#my art or something have i forgotten to tag that lately

[quinn-pop]

Mayta Knight 26-28

26 - Dramatic

27 - Reading

28 - Arena

3 left!!

[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.” 

[samiiy20]

♡ 𝑯𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝑯𝒚𝒖𝒏𝒋𝒊𝒏 ♡

𝑃𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: Hyunjin x fem!reader 𝐺𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑟𝑒: Smut 𝑊𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 3.5k 𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: Age difference (keep in mind that they are both of legal age, but still with a notable difference), oral sex, unprotected sex. 𝑆𝑦𝑛𝑜𝑝𝑠𝑖𝑠: You're in love with your art teacher, but you've never told anyone until he finds out.

N/A: I've had this idea in my head for a while and hadn't been able to express it, but I finally got it, I hope you like it. Not without first clarifying that this type of behavior is illegal and that I am not in favor of it.

N/A2: This is the first long work I've done in a long time, it took me a long time to do it so I hope you like it

Here is the link to pt.2

masterlist II tag list

This content NOT is for minors!!!

This is merely entertainment, this does not represent any real person.

It is forbidden to copy or translate my work.

English NO is my first language.

The music resonated in your head while your hands moved across the paper tracing confusing lines. You weren't passionate about art, but drawing from time to time kept your mind calm, although right now your thoughts were shrouded in a cloud of confusion.

Your hands had left the pencil and you looked at your creation, you cursed when you saw the result, but you still put it in your things and went to sleep to stop thinking, although you knew that in your dreams you would also see it.

You knew that today wouldn't be the best day since you woke up late, the weather was ruining your shoes and you had forgotten some things in the rush, but the only thing that could cheer you up was art class. You had signed up to fulfill something, but you discovered that you liked it more than you thought and not just the class.

When you entered class had already started so you ran to sit in one of the empty chairs at the back without looking at anyone. You took out your things excitedly, you put all your attention on what the teacher was saying.

"…art is more than simple lines and strokes, they express everything that each of you can think and feel…" his gaze met yours for a couple of seconds, but you felt as if he were going through your head and he could see through it. You avoided his eyes by looking down at where the hundreds of his drawings were.

You couldn't help it, since you entered the first day and looked at him you thought he was the most beautiful being your eyes could have ever seen, for a moment you thought he was just another student, so you were quite surprised to know that he would be your teacher. The passage of time only helped you torture your thoughts with images of him, his free hair, his bright eyes, his sweet smile, his relaxing voice, the curve of his neck, his hands on the pencils; Everything about him made you forget anything.

After a short lesson on some new types of strokes they started to work but you couldn't concentrate with him hovering and you could only feel the intensity of your thoughts between your legs, the excitement that stained the fabric of your panties just by imagining his hands on your body.

Although your thoughts tortured you, you tried to stay calm to continue drawing, but you couldn't concentrate, your strokes were unsure and misaligned, the sheet that was originally white was now dirty and messy.

"What's happening?" You were excited when you heard a voice behind you, but you didn't need to look to know who it was.

"Nothing, it's just… I don't know what to do."

"Mmmm… I don't think so" you turned to look at him but when your eyes met you went blank. He took the paper on your desk and looked at it carefully. "I think you're not listening to your mind, you're trying to capture something you don't want."

"I… I can't draw what I want."

"Why not? What's stopping you from doing it?"

You shook your head forgetting that thought and trying to get your work, but he pushed it away.

"You should draw what you feel," he touched your forehead with two of his fingers and you grunted when he pushed your head a little, "not what you force yourself to think."

He broke the paper he had and went to his desk, you sighed trying to get out all your frustration and ignoring the fact that his fingers had touched you even for a second.

You took out your own folder and looking to the sides in case anyone saw you carefully opened it revealing what you really wanted. Him. Each page of that folder was Hyunjin's things, his lips, his eyes,his face, his smile, his hands, his body; but you couldn't give it to him, he would be scared just by seeing it, so you tore off a blank sheet of paper and closed the folder, hiding it.

In the end you drew the rainy landscape of the window, you were satisfied with the result and you handed it to your teacher praying that he would not reject it. He took it and after a quick glance at the page he looked at you sighing, leaving it in the pile of drawings on his desk. You looked at the time and noticed that it was already too late for your class so you ran out with a too light weight in your backpack.

When classes ended you decided to stay a little while the rain cleared, but it didn't seem like it was going to end. You decided to go to the library to do some work and maybe get some sleep, when you were taking out your things you noticed that something was missing. Your folder of drawings, you started to get alarmed and panic. Without thinking twice you ran to the art classroom praying that no one had found it.

If someone saw what was inside they would realize the obsession you had with your teacher. You were almost crying just thinking about what could happen, the burning in your lungs not caring when you turned and saw the classroom.

You opened the door without knocking and noticed that there was no one except Hyunjin at his desk. He turned to look at you through the glasses on his nose and raised his eyebrow.

"What's happen?"

"…n…nothing… it's just that…" you stopped for a bit to take a breath and tried to continue "I forgot some things."

Before he told you to come in, you were already in the middle of the classroom looking for your folder on the desks. When you got to where you had sat, you felt like your soul left your body when you couldn't find anything. You began to go around each of the chairs in search of your folder but when you didn't see anything, the tears in your eyes accumulated.

"Are you looking for this?" Almost forgetting that Hyunjin was there, you looked at him holding your folder in his hands. You didn't know what was worse, losing it or him having it, but hoping he hadn't seen it, you nodded, trying to calm your trembling legs as you went to get it.

With every step you took you wanted the earth to swallow you more, but when you finally reached his desk the only thing you hoped was that he wouldn't say anything. He extended the folder and you took it without objection, feeling a little relief, but when you opened it slowly, making sure he didn't see anything, you were scared when you saw that all the pages were blank. You flipped through the pages trying to find the evidence that gave you away, but there was no trace of it.

"But where…??" you went through the entire folder without finding anything "this is not mine."

"I guess this isn't either?" He threw a pile of leaves on the piece of wood and you looked down finding all your drawings of him, you swallowed and dared to look at him "well?"

"I…that…isn't mine" your voice shook a little and when he sighed, lowering your head, you stayed still. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, getting up from his place. You felt small when you noticed the height difference but you were so afraid that you couldn't move from where you were.

He walked around the desk until he was in front of you, you couldn't lift your head and you only looked at his feet.

"So what were you looking for?"

"N…nothing."

"So that's not yours?" You denied looking at the floor, but you noticed how he moved his body a little closer to take the drawings "then I'll have to ask one by one who he is?" You stayed silent looking at the drawings he was holding, you mentally scolded yourself for having drawn them.

You heard a long sigh from him and then one of his hands grabbed your chin to lift your face. Your eyes went somewhere else away from his face and you were holding back the urge to breathe.

"Answer me, is that what you really want?"

You clenched your fists and dared to exchange glances, you were fighting to stay on your feet, to not breathe and calm your mind, but everything was too overwhelming. You felt vulnerable having him so close and feeling the warmth of his skin on you.

"You always try to hide/repress what you want, but what you don't know is that you're an open book" you kept your gaze steady but a blow to your stomach was present.

"I do not know what you are talking about…"

"You think I'm stupid?" His hand gently descended down your neck to your collarbones. "Do you think I don't feel your gaze all the time? Do you think I don't notice how your little body tenses when I talk to you or how your legs tighten when I get too close?" You closed your eyes trying to suppress the emotions in your chest, but his breath hit your neck and you felt like you couldn't hold your breath anymore.

"That is not true."

"Then why does your heart feel like it's going to burst out?" He pressed his lips to your skin beneath your collarbones and you finally let out all your pent-up air. “Your drawings reveal who you really are, they show what you want.”

Hyunjin withdrew a little, for a moment you felt relieved but on the other hand you thought about the possibilities of this happening again, everything you had been holding back was overflowing from that little kiss and you couldn't hold it back anymore. Before he went too far you grabbed his shirt and pressed your lips against it.

You sighed, letting yourself feel the emotions that tickled your body, while you melted into her lips. Everything around you stopped making sense and nothing mattered other than savoring his kisses, you didn't care that he was your teacher or that someone could come in and see them, or the only thing you could keep in your mind was the shape of his lips.

You were so dizzy from his kisses that you didn't realize the moment his hands ran down your body to your waist. They both immersed themselves in a deeper kiss, letting their tongues get to know each other. You allowed yourself to tangle your fingers in her hair while holding your breath, thinking that this way the moment would last forever. You tried to memorize each of his kisses, each of his caresses on your waist and before you knew it he withdrew, cutting off the moment.

