#✎ ─ good old-fashioned lover boy.

[eluxcastar]

H hello yes I have shown up once again at your doorstep dragging a Pantlone scenario with me.

Number 24 of your prompts list is DOING several things to my psyche when I line up my lil Loverboy with it.

It's like the universe is aligning with Me. What a post to bless my evening.

"You are very good at what you do."

And then we mix that in with the above mentioned post. What do we get?

Loverboy's first kill in his line of work. Definitely messy and lacking in class,, but atleast made up for with a certain animalistic efficiency to get the job done.

Bbg's first step towards the downward spiral by getting the first disgusting taste of blood under his fingernails,,, which is further turned into an internal dilemma Cocktail with delicious words of praise and affirmation <3

Loverboy got left in the microwave

── ୨୧：pantalone x reader

୨୧﹑synopsis :: loverboy's first kill as a fatuu which may have scarred him but at least he had a hot guy to tell him what a great job he did

୨୧﹑genre :: angst

୨୧﹑content :: masc reader, pantalone might be ooc, they're not in a relationship yet (unfortunately), descriptions of blood, not proofread AND I wrote this on the train so more opportunity for mistakes

୨୧﹑words :: 2.1k

"You are very good at what you do."

ok so I know that what I said was coming next was loverboy's extended origins but I was riffling through my inbox for something short to write and found this so guess what we're having for dinner

it's entirely non-descript when this takes place and tbh doesn't entirely make sense but we're being SILLY today so we're going to pretend that his lore has a spot where this fits perfectly

You didn't know the human body could bleed so much or that they'd go out with such a fight. People die quickly on paper and in the stories your seniors told you. Your allies can be there one second and gone the next, fragile and human. 

What they did not tell you was that your enemies don't die like your allies. The people who fight with you die quietly, but the death of an enemy is visceral and raw. They die fighting and choking on their own blood, going out with a bang after leaving harsh scratches clawed into your skin, and it takes longer. You can't say how long. It feels like it should've taken longer to run a knife through their stomach, but everything blurs together into an endless struggle before you lay beneath a wheezing body on its last legs, with blood staining your uniform and coating your skin in an uncomfortable warmth.

Your hands are red. It's the first thing you realise when you push that person off of you, and they collapse beside you in a lifeless heap of flesh and bone.

Your hands are red, and so is your uniform, and the snow beneath you, and your arm, bleeding from jagged scratches—

"You're very good at what you do."

What?

Before you realise what you're doing, you turn up to look at who's there, half expecting another enemy as you grip the bloodied knife still lodged in the body beside you. 

Your eyes follow from the shoes up to the face of Pantalone, and you breathe a cautious breath, your hand drifting away from the knife, hoping he wouldn't notice you were on the verge of stabbing him a moment ago. 

It sounded like his attempt to comfort or assure you, but all you feel toward him is anger. The reasoning is lost on you, as all reasoning is right now. Your mind is scattered, fighting the urge to empty your stomach and trying to ease your trembling. 

How can he treat human life so flippantly? Does this entertain him?

Pantalone steps around the body, eyes trained on you. It seems the sight fails to bother Pantalone as he crushes their hand beneath his shoe without mercy, the sickening crack of bones doing nothing to help the rising bile in your throat. You watch him, unable to form words and desperate to keep yourself from crying in front of a Harbinger.

Instead, Pantalone looks unfazed by it all, stopping as he reaches the other side of you, free of most of the blood. He greets you with a knowing smile as he usually does. His hand disappears into his overcoat, and when it reappears, he's holding something— a handkerchief, you think. 

"I knew making you a banker was a good idea," he says. Pantalone lowers himself to the ground, knee resting in the snow as his free hand catches your chin between his fingers, thumb brushing across your bottom lip slicked with blood. His eyes hold an unreadable look, perhaps of admiration, but maybe that's your imagination as you stare him down with a forced, queasy smile.

He chuckles lightly at the display. "Who knew you had so many other talents," he remarks, perhaps teasing you, but you're not sure. You doubt he is.

Murder is not the duty of a banker, not any regular banker, at least. Then again, Fatui bankers were never regular bankers. People say the Northland bank's true currencies are blood and tears for a reason, and you scold yourself for not realising that sooner. You should've figured out from the moment he asked you to accompany him that this was some kind of test, not the rudimentary trip to your homeland you thought it was.

Now, he's admiring you like the most precious jewel of his expansive collection, eyes alight with approval and only exemplified by the evident confidence in himself.

He raises the handkerchief to your cheek, and you instinctively pull away, stopped only by his finger raising to warn you, like telling off a misbehaving child. 

"Ah ah," he says, a harshness seeping into even just that sound. "Stay." 

You stay put, not eager to anger him. The next thing you feel is pain— stinging pain— as he presses the fabric over your skin with a delicate touch. The action is unusually gentle coming from someone as cutthroat as the Regrator and certainly not what you expected. You're not sure what you expected, just that it wasn't this. You expected him to toss it at you or let you rot in your misery, covered in blood.

"Lord Harbinger," you try to say, wincing as a shot of pain pulses through your head. You must've been injured at some point and not realised.

"You are much like your father." He doesn't wait for you to finish whatever you are going to say, instead simply reassuring you of yourself.

"I am not like him," you retort before you can catch yourself.

He responds with a chuckle, pulling the handkerchief away for a moment before pressing it back against your forehead. "I think you are," he says softly. "You are more alike than you think. Of course, I hope that courage doesn't rob you of your wits as it did to him."

You wince again, scolding yourself, and you mumble a quiet, "It won't."

"Good," he responds. 

Overwhelming, you feel like a dog—a well-regarded dog—but no less a dog. You are a fluffy little dog that fits nicely into Pantalone's purse to be admired and used as an accessory, nothing more. Everyone went ahead and told you as much a long time ago. To him, people are numbers; names are for the lucky among his upper echelons.

Yet he remembers your father. You eye him with scrutiny, trying—and inevitably failing—to read the look in his eyes to gauge why he would say that.

Nobody reads the Regrator among his ranks, especially not when they're as wet behind the ears as you are.

Despite your nerves, you swallow the lump in your throat. "Why did you bring me here?" you finally manage to ask, meek and afraid to upset Pantalone after watching how carelessly he treated that body.

