#they/it pronouns for this lil creature :>

[hatchetmode]

Silly Hotel Pod oc time

[robotsafari]

vanitas my awesome bastard child.

[purpleflameb0i]

Man I love dehuman pronouns so much. "I bet you've never actually been dehumanized !!!" I literally feel disconnected from being human + one time when a transphobe called me "that thing", I got massive gender euphoria, and starting collecting those kinds of pronouns. Anyways, I'm a silly lil creature

[jonahmagnus]

A little step-by-step dressup doll because thats what they are to me

[ghostofhallownest]

oops didnt mean to do this again so soon but idk how it didnt occur to me to like. use my fav lil guy as a tumblr handle. how has nobody else brought this to my attention

anyways this might be my best canon-approximate url since minimysterytwins

[yharnamesque]

Think I have finally come to the decision to give Crim "it" pronouns

[shadowgremlin13]

I feel like a creature, I feel like being called a creature or a thing suits me. I'm just a lil guy who crouches in lil guy corners and appears out of the shadows. Hence why I'm trying out it/its pronouns with the ones I usually use.

[wolfertinger666]

gay cat creature (with lil binder)

(any pronouns)

[edgeray]

“LATE NIGHT DEVIL, PUT YOUR HANDS ON ME

and never never never ever let go”- Teeth, 5 Seconds of Summer

Mafia AU! Arlecchino x Reader Oneshot

Author's Note: It's been a while since I've actually published anything on here. Well, my gay ass is back with another oneshot. This one has been in the works for at least a month. I'm considering making a Part 2, but that will definitely take at least a couple weeks for me to publish (if not months). I wish I was kidding. School literally hates me and my teachers are incessant on killing my GPA. This is also a gift for @megistusdiary because it'll be her birthday when I post this. Please go check out her blog for amazing genshin wlw content (especially Arlecchino content!) Would you guys like this on AO3 as well?

Content Warning/Info: This is a long af oneshot (6.3k words), long af descriptions and kinda long intro, Arlecchino is referred to with they/them pronouns, implied female but no usage of feminine pronouns for Reader, general dark-ish content, pet names, Arlecchino is a lil scary, I've never been to a club so I apologize for the very inaccurate information, nor have I ever been apart of the mafia so also inaccurate, a bit suggestive but otherwise sfw, if I'm missing anything feel free to tell me!

---

Monsters are said to have lied underneath beds–waiting to ensnare an unknowing victim–or stalk hidden among the depths of a closet–awaiting an opportune moment to strike its next prey. Monsters are fabled entities that are used to scare off children from bad behavior and are quickly eased from the mind by coddling parents. The mere notion of a monster shooed away like a pesky fly, swept underneath the subconscious like forgotten specks of dirt. 

You know otherwise. Real monsters don’t lurk on the undersides of mattresses; no, they lurk both in the skies above and the depths below. They do not stalk dark closets because they instead stalk alleys in daylit streets. Monsters are very real, that you know is true since you’ve seen your fair share of them. You’ve met monsters in person–they’ve come to you before. Terrifying is an understatement for them, and each time one has appeared as a client, you’re no less scared shitless.

You’ve learned that even inhumane demons find themselves in need of entertainment; like the sinful creatures they are, they seek self-pleasure. And that is how you found yourself in this particular circle of hell, meant to serve and please demons, devils, and monsters alike. Perhaps it was a revolting job, working at a strip club run by a criminal organization but it paid decent money for being danced on the fingertips of whoever you were unfortunate enough to be assigned to.

If it was a regular strip club, being an exotic dancer would have been fine. It wouldn't be so bad. Lustful and prying eyes can be accustomed to quickly, and so are the flattering compliments and the awkward flirting by middle-aged married men. However, there was a difference between lecherous and predatory gazes. Here, you aren’t even viewed as a person, no, the clients here, those that come in reeking of smoke or blood (though sometimes both), armed with knives and guns on their person, see you as nothing more than a toy or prey for them. Even in the eyes of your employer, you're less than human in their eyes. 

‘You harm our merchandise, you’ll pay for it,’ is the warning given to every guest when they first enter. Merchandise. That's what you are. And that single line of words is the only thing that assures you of your safety among mafia members, gangsters, crooks, and whatnot. You've heard that the organization behind this strip club does well in enforcing that rule according to other dancers, but you personally don't want to see if the statement is true. You've been here for a little over a year, and besides bruising grips and pulled hair you’ve surprisingly yet to be seriously injured in any way. So maybe monsters do have a little humanity in them. 

You're quickly growing to be a fan favorite as of recently, which means more money goes your way, but you're not sure how you feel about all the attention on you. It's most likely because of how often you offer private dances and private rooms to clients. Whatever gets you the most money; the faster you make money the faster you can pay off your debt and be out of here. 

Tonight is supposed to be no different from other nights. You perform on stage, you rile up the crowd, you get showered in tips, and if there is a customer that looks mentally sane enough not to murder you in private, you take them to the back. Except, tonight, you're approached by your boss, who informs you that the entirety of the club was reserved by the Fatui, a well-known mafia more powerful and larger than the one that backs you up, for some celebration. These kinds of occurrences in the club rarely crop up, but when they do, they're often the most opportune time to bag in an abundant amount of money. Big shots like the Fatui pay and tip well, but there's one unsaid risk that comes with this: as a mere dancer like yourself, your life quite literally dangles in the Fatuis’ hands tonight. The organization that owns this establishment can't retaliate against the Fatuis if they so choose to dismiss the warning. They can't even compare to the might of the Fatui.

Simply put, if a Fatui kills you tonight, no one could do more besides bat their eyelashes. You're not at all pleased with this predicament of practically bordering on death, especially when you know one wrong move with one too hot-tempered Fatui could land you at the pearly gates. Keep pleasing the crowd, keep entertaining them, keep racking in the money, you remind yourself as you continue your dance, twirling around the pole sensually, and the customers devour every movement with their eyes. The only comfort you're given is that you've heard the Fatui are quite reasonable and diplomatic most of the time. This is especially true for the Harbingers, you've heard, the twelve most elite members that serve under the Tsaritsa, and the ones that are the most exclusive customers this night. That doesn't mean the Harbingers are any more humane than the average crook. Having worked in a strip club run by the mafia and surrounded by criminal organizations, the more rumored something is, the more dangerous it is. They can be considered devils amongst demons even. That's simply how vile they're supposed to be. 

The most concerning problem about the Harbingers is that you don’t know what they look like, only the occasional whisper has alluded to how to distinguish between the twelve. Perhaps, you can survive through the night if you try not to draw too much attention; let the other dancers shine instead and hope you don’t get requested for a private room or dance. That way, you can ensure you don’t end up dead. 

Your time to go upstage comes sooner than you’re prepared for. Your hands are clammy, and your form trembles in a way that only happened during your first month. Both reactions don’t make for a very good combination when your survival relies on you not fucking up and disappointing criminal customers. As you approach the pole, just like every time you’ve done, you make sure that the crowd’s gazes are in the backdrop of your mind, and instead, fixate on repeating the movements you’ve been taught and have mastered with your experience. Bet your survival on the provocative sway of your hips, the practiced showcase of your legs, and the allure of your dancing form. Beguile the crowd, but not too much, just enough to wow them. From what you can tell by the volume of the crowd, you’re doing a good job pleasing the Fatui enough. Your body stops tremoring after a few minutes on stage, and with one last final push of courage, you focus your eyes on the crowd before you.

Unsurprisingly, the makeup of the Fatui are men, though there are notably quite a few women. Either way, all of their attention is on you. As your eyes scan across a crowd, for one reason or another, you stop at a particular set of eyes near the back of the crowd. Intent, pitch-black abysses stare back, like they were trying to bore into your soul and devour every single motion of yours. They don’t quite hold the same ravenous desire as many of those before you right now, you mentally note with curiosity. It feels like your form is being calculated, in the way a predator would cautiously observe their next prey, a sensation you’ve experienced a few times, but each is no less chilling. The weight of their engrossed gaze causes you to shiver momentarily, and you snap away from their disturbing gaze to prevent any fumbling or faltering while you’re on stage. 