For the first time you saw his eyes and your brain reacted to what just happened. You covered your lips and stepped back a little embarrassed, you thought about saying something but the words weren't enough for the regret you were starting to feel.

"I'm sorry…"

"No" you saw him approach again and he grabbed your chin making your body start to shake again "do you know how long I held back from doing that?" you denied automatically, analyzing his words "every time you looked at me like that it made me want to take you in front of everyone" his fingers contoured your lips and you opened your mouth instinctively to suck one "but now that I've tried a little I won't be able to stop until devour you."

His hand went down to your neck, cutting your breath a little and without noticing it, he made a soft moan from you. Hyunjin was fighting with himself not to lose control, but he couldn't take it anymore, he needed to take you on his desk or he would die.

His lips collided aggressively with yours and his hands grabbed the hem of your shirt to remove it. You let yourself be carried away by the sensations and you let him kiss your collarbones and massage your breasts while you covered your mouth so as not to moan. His kisses trailed down to your abdomen and he paused a little to unbutton your pants, but you didn't let him do it because you wanted to do something first.

You took courage and held his face to stop him, you kissed him while your hands explored the material of his shirt as you undid his buttons. You reached his pants and without stopping to think you unbuttoned them, feeling his trapped erection. Your kisses traced a path across her chest and you heard how she let out small sighs while she realized where you wanted to go.

When you were on your knees in front of his still wrapped cock you looked up at him only to smile at him as you pulled down her boxers. He caressed your head in approval and you watched the tip of him dripping, savoring the flavor, you moved closer to paint your lips with his essence. Hyunjin moaned when he saw the intentions in your eyes and grabbed your hair so you could open your mouth once and for all.

You began to introduce his member little by little, trying to get used to it, but he didn't give you time and began to move his hips, making everything go into your mouth. You had imagined this for a long time and didn't believe it was happening, but the sensations in your wet core let you know it wasn't a dream.

You held his thighs with your nails but you enjoyed the mere way he moved and since he was still in control, you looked up recording the expression on his face. His eyebrows furrowed, his mouth open releasing curses and his eyes locked on yours at all times.

"You like this right?" He stopped and let you breathe a little. You nodded still with his member in your mouth "is this what you had in that little head?" You sucked on his member in response and he moaned in response. He pulled your hair back, leaving only the tip on your tongue to see how it painted. You savored what he gave you and moaned as you felt the tension in your core. You squeezed your legs together looking for some friction and Hyunjin noticed.

He lifted you up and cleaned your mouth, he imprisoned you in the middle of the desk and his body at the same time that his hands reached your clothed center. You squirmed a little when you noticed him but his movements were slow.

"Tell me what else have you imagined?" He whispered into your neck, leaving the mark of his teeth.

"I…only you."

"Tell me the truth" another bite on your skin made you squeal "I will fulfill each and every one of your fantasies pretty girl, you just have to tell me."

You pursed your lips trying to remember something, but his teeth and his caresses on your center were stealing all your attention and you couldn't concentrate.

"I…imagined that…you were fucking me on your desk, that you were holding my hands while you kissed my back."

With quick movements he made you stand in front of his desk with your back to him. He kisses your neck, getting rid of your bra and all your clothes, leaving you completely naked. You felt his cock on your butt as he came over to bend you over his desk while he grabbed your hands behind your waist. You couldn't help but moan when you realized how you were, you opened your eyes only to realize that you were on top of all the drawings you had made, each and every one of them represented your fantasies, but now they were coming true.

You were about to say something, when his fingers touched your sensitive pussy, drowning out your words. Your legs closed instinctively but he interrupted you by placing his own in the middle. He began to massage your clit and you arched your back a little trying to release the sensations in your chest. He was torturing you by going very slowly, but he just wanted to tease you and make you say your name.

His fingers explored your entire core and then he introduced two of them, making you let out a louder moan that echoed throughout the room. You couldn't move much because of the restrictions on your body but that somehow made you feel better. Notice how you could only accept the excitement and nothing else, but that was starting to go on for too long and made you desperate trying to let go to find release.

Hyunjin was more ready to end this, but he was turned on by the way that no matter how much you struggled, you couldn't do anything but moan, but no matter how much he could continue torturing you for hours, he knew that they weren't in the right place to do it.

He removed his fingers from inside you and lined up his cock to replace it. Without letting go of your hands behind your back, he engraved the silhouette of your body on the papers and since it had been stained a little by the charcoal, you were a work of art in his eyes and now that he had you in front of him, he would use your skin as his canvas and his kisses and caresses would be his brush, he would make clear what his mark was.

He introduced his member slowly, feeling how you squeezed him and recording the sound of your voice in his mind. He leaned over your back to have a better position and started to move, he moved your hair back to kiss you and mark your neck. Your moans were better up close, so he quickened his pace to hear you.

Feeling the heat of his body on yours made you lose your mind, his kisses on your back and the movement of his hips colliding with yours made you pray that it would never end, but your body couldn't take it anymore. You noticed how your legs were shaking, your hands were clenching, your insides were tightening more and more and how your stomach was contracting.

Your head was spinning and you couldn't handle all the emotions, it wasn't working properly having your teacher fucking you like you had always imagined, it was all too much and your moans were just the proof of it all.

"Come on pretty girl, I know you're close," you heard Hyunjin say as he increased the pace even more, "let me feel you."

His words seemed to be what was missing for you to release everything you could no longer contain. You felt your body tense for a moment and in a second you sighed, letting yourself be carried away by the release in your center. You moaned his name over and over again as he continued hitting your insides seeking his own release and a few seconds later you only noticed the hot liquid spilling down your legs.

He withdrew a little to free your hands and lay on your back again, leaving kisses and caressing your hair.

"You have done very well, now you can rest."

You closed your eyes processing everything that had just happened, but before you finished you felt the absence of heat. You were dazed and tired but you stood up slowly thinking about the consequences. When you turned around you found Hyunjin with a tissue in his hand, without saying anything he approached you and helped you clean yourself. Still a little sensitive, you held onto his shoulders but without looking at his face.

They didn't say a word while they were getting dressed and before taking your things he finally spoke.

“We shouldn’t have done this,” you hung your head, knowing he was right.

"I know, it's my fault," you said, releasing the burden you had been carrying for some time now, "but I couldn't help but fall in love and now I involved you in this, I understand if you don't want to see me again, I will drop out of class and I promise that You will never see me again, it was all my fault.

"what are you taking about?" Hyunjin grabbed you by the waist and you stayed still when you had him so close again. "You don't even know what I feel, why do you assume that I don't want to see you again?"

"But…"

"Shhh, we'll talk about that later, okay?" A little dazed and excited, you nodded, looking away from him. "Why don't we go home? I think I'll have to teach you to look at my face when I talk to you."

You smiled nervously as you hugged him, letting this moment remain in your memory to capture later.

Here is the link to pt.2

[authorlaurawinter]

As you may have seen in my stories, an individual contacted me with this message.

This is absolutely unacceptable. My cover - my art - was fed into an AI generator without my permission to be “reimagined”. I did not give permission for my work to be used in this manner, yet this was stolen to be used in a how-to video on YouTube and possibly elsewhere.

Then, the audacity of this person to think they were doing me a favor by tagging me in said video “so that people could buy it on amazon”. As if this would absolve them of any guilt in stealing my work. And then they sent me the image like that was another favor.

I am all for folks making art about my books, characters, and what not. I am truly honored when someone feels compelled to make something because they were moved by my stories. But AI is not creating.

I am absolutely gutted. What was a lovely morning with my baby has now been tainted by my need to make these statements and work off this visceral feeling in my gut. Instead of spending time cuddling with my child it’s now spent typing this draft to work out some of this anger.

Soul Forgotten is my first book, my first story ever written. The first novel that opened the door for so much more. It’s rough around the edges, the actual cover is a bit cringe now, but at the time when I had some spare change to actually hire someone to make it for me? Freaking amazing. I’ll never forget that feeling. IT’S MINE, those characters are MINE, and that blood, sweat, and tears that went into creating it? MINE.

I have not and will never use AI in the creation of any of my work. Every word you read comes from my hard work - late nights and early mornings and quick moments during the day. I am proud of how much time I’ve spent growing and learning so I can keep making stories that y’all want to read. I love writing, I love creating, and I love doing it with my own hands. End of story.

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Coming Home (Part 8)

Azriel x Reader

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven

Just saying again if I’ve accidentally missed you off the tag list, please drop me a message and let me know! I don’t want to miss anyone ❤️

Warnings: Nah. I think we all know I eat angst for breakfast by now. 🫣

⧪

A week later, your only relief was keeping busy.