"Whatever do you mean?" He's playing dumb; even you can tell that from just hearing the coyness in his voice.

"Never mind," you quickly say, ready to drop the matter like that.

Pantalone's hand that rests on your chin moves. He squeezes your cheeks between his fingers, digging the gloved ends of his nails into the plush of your skin until your lips pucker. His ring is cold. "No, you asked a question, as did I." His smile doesn't falter. "Speak up. When we want things, we ask for them directly. Do I make myself clear?" You hastily nod as best you can. "Now, try again. Dear banker, whatever do you mean?" 

The repetition of his question tells you this is your first warning.

"Is this a test?" you manage, words muffled by the way he squishes your face like putty beneath his fingers. Your heart pounds in your chest, threatening to jump out and run away if it means escaping Pantalone's scrutiny.

"Would it please you to know that you would have passed?" he questions, pausing for you to answer with a hesitant nod of your head. "I brought you with me to see if you were worth keeping around," he explains. "I received advice from an anonymous source that you may be better suited to work under another Harbinger's watch. I see now that perhaps such advice came from a…sentimental point of view."

That would explain how he knows of your father; someone must've tried to get you out of this unit, and you know who, regardless of how 'anonymous' that source may have been in his words.

Pantalone releases you to take your hand from your side, and he guides it to hold his handkerchief over your wound. "Hold this," he adds, an unnervingly tender instruction for the way he was just behaving. 

He removes his hands from you, robbing you of his touch. It feels strange for the warmth of his hands to have disappeared entirely, your only distraction from the blood itching beneath your clothes gone just like that. You should have guessed it would be 

"What was the point?" you ask, eyes following Pantalone as he stands back to his usual height and straightens his overcoat. 

His smile fades, eyes wandering from where you continue to sit, looking probably about as pathetic as you think you do. "Whether it is to collect on debts or complete an objective in the field, having such unrefined hands unused to killing will leave you on the receiving end of what you just did. People may believe it's just numbers and accounting, but the Northland Bank deals largely in debt collection as well. You're only an assistant with the resilience of a baby bird, but soon..." He seems to ponder those words for a moment before continuing. "In time, you could do great things at the Northland Bank. Who knows?"

Nobody believes that about the bank. You don't bother to tell him the obvious, however, as you're sure he also knows that.

You don't like that thought. In fact, frankly speaking, it terrifies you beyond belief to even begin to think that could be you. That's precisely what you've been avoiding facing this whole time and what made you sick when you had no choice but to face it. At that moment, there existed no escape but one, the inevitable end of one of you dying, whether because Pantalone stepped in or someone won the upper hand.

The only reason you're not dead is because you were lucky enough for it to be you who won the upper hand.

Your life is so terribly fragile. 

It isn't only this that makes you realise such a thing. You knew it before, but until a few minutes ago, the taking of a life was someone else's story. It was something you heard from one of your seniors, a story you hear after a long night of tedious work as if telling scary stories around a campfire like children do. It wasn't something you carried around like a scar. 

Watching as the life leaves someone's eyes, knowing you are the reason it's happening, never quite made the cut when describing the excitement, and you understand why. 

It is the monster under the bed that makes you curl up in your blankets and convince yourself that it'll stay hidden if it can't see you, but it'll always be there, waiting for you to acknowledge it. Someday, you might have to, but you try to push it to the back of your mind and focus your eyes on Pantalone as if there's not a dead body right behind you. You have never felt so much blood seep through your clothes before, and you hope you never do again. The thought of your uniform sticking to you this way ever again makes you nauseous.

"Once we return, you can change clothes," Pantalone says, perhaps sensing your disgust at yourself. "Oh, and—" he smiles down at you, almost mocking if you didn't know better— "next time someone approaches you from behind, don't wait to stab them. Don't reach for your wet knife with your wet hands, either. Both of those things will get you killed."

Your face feels red from the nerves creeping up from your neck. You imagine Pantalone is looking down at a beet-red banker fumbling to respond. You entirely miss him describing it as if you had water on your hands and nearly lost your grip. "I will— or won't," you quickly assure him, embarrassed that he noticed after all. You managed to kid nobody but yourself into thinking he wouldn't catch you.

There's an amusement in the smirk playing on his lips as he turns back to you. "What did I say about speaking clearly? Repeat yourself, I can't hear you mumbling from down there."

"I won't, sir!" you repeat, much louder than your shame wants to allow, as you force yourself to 'speak up' as he put it, to avoid having to say it a third time. "I won't hesitate next time."

"Good." He turns away, prepared to leave you behind if you can't keep up. "Come now. You want to go home and back to Liyue, don't you? I'm tired of this cold." The moment you realise he won't be waiting around for you to collect yourself, you are already scrambling to get back on your feet and rush after him.

CROSSPOSTED ON AO3

[eluxcastar]

LOVERBOY LORE DROP JUST IN TIME TO MAKE IT INTO THE NEXT ONESHOT ＼(٥⁀▽⁀ )／OMG

TIL HE HAS A VISION?? A HYDRO VISION (°ロ°) ! I FEEL LIKE I KNEW THIS BUT ALSO I HAD NO IDEA. For some reason I thought he didn't have a vision/only had a delusion or something but also that makes so much sense he does ♡ ( ◡‿◡ )

but also. extra pain because Pantalone does not have a vision and has been throwing a big tantrum over it since he was a little lad of Liyue (hyperbolic) (；￣Д￣)

"Hey, hey- did you hear? Lord Regrator promoted someone as the new branch manager of our bank!"

"Don't tell me... it's him, isn't it?"

"But of course, I heard the harbinger is playing favorites now-"

𝕃𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕓𝕠𝕪'𝕤 ℙ𝕣𝕠𝕗𝕚𝕝𝕖

When you feel the caress of a mask; an identity, Who do you become?

Finished cooking Pantalone's Loverboy a little bit more with this character layout. While a good chunk of his aesthetic has been pinned down, I probably won't go further to draw any sort of outfit or character design for him. As of now, I'm keeping his finer details ambiguous enough to classify as a M!reader. @eluxcastar comrade wake up new Loverboy content just dropped.