Tonight marks the first time you actively seek out the same viewer while on stage, or even, during your entire time here. For some reason, you feel awfully bold, or curious, whichever two comforts you more, and unlike the meek little rabbit you usually are, you instead search for the viewer’s gaze. You find the pair of eyes with relative ease, as you remember that above their eyes are distinctive snow-white strands with streaks as black as their orbs. You take a moment to study them, and they remind you of a lion–or lioness–among hyenas. The aura they exude varied quite a bit compared to the other Fatui in front of you: not rambunctious, or arrogant; it's apparent they held an aura of indomitable authority just from the way they held themselves. Perfect posture with their clasped hands nested in their lap, with one leg raised over the other. They’re an embodiment of perfected elegance, however, much like a porcelain doll, they’re also expressionless, their appearance unmarred. You don’t examine the Fatui’s form for much longer because their scrutiny on you pricks at your skin irritatedly. 

You don’t look for them again throughout your performance. In fact, you hope you never meet those charcoal pits again. You’re afraid that if you do, you’ll be ensnared by whatever beastly claws or fangs you know that Fatui hides underneath that impenetrable mask. The moment your time on stage ends, you rush back to the changing room to shake off your nerves. You sit down at a nearby chair, taking in deep sighs as you attempt to forget how you were stared down like a you were cornered, defenseless animal. And that is what you are, as much as you hate it. There’s nothing that can protect you from the Fatui. Maybe if you hide, never show your face for the rest of the night, they’ll forget they ever saw you and they’ll target another dancer. Surely, that will work, won’t it? 

You’re able to steady your breathing before you can delve into a panic attack. Tonight, you decide, you’re not going to take any customers to any private rooms or take any private dances. You’d be missing out on a lot of money, but your life is more of a priority as of currently; not after the ‘encounter’ with that individual, you don’t want to think about how many more are just like them, hiding in the crowd like they were awaiting an opportunity to pounce on your vulnerable form. 

Unfortunately, it seems like someone else has other plans for you because your manager storms into the room asking for your whereabouts before his eyes narrow on you. You immediately sit up, stiff as a board when he practically marches his way towards you. 

"Someone wants you." 

You sigh and shake your head. You should have known. "Not tonight." 

He clicks his tongue. "You know I can't allow that tonight." 

You bite your lip. "Just pass them to someone else." 

"They're not someone you or I can refuse." 

"Who?" You question with a shuddering breath, your nails digging into your thigh. 

"The fourth one. The Knave. Lord Arlecchino."

Fuck your life. You might as well pull the trigger now. You’ve heard faint whispers of each Harbinger from the customers audacious enough to speak of them. The youngest, the eleventh, charming and boyish. The ninth, money-obsessed but a pretty looker. The eighth, elegant and cold, yet no less alluring. The seventh, as human-like as their robotic creations, which to say isn’t very. The sixth, is hotheaded and mysterious. The fifth, unknown. And the fourth?

Insane. Ruthless. Bloodthirsty. That’s how the fourth is described. You shiver at the horrors that appear on the forefront of your mind when imagining what may come for you. If you're lucky, you'll be alive at the end of the night, more than likely clinging to the edge of living. 

“Well? What are you waiting for? Get ready as soon as you can.” 

And you do. It’s not long until you stand in front of the private room’s door, your guest is already inside more than likely. The Fourth Harbinger is waiting, you remind yourself, fruitlessly trying to swallow down your stress. You can be dead the minute you step inside, this room could be marked as your grave. Whatever he tells you to do, you’ll obey wordlessly to survive. Just nod along, smile, and do whatever it is that he tells you regardless of the demand. You inhale deeply, regaining some ease of mind, before you bring your knuckles to the door, knocking. 

“Come in,” comes a deep, flat voice, slightly muffled by its distance but what surprises you is how feminine the Harbinger sounds. Maybe you got the wrong room. You glance back at the room number plate on the door, and it’s the room you remember your manager mentioning. It’s the right room. Maybe someone else? You don’t have time to wonder, however, as you enter the room, knowing that if it is the Fourth, it wouldn’t be wise to keep him (Her? Them? You’ll just stick with ‘them’ now.) waiting. 

“Lord Arlecchino?” You inquire as you enter the room, closing the door behind you. Sucking in a harsh inhale, you instantly recognize their distinct hair. It’s them. Your sight is immediately greeted by the figure sitting on the couch before you, sitting in exactly the same way you discovered them–crossed-legged and lounging back with unfaltering confidence. The Knave wears a scarlet blazer over a black compressed turtleneck, with a matching set of crimson leggings. Upon closer inspection, you’re able to make out red irises in their jet-black eyes. Despite the blatant and literal red flag, something about their appearance draws you in even when they scream danger. They’re… you’re not quite sure how to describe them. You admire the unblemished and pale skin, their elegant and rugged demeanor is like the perfect balance between femininity and masculinity. Are they beautiful, or are they handsome? You think both. 

Arlecchino stares back at you like they’re considering devouring you then and there. You can’t suppress the shudder that runs down your spine. You’re a sheep before a wolf. There’s something so chilling about them that even with your experience with other clients, none has ever made you feel this way with just their mere gaze alone. This is what separates the average crook from one of the most powerful mafia members you've ever heard of.

You wait for a response but they only continue to observe you. You take the silence as confirmation to your question and that they’re anticipating something from you. Biting back a sigh of resignation, your hands hook underneath the band of your bra top and you lift it just the slightest amount before a cutting voice makes you freeze.

“What are you doing?” the Harbinger demands, their tone chilling and apathetic, making you want to shrink in yourself immediately. Your blood pumps loudly in your ears and your hands tremble a bit. Something about how designing their gaze makes you suddenly self-aware in a way you’ve never felt before another client–you’re practically half-naked in front of them with your skimpy bra top, undergarments, and fishnets and now is the only moment that you've actually considered how little covering is on you. 

Why are they stopping you? Isn’t this what they wanted you to do? Or maybe they just want to do it themselves. Those types of customers always have the most bruising of grips and suffocating of holds. You stiffen at the notion. How are you going to survive this night with a Fatui Harbinger of all things? How many of your limbs are going to be fractured and how many of your bones are going to end up broken? 

“I…I’m undressing,” your meek voice sounds out and you hate the crack in your speech. The Harbinger continues to scrutinize you. You don’t dare continue disrobing yourself. 

There are several beats of wordless response before they then stand up from the couch. 

Oh shit. You’ve fucked up. Are they going to kill you now? Is this your end? 

Every thought is telling you to run in the opposite direction as they stalk up to you, but you're petrified as you realize with a chill that they’re taller than you. You’re not short by any means, a bit above average height, but they tower over you, looking down at you from above and casting judgment on you like a god. Once they stride toward you, you avoid eye contact by looking straight, observing their neck and clavicle that protrudes from underneath the fabric. You tense when they raise a hand, their manicured fingers placing themselves underneath your chin and long, carmine nails dig into the underside of your jaw, making you wince. They forcefully tilt your head, raising your focus onto their face. 

It’s like they plunged their hands down your throat and ripped out the oxygen from your lungs, leaving you unable to breathe. Up close, the first thing you notice is their lips, plump and red from their lipstick. Briefly, you wonder what color their lipstick would look on your skin. Then your eyes travel up, red-crossed eyes gaze back at you and you gape quietly at the distinct shape of their pupils. You swear that their pupils flash red as you finally lock eye contact with them. 

“Did I tell you to?” Their tone is cold compared to the strange softness of their handsome (beautiful?) face. 

Something in your gut coils inwardly and you want to look away, but their firm hold on your chin prevents you. You bite your bottom lip to repress a whimper. You’re delicate glass in their hands, and they can break you so, so easily. 

“No, sir.” Only the numerous times you’ve said this phrase ensures you don’t stumble over your words. They don’t answer promptly, but as they observe your features, their lips quirk up the slightest amount. 

“You know how to address me. Very good,” Arlecchino purrs after several beats of silence, in a low, oh-so-sultry tone, and oh. Oh. 

You’re not sure why, but their last two words make your stomach churn, but not in a discomforting way. In the way that lights a fire underneath your skin and spreads heat to every part of your body. You’ve never quite felt this way with another customer. You couldn’t believe that your body reacts this way just from a single praise but it doesn’t stop the pooling heat in your bowels. The chill down your spine still remains in place, but there’s an off-putting equilibrium of iciness and fervor generated from the client. 