Day in and day out, you threw yourself into the world of your work, lost yourself in the glorious art that was magical healing. Every minute of the day was filled with walk-ins at the clinic, or the more urgent home visits you travelled out to. And come evening time, when the patient footfall thinned out into nothing, you crushed herbs and mixed ingredients until you were healing your own cuts, your own burns, making salves and tonics and long-forgotten medicinal recipes that were fading on the pages of the dusty old book you so often buried your nose into. 

Anything to keep your thoughts off of him. To keep that ache from ripping you open inside.

That evening, like every other over the past week, you hid yourself away in your little back room. It had become a solace of sorts, a place that was yours to linger in for as long into the night as you needed. Sometimes you even slept there.

You wiped a sheen of sweat from your brow as you drained the water from the herbs you’d been boiling. Lost in the punchy aromas and the steam creating a shroud around you, you just about jumped out of your skin when you turned to find a figure in the doorway. You winced as a few droplets of boiled water sloshed over the rim of the ceramic pot, spraying your arm.

“Shit.” Lucien marched over, easing the pot from your hands and placing it on the counter. “Sorry — I did knock. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. It’s nothing.” You wiped your hands on your apron, the sting already gone. “What brings you here?”

“I was on my way to that family dinner I’ve been so generously invited to. Thought I’d drop by here and offer to walk you there.”

Shit — you’d forgotten about the dinner you’d agreed to. And thus, forgotten to come up with a good excuse as to why you couldn’t attend. You knew you wouldn’t be able to avoid these things forever, but to see Azriel so soon — to sit across the table from him and act like everything was fine — was a prospect that made you feel sick.

Lucien seemed to notice your hesitation. He frowned. “Is something wrong?”

“No.” You quickly said — you really didn’t feel like explaining the Azriel situation right now to anyone; even him. “No, I just…forgot. Uh…I’ll clean myself up.”

“Good idea. You have a little…” He reached out a strong, broad hand, the pad of his thumb brushing just beneath your eye. “There. Some sort of powder.”

With a somewhat nervous laugh bubbling up your throat, you brushed past him, his touch still tingling on your face. 

You didn’t see the point in fixing your appearance beyond the basics of dusting yourself down and throwing your hair up that had begun to curl in the humidity of the room. You discarded your apron, shucking your jacket on, and turned to Lucien expectantly.

You snorted as you found him sniffing at the various different pots of salves and tonics, a frown pinching his face. You pointedly cleared your throat. 

“If you’re done shoving that pregnancy prevention tonic up your nose,” You gestured to yourself. “Do I look presentable?”

One side of Lucien’s mouth kicked up into a delicious smirk. “Ravishing, Lady Healer.”

⧪

You prolonged the walk to the house as much as you possibly could, dragging your feet slowly and keeping Lucien lost in conversation. It reminded you how easy it had been to be around him before — how the gaping chasm inside you didn’t ache quite so badly as he regaled you with wicked stories that drew genuine laughter from you.

You were undoubtedly late, though — and that much was obvious when you could put off the inevitable no longer, and you entered Rhys and Feyre’s home. 

Everyone was already seated at the table when you and Lucien strolled through, mid-laughter. They each looked up with raised eyebrows, taking the sight of you in.

Azriel’s was the only gaze you didn’t meet, no matter how badly your eyes wanted to stray to him.

Your laughter died in the expectant silence, and you cleared your throat. “Apologies for the lateness. I got…held up. At the clinic.”

It didn’t occur to you, in the moment, how those two words — held up — may have been construed, given the appearance of the situation. That you and Lucien had wandered in later than everyone else, talking and laughing and flushed from your walk in the brisk air. You took your usual seat beside Mor, reaching for a glass. 

“Can we eat now?” She pouted. “I’m starved.”

“Yes.” Rhys replied, his eyes not moving from you. “We can.”

⧪

Rhys’s hard gaze wasn’t the only one trained on you throughout dinner. 

Elain sat directly opposite you, and you were surprised she actually managed to eat anything, with how intently she stared at you. Glared at you. If she was trying to make you uncomfortable, it was working.

“All I’m saying,” Cassian said from across the table, cutting into his dessert, “is that it’d be pretty cool to have a Night Court pet. A mascot, of sorts.”

Amren narrowed her eyes at him, draining her glass. “Where are you going with this, you stupid boy?”

“A cat. I think we should get a big, Night Court cat. A black one.”

The verbal sparring between Cassian and Amren, through all three courses of food, had been dinner entertainment in itself. Kept you distracted enough that Azriel was simply a shadow in your periphery, and nothing more. 

And Lucien had helped, of course — like he could sense that you needed easing. His reassuring glances from the chair on your other side, his quiet comments in your ear that had you laughing to yourself, had all been the comforting presence you’d needed.

“Perhaps we should get a cat.” Amren hummed. “It can replace you, Cassian. And probably provide us with more stimulating conversation, too.”

Lucien leaned down to your ear, his breath tickling your skin as he murmured, “He can join our band of rejects.”

The laugh that broke from your throat was so loud, so sudden, that everyone turned to look at you. Lucien pulled away, clearing his throat.

Shifting in your seat, you pushed your plate away from you. You’d barely touched a morsel of food all night.

“If we’re done eating.” Rhys said, his hard, violet eyes on you. “Perhaps we should move to the sitting room.”

Hums of agreement sounded around the table, and you didn’t hesitate to stand up from your chair. This was the perfect opportunity to make an excuse and retire early — to leave the heavy, pressing atmosphere that was making your chest uncomfortably tight.

You opened your mouth to announce you were leaving, but your brother turned to you, holding out an arm. 

“A walk around the garden, Y/N?” He asked. The fact that nobody else said a word was indication enough that there was intent behind the innocent suggestion.

Still, he was your brother — and you barely got to see him anymore, partly through your own doing. You smiled tightly and linked your arm through his.

“Save some whiskey for me.” Rhys called over his shoulder, leading you out.

⧪

The two of you strode in silence for a while. 

The night was peaceful, if not uncomfortably cold in your thin clothing. Content, playful snippets of conversation occasionally floated out of the house and reached your ears. The floral scents that drifted through the air were pleasant, soothing, reminding you of simpler times.

You would have felt blissful if you didn’t have warring emotions eating you up from the inside.

Rhys slowed to a stop beside a flowering shrub, his fingers toying with the petals of a soft purple flower. “Y/N.” He said quietly. “What’s going on?”

You stared at him, willing an expression of cluelessness onto your face. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” His jaw ticked, “I mean with you and Lucien.”

Gods, you were already tired of this conversation. You felt yourself bristle as you folded your arms.

“Oh, don’t give me that look, Y/N.”

You cocked an eyebrow. “What look would that be?”

“Like you don’t know what I’m talking about.” His tone was sharp, biting — verging on angry. “Everyone was aware of you leaving your party with him. I overlooked it because I knew you were overwhelmed. But afterwards, I found out you had…history with him. And then tonight, the two of you turn up late together after doing the Mother knows what—“

“I’d thank you,” You interrupted with a snap, “to watch what you’re insinuating, brother.”

“You were sat directly opposite his mate, Y/N, while he was whispering in your ear.”

“Elain doesn’t even acknowledge him!”

Rhys whipped round to face you so fast, he tore the flower from the shrub. It floated from his fingers to the ground. “Your opinion on their bond is completely irrelevant. He is a mated male, to a female in our family, our court. You will not interfere with that.”

You clenched your jaw. “Since when do you involve yourself in other people’s relationships?”

Your brother stared at you, his lips slightly parted. Slowly, he shook his head. “You truly have no idea, do you?”

“About what?”

“About what I have to deal with!” His voice was almost a shout. “This isn’t about involving myself in relationships. This is about my duties as a High Lord. Our relations with many of the other courts are already stretched at best. If they sense conflict from within our court, our family, it will be used against us.”

“Conflict?” You repeated. “For fuck’s sake, Rhys, Lucien is my friend. If Elain has a problem with that—“

Your words were stopped short as Rhys marched over to you. He cut an intimidating figure, towering over you and gripping both your shoulders in his firm hands. 

“Do you know what they say about you in the other courts?” He shook you. “Do you? They talk about the Night Court High Lord’s flighty younger sister who cannot settle in any one place. Who moves from court to court, taking lovers and doing as she pleases. Who was fucking and drinking to her heart’s content while the whole world went to shit.”

“I,” You snapped, shoving him off, “was healing mortals and helping rebuild villages and lives that our kind were destroying. And I wanted to come home, to find some way to help — you told me to stay away!”

“Yes, because I couldn’t let Amarantha get to you! I knew she’d use you to get to me and I couldn’t let that happen!”