ੈ♡˳ 𝐅𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐢 𝐕𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐤

Under the hierarchy of Regrator's ordinance, Fatuus above a certain level of authority don masks signifying their position. Ordinary agents working with classified business information must never run the risk of disclosing their identities after all. One such mask, dipped in a red of warning and adorned with a platinum wing on it's brow is the telltale identity of the bank's Venator Dux. Whether you stand against him in a negotiations meeting, or battle, he's no less intimidating without the mask.

ੈ♡˳ 𝐇𝐲𝐝𝐫𝐨 𝐕𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧

"Hydro represents faith, regardless of how misguided it maybe." "This vision is given to people who either have a strong dedication towards something, or have a desire to help or protect others." From wind to water; That day celestia's eye honed in on the fool falling past a shattered window, dragging down another with him. "How amusing..." they'd think, and brush past the reject to bestow heaven's blessing upon the far more pitiful one.

ੈ♡˳ 𝐁𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐱

Also called 'wine red' or 'black rose'. Like the lovely wines of plum occasionally imported from Liyue. Like blood to snow in the region colored head to toe in muted greys and blues.

ੈ♡˳ 𝐂𝐡𝐨𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐂𝐨𝐬𝐦𝐨𝐬

A flower that smells like fresh chocolate. They symbolize peace and tranquility. It is said that Chocolate Cosmos in particular mean “I love you more than anybody can.” Is it more obvious. He offers to pin it on the Harbinger's coat with a knowing grin. A frost-sensitive flower; It requires partial sun or full sun, and flowers from mid to late summer. It cant flourish naturally in a frost-bitten habitat and is artificially kept in greenhouses, only glimpsing the sun every few days through tinted windows. Pantalone barely needs to lift a finger to commission a set of cosmos flowers turned to jewelry for his Loverboy to wear.

ੈ♡˳ 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐒𝐰𝐚𝐧

A Black Swan signifies an insight about yourself that changes your position from one of victim to victor. Black Swan is a graceful reminder to move from any position where you feel powerless and at the mercy of external forces; it is time to reclaim your personal power. A coin always has two sides however; The black swan theory states that, "It is an unpredictable event that is beyond what is normally expected of a situation and has potentially severe consequences."

ੈ♡˳ 𝐐𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐒𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝

Equal parts strategic leader and hands-on agent, the Venator's blade is no less mightier than his pen. Come hell and high water, his feathered quill can enlarge thrice over to chase down it's targets with a mind of it's own, like a missile dart. You wouldn't fare better in close quarters either. The feather reinforced with hydro can sharpen it to the degree of splitting icebergs and necks alike. Why else do you think his ink occasionally flows in hues of red?

ੈ♡˳ 𝐈𝐜𝐲 𝐖𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫, 𝐂𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐂𝐡𝐨𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞

The steely frost seeping into his coat, A heady spice from the smoke warming the air, and the slow bittersweet aroma that doesn't hit you until after he's gone; an aftertaste.

ੈ♡˳ 𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐎𝐥𝐝 𝐅𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐁𝐨𝐲

"I can serenade and gently play on your heart strings Be your Valentino, just for you" "I'd like for you and I to go romancing Say the word, your wish is my command" "Ooh, love (there he goes again) Ooh, lover boy (he's my good old-fashioned lover boy, ooh) What're you doing tonight?"

ੈ♡˳ 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐅𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐲

"Faithfulness to something to which one is bound by pledge or duty." "In the shimmering expanse of ice and snow, I pledge my unwavering devotion and undying loyalty to the illustrious Tsaritza, sovereign of this frozen realm. As the frost bites deep and the chill of winter grips our souls, I stand firm in my resolve to serve her reign with pride and honor." "With every breath, I swear to defend her name, her realm, and her legacy, even if it means laying down my life upon the icy plains, for in her sovereignty lies the very essence of our existence. Today, I embrace the cold embrace of eternity, knowing that I have lived and died under the banner of our revered Tsaritza, with unwavering loyalty burning bright within my heart..." And he didn't mean a single word of it. He wondered when that would be the death of him.

[eluxcastar]

✎ ─ oneshots

return home

You spent days out travelling near the edge of Snezhnaya, delayed by trouble you encountered that has you home half a day after you were expected to be. By all official accounts, the objective was completed, and the mission was, therefore, a success, but you seem to return a different person than the one who waved Pantalone off with a warm smile and a kiss for good luck.

unhappily

What was supposed to be a routine expedition is interrupted by an attack that wipes out almost your entire team. When word finds Pantalone, not only are you are nowhere to be found, but you are assumed to be a defector. CROSSPOSTED ON AO3

loverboy fresh from the moral microwave

Loverboy's first kill as a fatuu which may have scarred him but at least he had a hot guy to tell him what a great job he did. CROSSPOSTED ON AO3

through the years

Loverboy's extensive origins that will get a better synopsis upon posting

✎ ─ rambles

extremely lengthy lore rambles with ruu

pantalone suit rambles

the dissection of loverboy's moral microwaving

original requester - @ruumirmir ruu's masterpost

[eluxcastar]

Pantalone x reader (male or gn) where reader returns from a particularly bloody and mentally exhausting mission late at night. Perhaps a little emotionally scarring

Reader is concerningly silent

Pantalone helps them bathe and carries to bed

Hurt/comfort fic where reader softly cries to sleep and pantalone can do nothing more than hold them tighter and closer

You're not used to losing people

── ୨୧：pantalone x reader

୨୧﹑synopsis :: you spent days out travelling near the edge of snezhnaya, delayed by trouble you encountered that has you home half a day after you were expected to be. by all official accounts the objective was completed and the mission was therefore a success, but you seem to return a different person than the one who waved Pantalone off with a warm smile and a kiss for good luck.