The Fatui’s eyes stay fixated on you wordlessly until the hand on your chin turns your head, finally breaking you free of their intense behold. Their grip slackens so that they can trace their nails gently down your throat, every inch of surface their fingertips brush against ignites a blaze on your skin. A shuddering exhale leaves your lips and it seems like they take notice because from the corner of your eye, the small uptick of their mouth grows. Despite how sensual and probing the Harbinger’s touch feels, there’s nothing lecherous about it–purely just intrigue and fascination. It’s a touch you both have and never experienced before. Cold nails rake against your throat, not enough to mark or scratch, but enough to invoke shivers. 

You’re aware you should be terrified, but for a reason you can’t pin down, you can’t jerk away from their touch. You try to reason with yourself it was only because you’re one upset away from getting yourself killed but that reasoning falls apart when their hand gingerly traces your jawline and you make the softest of groans, a barely audible noise of content. Unfortunately for you, the sound seems to have reached Arlecchino’s ears and their expression softens slightly: their eyes narrow less and their brows aren’t as creased. And that smirk–if you could even call it that from how faint it is–becomes a half-smirk. 

They pull their hand away and your trance is broken, reality returning back to you as you remember that the person before you is still a Fatui Harbinger, no matter how bizarrely melting their touch was. They turn on their heel and walk towards the couch in front of you; the slightest bit of heaviness is placed on your heart. You remain stationary where you are, observing them as they seat themselves gracefully on the couch, and their attention encounters yours again. Their black pits hold expectancy in them. At first, you’re clueless as to what the criminal desires from you, but then their legs spread apart, an inviting gesture that beckons you and every rational thought leaves your easily swayed mind. Your heart skips a beat, and you're sure this time it's not out of trepidation. 

Even if you didn’t command them to, your legs would take you to their seating figure. You stand before them, feeling blatantly disrespectful to look down at Arlecchino, but you await their order. They lean back, lounging laxly against the couch, their posture never lacking their usual self-assurance. It only ties the knot in your gut tighter. You’re aware of what they’re instructing you to do, but the absent confirmation makes you hesitant. It seems like the Knave picks up on this because the room echoes with one definitive spouted word from their lips, authority and dominance ringing through their husky voice. 

“Sit.” 

Your legs buckle underneath you from the one-worded response, the demand only stoking the consuming fire inside you. Eager to please, you perch yourself on their lap, straddling them, your knees pressed into the furniture below you and encasing both of their thighs between your own. 

Oh, you think to yourself as your legs make contact with their thighs. They're firm. And for some reason, that provokes your stomach to churn in itself even more. You're so close to them, enough to feel their breath cascade against your skin. 

As you seat yourself, you nearly clumsily topple over, instinctively grasping onto their shoulders for support. Their shoulders are remarkably broad, you regard, well-muscled as well. Their hands creep up on your hips, steady but gentle hands grasping on each bare side of yours to stabilize you. The heat that radiates from their hands is infectious, regardless of the nails that burrow into your plush waist. For the first time, you flush considerably, a sweltering inferno forming in your cheeks and your head fills with dizziness. Their touch is gentle–something you rarely experience with customers–so, so gentle that you would describe it as heavenly. How can someone so inexplicably vile have heaven on their fingertips?

It's not a position you never found yourself in. In fact, it's far from the first time you've been like this with another client. But here, as you're sat on top of the Fatui Harbinger, and red x-pupils search yours, a foreign feeling passes through you. Placing your finger on it, you dubiously think it's bashfulness, but the heartbeat that sings in your ears and pulses underneath your fingertips tells you otherwise, tells you it's something more. Against that, you remove your grasp on their shoulders and place your palm flat against the couch’s surface behind the Knave. 

You squirm a bit, nervousness in your form as you remain as still as you possibly can, waiting for any more instructions. All you need to do is act like an obedient doll for them in order to survive; compliance is the best way of ensuring survival with people like these. You feel like you're merely eye candy from the way that their attention flits across your body, but you're immobile throughout the entirety of their observance. Being looked at is much better than any physical interaction. Their hands still cup your hips, but slowly, they descend to the side of your thighs, making your skin feel tingly. 

Impulsively, you mumble out a quiet "Sir…" as strange sensations brush against your skin. 

The sound surprises you and you feel on edge as their eyes travel from your lower half to your face. You gulp considerably. From their stare, they expect more of a response, a reason for their addressment, but even you don’t know yourself; it seems like an unconscious calling that just rolled off your tongue. You cow underneath their gaze, even when the two of you are at eye level. When you linger in quietude, their hand releases one of your thighs and lifts to your face, supporting your chin while their thumb rests on your bottom lip, unfurling it just the slightest amount to implore an answer from your now parted lips. Gleaming scarlet pupils grip your regard sternly, piercing into you and instilling you to spew something out. Except, you still can’t, now too entranced and lost in the crimson. 

“Doll.” 

Despite the pet name, it's devoid of any affection or warmth. It's a word that drips of command, a reminder of your place: simply a toy that they can play with however they want, a manipulated and decorated plaything for their amusement. That means you answer to them, and so when they request a response, you're under the obligation to please them. Your survival is in their palms anyway, if they wanted you to dance, you would just so they wouldn’t strangle the life out of you. 

However, its implication doesn’t prevent the tingling shudders that wrack your body nor the involuntary clenching of your thighs around theirs. Was it the gravelly voice that aroused your behavior? Your cheeks flare at the knowledge that Harbinger sensed the physical reaction. It shouldn't be possible. It shouldn't be possible, your thoughts repeat, but then they're interrupted by: 

"Oh?" Arlecchino inquires to themselves, a stark amusement in their speech. Their red glare illuminates slightly, replacing the lost darkening with a faint glow in their pupils, and the corner of their mouth curls up. It is only then that you discover something entirely new: that monsters can be sinfully, cataclysmically, terrifyingly beautiful and the sight before you is the most exquisite example. A devil has you wrapped in its claws and its fangs readied for devouring but it’s disguised as an ethereal angel; blinded by their perilous allure, you mistake their snow-white hair, their lustrous piercing rubies, their flawless porcelain skin, and their burning, fleeting touches as traits of a seraph. From a measly smirk, you forget the atrocities lying underneath their fingertips and dismiss the hazard their presence holds. 

The hand on your thigh rakes its fingers up, red nails trailing across the surface of your fishnet, wrenching out a breathy gasp from you as they travel inwards. Tingling pleasure injects into your veins as you subconsciously lean in, imploring for further sensual contact. A plea sits on your tongue and nests in your eyes as you beg them through your pitiful expression. They drink in your desperation with a slow swipe of their tongue over their lips, and that single action is debauched enough to elicit a soft groan from your throat.

“Well, aren’t you an amusing toy?” They drawl out with a preposing rasp and dark abysses glint with an insatiable hunger. 

They smirk enticingly, their thumb running across your bottom lip and smearing your lipstick on their thumb pad. Their grip on your chin tightens a bit, pulling you even closer to them before a shadow casts over you when their face nears. Before you can even fathom their intentions, they descend upon you, closing the distance between the two of you. Your lips are greeted with something pillowy soft and fervently warm, and you sharply inhale from the sensation. Every one of your nerves sings frenziedly, your muscles tense all over, and your heartbeat drums deafeningly in your ears–all of this as your body is engulfed in a fervid tornado of heat that makes you lightheaded with pleasure. It takes you several beats to realize the reason for this is that Lord Arlecchino, the Fourth Harbinger, the Knave is kissing–no, kissing is far too intimate, devouring–you voraciously like they're trying to rob you of any air, trying to imprint themselves on your mouth. Their mouth dominates yours, pushing against them with a deep fervor and famished urgency, eager to swallow every bit of shocked noise you make. 

You close your eyes and allow yourself to indulge. 

You first taste lipstick with a waxy flavor hitting your tastebuds. It’s cold against your lips, yet warm at the same time. But the physical texture and flavor of their lips are irrelevant; there’s only one true manner you would distinguish their taste: 

They taste like sin. 

The type of sin that’s chocolate coated and sprinkled with colorful toppings; depravity so sweet and charming it makes you reconsider the bounds of right and wrong. Degeneracy is far, far tastier than anything you’ve indulged in before. How can something so evil be so heavenly? Cushiony soft, placidly warm, flatteringly zealous, it’s like having a dance with a devil; so unequivocally immoral but no less gratifying. You question if they really belong to the Fatui because how can something like this come from such? You want to engrave the texture of their mouth onto your memory, feel this faux intimacy even when you’ve long parted. The Fourth Harbinger, you surmise as you surrend your will to them, is decadent–the only word that can be defined as both wicked and delectable at once–the perfect word to describe them. 