“So you can’t hold it against me, Rhys—“

“I’m not holding anything against you.” His tone was low, dangerous, his face moulded into one fitting for the Court of Nightmares. “But I have duties. Important ones that cannot be compromised. Stay away from Lucien.”

You stared defiantly up at him, your arms crossed over your chest. “Are you saying that as my brother? Or as my High Lord?”

“I’m saying it as a gentle warning as your brother. But if I have to pull rank to keep things on the straight and narrow, I will.”

“Gentle.” You scoffed. 

That single action of yours seemed to incense Rhys beyond anything else.

“Do you even realise what hell we went through? The things we had to endure? I barely survived!” He spat, his wings flaring behind him. “But those dark days are behind us, Y/N. We’re trying to rebuild, to regain strength. And I can’t have you making poor decisions and breaking us apart from within. I cannot have you bringing shame down on our court!”

He may as well have slapped you.

You felt your breath hitch in your throat. Felt your clenched fists uncurl themselves. Felt the cold slither of hurt snake its way through you until it was chilling your bones and turning your blood to ice. You’d fallen deadly still.

Rhys knew immediately what he’d said. The realisation seemed to drain his anger from him instantaneously. His eyes shuttered, his jaw loosening. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Shame?” Hot tears pricked at your eyes; you blinked them away. “Is that how you feel about me, Rhys? Ashamed?”

“No, look, that’s not what I meant—“ He was scrambling for words as he reached for you, his face, his eyes, infinitely softer — the expression you recognised as your brother. “I just—“

But you were stepping away from him, shaking your head. Wiping your eyes. You didn’t want to hear another word he had to say. 

“Y/N—“

“Wow.” You laughed bitterly, shooting your brother one last, scathing glance. “Congratulations, High Lord. You truly sound like our father.”

Vicious, vicious words that you knew would hurt more than anything, but you were beyond caring. You turned, running back up the steps to the house and sweeping through on a wind built of your own anger, your own hurt. You didn’t know whether you wanted to scream or cry. Maybe both. 

As you passed the rest of the Inner Circle gathered in the main sitting room, you didn’t spare a single one of them a glance. Even though they could see the tears spilling over and rolling down your cheeks. Even though you looked seconds from breaking completely.

You held your head high, and you left. 

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tags: @safetypinxtales @historygeekqueen @smartiepants217 @mulansaucey @kennedy-brooke @highladyofillyria @issybee0611 @goldentournesol @percyjacksonspeen @high-bi-andreadytocry @esposadomd @positivewitch @bsenpai @cityofidek @shannonsaid @topaz125 @azzydaddy @nobody00sthings @sfhsgrad-blog @elizarikaallen @hanasakr @ruleroftides @mis-lil-red @reiincarnatiion @moonfawnx @new-adventures-every-day @davinaclaire16 @i-am-fascinated @lucyysthings @margssstuff @magneticforceofaswifty @xxoverthinkerxx @marigold-morelli @owllover123 @vera0124 @thewarriormoon @the-book-gnome @favoritecrime1 @pricklepearbloom @icantthinkofanythingplease @ilovespideyyy @theravenphoenix26 @kitty-kait @hwas-housewife @localhopedealerr @magical-mischief-makers @holywolfsstuff

[puddle-nerd]

Healing Warmth

Summary: When you’re sick, Spider makes a great cuddle buddy.

Prompt #10 for my submission for #𝐂𝐫𝐲𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐞𝐬𝟏𝟒𝐃𝐎𝐋𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒

Story Tags: No use of Y/N, Female Reader, Human Reader, Established Relationship, Sick Reader, Spider loves cuddles, Spider radiates heat, Change my mind

Author’s Note: A long time ago, my first ex did this while I was sick, and I felt so loved despite being a sick mess at the time that I wanted to share this with you all. Also, remember, Spider is a sixteen-year-old boy who doesn’t know the healing arts of the Omatikaya so he’s trying his best.

AO3 Link

“I’m fine,” you protested vehemently for the fifth time in thirteen minutes and twenty seconds before a round of violent coughing stormed malevolently up from your lungs and sliced your throat from the inside to add insult to injury. You doubled over beneath your many blankets, curling in on yourself as you choked and gasped and coughed some more until your body was trembling and you felt weak to the point of wanting to pass out. You refused to meet Spider’s knowing dark chocolate gaze and huffed weakly as you slowly slumped back onto your bed. Unfortunately, this – your terrible illness, what usually went by the term ‘head cold’ around the human encampment, which was stupid because you felt it throughout your whole body and not just in your head – was expected because you always without fail got sick annually for, like, two and a half to maybe three weeks when the weather of the Omatikayan forests turned cooler. And you’d already been feeling under the weather for at least a week, though this was the worst of it, so far.

It wasn’t fair.

Spider hardly ever got sick. Not even when he spent time around you while your fever was high, and you felt like you were dying. And even when good ol’ Norm tried to cheer you up at your bedside by explaining that Spider had different chromosomes and genetic makeup that was a little more effective against human ailments than you did, you would just groan and toss a pillow at your adoptive uncle. Good naturedly, of course because the tall human male was a nerd, but you loved him dearly anyway.

“Wanna try that again, my silly little girl?” Spider smirked, crossing his arms over his chest and raising a brow at you.

You flipped him off, your arm trembling when you raised it in his direction.

Spider just laughed, knowing you didn’t actually mean it and uncrossed his arms, coming towards you and crawling up onto your bed until he could flop beside you on top of all of the covers. You groaned at the sudden weight pressing against your over sensitive body but twisted onto your side, anyway, allowing the tall boy to curl up behind you. Your body soaked up the heat radiating off of him like a sponge and it did make you feel better… a little. Of course, that could have also been wishful thinking, too, wanting to spend the day with the boy you cared for deeply, even if you were ill. Still, you knew he had plans today, like most days, and you decided to remind him, just in case he had forgotten. That’s what a good girlfriend did, right?

“You’re gonna be late… Lo’ak’s gonna come looking for you soon if you don’t go meet up with him soon,” you murmured to Spider over your shoulder, “and he’s gonna be upset if you cancel.”

The younger Sully son hated when you took Spider’s attention away from him, but you weren’t sure if it was because Lo’ak didn’t have many friends or because of something else…?

You suddenly started to cough again, though not as violently as before, thank Eywa, and curled in tighter on yourself, your lungs temporarily itching deep within your chest cavity with each ounce of air tickling their insides. Spider, unable to do much, hugged you through the blankets and rubbed at your back before reaching over onto your nightstand and handing you your water bottle. He helped you take a sip, encouraging you to continue to suck up the liquid until you moaned in protest. Carefully, he put your water bottle back and eased your body back down onto the mattress, cuddling up into you once again.

“Lo’ak can survive without me for one day,” Spider muttered. “You might perish this time and I refuse to let my girl die on me.” You scoffed, rolling your eyes, even though he couldn’t see it. And really, you actually did love cuddling with him, whenever you could. Your bedroom door opened and – instead of the blue skinned teenager you were expecting – your mother carefully strolled into the dim room with a small medication bottle and a steaming cup of tea, not even blinking when she noticed the sixteen-year-old boy at your back. “Drink this and take these,” she said before looking at Spider, who helped you sit up once more. The older woman commanded him, “Make sure she drinks lots of water whenever she's awake, please. Whenever he comes around, I’ll tell the Sully boy you’re occupied today.” The blonde teen nodded his head, replying, “Yes ma’am. Thank you.” Your mother smiled and took the empty cup from you, adding, “Try to get some sleep – both of you. Sleep will help you heal faster, baby girl.” “Thanks, Mom,” you nodded, and your boyfriend helped you lay down again. “Thanks, Spider,” you whispered as your mother closed the door about 50% of the way. You pulled his arm around your middle and intertwined your fingers together, adding “For taking care of me.” Instead of answering, he hummed and kissed the hinge of your jaw, snuggling closer to you with a soft sight, holding you tight and secure. With his heat seeping into you, and his arm around you, you drifted off as the medication attempted to get your body back to normal, feeling safe and well loved.