୨୧﹑genre :: angst

୨୧﹑content :: masc reader (could be read as gn), mentions of blood, use of petnames (darling), implied death, reader is at a bit of an emotional breaking point, pantalone is written to be soft, they're married because I said so

୨୧﹑words :: 2.7k

anon this is strangely so cute I love it. sad but still somewhat cute an idea yk (I had literally no idea what to call it until five seconds ago). our man pantaloon needs more love. I accidentally wrote clock instead of cloth in one part and the mental image of Pantalone trying to clean reader with a clock made me fucking die laughing this is so stupid

if you like this also go read this post as the two are similar in theme and story but with very little comfort to the hurt 👍

something about the evening seems...wrong, the sky grows darker, too dark for it to be your usual time. the moon suspiciously high, yet there's no sign of you to be found. you should know better than to make him worry, knowing that though your strength may carry you through battle, you're also not invincible. what happens if you reach your limit out there? how is he supposed to know if you're safe? what if you don't come home?

abruptly Pantalone's thoughts are interrupted, the door opening, and he knows nobody would be bold enough to waltz on in without knocking unless it was you come home from a long and tiring mission. he only heard earlier that you would be returning, "Some time in the early evening" he had been told and clearly that was a lie. it was likely no fault of yours, just some hold up along the way.

he hears your footsteps, knows you're there-- at least he thinks that's you. you've been awfully quiet, though you usually call out to him when you return home. you still manage to worry him. he can't see you tucked away in the entrance, only glimpses of you as you remove your coat. there's a moment where he swears he hears you suck your breath through your teeth, then the rustling of fabric and finally your footsteps again, abruptly followed by a loud thud.

now you're really worrying him.

it takes him seconds to decide he's no longer waiting on you, standing to walk to you and see what has happened. the moment he turns around, Pantalone can see you even from where he stands several feet away, the thud clearly caused by you falling flat on your face, leaving you struggling to get up though not for a lack of trying. just before he reaches you, you just give up and turn yourself over so you can sit for a moment. you barely get there before he's lifting you up from the floor like a life-size rag doll.

"You're injured. Why didn't you go see someone?" his concern translates to disappointment at some point, and though he wonders if it was too harsh, the blood you're covered in and the bandages that bind your hand tells him you need it just a little bit. why aren't you taking better care of yourself?

you try to speak, but find it impossible for your words to comply, caught in your throat and refusing to come out. he's not impressed with that either; you can see it in his face that he would've said something if you didn't look so, frankly speaking, pathetic.

you have to ask yourself if he can tell you're trying not to cry, the quivering of your lips and glassy eyes hard to hide. he cradles you so gently it almost tips you over the edge, so safe compared to the way you've spent the last few weeks feeling. nothing about the day leading up to now specifically makes you feel that way, and it feels so draining trying to hold it back, but overwhelmingly so being home just makes you so emotional. your wound doesn't hurt too badly, and it's not as if your fall was anything but tripping over your own feet in absent-mindedness. if it proved anything, it was that you definitely did something to your shoulder, coupled with the fact that grabbing the blade of a sword to stop it in its tracks had left a shallow mark across your palm, you were beginning to doubt your instincts again.

still, you cling to the fabric of his clothes tightly, finding comfort in these familiar things which you associate with your home. hearing his voice, the cool contrast of the rings he wears against your skin, the scent of home, even just being held in this way makes you want to close your eyes and settle.

then suddenly you're moving again, and he sits you down on the couch and kneels down to remove your shoes for you, "I'll take you to be seen by a doctor tomorrow, but for now let's get you cleaned up and in some nice fresh clothes." he stands and places a kiss gently to your forehead, "I'll come get you when the water is ready, don't push yourself, darling."

you dare not test his patience, so you wait, staring down at your hand covered in bloody bandages. your hand is shaking. most of that blood is yours, though your mind wanders seeing it, back to the several corpses you laid your hands on, the people whose bodies you beat with your fist begging and screaming at them to get up as they lay lifeless. your throat still hurts. you untuck the end of those bandages, unravelling them from around your hand until you see your skin and the awful gash across your palm. it looks awful, red and swelling, far worse than when you last saw it. you run your thumb across the wound, flinching at the tinge of pain that shoots down your arm.

"Tsk tsk, what is this?" from behind the couch comes a hand, taking you by the wrist and pulling your arm up, "You should've gone to get this looked at. Did you at least clean this properly?"

you stare up at Pantalone who adjusts his glasses. it's strange to feel his hands against yours, bare and slightly damp hands warm against your skin. remembering he asked a question you shake your head, and his eyes flicker back to you with a strange look.

"The bath is ready." he finally says, "Does it hurt when I carry you? What else are you hiding that you haven't tended to properly?"

"It's ok, you can carry me." you say, finally able to speak, though your words are quiet and rougher, than you'd like. you clear your throat and repeat "You can carry me." to him knowing his usual fixation on acting your best, even though you're also aware there's no way he expects that of you.

Pantalone purses his lips a moment, glad for you to finally say something, but still finding something to worry about in the fact it didn't tell him much, resigning himself to the fact that you'll simply have to show him once he helps you undress to take a bath. you watch as he walks around the couch, and raise your arm up to him, wrapping it around his neck when he leans down to scoop you back up off the couch and into his arms.

the way his hands touch you as he removes your shirt, letting you lean your head down rather than pull your arms off and he promptly tosses it aside. his hands return to your shoulders, running down your arms to observe your skin, noting that you had bruises but no other cuts or scrapes, save for a minor one on your side barely in need of a band-aid. it's slightly more awkward shimmying yourself out of your pants as you have to put your weight on your hand while trying to avoid pressing it too forcefully against anything. his observation continues, though he once again finds you to be in perfect condition.

it's the dried blood that sticks to your skin that he worries about, even knowing it likely isn't yours.