The last remaining bit of reasoning comes to the backdrop of your thoughts and begs you to not be swept away in the heavenly embrace. You discount it in favor of accepting this godsent gift by leaning further with a weak imitation of their ravishing lips and pressing back. It’s a feeble attempt to match their insatiate nature, far too domineering and forceful than you can manage but they display a token of appreciation when they squeeze your thigh, indenting your skin shallowly with the burrowing of their nails. The action exposes just how sensitive you’ve gone underneath their touch and you reward them with the sweetest of sounds. 

“Arlecchino,” you mumble with half-lidded dazed eyes in between ravenous exchanges and it evokes a depraved throaty growl from the Fatui, like provoking a call from a starving beast. They lean deeper to indulge in your taste. The gruff sound reaches your ears and it’s like a psalm–you shudder from its musical melody. 

Their clutch on your jaw releases and their fingers outline your jawline before snaking to the back of your head. Well-manicured digits entangle themselves in your hair, and there’s a gentle shove against your skull that forces you deeper into the kiss. Your hands clutch onto the couch underneath you as tight as you physically can for any sense of grounding and your knees attempt to close in even more to feel more of their body against yours. The hand on your leg, in turn, caresses the length of your thigh. 

Every graceful touch, stroke, and brush exudes an unyielding and infectious warmth that only adds to the stoking fire in your gut, and you’re bathed in so much swelter from the ecstasy that you feel dizzy. Yet, you never want it to end, you grow more addicted and drunk with each encounter of their lips. That, paired with your strained breathing, prompts your stamina to falter much sooner than the Harbinger’s. You let out a soft whine to signal your depleting oxygen, and their mouth unlatch with yours, pulling away despite your ache for more. With the separation comes a small string of saliva attached between the two of you, evidence of the shared intimacy that’s snapped when they lick their lips. The hand behind your head detangles from your hair and you silently mourn over the loss of contact. 

You heave for air, your chest rising and falling rapidly. You’re a little perturbed when you notice that they’re not even out of breath, a small but firm reminder that they’re as inhuman as humans can be. That knocks a sense of reality back into you. Customer, mafia, Fatui, Harbinger, it comes back to you like a train. Here you are swapping spit with them while in the lap of potentially the most dangerous criminal you could ever meet, but fuck were they a good kisser–you’ve never experienced anything that came close to this in your lifetime.

Any foolish doubtful contemplation of the morality of this interaction is swept away just like that when you hear:

“Greedy little thing that you are,” they regard with the most cunning and handsome of smiles, discrete amusement dripping from their words. Their dark pits behold you entirely, the same way they have always done when it seems like they were contemplating what part of you to savor the most. Only this time, you’re not so disturbed by the notion. If anything, the swirling heat in between your legs suggests the opposite.  

Greedy wasn't a word often associated with you, yet you couldn't more correctly describe yourself in that moment. Greedy. Greedy for a Fatui Harbinger no less. As ashamed as you should be, there's no use denying that you crave for their touch, for their gaze, for anything and everything they're willing to give you. You want everything and more. The more you contemplate, the more it seems obvious why you wouldn’t. Are they a devil disguised as an angel, or are they an angel that fell from grace? Regardless, they bring nirvana to you. An incessant desire bubbles inside you, your throat swelling up with an urgent request on the tip of your tongue. Would they allow such a thing if you plead? Would they be offended by your impudence? Would they punish you for such? But the necessity outweighs any reconsideration of your insolence and the supplicant beg tumbles out of your loose lips. 

“Can I… touch you please, my Lord?” You croak out, wincing at just how wretched it comes out. The response from them is not immediate as the two of you stew in silence, a building sense of dejection inside of you. The expression on their face noticeably contorts, smile lessening, their brows furrowing, and their red x’s glinting dimly. Their free hand raises to near your neck and you suck in a harsh breath as their fingers enclose around your throat. The mere action sends a stinging reminder to your lust-dazed thoughts about their position, and a chill pierces you. 

Mafia, Fatui, Harbinger, the Fourth Harbinger, the Knave–the labels cycle through your thoughts. Though their grip is lax, not exactly suffocating and giving ample space to breathe, their fingertips does acutely jab into your skin, a display of their impressive grip strength. You have no doubt that they can suffocate you with one hand alone, snap your neck, or, as your mind ventures into more harrowing territories, crush your skull. Those thoughts alone has you breathless with anticipation. A heavy weight suddenly appears in your gut, so heavy that you feel like you can’t move so much as a muscle. 

Did you just go too far? Was that too much to ask? Was this how you were going to die?

The reflex to gag and inhale combat each other in your throat, a discomforting sensation that crawls up your spine while you tremble. You’re almost certain that the nails have penetrated the layer of skin, drawing beads of blood that’ll trail down your mark. You whimper at the prickly pain. Yet, in all your unease, the most masochistic thought arrives briefly at the forefront, and you can’t help but consider: this position is just as intimate as all the other interactions. You’re already so vulnerable in their lap, does the hand around your neck change your peril in any way? No, you’ve been a defenseless lamb to a slaughter the moment you’ve stepped into the domain of a menacing wolf. 

Ah. Even now, you can’t dismiss the warmth of their fingertips. 

“Do you still want to touch me when I do this?” They demand callously, their voice harsh and reverberating through the room. Their grasp closes more around, and you feel your supply of oxygen inhibited. Tears begin to brim your eyes, but you’re undeterred. Unlike Arlecchino’s, your answer is instant and breathless. Your eyes intently lock on theirs, the hardened expression enough to satisfy their question. There’s no need for contemplation. Danger, you determine, is addicting. 

“Yes.”

The previously small smile stretches across their lips considerably. Content, or dare you say it, thrill writes itself over their face and the boulder previously pressed against your shoulders is lifted. Your throat is freed from their hold, but their touch doesn’t halt there. Instead, they rotate your head for you to face to the left, exposing your side profile to them. From the corner of your eyes, you watch as their face draws closer to your skin, hot breath cascading across the small dents her nails created. The one on your thigh finally leaves, moving to one of your hips, tender strokes across your flushed surface. They lean forward, and moist, plush skin meets yours. Lips traverse over the length of your neck, teeth scraping against, making you weakly groan. It takes all of your will to still your body, only allowing for the Harbinger to do whatever they desire to your form. Their touches are burning, burning, burning–so hot that you wonder if you’re experiencing a heat wave. Peppered kisses follow the edge of your jawbone, all the way up to your earlobe. A wet kiss graces your ear and then the most sinful of statements dignifies your eardrums, like a devil whispering hymns directly into your ear. 

“I think I’ll keep you to myself after this.”

A short hum follows afterward. 

“If you want to touch me, you’ll have to work for it. You’re only mine for tonight, aren't you? Entertain me. Give me a private dance, doll. After all, you have me for all night.” 

---

Link to M-Alexa's amazing art and how I imagine Arlecchino to look like in this oneshot.

[toonheartz]

[ID: A reference image for a blue version of Mickey Mouse.

Their name is Mick, and they're wearing a black hoodie with the hood down, and a sleeveless denim jacket over it. The front of the jacket is covered in many pins, like the trans pride flag, the genderfluid flag, a black patch that says "the first pride was a riot", an ambiguous shape with a red crossed out symbol over it, a watermelon, the autism creature, and a small black patch that is cut off due to the angle, reading "eat the".

The back of the jacket has the Public Domain symbol, white a lower case C on a black background that is crossed out, with ears at the top to match Mick.

They are holding a dark blue offset cane, and have band aids on their leg, nose, and one finger.

Text around her says:

-any pronouns -soft spoken but stands up for their friends -fucks around and finds out -being of pure spite

Back patch should always be the public domain symbol with ears

Feel free to swap patches in the same theme or omit them for simplicity

Uses cane for balance, relieving pressure on his legs, and whacking people

Bandaids are optional and can be any color / placed anywhere (she's very clumsy)."

The very bottom of the page has the hashtag, "mickeysona".

End ID.]

lil something to celebrate the mouse entering the public domain :]

[hurts2think]

I just saw that you're accepting Hook requests, I hope it doesn't bother you! I was thinking of Hook falling in love with a male!dragon rider, kind of like How To Train Your Dragon, I don't know if you understand me! And it would be that he doesn't believe the reader who rides dragons but then reader gives him a ride and it's reader's brave and fearless personality that suddenly makes Hook fall in love and acts like a clumsy adorable guy, I hope I'm not sounding weird! xoxo

🏴‍☠️Young!James Hook x Reader🏴‍☠️

Reader pronouns: He/him

Pairing: Young!James Hook x Masc!Reader

Plot: It's finally spring break and you can't wait to go home and see your lovely dragon companion! But as excited as you are, a certain hooked boy doesn't quite believe you're capable of flying around on dragons. So why not take him out to fly and watch him get nervous?