𖥸 · ─────── · 𖥸 · ─────── · 𖥸

Originally Posted: 10 February 2024 Word Count: 900

@crybabies-heart, @cryingwhilereading, @ikeyniofthetayrangi, @erenjaegerwifee, @bambithewriter, @lloreya

AO3 Link

[homobrainjuice]

y’all can I be real with y’all for a minute (or atleasts, people who are still here)

when I joined tumblr, a LOT of people started interacting with me and my art, which was mainly OSC (object show community). But soon my OSC hyperfixation started being replaced by other ones and school and me wanting to focus on ocs and eeehhh. It feels like ever since I slowed down with the OSC stuff my moots who once interacted with me everyday have kinda just…. Left me alone.? I understand this might have something To do with me deleting a lot of my messages (which was mainly out of fear of my parents) and it’s kinda started taking a toll on me ig? Like I had abandonment issues before this but this?!!?!?! Damn. I know it’s probably none of y’all’s fault (it’s probably mainly mine). But uh even before that…. Any post that wasn’t OSC realstes never EVER got as much attention. It kinda contributed to me feeling inadequate ig? Like it I didn’t post these personified objects my friends won’t care anymore? But now I’ve put a focus on my personal lil guys (Wild! And that unnamed comic featuring Christian(ish?) mythology) and I was really excited thinking all my bestest buddies would be SUPER hyped about them. But eh..? None of y’all are really here anymore. Tbh. I miss you guys :(((( I miss y’all so much. I know life and school has been rough for a lot of you :( I’ve been distant. I’ve only really kept Fizzy close (love you lil bro/p) I really hope I didn’t hurt any of you :( life is hard guys. But I’m going to try my best over the summer to bring you guys outstanding content that will make you guys smile. Even if it’s not about objects. I hope y’all don’t mind the tags here

@akalikestodraw, @peppermintz-25, @thatonesalmonlingnamedspike, @maxphilippa, @s1lv3rp4w3dc4t, @mochablogger, @wowwzaaxei-aster, @lemonpie45, @yourfriendlyshapeshiftermonsters, @knightobreath, @koduflower2000, @galaxy-brushs-posts, @devycolamy, @blairzart, @trashbins-stuff, @biblicallyaccuratefour, @sillyosclover, and many, many others, I love you/p, I miss you. I haven’t forgotten about you. I hope summer will give me more time and energy to interact with y’all (if u want) I will bring you many goodies. Even if it’s not in the form of a colorful juice box. I’ve got TWO✌️💕2️⃣‼️ webcomics planned that ARENT unbalanced breakfast (that entirely depends on me and Fizzy’s will to work on it together but we both have other things we wanna make) I can only hope everyone is along for the ride. So uh… yeah. Just wanted to get this off my chest. How y’all been doing lately :)! If not well I hope it gets better, honestly. I’d like to think my purpose is to bring others joy through my creations, I hope that’s what I can provide for you all! And others who are new :). Love y’all/p. Have a good night or day :D!

[randomrottmntscreenshots]

Requests are closed for now.

🍕🐢 I try to answer all asks, but it can take up to several weeks. If you haven't received an answer, try resending it! 🐢🍕

Yo, I wanna start to properly tag screenshots with characters and episodes for archiving purposes (my beloved) but I don't always remember the episode and the screenshots on my computer no longer have the episode title in the name

Do you think you can help me by naming the episode in the comments/reblogs of the screenshots posted sometime?

EDIT: If I already attempted to tag an episode and couldn't remember the title, I will leave a #to tag

If you see I mistagged something, don't be afraid to let me know as well!

-----

TAGS (work in progress)

ROTTMNT GRAND TOURNAMENT (11/14)

MUTANT MAYHEM

CHARACTER TAGS:

Leo | Donnie | Mikey | Raph | Mad Dogs (all four) | April | Casey Jr. | Splinter | Lou Jitsu | Baron Draxum

Other major/minor characters follow suit and are tagged with their names

EPISODES:

The Movie

Race | Turtle Tots | Sentient Bed | Raph's Catchphrase | C.O.W.A.B.U.N.G.A. | Cucumber-Mikey vs. Manticat

Mystic Mayhem | Origami Tsunami | Donnie's Gifts | War and Pizza | Newsworthy | Repo Mantis | Down with the Sickness | The Fast and the Furriest | Mascot Melee | Shell in a Cell | Minotaur Maze | Bug Busters | The Longest Fight | Hypno! Part Deux | The Gumbus | Mrs. Cuddles | Stuck on You | Al Be Back | The Purple Jacket | Pizza Pit | Smart Lair | Hot Soup: The Game | The Evil League of Mutants | Late Fee | Bullhop | Mind Meld | Nothing But Truffle | Shadow of Evil | Portal Jacked! | Warren & Hypno, Sitting in a Tree | Operation: Normal | Sparring Partner | You Got Served | How to Make Enemies and Bend People to Your Will | Mystic Library | The Purple Game | Man VS. Sewer | The Mutant Menace | Turtle-dega Nights: The Ballad of Rat Man | The Ancient Art of Ninja Hide and Seek | One Man's Junk | Snow Day | Cloak and Swaggart | Jupiter Jim Ahoy! | Insane in the Mama Train | End Game

Many Unhappy Returns | Todd Scouts | Goyles, Goyles, Goyles | Flushed, but Never Forgotten | Lair Games | Breaking Purple | Repairin' the Baron | Air Turtle | Pizza Puffs | Sidekick Ahoy! | The Hidden City Job | Always Be Brownies | Mystery Meat | Donnie vs. Witch Town | Raph's Ride-Along | Hidden City's Most Wanted | Bad Hair Day | Fists of Furry | The Clothes Don't Make the Turtle | Battle Nexus: New York | E-Turtle Sunshine of the Spotless Mind | Shreddy or Not | Anatawa Hitorijanai | Rise

MISCELLANEOUS:

Background | The Lair | Video | GIF | Animatic

[angelgendered]

Can I interest any of you fine folks in a Good Omens Fantasy AU which I'm affectionately naming The Oath AU?

Here there be a vague outline of the some stuff I jotted down earlier about it. It's vague for now but I'm working kn fleshing it out! I'm Working On The Longfic(tm) and possibly other bonus scenes and further adventures of theirs in this world if this hits a mark with folks and people actually read it.

Rambling under the read more! No CW or TWs I don't think...? Let's jump in!

It's DnD style fantasy (but dark, at the risk of sounding Edgy. This ain't the kind of DnD you'd play with a 13 year old cousin, for example. The world is harsh and unkind, and there be monsters in the woods, child. Inspird partly by Discworld, partly by FFXIV, especially the Endwalker expansion, partly by Mtghew Mercer, Exandria and his players and all their side content to do with Exandria, partly by Dungeons and Dragons shenanigans I've had over the years myself, and partly by the worlds Patrick Rothfuss and our beloved Neil Gaiman, amongst other authors i adore, come up with. Its a big mash of inspirations but km hoping to mold it into something coherent. )

Fiendish Blooded Sorceress and Druid Crowley - who can mold their body and appearance from the very essence of the earth and who transcends mortal ideas of gender and presentation, straddling the lines of male and female and both and none. They have appeared as maiden, mother, crone, ancient warlock, youthful child and more besides, giving rise to many rumours about her 'true' heritage.

Human Holy Knight of The Order Aziraphale - who has crusaded for years in the name of his Goddess, only to be faced with a moral dilemma. He was offered a priceless, holy artifact in exchange for a pact with a Devil - this pact, which has left him visibly facially scarred - dictates that he must kil one person, no more or less, for this Devil at a time and palce of the Devil's choosing. Until now, he hasn't been called to do such a thing... And he hopes that the Devil has forgotten about a lowly Soldier Knight such as himself.

Rituals! Sexy and very unsexy ones! There's a lot of this cos I'm exploring my own spirituality lately so. You get a ritual! You get a ritual! Everyone's naked and dancing! There's a fire! It's great! Until it isn't.

Probably Hurt/Comfort AND Whump.

This is an E rated AU bc everything I write has sex in it, but whatever! Maybe some light kink too, but I'll be guided by my muses on this. This is more story than smut anyway - the 'additional scenes' I may do if people like this AU? They'll be dirtier, lol.

I have Pinboards, Playlists soon, and no doubt a buttload of other worldbuildingy bits to come! Along with the fic et al of course. If you're interested I've made a tag on my blog for the AU where I'll try to remember to organise this stuff cos I'm really into this AU and really want to finish a longfic so I want you guys to hold me accountable tbh.

If you're interested, the tag is on this post and it's 'Good Omens Oath AU'. In time I would adore to commission artists for this project of mine, so if you're up for collaborating and will accept payment (I don't do trades usually cos you're worth money! Your time and art is too! But I could maybe be convinced...) I'd love to hear from you!

[iamamythologicalcreature]

Sentences or Sketches or Something... Sunday

Hello strangers! It's been a long time since I last did a progress post of any kind - thank you everyone who's continued to tag me so I don't get left behind! And thanks to @noblecorgi, @alexalexinii, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe, @blackberrysummerblog, @thewholelemon, @mooncello, @monbons, @prettygoododds, @shrekgogurt, and @youarenevertooold for tagging me, today. (I feel so loved! <3) I'm looking forward to seeing what everyone's up to.