"I wasn't told there would be delays in your arrival, was it so bad that you weren't about to communicate your messages back to me?"

the water is warm, but not hot, shallower than you might've filled it but you suppose only having the water rise to your waist was in case you were keeping another nasty scar hidden under your clothes from him. that was in case. every bone in your body adores this man's care for you, the usually pompous banker with a clear soft spot for you.

he holds a cloth which he dips into the water, running it along your skin as he dabs at the stains taking extra care not to scrub too harshly. days of dirt and grime and a battles worth of blood and sweat washed away by the loving hands of the Regrator. he can tell by your reluctance to answer that it's not the time, and carries on in silence letting only the sounds of running water making its way to your ears. it's a calming silence, though you watch as the water surrounding you is slowly dyed by the blood that runs off your body.

it finally hits you just how bad things got, even when before you could in some way write it off like a nightmare and pretend it hadn't really happened. some metaphorical weight presses down on your emotions and you just break as your vision blurs, tears welling up in your eyes.

perhaps noticing your shaking or catching one of the few tears running down your cheeks, the cloth is immediately set aside as Pantalone places a hand to your back. you try desperately to wipe your tears away, but a wet hand isn't the best tool to dry your cheeks with and you only serve to make it worse. a part of you feels hopeless, like a failure to your own team as you know you let them down. you were supposed to be a fighter, a good one at that, husband of one of the Harbingers and somehow you still managed to lose two people.

you feel yourself back in that place, weary as you finally stand, your shoulder stinging, you assume from the initial fall. you clasp a hand over it and rub your thumb on the area, making it sting. you groan at the pain. one of the more medically verse teammates tends to one of the wounded. you walk toward the collapsed body of a fellow fatuu, seeing them unmoving and bleeding into the snow. you practically fall at her side, landing on your knees as you slightly let your feet give out and bring you down to her.

cautious at first, you shake her, trying to roll her over though it hurts you to do so. she remains unresponsive to any poke or prod at her, not even a groan or mumble, and she's so cold.

you're all cold, you tell yourself and try again to shake her awake, "Hey, get up..." but despite everything nothing works, barely able to roll her onto her back to see her face. her eyes are wide open, a look of shock frozen on her face that haunts you, it's enough to make you hesitate, like a harsh slap across the face. "Wake up!" you say again, the desperation building. you know she's not asleep but it doesn't even matter anymore, beginning to feel more and more like a child pounding their fist on the floor throwing a tantrum the less and less put together you become. "WAKE UP DAMNIT! Nobody said you could die like this!"

"Captain, stop!" without warning, you're grabbed from behind and yanked away, sending a throbbing pain shooting through you as their grip is rough on your shoulder "Calm down and look at her. She's gone." they say.

in the blink of an eye it all rushes back to the view of a bath tainted by that same blood, long black hairs tickle your neck as you are held tightly once again. it grounds you just enough to remember that you're safe in a bath, cared for by the man you love.

"I'm such a failure." you choke out those words through your sobs, echoing off the bathroom walls, "They needed me to lead them and I just got them killed. I couldn't even keep my composure when they needed me to pull them together..."

you curl into yourself, squeezing his arm in your hand, "You're not a failure, darling, but you're not used to losing people." his assurance helps, if only slightly, but something about feeling like even someone who seems to care for none understanding your reaction eases your heart a bit. it doesn't do anything to help the dying part, but he's never been good with sincere reassuring words, and he chokes thinking of what to say to you.

all Pantalone can do is hold you and rub your back to let you cry, finishing up quickly to get you out of there and back into his arms bundled up in a towel. just as you feel hopeless for being unable to live up to whatever outlandish expectations you had of yourself, Pantalone feels as if his comfort falls short as he can't stop your crying, though he shushes and assures you it doesn't seem to make it better.

when you reject his offer to go to see a doctor, saying you just want to sleep. he doesn't want to push too much, only asking that you agree to let him disinfect your hand, otherwise letting you dress yourself in fresh clothes he set out for you while he goes to tend to other things momentarily. at the very least, your tears stopped, for now you seem calm again.

he returns to find you've already tucked yourself away bundled up in the covers, brushing your bangs from your faces and leaning down to kiss your temple. "I'll be with you in just a moment, darling." he whispers to you, earning a noise of acknowledgement.

stepping away only to change his clothes and let his hair down, he sits back on the edge of the bed, though on his side. he removes his glasses, folding them and setting them down on the nightstand. it's an unusual silence knowing you're lying right there behind him. he's so used to you talking to him right up until he tells you to go to sleep, and yet you seem so exhausted and drained. you're not used to losing people. he has to remember that you're more emotional than he is, but he doesn't mind--likes it in fact--as it's usually a good thing. just...not now.

he sighs to himself, unable to help it. he hates this, seeing you so upset, so unlike yourself. he hates feeling so powerless watching you punish yourself for something you couldn't have changed, like some passive observer in your life. his words don't help, and there's little he can do to take away those memories or even fix your body.

there is one thing Pantalone can do, the thought of resigning himself to simply being a source of comfort, someone to support you so you can cry as much as you want. it's better to cry in somebody's arms, isn't it? he turns on his side to face you, who faces away from him. he's not sure why, you just happened to be comfortable there. feeling his hand against your side, you shuffle closer and allow him to wrap his arms around you, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

you let out another shaky breath, closing your eyes again. above all else you feel safe. given everything he's done for you, you can't ask for more, though even just being by his side is enough to put your anxiety to rest. still, it hurts. not even physically, but your heart won't stop aching, and unable to distract yourself you replay the sequence of events in your mind once more.

an ambush, the ensuing fight, a firm whack to the head which you still haven't discerned the source of, boots running and kicking up snow all around you as you watch through blurred vision, you manage to block a sword that swings down at you though in the stupidest way possible, you finally get your head straight and get up and fight more.

where did she die? more importantly when did she die? if you can just remember that maybe you would know what you did wrong, what to fix.

you become distracted again, knowing you're shaking and back to holding back your tears. what pulls you away most of all is Pantalone's voice, "Don't cry, darling, it's over now. You're home."

you grip his hand tightly, fingers intertwining with his. "Is it...is it ok if you talk to me more?" you ask quietly, "I think..."

"That's hardly a difficult request." he says, squeezing your hand in reassurance, "If it would help you fall asleep."

[eluxcastar]

*slaps my brain* this bad boy can churn out so much angst. Greetings, i arrive with pantalone x male reader : -- reader + a group of agents are sent on a mission. They're ambushed by the enemies (some rebellion group against the fatui) and everyone is killed except the reader. -- reader begs for their life and agrees to join their side and give out info about the fatui (But in their head, reader just comes up with an improvised plan to use this opportunity to lie and double cross the enemies) -- (un)fortunately, one agent survives... and delivers the news that reader has betrayed the fatui... to both Pantalone and Arlecchino. -- Poor banker man has a short breakdown before realizing that the Knave would be sent out to hunt down the traitor. (ouch) -- Perhaps it was just a few crumbs left of his love and trust for you, that convinced him to take over the duty of hunting you down. Perhaps he just wanted to see you one last time. -- He faces the brunt of Arlecchino's mockery and amused pity when he tells her that he's gonna kill you himself. -- Reader thankfully succeeds in escaping the enemy's headquarters. So imagine their panic and surprise when halfway into returning, pantalone pulls up and aims a gun at their head and demands an explanation (congratulations! both of them have trauma now! Reader is now paranoid in every way to never disappoint Pants every again! Pantalone now has paranoia for betrayal!) -- for roughly a month, reader moves out from their shared bedroom and occupies a guest room(fun!)