Word Count: 1.8k

Extra: ahhh this idea is so cute. Btw I have a ton of requests. I plan on doing ALL of them but it'll take awhile. Hopefully Queen of Hearts will be done next!🫶

It was that time of year where the snow was melting and the flowers were blooming. The cold turned into warm air that filled the bright and sunny days. It was finally spring.

And spring meant the school had spring break coming up. Everyone would be able to go off and do what they want for a week instead of rush to their classes everyday.

"So, what're your plans for the break?" Your best friend, Zellie, asked you.

She sat across from you, picking at her unappetizing school lunch.

"Hmm. I dunno. Probably go home for the week. It's a long trip but I really miss Berry." You replied with a sigh.

Berry was your companion that couldn't come along with you to Merlin Academy. He was of course your dragon companion. You've known and loved him for so long, it was exciting when you were accepted into Merlin Academy, but just as heartbreaking to leave him.

You try and visit him every chance you get, but there are only so many chances.

Zellie's face lit up with a smile, "Oh right. That's sweet. It's always so cool that you have a dragon that you ride." She gushed at the thought of flying in the air on some type of air creature.

You smile at her enthusiasm and just as you were to respond, an all too familiar voice comes from behind you.

"A dragon? A dragon rider? Little prince on a dragon? That's hilarious."

James Hook. A VK that spent too much of his time messing with you and many of your other friends. And now as he was walking by your table and overhearing what you were discussing, he couldn't stop laughing at the absurdity of it.

With a huff you turn your head to scowl at him, "You think I'm lying or something?"

Hook seemed to take your response as an invitation to slide into the seat next to you and a signal to annoy you as much as possible, "I think someone's spending a little too much time in dream land."

"You're a teenage pirate who fights little boys that can fly, that's arguably less believable." You scoff.

Zellie suddenly decides to perk in, "He really does have a dragon, ya know. And he's like totally the best rider out there. Plus his dragon is so totally cute! You should see the pictures he got on his camera." She said, clearly getting swept away in thought of the adorable creature.

This only made Hook laugh again, "Right, right. A wee lil dragon with a cute wee lil boy riding it?" He mocked with a harder laugh as he teasingly poked your shoulder.

You swatted his hand away quickly, ignoring his remark of you being 'cute'.

"Whatever, laugh all you want. You know, If you really want proof, why don't you stop by my home village? I'm sure I'll be in generous enough mood to let you go for a ride." You remark with a small smirk, already picturing the shocked look Hook would have on his face when he saw you ride. Anything other than that stupid evil grin on him would make you happy.

He stopped laughing and his face turned into one of skepticism, "Really?"

"Mhm." You cross your arms, "I mean, unless you have some other plans this break. Like fighting 12 year olds and fairies in Neverland."

Hook seemed unamused by your comment, "Fine. I'll come to see your 'dragon' and watch you ride it." He rolled his eyes.

----

You were actually a little surprised when Hook agreed to this. You were mostly joking but when he agreed, you couldn't back out now.

Your biggest concern though was having him so close to home and accidentally meeting your parents or something.

The last thing you'd want is your parents thinking their son was friends with some stuck up pirate.

"Okay Berry is in the stables so we'll just walk over there. Then we can saddle up and ride him." You explained, grabbing some of the riding equipment you needed while Hook stood with his arms crossed, keeping a distance from you.

"A stable? Saddle? Do you need to wear a cowboy hat too?" He mocked with a laugh. Though he was becoming less confident in his assumption that you were just making things up.

It's not that he didn't believe in dragons or that riders existed, he came from a place where pretty much anything existed. He just couldn't believe you were a dragon rider. Or that dragons even lived in the normal world.

You sigh at his mocking remarks, "Yeah yeah whatever," you start walking to the stables and he follows close behind.

Honestly it was surprisingly for him. He tried not to show his shock obviously, but you really did have a dragon. He was big and red. This was his first time ever seeing a dragon in person. They were much bigger than he imagined.

You saddled Berry up after saying hello to him and cooing at him, "Well, let's go."

"Oh, no, I'll pass." Hook said, trying to remain expressionless.

"What? You thought I was lying and now you're scared?" You mocked with a smirk.

He rolled his eyes, "No. I'll just watch you ride. You're probably not very good, I don't trust my life in the hands of yours and your dragon."

You nodded, "Okay... So you're scared?" You replied, rephrasing his scentence.

"I'm not." He declared, crossing one arm over his chest and holding his hook to his cheek.

"Maybe I will ride. I'm a pirate. You think pirates get anywhere by being scared? I'm not scared." He said as he approached you and the dragon, though it sounded more like he was trying to convince himself.

His inflated ego didn't make it hard to convince him to ride with you. Just call him scared and he'll be quick to defend himself and do almost anything to prove you wrong.

You helped him onto Berry and sat in front of him so you could do the actual flying part. "Hold on," you warn him, getting ready for take off.

Hook made sure to keep his body from pressing against yours and only resting his hand on your waist with his hook to the side. But once Berry actually started going up into the air and Hook looked down into the small village below you too, he didn't hesitate to completely wrap his arms around you and stay close.

The ride was mostly slow and steady compared to your usual pace but you kept it slow for the sake of it being Hook's first time riding.

The way he held tightly onto your waist surprisingly made your cheeks flush lightly, but he was too worried about himself to even notice or tease you about it.

"Do you want to keep going slow, or go faster?" You asked the man behind you.

"Faster." Was all he said. Clearly he didn't want to but he was determined to prove he wasn't scared.

You smirk slightly at the clear fact he was horrified. But just to prove a point, you suddenly sped up without any build. Hook let out a yell as Berry went faster and sped around doing flips and such. Hook had long already shut his eyes tight but you were having a blast.

Laughing and smiling as you rode faster and took lots of turns and twists.

Diving right through the high green mountains and almost reaching the ground before running back up high into the white puffy clouds.

Hook wasn't sure how you managed to stay so happy and excited about it without your heart dropping to your stomach.

He finally managed to open his eyes but instead of looking down to see how high up you were, he looked at you to try and stay calm. But looking at your big grin and fearless look, it felt like his heart had just been ripped out and replaced with butterflies.

The way you thrived on the experience and the danger of it wasn't something he expected. You were always hanging around the goody kids and always sticking up for the 'right thing' so he never expected you to be as adventurous and brave as you were.

He would never admit it but it was admirable. He thrived on his own kind of danger but this wasn't really his scene. Though it was great for you.

The way the wind blew against your face and how happy you looked made it perfect for you.

----

Once you landed on the ground, Hook didn't waste any time to stumble off of the dragon.

You hopped off Berry with ease and stayed strong in your stance. Though once you noticed Hook's lack of stability, you grab him by the arms and help him stand up straight as he tries to regain his balance.

"So? Still think I don't ride dragons?"

Hook looked at you and then looked away. He clearly didn't like being proven wrong, "Whatever. I was just joking before." He tried defending himself, now standing up straight to try and hide how he just almost fell to the ground. But ya know, anything other than admitting he was wrong.

You cross your arms and raise a brow with a smirk, "Right. Just a joke." You chuckle, "But it was fun, right? You liked it? Or was it too scary?" You tease.

"Not scary." He said, standing straight,

"Mhm. Because your screaming didn't make you seem scared at all." You say sarcastically.

"I don't remember screaming." The skin on his cheeks turned a light red and he looked away from your ridiculously gorgeous face for a moment to regain himself. "But..." He trailed, taking a couple steps closer to you, taking his hook and dragging it gently down your cheek in almost a seductive manner, "I'm sure it was exciting to have my body against you like that."

You were very unamused by his flirting attempt, though you made no effort to pull away from him, "Hmm. I didn't notice. I hope you weren't too distracted by me. Don't want to miss the point of flying." You smirk back at him.

He frowned slightly, pulling his hook away as his face heated up a little at your flirtatious banter. "Say what you like. But admit it, it was nice, wasn't it? You liked it." He grinned, clearly absorbed in how own confidence. Though it came off more as ridiculously adorable to you than some cool confidence.

