haven't taken place in hundreds of years because there hasn't been a need for them. Until there is, and Bitty's kingdom is designated a betrothéd, something different from betrothed. In this universe, betrothéds are specifically in arranged marriages and are usually believed to be bearers of good fortune for their home kingdom, while being betrothed is merely just being engaged.

Also, here's a playlist I made for this au. It's all for the vibes and what I listen to while writing/working on it!

Anyway, here's a snippet:

The cathedrals of Montréal stand proud in the night.

Their gold-coated spires glisten under the moonlight, beckoning all who travel in with facades shrouded in dark and windows void of any visible light. Most of their chevets can be seen even from a far distance away, from such an odd viewpoint, and one can only imagine how ornate the naves look within them. Eric’s never seen anything like them before. Towering and faceless and still distinguished, nothing more than a silhouette against the night. From what he can discern, descending into Montégérie Valley from the south, nothing in the city stands as tall as they do. It’s as if the city kneels to them.

The carriage rocks against a slope of loose dirt as they turn parallel to the hillside, and with this new angle Eric can see it: the palace, far across the city, perched high upon the other side of the valley. Its body of blues and whites glowing under lamplight. Its property overgrown meticulously and purposely with greenery.

Le Mont-Royal, the cartographer called it. The home of the Crown.

It’s menacing, far more menacing than the blackened cathedrals, standing opulent and formidable above them and all else. As he sits in his carriage a city away, Eric is filled with dread, cold and heavy in his stomach, finding he can’t look at it for more than a moment. Though, really, why should he? For weeks, all he’s been able to pass time with is by imagining it, thinking about the undoubtedly sprawling corridors and the marble floors and the royal family sleeping in beds made of eastern silk and goose feathers.

There, across the city, atop the finest mattress, sleeps Québéc’s sole prince—Le Prince de la Cour. The woeful son of the greatest lineage of kings the continent has ever seen. The soon-to-be ruler of the largest and most powerful kingdom in the High Court.

The recipient of Eric’s betrothéd, may he be willing.

(Fun tidbit, Holster and Farmer are Bitty's siblings because I needed him to be a middle child with a younger sister lol.)

#yes i submitted my own prompt to the fest so i could have a deadline to write this by #thank you for asking!! #answered #my writing

[mangohgeckoh]

“Somebody to Love”

A Silco x Reader Fanfiction

-

MINORS DNI

Warnings: Mild gore, body horror, surgeries, addiction, injuries, pregnancy, angst.

3/4

——

An inky black void corrupted my vision, rendering my sight and consciousness blind. Body numb and faint purple veins would pierce through the void. Only fragments of the outside world would bleed into the empty abyss.

…

“...going to be okay, doctor?”

…

“...are serious internal injuries…”

…

“...how long until she is fully recovered…”

…

“...need to perform a few surgeries…”

…

..

.

My body felt like it was in the ocean, when I woke up my eyesight rocked back and forth. And a single small lamp hung over my head lazily and lit the otherwise pitch black room. The atmosphere felt damp and cold, my nose could also pick up traces of mildew and must. I tried to lean forward to stand from lying but my forehead was caught against something. What felt like a leather strap restrained my body from moving. In fact, my body was splayed out and bound by the same leather straps. From the tight hold of the straps, I was able to look down at myself. I was wearing a bloody hospital gown. I winced at the searing pain that was coming from catheters that were already stabbed in both my wrists and legs.

Purple liquid was flowing through the tubes hooked up to the catheters into a metal tank beside the medical bed I was strapped to. “Ah. You are awake.” A weary voice muttered from behind me. Despite all that my body was being dragged through I managed to croak out: “Who are you?” For a moment I thought Silco had left my unconscious body in the streets to fend for itself. The man’s voice sounded hush and faint. “I am the Doctor. I only wish to help you as per Silco’s orders.” But there was no evil or anything that could insinuate something sinister in the man’s \voice from behind me. I let out a shaky breath. “Where is he?”

The clanging of metal instruments, hospital tools no doubt, could be heard from behind my bed. “He had rather urgent…business matters to attend to.” The old voice said warily. A silhouette crossed my vision, I strained my eyes to try and make out who it was but the light was too bright. “This will more than likely hurt.” The silhouette said as if this was their normal daily endeavor before injecting a syringe into my neck. My scream faded to a muted silence when I was dragged back to the black once again.

…

..

.

Light clanging of the familiar surgical tools woke me up this time. The intense light above my head bore into my eyes, making it hard not to squint as my eyes searched the room. Nothing in the atmosphere changed. It was still humid, dark- apart from the light, and quiet. A tank besides me bubbled with purple liquid I could only assume was shimmer. Oddly enough my mouth didnt water at the sight of it. After a moment of watching the bubbles form I began to struggle against my bonds. The leather squeaked from my movements under the straps.

After a while of attempting to escape, my body began to scream at me to stop. Now the realization settled in that I felt many stitches attached to my body. I had a row of stitches on my stomach, legs and chest from what I assume was a surgery of being cut into. So I only succumbed to my fate. With how far gone my body was there was no way I could be alive for much longer. “What does it say?”