Super (un)happy (un)fun times with Pantalone ❤️

── ୨୧：pantalone x reader

୨୧﹑synopsis :: an expedition gone wrong as you are attacked by a group of rebels who win only by catching you off guard, they wipe almost your squad out, at least so you thought, and will little other option you decide it's best to choose the humiliating one and get on your knees to grovel and beg for your life like some poor dog

୨୧﹑genre :: angst

୨୧﹑content :: masc reader, mentions of blood, injury, death, reader does technically get kidnapped, the root of their problems is a lack of communication fml

୨୧﹑words :: 7.2k

nom nom nom this THIS this has eaten my brain since it was sent to me, this little thought that I wanted to do right away but was in the middle of Capitano and didn't wanna make that anon wait longer than the like two months they already had which was like two months BUT I SAID IN THAT ARLECCHINO POST that it was coming directly after Capitano so now I am LEGALLY obligated to do it (I have literally put off the Pierro request I said I would do since December) (I just want an excuse)

there may not be a post tomorrow because I'm tired and in pain so if that's the case the requests will resume either Monday or Tuesday

I also just liked that this request was like "These events, this order" cause it's so easy hmu anytime this literally ended up my longest post. also this kinda seems like it could even be the predecessor of the events of the previous post if only for a few details which tbh is an interesting thought

Somewhere along the road, you got to the point where you were surrounded by corpses; those used to be your comrades. You stare through bleary eyes at your weapon tossed aside on the ground. If only you could move freely, you could reach it. You might be ok if that was possible, but it's not. You lay surrounded by enemies who kicked at your comrades' feet to finish off whichever of them wasn't already dead. Quickly you have to think, lest you become the next one to get a sword to the back of the neck.

Ignoring a nasty knock to the head and some shallow scrapes, your health is the least of your worries. You have a splitting headache and a bit of trouble focusing. You can make out your weapon enough to reach for it; it's close enough if you're not mistaken, but if you're wrong, you'll likely end up as a red stain in the snow. 

Your hand finds the hilt of your blade as a boot crushes the backs of your knuckles, barely able to cry out when the weight leaves your head. There's a relentless kick to your ribs, wedging a foot under and flicking you onto your back. The tip of a sword finds your throat, sharp like a prick against your skin; the wielder is clearly not worried about making you bleed as you are.

"Do you believe you've achieved something?" You ask, slowly smiling up at the man who looms over you. His foot rests on your stomach just enough that it doesn't hurt, though you suspect it will change quickly. "Killing only grunts, you're so impressive."

He knows you're mocking him; you can tell he knows as he presses his foot down until you grimace from the pain and then some.

Your ribs still hurt, and they'll probably bruise later.

You just aren't thinking about that because you don't want to die.

You don't understand why you're, for some reason, not as willing to die as you promised you would be. When you set out on this mission, you were prepared for the idea that you would be happy to go out in the name of the Tsaritsa, but...it felt much different when faced with the situation.

It would be the end. Never again would you see anything you love in this world. You would never see your lover or your family. You'd never get to train another new squad of rookies and never go home to eat a warm meal, to feel how stupidly soft Pantalone's hair is, or get to kiss him. You already know you won't see your squadmates again, and they wouldn't see you no matter how shameful you become for the sake of your life.

If nothing else, you would escape, and with all hope of saving everyone else long gone, that much is all you could ask for.

Your dignity isn't worth dying for.

"Wait," you speak out, placing your aching hand around the blade of the sword to stop any sudden movements, not fully registering the choice as strange. "If you spare my life, I'll give you information about the Fatui." You're relieved to feel the sword pull away ever so slightly, though the sting doesn't subside.

The man looks sceptical of you, rightfully so, considering your actual plan. "How do I know your information will be worth sparing you?"

"I'm the captain of this team, I'm very useful."

He appears to consider your offer for a moment before abruptly snatching the sword away, running a shallow cut across your palm, making you once again cry out as that poor hand has seen much better treatment. Immediately it blooms with fresh blood that pours down your hand as you roll yourself over to clutch it with your good hand.

Tears prick at your eyes, your vision blurring, no doubt the result of the cold making your wound hurt like hell.

"I'm not convinced you're really so dedicated to living since you seem to be able to run your mouth so much." Now he's taken to mocking you, wearing a smug smirk like he came here to see a fatuu on his knees kissing his boots for a chance at redemption. He wants to watch while his comrades just watch him pull the poor little fatuu's strings. "Get on your knees and beg for it."

In your mind, you know this is what survival demands, but you resist solely because of your stubborn pride, which tells you that it is not something you are willing to do. You tell yourself this is necessary for your plan to work, for Pantalone to not receive the news that you've been killed in an ambush attack on your squad. If you can prevent even just that, you will gladly get down on your knees in the snow to prove a false promise that you will supply information to them, if only to buy time to find an escape plan.

You push yourself onto your knees, crawling a few feet ahead before placing your forehead to the snow and trying to ignore the burning pain in your palm that tells you to move it now. You can't, so you must endure it with a shaky voice.

"Please spare me… I don't want to die. I'll do anything you ask if you spare me, I swear, I'll betray the Fatui, give you any information you want! Please just spare my life."

someone grabs you by your hair, and when you're jerked up to see who it is, a different person from the man who was previously hurting you, this time a woman. You doubt she's eager to let the chance to beat a poor little fatuu slip away, either. How she smiles down at you so tenderly yet so sadistic tells you so. At the very least, you seemed to please her, and what more could you ask for? If even just one wanted to, they would likely spare you.

"He's so eager to please…." She lets go, and her hand travels down to stroke your cheek, making you fight the urge to pull away. "Let's keep him."