It was kind of like he saw you differently now. Sure, you'd always caught his eye just from how insanely handsome he found you, but he always thought you were just some rule follower that stuck around royalty all day. But now he actually saw you. And it was way more attractive.

"Hey, if you want to go again later, you know where to find me," You offer with a small genuine smile, "But maybe I should take you out to dinner first. You know, to ease your nerves." You smirk with a teasing wink.

"Careful with your jokes, darling. I might take you up on that offer." A smirk of his own grew on Hook's face. But, God, you made him a mess. That smirk made his heart beat faster and harder than ever before.

[kolawy]

Artificer. poor ol struggling creature.

lots of info under cut as always!

After losing her pups, the artificer feels.. empty. She can't find any purpose in her life, she tries inflicting violence onto others, to somehow drown the grief, but all that leads to is more sorrow and guilt. But even after all these things she went through, she still has a tiny spark of hope that things might just get better, that she may eventually find some purpose.. and so, she begins to endlessly wander the silent constructs littered across the land. Looking for something, or perhaps someone that can reignite her love for the world.

now for some traits:

design:

personality:

•her blood contains a chemical that, when in contact with air, violently explodes

•this mutation was really painful at first and left her with many scars and burns, but her body eventually adapted to it, even growing holes and tubes to allow dispensing this substance in a safer manner, this allows her to do a controlled explosion jump like in the game.

•her saliva also has strange properties, it solidifies when it has been out of her body for long enough, and becomes somewhat silky.. This silk is very explosive, and strong impact causes it to crackle and explode

•since she is a nomad her bag is a bit larger and more "kitted out" than other scugs, she has a blowtorch device strapped under it to assemble weapons easily, and a lil holder for flares or explosives

also pronouns are she/her, although i don't think she really cares.

•she is always tired and is easily irritated by little things

•she's very loving and caring, but it's hard for her to let these feelings out

•she's touch starved and needs comfort but she won't admit it

•protective

•she tends to be really violent for no good reason, blowing things up makes her feel better for a bit

•she has no idea how to properly communicate with other scugs, as she has been isolated for so so long

[ratkingsocks]

Misc. Heart Pirates Head Canons

So, when I'm bored out of my brain at work I've been thinking about my silly little beloveds the Heart Pirates! So here are some thoughts I've had about them and the crew structure! Crew Structure

Not a traditional first mate or incredibly strict hierarchy. I figure Law's authority issues extend to how he runs his crew!

There's four "departments" basically where one of the core-four preside over.

Bepo is in charge of all the helm stuff: navigation, steering, general operations (maintenance of equipment, engineering)

Penguin is in charge of personnel: finances, crew schedules, supplies (clothes, food, yatta yatta)

Shachi is on weapons: armory & procurement of, training the crew, and any like recon they do is planned by him

Law handles all the medical stuff: yearly exams, extensive charts/notes on the crew, any on-going treatments, and the supplies for this specifically goes through him

As captain, Law does oversee/supervise the others if he feels it relevant but after like 13 years he's pretty confident his favorite idiots can handle themselves!

The tang runs on two shifts so someone is always around to keep the sub running in case of emergencies, as such there's often multiple crew members capable of a job (ex chef, helmsman, engineering, nurses)

All the crew knows how to handle alarms, any gauge or sonar readouts, and just generally keep everyone from dying

Most of the crew knows basic triage and first aid

Any Big Decisions (TM) are normally talked over. The crew has a lot of say in most scenarios... One of the few times this was not the case was Law ordering them to Zou when he went to Punk Hazard.

It was an intentional choice on Law & the crew's part that none of them were spotted on jobs and don't have bounties. A lot of the crew's work, especially early on in Law's plotting against Doffy, was gathering information and other covert work. Them being well known or recognizable would've made it impossible for this to get done... It also would've made hiding from Doffy that much harder.

The crew splits proceeds evenly! 50% goes to the Tang's upkeep and supplies, 50% is split equally between everyone else.

Named Crew Jobs

Law- Captain, Doctor

Penguin- Quartermaster

Shachi- Armsmaster

Bepo- Navigator

Jean Bart- Helmsman

Ikkaku- Head Engineer

Uni- Head Nurse

Clion Chef

Hakugan- Helmsman

The unnamed crew I do plan to flesh out eventually, but I haven't made a whole lot of headway in that direction yet... Some day I shall!

Silly HCs

Other than Bepo, everyone is older than Law

Penguin likes to sing

He also has collected rocks & shells from every island they've stopped at to make a living map of their travels.

I personally like to think of Shachi & Peng as some sort of fishman-human hybrid or perhaps a few generations removed from a fishman ancestor? Not super sure on how it works exactly, but I think they both look a lil odd and that's why they hide their eyes and such with hats.

Ikkaku handles Law 2nd best only to the Core 4. She knows when he needs space and when he needs to be pushed pretty well, and so they're pretty close.

Uni loves to sew; it's how he relaxes and passes time while they're underwater for long stretches of time. He is also the person who customizes most of Law's clothes with their jolly roger

Law did said customization before they recruited Uni and still helps, but Uni shoves him off often and says this is his therapy time alone

Clione takes to new members the best

He's also a great fighter and definitely yeeted Shachi into a wall one day; Shachi was delighted with this

He can drink most of the crew under the table

Hakugan is enby! And uses they/them pronouns

They also communicate with sign language, so the entire crew is relatively fluent

Hakugan is never lost; they have a 6th sense for where north is at all times

Much like their namesake, Hakugan is a volatile creature prone to violence

Shachi likes to keep up with psychology journals in his free time, so sometimes he & Law will have a little "medical journal book club" to hang out

Bepo is more an astronomy & weather guy... there was, however, a tragic mix-up with the news coo one time that resulted in Bepo getting an astrology magazine.

He likes to torment Law by teasing him with a well placed "That's so very libra of you, captain."

Law actually likes his coffee absurdly, disgustingly sweet

Penguin, however, takes his coffee black

Shachi & Bepo are 2 of 3 members of the Hearts without a caffeine addiction. Hakugan is the third

Penguin has given up trying to get Law on a schedule... It has never worked in their 13 years sailing together

Law had to implement a "no gambling on the tang" rule shortly after Hakugan joined; They were absolutely taking everyone else's money

Law does, however, actively encourage fleecing marines & rival pirate crews

The crew has picked up some Mink social behaviors! As such they're very physically affectionate... Yes, even Law. Though he tends to contain his affection to when they're in private or on the Polar Tang

It's super common to see the crew swap undershirts, jewelry, or other accessories

Bepo has a collection of his crewmates' shirts! Uni made it into a quilt for him since he can't exactly wear them properly

Everyone else has a "Bepo shirt"

Ikkaku tends to forget she's wearing hers while working on the Tang or to sleep then walks about. Whenever Bepo sees this he gets all flustered & teary-eyed

Law, similarly, wears his to sleep in regularly. He would rather be caught dead than wearing though. That's way too mushy for him.... but if there are days where he's still wearing it when Bepo comes to check on him in the morning, well, nobody has to know but them right?

Shachi & Penguin one time wore their Bepo shirts and attempted to force Bepo into their shirts which... obviously did not fit. Undetered they stitched the two together to the ultimate-bros-shirt. Bepo loves this shirt & wears it regularly.

Shachi & Penguin remake this shirt whenever the old one starts wearing down or falling apart every few years

(I took this one from a fic cuz I thought it was just so good) Between more junior members of the crew, it's a running gag that Law, Shachi, & Penguin are more "lesser mink" than "human" after 13 years with Bepo.

Law finds this absolutely hysterical, Bepo says they're all lesser minks

Law is, in fact, capable of a variety of animal noises such as growling, hissing, or purring. He normally makes this noises on accident when startled or particularly relaxed. He did not intentionally learn to make these noises. He was just an incredibly weird child and like many weird children before and after him, mimicked animals

Shachi & Penguin may or may not make fun of him for this

They may or may not have started the rumor that one of Law's parents was a mink; a rumor that Law has unintentionally perpetuated with his general wet cat behavior

Penguin's family were whalers! He uses a harpoon & is a fantastic fisher as a result

The above makes him Clione's favorite

Penguin often threatens Shachi with the harpoon so he may join his bretheren. Shachi shrieks back that orcas are not whales but dolphins. This is a near weekly song & dance.

Each of the "core four" have a way to show they accept a newbie into the crew!