It's still Sunday in my neck of the woods, though just barely. And yes, I've used my "sentences" banner, but... It's a bit more chaotic than that. Honestly, I wasn't sure about doing a post today because I'm a bit all over the place, but then I figured... eh, why not? I am all over the place LOL.

So here's your snippet from the collective efforts of Jo's creativity, lately, under the cut. (Because I ramble...)

On the Haunting of Simon Snow... I haven't forgotten about it! Nor is it abandoned. As I keep telling anyone who will listen, I have a rough draft, which basically amounts to an outline, meaning I have way too much figured out to just let the story fade away. XD I attempted to work on Chapter 2 earlier this month, and ran into some roadblocks - of the architectural variety.

So I've started to research manor houses and English estates like mad. I'm going to do the thing. I'm going to figure out Pitch Manor. Why? Because my brain won't let me gloss over paltry details such as the location of Simon in the grand scheme of the house, or how and where the roof attaches and where that tree is going to be. It's annoying, but I figure... This is a fun puzzle, too. One I hope to be able to share with the fandom at large once it's complete.

This little snippet is from an early design I've since scrapped (but you never know what might come around, again.)

"That's great, Jo, but how about some sentences?"

Okay. Ahem. Here's... some Simon sentences... that have just been scribbled out. *cough*

I sit there and listen to the man on the other side as he blathers on about extra fees associated with estate deliveries due to distance and blah blah bloody fucking blah. I wish he’d just say it. Just say 'this is the Pitch Manor tax.' No one ever does. But everyone charges it.

I HAVE WRITTEN SEE THERE'S PROOF.

Okay, moving on...

The other thing I'm working on is illustrations for @mooncello's beautiful fanfic, "Lost Boys." I just posted art from Chapter 1 here, and I'm working on art for Chapter 2, now. The story is stuffed to the gills with absolutely gorgeous imagery, so choosing what to illustrate is a challenge. Hopefully it all works out, and in the meantime, here are a couple doodles.

(I was telling Heath last night... this morning...? about how all illustrations start out as baby sketches XD These are the little babes in the creative nursery, basically. Also I have never posted baby sketches before and I'm kinda nervous about it. But. Well. >.> )

THERE YOU HAVE IT. A couple of my reasons for being so entirely absent from all other aspects of the fandom. (Also I got hit with the flu super hard, but doing better now!)

Tags for future wipsdays/hello's! @leithillustration, @artsyunderstudy (thank you for listening to me ramble about Pitch Manor), @erzbethluna, @nightimedreamersworld, @cutestkilla (thank you for also listening to me ramble about Pitch Manor sorry I'm reworking it again XD), @angelsfalling16, @fatalfangirl, @hushed-chorus (thank you for being my secret-garden-enabler XD), @rimeswithpurple, @best--dress, @whatevertheweather, @ileadacharmedlife, @scribble-tier, @imagineacoolusername, @brilla-brilla-estrellita, @alleycat0306, @ivelovedhimthroughworse, @tender-ministrations, @katmiscellanious, @anxious-m3ss, @bubble-gumhead, @ebbpettier, @facewithoutheart, @bazzybelle, @theimpossibledemon, @aristocratic-otter, @ic3-que3n, @palimpsessed, @raenestee

[brisquad-unit-4402]

iluna and details

whenever i see anime characters i'm always fascinated by if they were more realistic, or more detailed, you know, the little elements of people that animation studios just don't have the budget nor time nor medium to depict. so this ficlet is a love letter to all the beautiful parts of people that can't really be captured until you're living in their lovely presence!

this wasn't originally an iluna post. it was actually for all of the nijien boys, you see, i worked on it as a warmup before my bigger projects, and a place for me to practice shorter fic. but i was so charmed by the concept and how fun these were to write that i wanted the girls in on this too...! i'll slowly work on the other units as time goes on and i work on more projects

tags: established relationship, fluff, gender neutral reader

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

🤟 Kyo Kaneko

He calls himself an asshole and you'd be the first to agree. He's comfortable enough with you to poke fun at you, and when you tease back it's a game you both play to win. He's yours, after all, and it rolls off him like water off a duck's back, because he knows when to back off or go all in. His energy shines moonlight into the pitch dark. No matter what, he always has something to say that makes the night seem so much less bleak.

But the moon needs to sink to calm, and he stays late into the night with drive fierce enough to silence himself. He sits at his desk. Candy blue hair is swept back in a headband, but the dyed locks curl out in front of his face as he writes.

He is so determined, and the stars against his back wish they had his grit. The pencil wavers, bounces, swings this way and that as he thinks. The eraser presses the skin underneath his lip before the answer comes to him.

For all the resolve in his apple-green eyes are, the lids can barely sustain it. There are too many thoughts for one body to hold. The night creeps longer and his eyelashes flutter closed.

You see what the moon sees in him, this supercharged soul, the light that shines off his wit, the quiet resilience to keep going. Traces of moonbeam cross along his soft skin, the hoodie over his shoulders, hair the color of the sky. The patterns of lights follow as you carry him to bed.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

🐰 Maria Marionette

She lives in long sleeves. Your jacket suits her like a charm, even though it's much too big for her little body. Especially because it's too big for her body. It's so rare to see her without long socks that stretch far above the hem of her skirt.

Her knit socks brush against your legs as she sits. The movie has long been forgotten by you in favor of admiring her delicacy. She fits so perfectly in your lap, a stand to a centerpiece, a matching set, do not separate.

When she recognizes the look in your eye she curls closer to you, and when she can't get enough she musters up the courage to slip off her jacket.

Along the bends of her arms and the links upon her fingers you see everything she is so scared of. Sweeping lines stretch across her skin, pale and geometric, and perfectly wrapped around the diameter. They're symmetrical. Ball joints. Articulation imprinted in scars, the only sign flesh was once porcelain.

She is so gorgeous in her vulnerability. She is so gorgeous in her everything, her body and soul, no matter the form. You press your lips along the white scarring between her knuckles.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

💫 Aster Arcadia

He has to be one of the most intricate pieces of art in the world. There’s no other explanation. His makeup never fades even as his eyes crinkle when he smiles, and when he presses his lips together right before laughing out loud.

And sometimes you can’t even tell when it’s grooming or just how harmonious he was formed. His makeup never fades, but his air sparkles, thousands of strokes of gas and space dust and matter swirling around his body, the edge of a nebula, the collections of what makes solar systems burst and catch fire.

There is electricity when he moves. The earth bends around him. Not a hair is out of place even in moments when just touching him is like placing your hands against a plasma ball.

He is so beautiful and so unfathomable and so innately himself.

He shivers when you press against sensitivities but you doubt he could ever understand the coursing under your veins, the push and pull of gravity, the molten core. The effect he has on you.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

👼 Aia Amare

No matter what she does, she is feather-light. Her steps are easy to miss, so she sneaks up on you without even trying, and when you jump in surprise she titters in musical tones. When she reaches out to touch you, she is your pedestal. Her hands are strong but gentle, the mark of an artist, and the briefest skim against your skin leaves impressions like you are nothing but soft clay.

She is feather, and coated in downy white, and songbird and stars in the clouds. Her heavens soften her. If you didn't know a thing about her, you'd imagine her so fragile that she could float away with a breath.

But for as light as she is, she is intense. Waves roar in time with her noise. There is so much spirit and so much energy within her. The brightness turns blinding, but only when she wants it to.

She slips off the glasses, and you are reminded of the bristles that make up a feather. The lenses mute the color, but without them, cool mint freezes over so strongly that her gaze burns. Pale lashes fame the searing ocean. Slighter than a suggestion, but so prominent you know there is nothing earthly like her, you see the motion of curling rings hidden inside the green and blue. A sprinkling of gold between the rods. The glisten rotates in wheels. Eyes upon eyes upon eyes within eyes. Feather.

She places them back over her eyes, and her artisan hands motion around your body while you're struck with something unknowable. Her league is dimensions away from yours. You're blessed.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

🛸 Ren Zotto

You could never mistake him for a simple human. There's too much under his surface even when he tries, but he never does try. The horns upon his head protrude too high to fall under a lowered head.

In bright light, if you can focus, you’d think the green in his veins turns blazing. Focus harder and you realize it runs along the skin itself with the suggestion of a shining, scaled teal, before it disappears entirely.

You swear there's more teal in his hair that isn't swallowed by dark. It's soft and fine as you brush your fingers over him, and you can barely even see the undertone.

"It's not really black," he says. "Human eyes just perceive it as black because they don't have the anatomy for it."