“I wouldn’t be so glumb. I was able to mimic the addictive chemicals of shimmer with a…less dangerous substance.” He stood up and began to loosen my bounds. “In doing so I was able to also put your body through a faux detoxing.” The last of his words blurred, sending my body to cloud nine. “You’re no longer addicted to the drug.” I heard the man’s voice say. After all this time I am finally able to rid my body of the horrible mistake. I am now free. Then, like an airplane rocketing through my clouds, his voice spoke up once again. “Though I did find one abnormality.” I looked up to the bald doctor, his long lanky limp out stretched with the clipboard. My arms were now free to take the board and read the diagnostics.

Wait.

The doctor watched me reread his notes a few times before looking under the paper for any signs of this being a joke.

I shot my eyes up to his bleak ones. “What?!”

-

The doctor, I soon came to learn was Singed, released me from the surgical bed, not before recommending me other experimental variants of Shimmer that would “speed up the process.'' To which I turned my nose up. He claimed they would reign non addictive but I’m sure that was false. The doctor said that Silco would be here soon to check on me. “Really?” I asked, surprised. Silco was not in the slightest affectionate and hardly ever compassionate to those who weren’t his daughter. “Yes…he instructed me to keep you here until he collects you.” Singed said from the sink where the clinking of surgical tools was heard. I watched the doctor from the bed uneasily as he cleaned the blood and purple fluid off different knives.

The blood or the knives didn’t make me uneasy, neither did being trapped in a room wearing nothing but a hospital gown with a strange man. What made me uneasy was that two hours had passed by and there was no sign of Silco. My arms crossed over my chest. “This is insane.” Did Silco seriously forget? The sound of my feet padding against the cold tile of the damp room was loud enough to make Singed turn.

“It would be best to wait for Silco.”

“I would if I felt like he was coming.” Though I couldn’t really tell from under the scarf he had over his nose, Singed wasn’t pleased with my lack of respect for Silco's orders, but didn’t stop me. In fact he advised me not to run or do anything too taxing physically in risk of the fresh stitches tearing. Before I left the doctor fixed me with an actual crutch to aide my healing body.

It felt nice to finally walk again knowing that I wasn’t going to die. The Undercity actually felt quite peaceful now. Well, it is still a smog filled crime city but my mentality changed. Almost like time went by in slow motion, a pair of Zaunites ran past me slowly. The smog that filled the sky floated around ever so belated. I focused on every tiny detail including the smell of the terrible air quality and the metal taste in my mouth. I felt new and thankful for the second chance I had in life.

But my gratitude ran out upon reaching my destination.

The Last Drop.

The bouncers recognized me, even though I was limping and not wearing my usual giddy mask to appease my clients, from the many visits I paid Silco before this mess. Or should I say that he paid me?

I limped through the doorway, passing by the long line of drunkards and shimmer addicts. My shoulders turned and my tired gaze dropped on the addicts. I watched one foam at the mouth and pass out from the withdraw pain infront of the bouncer. To which the guard just pushed him aside with his shoe, as if he was mere street trash. I turned back to face the stairwell, my memory guided me where to go from the many times I serviced Silco in his office. Music thundered against the brick and metal walls of the bar. The reverberations of the music made the metal steps under my feet vibrate with each beat of the song that played.

Just as I emerged from the top of the stair steps, my eyes connected with a familiar pair of blue ones. “Laurie?”

It was Silco’s daughter. “Jinx…” My eyes stung, tears threatened to pour out at the sight of the nine year old. She was in her pajamas but had a cup to her ear. The other side of the cup was against the large door to Silco’s office.“What are you doing?” I asked the child who tried to hide the cup. “Nothing!”

I giggled for the first time in a while. “You can tell me, I’m not so fond of your dad right now.”

Jinx’s face scrunched up as she placed the cup in her lap and fiddled with it. “Me too.” She pouted. “Dad hasn’t been keeping his promises lately and has been too busy to spend time with me…more than usual.”

I thought for a moment. Fuck it. “Well, that ends today.” My hand outstretched to the little girl and she took it with a smirk. Strangely enough the door was unlocked. I budged the door open to see Silco signing papers, Sevika stood behind him watching our every move like an owl.

“I am busy.” The man of the hour started. “Jinx said you haven’t been keeping promises.” I boldly stated, not caring if his guard hears. Sevika didn’t move. If we were some common riffraff, however, she’d probably have beheaded us right where we stood.

Silco’s face turned pale, more white than his usual color, when he looked up to see my very much alive form. “Sevika, watch the door.” He ordered and his right-hand obeyed, rustling past the two of us. Jinx squeezed my hand as she passed.

I heard Silco’s breathing pick up but he was able to hide the sound with his own from lighting a cigar. “Dad, why are you so busy.” Jinx asked from almost behind me. Her father gladly took this opportunity to fix his gaze somewhere else. “Dear, I told you there’s a very important contract I’ve been working on.” His tone was soft but cracked a little at the end.

His daughter’s eyebrows furrowed for a moment before she let go. “We hardly get to play together anymore.”