Shachi carves a little wooden animal

Penguin embroiders their name inside their boiler suits

Bepo trades clothes with them

Law procures a custom mug decorated to their taste

Law normally gives his first, actually. Firstly, if he invited you to his crew he already likes you well enough. Two, he knows he can be an unapproachable dick and sees it as a bit of a peace offering. Three, to show the rest of the crew this new person is approved!

Shachi & Penguin gives theirs whenever they feel the new member has "earned" it. Normally 2nd/3rd in whatever order they deem.

Bepo basically always gives his last. He's a very anxious lil guy and doesn't want to disturb or weird anyone out.

Jean Bart is, ironically, the only crew member to not have concussed himself on the doorways in the Tang

Law had a few problem years after his sudden growth spurt, but it hasn't been a problem since he got used to being taller

After reuniting on Zou there was a crew wide cuddle puddle

Law is surprisingly tactile so long as it's on his terms. A head pat there, brushing his hands against a cheek or shoulder there... That kind of thing

This is generally the best indicator of how much he actually likes you

Law often stims using Bepo's fur or paws. Bepo loves this very much

[offical-ouroboros]

dude your unknown x readers are SO. HOUGHHHHH /POS,,, there is so little content for it anywhere but yours is utterly DELECTIBLE, if u do post the singularity thing you wrote i would be more than happy to read it bc i also love that freaky lil chewed gum looking son of a bitch 🩵🩵🩵 - a-monsters-chew-toy

yesyyeysyeysyeysyeysyyeysyeysysys I love finding other people who enjoy monsters like me (*´꒳`*)

Please note this entire thing was written with me in mind and I didn't actually expect anyone to be interested... And it's a bit of a three parter! If you like this one, I'll post the second piece as well :3

Feel free to request anything specific you'd like for future posts!!!

~☆

Should or Shouldn't - 1

CW: yandere stuff idk, hux kidnaps you lol, heavy projecting on reader character because this was from my docs fanfics, not proof read cos these are my late night rambles, slight nsfw implications through speech??? man idk I'm crazy for hux, male pronouns for reader lol

~♡

Thunk.

You dropped the pallet down, stunning the creature.

“You should not do such things.” Its glitchy, monotone voice uttered.

You paused.

You didn't even really have time to run before it spoke.

And for some reason…

“S… Sorry.”

It paused.

Then its sleek, metal leg crushed the wooden planks under it.

And you didn't move.

And it didn't hurt you.

“Is this the part where I run?” You speak up, half jokingly.

“No.” It says plainly.

“Calibrating... Your refusal is futile.”

“I- Sorry…?” You say again.

“You are not fit for this experiment. I will be taking you now.”

“W-What?!” You cry out, trying to take a step back.

It quickly grabs you, clutching the back of your shirt with its claw.

“You should thank me for this.”

You tense.

“T-Thank you…?”

You're so confused.

“Good worm.”

Things just continued from there.

You stayed in its grasp as it brutalized the others in the trial, mangling their legs so they'd just bleed out.

And then, when the realm was about to collapse…

You just went unconscious.

+

Waking back up was a nightmare.

At least, you wished it was.

You were somewhere in its realm still- The Entity’s hand picked wreckage of whatever planet the Singularity had come from.

You were on the floor. It was cold. But on the bright side, there seemed to be… Some kind of fabric near you. Large enough to cover most of your body, if you curled up.

You start to stir more, pushing up before falling flat back down as your limbs buckle under you.

Yelping in pain, you can't help it but cry.

Your pain is only worsened when you feel… Something… Coiling around your ankle.

It's like the fleshy plants of this planet. Like the nasty growths of skin covering the Singularity’s robotic form.

You whimper and tug on it, panic setting in.

There's a few odd clunks- Getting closer.

But you're too terrified to process them.

“Stop struggling.” Its voice suddenly speaks up, shocking you out of your efforts. You scramble back, still laying on the ground.

“Refusal is futile. You are safe now.”

In what world was this safety?

"What are you talking about?"

“Your inferior mind was no match for future experiments.”

“Lemme go-” Your voice cracks and you break down into a sob. “Lemme- Lemme go!” You cry out louder, quivering as you do so.

“You are emotional. It is amusing.”

You shake as your fists ball up. Leaning back against the ruined barrels and such behind you, you simply break down sobbing.

It stares at you, motionless.

“You should not be crying.” There's… It almost sounds genuine. Like it can't understand why you'd be upset with it.

You don't respond. Just cry.

Shuffling closer, its scythe arm brushes against you.

Of course, you flinch away, whimpering. But…

Its head tilts slightly.

“Stop it.” It utters. “Your whines are irritating.”

You keep crying, curling up slightly.

“ . . . Analyzing situation.”

“Calibrating.”

“What is the problem?”

You scowl, glancing up at it.

“You took me.” You hiss.

“Incorrect. I have saved you.”

“You kidnapped me!"

“You were going to get yourself killed. I have saved you. You thanked me.”

You tense.

“Why are you acting up now?”

You tilt your head down, feeling just barely calmer.

“You scare me.” You mumble.

“A logical response.”

“So you'll-”

“You are never leaving.”

Shudder.

“Fuck you! I hate you!” You scream.

“Your emotional blabbering has lost its charm. I advise you to stop. Or I will make you.”

A harsh huff leaves you. “What? You'll kill me? Good. I don't want to be-”

You're slammed against the barrels behind you. A quick breath is forced out.

“It will be slow. Painful. You will not die.”

You're back to sobbing, completely hysterical.

“There. There. Be a good worm.” It's pressed closer to you… Oddly intimately. Its right arm is behind you, forcing you to lean into it or risk being cut.

“I hate you.” You whimper.

“Your emotional outburst…. Is valid. You will not be punished for them. If you stay put.”

You swallow, lower lip quivering. And… Hesitantly lean into him, nuzzling softly.

“There. Good…”

It seemed to stop itself from saying something.

“P… Please get- Get my leg out.. Out of th… Please?” You struggle to find the words. “I'll- I'll stay right here. I just… Don't like being tied up when I don't wanna be…”

“Beg for it.”

“ . . . I'm- I'm not gonna-” Your ears move in embarrassment.

“Then it stays.”

“ . . . Mh-” A weak sound escapes you. “Okay.” Your voice is so quiet.

“Little worm is deceptive. He stays until his superior can trust him.”

A little whine escapes you, and you nod.

It's not like you could do much else.

Maybe it would kill you. Maybe, like it said, it would just torture you. The Entity had already allowed it to take you. To remove you from Her trials. Maybe forever. Maybe just until it got bored of you. And by then, She'd likely be bored too. And you'd finally, truly die.

But no.

The Singularity would keep you.

Forever.

You were human.

Bound to have some reaction to anything it did.

The slightest change could spark a massive, brand new reaction.

And it would love to…

Study you.

That's all this was.

Right?

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

Hello, I'm new here! Was checking out your blog after seeing the melusine foul legacy post.

So... If it ain't a problem; Any melusine foul legacy headcanons?

Take your time!

Have a nice day :)

YES ABSOLUTELY. I LOVE THOSE LITTLE GUYS SO MUCH THEY'RE SO SWEET

~ * ~ Melusine Foul Legacy HCs

Foul Legacy x Reader (Platonic) Genre: Fluff Pronouns: Gender Neutral Warnings: Mentions of the ocean

~ * ~

-He’s just… a lil guy… lil Abyss sea slug creature… -(I know all Melusines are female but you know what I make the rules here) -Legacy’s a bit peculiar, even to his sisters- apart from identifying as male, his body is also more monstrous and off-putting than the other Melusines -He’s still absolutely adorable, just a liiiiittle less soft and a bit more armored, all purple and red and midnight black -Slightly taller than his sisters, and has a pair of horns instead of antennae -You know the little wings some Melusines have? His are glittery and translucent, shaped like moth’s wings -Still has mitten hands though and they’re the bane of his existence, since they make everything so difficult to hold -Can speak, but also tends to intersperse his words with trilling and chirp-like sounds -Foul Legacy lives in Merusea Village, specifically in a small alcove in the underwater part, away from the other Melusines -He has an odd and intense interest in fighting and battle, which is actually fitting because his special token is an old, rusted blade that was lodged in Elynas’ body -You meet him when he dares venture above ground so he can get the sword cleaned and repaired, shooing away some people who were trying to scam him and offering to take him to Beaumont Workshop instead, where you happen to work -Your boss Estelle is quite amused when you walk into work with a Melusine at your side, sheepishly explaining that you got held up by some ruffians. Foul Legacy hides behind you until you explain that Estelle is your friend, to which he slowly nods, handing you the blade -He stares as you work, polishing and sharpening his most prized possession until it practically gleams, chittering in awe when you finally hold it up, complete