The word- his color- is unpronounceable to human tongues. It requires a trill between fangs you don't have.

But you try anyways, and as it turns into a spit of nothing he laughs with you. You press a kiss to his unpronounceable hair. When his smile relaxes his fang catches on his lip.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

💅 Scarle Yonaguni

She is made entirely from her own creation. Love and care finds a home within her body, and stumbles around clumsily and spreads out through peals of laughter. There is nothing quite like her because she is everything around her; she is ember and she is ash, as much as she is ideal and reality, as much as she is exuberance and moderation. To chase and to heal. Architect of her own path, with so many miracles stored in her fingertips, all of them within simple delights.

Warmth trails through all she touches. The folds in her books, the keyboard turning shiny from use, crosses along the T's and dots above the I's. The way she holds you so tightly as if you were the only source of heat, even though she exudes fire all her own.

Cocoa and cinnamon follow her, a champurrado musk, and you can't place where the spicy scent comes from. It lingers in her hair and along her skin, those miracle fingertips that spend so much love and care of what she enchants, and you are no exception. When she runs her nails along your jawline the smooth blend puts you at ease.

All her cinder catches in your throat. Her touch is hypnosis. It's familiar, and home, and comfort. It's adventure and joy and discovery. You can't get her scent out of your mind, and when it finally grants you peace, the chocolate has already marked you endeared.

[igotsnothing]

OC QUESTIONNAIRE

Thanks for the tag, @stargazer-sims and @eljeebee! I really enjoyed reading your questionnaires! And since you both tagged me, I am going to do this for Sasha and Gideon because I'm obsessed with telling their story, and I need a little fluff for them; they've been going through a lot recently.

Gideon: Interesting! Ready?

Sasha: Nooooo.

Gideon: I'll go first.

NAME: Gideon Westergaard

NICKNAME: None (Sasha: Oh, I can think of a FEW, all of them unpublishable.)

GENDER: Cis man

STAR SIGN: I honestly don't know...and I don't really care. (Sasha: He's a virgo, obviously. Please.)

HEIGHT: 6'3 (1.90 cm)

ORIENTATION: Bi, like many vampires.

NATIONALITY/ETHNICITY: Citizen of San Myshuno, member of the Forgotten Hollow Coven, originally from somewhere further north of Windenburg.

FAVORITE FRUIT: Sasha... (Sasha: SERIOUSLY? You think that's funny? F*ck you!)

FAVORITE SEASON: Fall.

FAVORITE FLOWER: Lily of the valley

FAVORITE SCENT: Cartier's Pasha.

COFFEE, TEA, or HOT CHOCOLATE: (Gideon: *Looks at Sasha.* Sasha: DON'T YOU DARE. NO.) Scotch. If good quality, I prefer it neat. (*Sasha pretends to puke*)

AVERAGE HOURS OF SLEEP: I don't need much sleep; I usually get 4-5 hours.

DOGS or CATS: *Grins broadly* My kitten, of course. (*Sasha grumbles incoherently*)

DREAM TRIP: I actually love San Myshuno. I like going to the art galleries, theaters, concert halls- all the activities the city has to offer. But if I had to travel somewhere...I like skiing. Mt. Komorebi is quite the challenge.

NUMBER OF BLANKETS: I don't really get cold.

RANDOM FACT: Vampires are connected to their covens via specific bloodlines. Gideon has a coven sire, who turned him- but the one who claims him as her "child" is his coven's mistress (more to be revealed...can't wait to share.)

Gideon: Your turn!

Sasha: Hello, nosey people! Why don't you mind your own bu-

NAME: Sasha Velky

NICKNAME: Sash. Sassy, but don't call me that ever. Loco- but only Hector gets to call me that (Gideon visibly bristles at this). And...that's it. (Gideon mouths 'kitten' and winks. Sasha does not acknowledge this and maintains a steady glare.)

GENDER: Cis man

STAR SIGN: Okay, my sun sign is Taurus, moon sign is Leo, and Aquarius rising! (Gideon: What? Was that even Simlish? Sasha: That's such a virgo reaction.)

HEIGHT: 5'9 (1.75 cm)

ORIENTATION: Homosexy (Gideon: Did you mean homosexual- Sasha: NO! I know what I said! It's a JOKE! I didn't get mixed up this time! You are so pretendcious sometimes! *Gideon doesn’t dare correct him this time; Sasha’s irritated enough.*)

NATIONALITY/ETHNICITY: I'm from San Myshuno, born and raised, but my mom was from Simvlakia and I understand and speak Simvlakian a little bit. I can't write it for sh*t.

FAVORITE FRUIT: Twinkies. (*Gideon shakes his head*)

FAVORITE SEASON: Summer.

FAVORITE FLOWER: Sunflowers.

FAVORITE SCENT: (*Looks sheepishly at Gideon*) Cartier's Pasha. (*Gideon sits up, pleased*)

COFFEE, TEA, or HOT CHOCOLATE: Cigarettes. (Gideon: What happened to quitting? Sasha: I'm no quitter! Hey- don't look at me like that...I am trying. It's been three days, ok? Gideon: I'm so proud of you!)

AVERAGE HOURS OF SLEEP: I need 7-8. I'm a pretty deep sleeper.

DOGS or CATS: Yes.

DREAM TRIP: I don't know...I haven't really been out of San Myshuno. I always wanted to visit my mom's family in Simvlakia, but I wouldn't know where to begin. After she died, my father got rid of all her pictures, her papers, documents...I don't have anything from her, except for a stuffed animal from when I was really little. (*Gideon inhales sharply and his expression darkens- it begins to soften again when Sasha rests his head on his shoulder.*)

NUMBER OF BLANKETS: One? Two? I guess I get cold at night. (Gideon, knowingly: Hey- I can keep you warm at night. *Sasha, perking up*: You are a pervert! Is this a ploy to get me in your bed? Gideon: Always... Sasha: *Snickers*)

RANDOM FACT: Sasha has a green thumb. It's something he shares with his late mom. He's really good with plants.

I AM TAGGING: @agena87, @damseljamsel, @lynzishell, @alinelie (plz plz plz!), @simarcana (Alika or any of your fabulous OCs), @eslanes (love your stuff and saw you have more storytelling coming soon?), and even though @greighish is taking a hiatus, I AM NOT ! This is all optional, do it if you want to, ignore me at your own risk, up to you! ❤️😆

[divine-misfortune]

Heeeeey

Genuinely, from the bottom of my heart, I really really want to say thank you to everyone who follows me. It's getting late so I'm a little sappy but it means more than you know to me that so many of you enjoy the things I create and it makes the labor of it so rewarding. Of course I make my art for me but for my art to be loved and shared by others? It makes my heart feel full.

Also a secondary thank you for sticking with me these last few months - I know I haven't really been making much of anything, and I've let my asks pile up a lot (I promise that I haven't forgotten them or decided to ignore them), the later half of the year always gets a little rough on me physically and mentally. I'm grateful for the patience and reassurance people have thrown my way. Things are slowly starting to kick back into motion, the gears are starting to turn and the dusts finally being cleared off.

I've been active in this fandom for a little shy of a year now. I think my first post was in February or March, and for those of yall who weren't here at the very start, it was some concept art for ghouls beneath the masks, and the response I received to it was astounding. It's the first time I've ever gotten so much attention on my art and I think part of it motivated me to want to draw more ghouls...and here we are. It's not art I'm all that proud of anymore because my styles changed a lot in the last few months, but it's art that I'm forever fond of. The love those designs received made me want to dive deeper into this fandom, which is really something I've never done before. This is the first fandom I've truly interacted with, not just skirted the edges, and I'm really truly so happy to be here.

And lastly, I promise I'm nearly done babbling, I've been fortunate to meet such wonderful people and make amazing friends. There are a lot of people I could tag but for the sake of trying not to make gods longest post I'll refrain. I just wanted to give yall a little bit of the love you deserve, because truly it is not something I say enough. You all brighten my day a little simply by popping up in my notifications or my dms or whatever.

Anyways I'll shut up now, I just wanted to show my appreciation for everything because it means the world to me.

Thanks :))

[lizardrosen]

Bridgertons' favorite Hamlet monologues

tagging @glintglimmergleam and @avocado-moon with continuing Viscount's Men shenanigans

Edmund - "Let me speak to the yet unknowing world how these things came about" - Act 5, Scene 2 Horatio speaking to Fortinbras after everyone's dead; really moving but simple enough to tie it all in a bow.

Violet - "I have of late, but wherefore I know not, lost all my mirth" - Act 2, Scene 2 Hamlet explaining to Rosencrantz and Guildenstern why they've been sent for; he can see the beauty of the world, and the sky fretted with golden fire, but he's forgotten how to feel it.