“I know, honey, we will have time to do so soon.”

“When?”

His thin lips parted to give another excuse when I butted in. “It’s not about the contract, is it?”

Green and red brilliant eyes leveled with my own as Silco shot up. There was a moment of silence in the room while the two of us shot daggers into each others eyes. If Silco could say something with even a hint of fear in his voice, this was the first sentence. “Go to your room, please, Jinx.”

His daughter only groaned. Making her way, not without showing how much she hated being shot down so fast by wobbling out of the office dramatically of course. As she was leaving, Silco turned to face the large ominous green window that hung above us.

The green light that emerged from the tinted glass tainted the room. Furniture that littered the office were in hues of green from the dark atmosphere. Another silence was held between us before he spoke. “I wasn’t expecting an audience with you today.”

“Really? That’s not what Singed said.” I rebutted.

“Oh? And what did the Doctor say to you?”

“He told me you were going to check up on me.”

Silco rocked only slightly on the balls of his feet in what I could only assume was nervousness. “It appears you’re wrong, Laurelei. Only doctors check up on their patients.”

“You know what I mean, Silco.” I growled and took a step towards his desk. I looked down at the paint that scattered across the worn wood. Shades of pink and blue sprawled around the desk making words or the shake of a monkey. My fingers traced over the crude depictions before I started. “Before I leave, just answer this one question.”

My chest rose with the deep breath I took. “Did you save me just so you could have your play thing back? So then I could return to my job? So then you can have something wrapped around your cock?” I choked, feeling my eyes prick with tears.

“Or did I notice worry in your eyes just before I fainted? Did the Eye of Zaun actually care about me?” My body started to shudder from exhaustion and sadness.

“Because I am starting to feel like a damn fool, Silco, for recognizing this feeling I’ve had for you. I guess my question is am I just some whore to you? Or did you also feel something before you decided not to show up at my bedside?”

There was a beat of silence, save for the light chokes in between tears that I fought against leaving my eyes.

“That isn’t one question, Laurie.”

Wow. And that was it. Like water pouring through a dam with force my tears had streamed out uncontrollably. “I…I guess that is settled then…” I sniffed and turned. My body froze, wanting to take in this last moment that I had in the office while I had it. But then I heard another pair of sniffling. I pivoted on my good leg to see Silco’s shoulders only slightly trembling.

Roughly he turned and whisper shouted. “Do you think that I didn’t miss you every damn minute you were gone?!”

“Did you think that I was some heartless being that saved you just to bury myself into you again?” He hissed, continuing on his last sentence. My vision became bleary from the tears but I could still see Silco’s skinny form shake. “Did you think I wasn’t pacing like a mad man while that doctor was operating on you?”

My breathing became harsh. “Then why didn’t you come back?”

His long hands slammed against the desk, creating a fury of air to push off the papers off the desk. “Because I was scared!”

A beat. And then another of silence. “You…were scared?”

“It isn’t easy…being someone so feared to find someone to love or even come close to. Jinx is my only family that I have. She’s the only one close to me next to Sevika. But even with Sevika I don’t tell her things.”

I was quiet, hoping the silence would beg him to continue. “Then you came along. I started to feel things. It’s not that easy to go from numb to feeling something other than hatred. So I pushed it down until I could bare it no longer. But with acknowledging my feelings I came to realize that you might not have the same feelings as I do.”

There was a pause. For a few moments the room was only filled with heavy breathing and sniffling. “What happens now?”

-

The morning after

After the admittance of our feelings, I wrapped Silco in a big bear hug. Who knew he would be such a crier? Then he picked me up bridal style and took me into a side door that connected his office into his room.

So here the two of us laid, in his oversized fancy bed. We were both exhausted but not from intimacy, but from the talking that we stayed up doing. I woke up and stretched, but than turned to the sound form of the most powerful man in Zaun.

I need to tell him.

“Silco…” I began as my eyes gazed upon the exhausted Silco next to me. But only a “hmm?” managed out of his thin lips. I leaned in closer, making the bed creak and shift a little. Ever so slowly, and with the little confidence I could muster, six words flitted out of my lips like a butterfly emerging from its cocoon. “You’re going to be a father.” I whispered in his ear. After a few silent moments I started to hear faint snores coming from him, which made me laugh and playfully shake him.

“Mm?” He hummed again.

I chose to try a different tactic to catch his sleep drunken attention since he was already a father. “Little Jinx is going to be a sister.” It took a few moments before his forest green eye opened and stared at me with disbelief. “What?” He gasped, mouth hanging open to reveal shark-like chipped teeth. I laughed and embraced him, my stomach lying flat across his.

“I’m pregnant.”

“You…you…” For the first time I witnessed Silco’s stoic exterior succumb to stuttering. “You’re with child?” Beautiful mismatched eyes stared down at my stomach. My hand took his and placed it against my stomach. Soon it will swell with his heir.

“Our child, Silco, our child.”

#arcane #silco arcane #silco #arcane fandom #fanfic #silco fanfic #silco x oc #silco x reader #silco x you #silco/oc