-Legacy thanks you profusely when you hand him the cleaned blade, looking as if it hasn’t aged a day. He cradles it carefully, doing his very best to not drop it as he sticks out a mitten-like hand to shake- he heard from his sisters that humans consider a handshake to be polite!- and he beams when you take his hand and give it a firm but gentle shake -He abruptly asks you to come visit him in Merusea Village, maybe so you can teach him how to use his sword, but unfortunately your lack of a Vision means you can’t breathe in Fontaine’s waters :( -But that’s okay- he’ll just visit you instead! He insists on it, in fact. You’re his first human friend (his first friend in general, actually) and he’s fascinated by your behavior and talents involving weaponry -You really weren’t expecting much when you gave this odd, star-speckled Melusine your address, telling him to be careful as he ran off back to Elynas, his precious sword held high over his head. But there’s a soft knock on your door a few days later, and when you open it there Foul Legacy stands, proudly clutching his blade with his mitten hands -Your friendship quickly blossoms from there as you teach him how to properly wield a weapon and show him around the Court of Fontaine. Legacy is extremely eager to learn and is very curious about the world above the ground, and he often tells you about life in Merusea Village in return -He brings you various components he finds to ask you what they do- they help power those large metal creatures patrolling the city? What’re they called? Are they friendly or rude? Why do you need them in the first place? -You also get to meet some of his sisters! You’ve seen them walking around the Court before but never really had a chance to interact with them, and almost every time without fail they’ll tell Legacy to stay out of trouble and not get into any tussles, while simultaneously thanking you for befriending their brother

-Foul Legacy is a little lonely, really. He doesn’t feel particularly at home with the other Melusines, especially since his appearance and demeanor are so different, so he’s very grateful for your company -He does still live in Merusea but makes it a habit to come up and wander around the city in search of you, and if he spots you going about doing your daily chores, he’ll follow you until you notice him- Estelle often teases you about having a little Melusine shadow (he absolutely lights up when you do notice him and runs over to hug you) -Yes, he does have a tail, and yes, it does wag back and forth when he’s happy -Would die for headpats -You teach him to use various types of weapons- bows are still his weak point almost entirely due to his mitten-paw-hand things. But Legacy is one determined sea slug, so somehow he makes it work (you don’t know how, it baffles and impresses you at the same time) -He swears that he’ll protect you from anyone or anything that tries to hurt you. Not that he doesn’t think you can’t defend yourself! He just likes the feeling of camaraderie and like he’s making a difference in someone’s life -Occasionally Foul Legacy will draw you sketches of what Merusea Village looks like, pointing out where his house is in particular. If you ever happen to be blessed with a Vision he’ll immediately ask if you’d like to see his home, happily swinging your hand and skipping towards the ocean if you say yes -Overall he’s a little strange for a Melusine, but is still very friendly and an excellent companion. Good sea slug Legacy :)

[z-v06instance]

" NO ONE HOME, BUT THE VOID IS LOUD " a z-v06 (pressure, roblox) ask blog

you've been in blacksite long enough to confidently say you know how this place works. you learn more and more with every painful retry of the same mission: gather the crystal. so, yes, you can confidently say you understand this place, that you know how each of the creatures that lurk the halls of blacksite function. or so you think, for in front of you sits an open locker. you've seen these lockers, infested and plagued by that sickly darkness that you can feel the gaze of lingering on you. it preys upon the ones who are more idiotic than others; the ones who see its eyes and still run to it for safety. you've seen this before - you've seen all of this before. you've looked the void in the eyes, and it has felt like death. yet here you are, looking the open locker in the eyes, waiting for the suction cups of those octopus-like tentacles to latch onto you and pull you in. yet it does not try to grab you. it does not try to harm you. it simply watches you. for the first time you call out to the void. the void answers back.

for your first visit to this blog, it is recommended that you look under the cut. please note: currently this blog is on an indefinite hiatus. i apologise.

" THE VOID BREAKS US, THEN RESHAPES US. " the following sections are ooc ;; dividers by @/saradika

📼 ⎯ hey hey heyy welcome to my lil rp askblog :3 this is like. my first askblog in 5-6 years im rusty as fuck n barely remember shit. 🎬 ⎯ im the mun, itris, but haley works too! after seeing all the pressure askblogs pop up i decided to be a so called "free thinker" and make one myself. 📼 ⎯ how old am i? what's my main? what are my pronouns? what are you, a cop? i'm not tellin' you that! (all jokes aside, i only feel comfortable answerin one of these: just use it/its or ey/em!) 🎬 ⎯ considering there's like jack shit regarding the lore of the void-mass puddles (afaik), a lot of this blog will be headcanon heavy! (..mun is also neurodivergant and that may slip through so mun is sorry if it does. muse is not intended to be neurodivergant) 📼 ⎯ english is not my first language and i have dislexia so. im so sorry if shit i say doesn't make sense or my spelling is wackers 🙏 i also make up words sometimes without realising it. i am so sorry 🎬 ⎯ i dont usually use tonetags, so ask me if you need me to clarify my tone! 📼 ⎯ aaalright i think this is enough rambling. ya think it's time for us to hop onto the actual muse info?

" PLEASE, PULL ME FROM THE VOID. " this section is about the askblog. it includes muse info, rules, and anything i think is neceserry.

* buckle in, this section may be long. as if this entire thing wasnt already longer than i intended...

BLOG INFO

🌌 ⎯ this blog will contain profanity and mentions of canon typical death/violence. other possibly triggering topics may come up along the way, so please, view this blog with caution. feel free to ask me to tag things. 🔮 ⎯ please, and i mean PLEASE, no sexual stuff (i know why some of you people like tentacles). mun isnt interested in rp-ing that. the only exception are sexual jokes as long as they don't go too far. threaten to fuck the void's mom if you want! (i am not going to question how you'd be able to do that) 🌌 ⎯ ANY interaction is fine by me! feel free to interact as any muse, whether that be an oc, another pressure character, or someone from a whole other fandom! 🔮 ⎯ feel free to claim any anons and ill make a special tag for you (if you aren't on anon ill give you one too)! i may forget to tag some posts tho so if i ever do just. lemme know LMFAO 😭 🌌 ⎯ if im uncomfortable with an ask, ill delete it. but honestly there's not really much that im against. 'nd also lemme know if i ever do somethin that makes ya uncomfortable too!! 🔮 ⎯ unless stated otherwise, anyone who sends an ask will be treated as an expendable ! :3 actually on the topic of asks pls make it clear if ur ask is towards me and not the z-v06 instance otherwise ill answer ic 😭 🌌 ⎯ im alright w/ m!a's i fucking LOVE m!a's 👍 🔮 ⎯ if i randomly stop posting one day assume the void got me.

MUSE INFO [written ic, but not as the z-v06 instance]

🔮 ⎯ this instance of z-v06 answers to anything you use to refer to it. it has no sense of identity, therefore does not have a name or pronouns. it is up to you to call it whatever you'd like. though, i'm not sure if it has the ability to care. ...note to self, see if the verbal z-v06 instance is capable of emotions and feelings. 🌌 ⎯ fascinating.. the instance you've stumbled upon appears to be showing no signs of hostility. though, i'm sure that, just like the rest of the monsters that roam blacksite, if you provoke it, it may become more violent. 🔮 ⎯ it seems to be capable of remembering things you tell it. perhaps it can remember faces too.. 🌌 ⎯ not much else can be said. i suppose you'll have to interact with it in order to find out more about it.

TAGS

( OOC )⠀ ⠀||⠀ MUN HALEY ( ANON )⠀ ⠀||⠀ UNNAMED (^ the "unnamed" will be replaced by the anon name if there is one provided) ( BLOG )⠀ ⠀||⠀ [INSERT WHATEVER BLOG NAME HERE] ( IC )⠀ ⠀||⠀ WITHIN THE VOID WE ARE UNDONE ( ASK ANSWERED )⠀ ⠀||⠀ THE VOID ANSWERS BACK

tws will be tagged as 'tw [triggering thing]'

i prolly forgot some tag ideas or whatever the word is tbh so expect this to be edited 👍

LAST EDITED: 17TH SEPTEMBER 2024