Those weren't exactly the words you aspired to hear when you joined the Fatui; you won't complain now that they're saving your life.

It was only supposed to be a simple mission. Many hours of silence proved that to be incorrect. Some time since your team set out, only one fatuu returns to Pantalone's awful habit of pacing like the floor owes him money. Worse still, that fatuu isn't you. It's not exactly a sight you see every day, Pantalone stuck in discontented thought as he stares blankly through everyone he looks at. You're supposed to be working under him. Why is nobody telling him anything? He doubts that it's as simple as not knowing.

Everyone must be aware of the undeniable fact that, right now, your life is in grave danger. The second thing everyone must know is that you will remain in danger for as long as he is not given the route you took when you set out to— 

"Pantalone, a skirmisher from the expedition team has returned." Pantalone startles, his thoughts interrupted as Arlecchino approaches. She is tailed by a slow and trembling man, freshly home and the victim of severe frostbite. Blood still clings to his clothes from the wounds he bears. She brought him so quickly that he didn't even get a chance to have his condition treated. "He says that the news he came back for is important, so I've spared ending his life for desertion. It still doesn't explain why he chose not to die along with the others."

"Is that important?" a part of him is filled with dread as he knows you would never allow yourself or anyone else to turn tail and run away, meaning it does matter. it's a sign that on the other side of all the chaos, he will likely arrive at the site where this man last saw you all to your bloodied corpse. "Where did your Captain go? He was supposed to be leading this team."

"H-He…" clearly hesitant to explain, Pantalone assumes he's about to say you had died in the heat of battle. "He betrayed the Fatui so the enemy would spare him, and agreed to give up important information in exchange for his life."

Something about that strikes him cold. However, he turns searing hot as the worry sets in like dread, and he realises everything will end here. the Knave will be sent to kill the traitor, and in the end, he will never hear your sweet voice again like music to his ears. It was for nothing to have held out hope you were alive because he was right. In the worst way possible, Pantalone was right. As he stands here pacing in worry, you probably don't care. Rather, you are spilling every secret Pantalone has slipped you about the Fatui he wasn't supposed to. Somewhere out there, you're betraying every ounce of trust he ever put in you as you take advantage of whatever you have to save your skin.

if only he could go back and be there, you probably never would've had to do such a thing, but what if this is the Tsaritsa's gift? To know that you would be willing to betray all that the Fatui stand for? that is a cruel way of thinking. He can't force Arlecchino to unhear that, meaning he can't keep it a secret. Pantalone certainly can't stop this information from getting out as he might've liked to. You will be hunted by the Knave to the edges of Teyvat for your crimes.

"Pantalone." he looks up to Arlecchino's stone-cold glare like she knows the deliberations going on in his head as the more significant part of him questions your innocence. "He's a traitor. Don't spare your thoughts on him, just pretend that he died and I'll bring his corpse back and call him a hero."

"No--" At that moment, Pantalone's voice sounds so strained. he thinks he's on the verge of tears even if it doesn't feel like he is. Pantalone speaks without thinking, and he can't tell if it's because he wants you to come home or to ask you why. maybe he just doesn't want you to die, even knowing you probably betrayed them. "No, I'll go. I'll go, and I'll--" he hesitates momentarily, "kill him." 

he can't even believe he just spoke those words out loud. Something about the entire situation is surreal, though he feels like someone has wrenched his heart from his chest and run off with it. That 'someone' would probably be you, off to present it to a new master on a silver platter. you took a piece of him and stole it, and now only an aching lingers. something in that aching longed for you to pay for your actions, but it also demanded an explanation. that part of him wants to hold you down and wring the life out of you with his bare hands so you can feel the pain he wants you to. it wouldn't be enough to let the Knave kill you, no matter if it was slow, drawn-out torture. he wants to see your face as you die, to watch the life drain from your eyes, and see if you hold any remorse as you see the point you've driven him to. 

worry fades away into anger, frustration too, but mostly anger. 

Pantalone is angry about many things, angry at you. He's angry that you made him fear for your safety. He isn't sure he can ever forgive that you had so carelessly become a traitor. He can't forgive that you would even betray him.

"Will you really kill your own loverboy?" He's angered that Arlecchino would say such a thing. The lilt in her voice makes it painfully obvious she isn't extending her greatest sympathies. "I thought menial work was below you."

he opens his mouth to retort but decides not to dignify that with a response.

it's cold out. it would be far too hard for you to survive without help. Pantalone is accompanied only by the skirmisher who returned from your squad with the news of your betrayal, though unbeknownst to him, he is taking his last steps as he has orders to kill the man once he has fulfilled all of his use. he also betrayed the mantra of loyalty, but perhaps he hasn't realised such a thing yet.

he and Pantalone arrive at the remnants of your last squad, the last place where you were seen alive and where enough blood was spilled to dye the snow red. he sees almost the entirety of your team strewn about and abandoned, only one of the attackers amongst them having succumbed to his injuries as he lay face down and lifeless.

this is far enough. he can die amongst his comrades.

"Lord Harbinger, they went in this direction." Though he has already begun to draw a blade, he turns his attention to see what the skirmisher is crouched before, noticing vague impressions left behind. It's been a little over half a day since he returned alone, meaning these would be your last traces. however, no matter how far you've gotten, he should tend to the bodies first. by the time he attempts to follow those tracks, they'll be covered in a new layer of snow. for now, he must deal with this skirmisher who decided that his fleeing was not a disgrace to the Tsaritsa's name.

Pantalone draws the knife he had tucked away out of sight. In the second it takes to turn around, a deep slash is carved into the fatuu's throats. He topples over himself to the ground, where he lands atop his slain comrades, struck by the shock more than anything. 

"Tsk tsk, and to think this was a mere decoration piece." 