Anthony - How All Occasions Do Inform Against Me - Act 4, Scene 4 Hamlet about to be sent away to England wishing he could be as decisive as Fortinbras, the kind of man his father wanted for a son.

Benedict - "Speak it as I pronounced it to you, trippingly on the tongue" - Act 3, Scene 2 Hamlet's speech to the actors before the play. Theater is magic, art is magic, we hold a mirror up to nature and learn ourselves as we do.

Colin - "Thoughts black, hands apt, drugs fit, and time agreeing" - Act 3 Scene 2 Lucianus the poisoner in murder of gonzago; mostly Colin likes the excuse to ham it up a little with purposefully bad acting.

Daphne - "There is a willow, grows aslant a brook" - Act 4, Scene 7 Gertrude telling Laertes how his sister died, and making a doubtful death into something that can be remembered for her beauty and innocence. Whether Gertrude saw Ophelia drown or was told about it later is the topic of Much Debate in the Bridgerton household.

Eloise - "Oh that this too, too solid flesh would melt"- Act 1, Scene 2 Hamlet finally alone after the formal court session from hell, where he's forbidden from going to university and he has to see a mother who loved his father so dearly, settle for less than she deserves.

Francesca - "O, my offense is rank, it smells to heaven!" - Act 3, Scene 3 Claudius in the chapel, trying desperately to pray, or trying desperately to believe that he can just get away with all this and it'll turn out fine, choking on his own sin. This speech goes hard and is most of the reason Frannie wanted the role.

Gregory - "Here is newly come to court Laertes, believe me, a most excellent gentleman" - Act 5, Scene 2 Not a speech, but Osric's part of the dialogue where he's inviting Hamlet to duel with Laertes, because there's a lot of potential for humor and innuendo.

Hyacinth - "A little ere the mightiest Caeser fell" - Act 1, Scene 1 Horatio after seeing the ghost, talking about how there's precedent. Hyacinth has been studying her roman history lately and was very excited to see this speech (usually cut from productions).

[fungalittleweirdo]

Villain Rise Mikey Thoughts: Part One

i have already written so much for this one, this is part one of my storyline for a villain mikey au !! i genuinely just spewed thoughts out here, i will continue with a part two eventually <3

i'm making up my own villain mikey as i go because i am craving.

the abandoned at birth trope is a little overdone imo, i love it when i read it for the other turtles but mikey deserves something unique

he felt a little different compared to his brothers, not because he was the youngest... he just felt different.

three year old mikey genuinely didn't want to hurt his brothers, not after he practically launched raph at high speeds toward a wall trying to get a jupiter jim toy out of his hand.

he ran away after that, guilt eating at him for some time until he forgot, then he found the hidden city.

he finds baron draxum and realises he's his other dad, which made the screws already loose in his head rattle a little bit.

draxum trains mikey in the mystic arts safely so that he doesn't hurt himself, which was very loving and tender on his part.

mikey deserved an attentive father, that was something draxum realised when mikey told him what he could remember about splinter.

even though mikey was raised in a decent environment, draxum still wanted to destroy the human race and that warped mikey's thoughts and actions a little bit.

this especially affected his views on getting what he wanted whenever he did, he definitely is a youngest child at heart.

he would start being a delinquent in the hidden city, running away from the police if they caught him loitering or tagging places.

then he moved on to stealing.

coins, unicorns, jewellery, mystic trinkets, you name it.

he used his mystic portals to steal and hoard like a dragon.

while draxum was proud, he created mikey for something bigger than petty thievery, mikey was destined for something greater.

draxum told eleven year old mikey about going back topside, and he did just that, enduring homelessness for a brief period of time before getting a small apartment from all the money he pickpocketed in the financial district of manhattan.

he hated being among humans, seeing their lives as minuscule and pointless– but he never let it show, he always had the mask of a sweetheart.

he witnessed his first murder and for the first time in a while, he wasn't bored.

mikey wondered about upping the ante to his criminal lifestyle, he was growing bored of stealing and he completed his father's training, what kind of human could defend against him ?

he only started with nobodies, people who would be forgotten within a week.

it got his blood pumping, adrenaline coursing through his veins. he liked it.

but killing "undesirables" meant little to no money, and mikey has to pay rent. he lives in the bronx after all.

villain mikey likes the thrill of the hunt, he started hunting down drunk people after they leave the bar, sometimes even sober ones just getting off a late shift at work.

it was when he crossed paths with yokai capturing humans that he found interest in keeping one as a pet.

he moves to brooklyn at thirteen to go back to tagging graffiti, sometimes in the oddest of places.

that was around the time his brothers interrupted draxum's experiment and released the oozequitos to new york.

he captured a large sum of oozequitos to give back to his dad, but there were still others that decided to breed and persist.

mikey has no real motive for what he's doing, he's doing what his father asked of him and he wants to appease him, but he regularly has his doubts.

then when draxum teams up with the foot clan, that's when he really questions his dad, if the dark armour is worth all the risks he's taking.

mikey meets big mama and realises she's behind the human trafficking, then asks her if he could have a pet human of his own.

she scoffs and tells him to capture one himself, no kin of draxum should get meddled with her business (after all that happened with the other turtles, if mikey's the one with draxum she's not taking any chances for a temper tantrum)

even though villain mikey's a spoiled brat, he also recognises that if he wants a job done right, he has to do it himself.

mikey moves back to the hidden city to nurse draxum back to health after the dark armour drained his life force.

he finally comes across his brothers again and thinks they're amateur idiots.

he's a bit of a bastard, ignoring his brothers and continuing to do what he does for fun (graffiti, stealing, offing innocents).

a couple years pass and the krang invasion happens.

he put aside his differences with his brothers just for this, he still cares because these are the turtles he was created with, even though their dad is kind of whack compared to draxum (mikey really does love his dad).

mikey suddenly unlocks his ninpo and he's the greatest mystic warrior of his timeline, junior finds it weird he's not with his brothers.

leo explains to junior mikey's not one of them despite his assistance, he's not family.

even though mikey physically turned out fine post-krang, it sickened him seeing his brothers losing to some pesky alien creatures.

the way the krang biomatter clung onto raph, leo, and donnie pissed him off.

it unlocked something wrathful and hideous within him, wiping out the krang and sending their tech back to the prison dimension.

it was a miracle when his three brothers snapped out of their krang possession and they snapped him out of the mystic altered state he was in, golden-eyed and chains lifting the technodrome back into the prison dimension.

even though villain mikey is a lot more skilled in his mystic abilities from years of training under draxum, it took a lot out of him to make a portal that big.

he passed out and his brothers, casey, april, and splinter were beside him when he woke up, but he was so annoyed.

he didn't want to wake up to these assholes.

mikey could barely walk, but floating out meant overexerting himself, so pushing everyone out of the way to get back to draxum it is.

post-krang, he suffers a lot of paranoia and anxiety, almost too much to the point where he chains up draxum when accidentally going into the mystic state.

draxum tells him to go to the market, get some herbs to calm down.

he accidentally comes across a dispensary in the market, getting a few strains and asking if he could have it in the form of tea, since he sees a few yokai smoking the herbs.

he's told he could bake them, that's when he gets interested in baking.

[caliblorn]

WIP WEDNESDAY WAHOOOO!!!

Last Wednesday I’ve been tagged by @sneaksandsweets but I saw it too late, so here I am now! Oh boy, I have too many wips going on right now because my thoughts keep trailing off and I start something new every evening. Here some of my more...presentable wips, from serious to unserious;

1) A 4/5 pages comic I was making about Vanus going back to Sollicich-sul-Ker, or what remains of it. This comic has been in my drafts for a month (at least) and I’m scared It’ll never see the light of day lol

2) Little ‘panel’ comic about an unpleasant encounter. This file is literally called “What is wrong with you”, so I’ll let you imagine. Yay! I can make Vanus a bit cartoony if he’s far back from the froeground characters, c’mon. 

3) Part of an answer for an ask, also just the last panel of it. *Strikes a little gay pose*

4) I...uuuuh....uh? 

I’m gonna be honest with you...I forget the name files for the majority of the things I start, and so they get lost if I dont pick them up after a few days (Paint Tool Sai sees your last opened files up to only 10 files). But, to be honest, it’s a great experience going back to my art folder and discovering absolutely dogshit art with out-of-the blue names I had completely forgotten about. Like, wtf are these?!?

Anyway, I’m taggin back @sneaksandsweets​ aaaaaaand conveniently tagging @fantasydrowsy​ as well 👀👀 it’s a bit late already here so don’t feel pressured about doing this!