Already another day and a half out, he stumbles upon the camp of rebels, as dead as your squad. They are all just as carelessly tossed aside as the last corpses he found, and much like the last group, only one is missing. it seemed to be the same one missing each time as suspiciously, you're nowhere to be found amongst the people you were betraying him for. gone with the wind just as you were the first time you hadn't come home. moreover, this certainly is not their primary base of operations as it lacks any semblance of permanence. It was put together in a hurry to survive the night without succumbing to exhaustion, not for a long-term stay. there's a freshly lit fire still burning by their sides, surrounded by the people who had likely been sitting by it for warmth before their lives were snuffed out by the sole survivor he knew of.

the cherry on top is that the bodies are still barely warm — you're nearby. You can't get far in that amount of time, and the snow gives you away quickly, even with the night falling. you're so close it's as if he can see you already, as the memory of your presence is left behind In the form of footsteps. most noticeably, however…droplets of blood trail beside those footsteps. 

in the place of your footsteps, Pantalone begins to walk along the trail you make for him, following behind you like a dog that chases the scent of blood to find its master amidst danger. stepping directly into the divots left behind is the only way to feasibly track you in the dark, with no source of light yet coming into view. the wind is picking up, however, and as he focuses closely on the direction he walks, he begins to hear the faint sound of life at last. the singular life who managed to escape certain death not once but twice and who will not be so lucky the third time. 

the glow of a lantern appears in the distance.

somewhere out there, the light ahead of Pantalone glows brighter as the distance between you grows shorter, and the silhouette of a man enters his view.

it's you, carrying a lantern you had likely stolen, bloodied bandages crudely wrapped around your hand, dripping bright red into the snow. more than anything, you seem ready to collapse from exhaustion from how slowly you move.

"Is someone there?" You must hear Pantalone as you turn back, hands shaking audible in the clattering of the lantern, a cut across your cheek.

You make eye contact with the gun he points at you. You are trapped in the middle of nowhere with no backup, little food, and barely any water, but you know it's him. if not for the gun, you might not worry, yet something about it sends chills up your spine just from the coldness of his eyes. You're not used to such a gaze on you. It's like steel and raw feelings cloud together into one terrifying man who feels the most profound form of betrayal a person could know. Even in the line of work of the Fatui, this is something different. Not due to circumstance but because he is a Harbinger. some shivers dance across you, spiking goosebumps into your skin, and you feel like you could collapse, but you know that if you do, all will have been for nothing.

"Pantalone--"

"I want to hear a thorough explanation for the things you've done."

You want to provide one, but…but how do you tell him you still betrayed the Tsaritsa's trust in you to die for her cause when the time came? Every lie that spilled from your lips, masked as information you provided, was shared out of self-preservation, not loyalty. That alone was enough to get you hunted and killed, especially in your position. 

Now you stand small and weakened by circumstance before a man burning with rage, only a lantern slowly draining away as the minutes pass. You can't blame him, only able to imagine how he could've possibly heard that you hadn't returned and what it must've looked like to see you gone so many times from places you should've died. Does he think you killed your squad to desert the Fatui? Or was there someone who told him you had betrayed him? Maybe he just decided that for himself upon seeing the very place where you had thrown away your dignity for him thinking you could do it all alone.

"I wanted to see you…" you try to say, throat rough and voice quieter than you'd like. "I didn't want to die so I lied. I was just coming back, everyone else is dead! Everyone was killed, but there was a way…a way that I could live and come home." Without meaning to, you begin to tear up, met with only unwavering disbelief, not of shock but of an unwillingness to believe you aren't a filthy liar. "I didn't want you to hear the news that I had died." You choke the last part out on the verge of breaking down.

"Was it me you lied to or them? How am I supposed to trust you're being honest now when everyone you've come into contact with has died?" You didn't think you'd ever hear such venom in his voice, but more than that, he was hurt more than you could be by his words alone. You just can't think of a way to prove to him you're being honest, not when you're so tired and worn down and working against what is likely an order to kill you for your actions.

How are you supposed to tell a man overcome with grief and emotion that he's wrong? There's no way he'll see reason.

"You can observe the wounds," you say slowly, unsure if he would buy such a story, "they weren't made by a weapon like mine, and you know what I'm like — hopeless with other weapons." 

will he wait that long? you doubt that, but you can make him wait even a moment for you to explain yourself.

"They were a hopeless rebel group who thought of me like a dog. why would I be loyal to them?" 

"You were supposed to be loyal to me!" like a rubber band pulled to its limit, it's as if something snaps, the boiling anger bubbling over. "I thought we were trying to stop lying all the time; I thought we agreed not to run off and try to do things on our own. Maybe only I had agreed to those things because you seem to be fine doing both of them."

His words anger you, but you know that denying them will only anger him instead. You have spent the past few days lying to him whether you meant to or not, the past few days have been hell, and yet he has experienced greater suffering in the form of overwhelming grief. for the past few days, Pantalone has believed you were dead, then that you had betrayed him in your most excellent schemes. it was what people told him. it was what the evidence pointed to.

But your body, appearing so small and trembling from how cold you are, wrapped in the now tattered clothes you had departed in, tells a different story. Blood spilled over your collar, the furs of your overcoat matted, your hair tangled, and your skin bruised. The sight brings pity to Pantalone for you, such a pathetic little thing still begging for only his forgiveness, not even your own life.

Pity reasons with the side of him that, even now, holds his love for you close. You are closer to his heart than anything else has ever been. He finally asks what should've been an obvious question that whole time: when did he start believing Arlecchino over you?

With the possibility considered, more questions flood his mind: why were you walking closer to where the Fatui gather most if you were betraying them? What use would you find in killing them if they were your accomplices? there would be far more benefit in allowing them to cart you out to the edge of Snezhnaya then betraying them. even you would know that and which direction you were walking before he caught you — back to where you came from. when your shaking form is back in focus, he realises his gun shakes with the faint clang of metals like the bullet rattles in the chamber.

You are returning to Snezhnaya, he realises, you are coming home.

Slowly, he forces his hand to lower alongside his gun. The tension in his body runs high; he's surprised to hear the gun slip and fall to the ground, landing somewhere in the snow with a dull sound that he ignores. there are more important things. Pantalone moves, forcing his feet to comply with what he wants — you are cold and need a warm coat wrapped around you tightly.

Pantalone freezes in place rather quickly, however. He realises you are shaking violently, and not just from the cold. the look on your face spells sheer terror as if you're a little child face with the big scary monster in the dark. you don't know. Unable to hear his thoughts, you have no idea his intentions. Inching back to put some more distance between the two of you for your safety, your sense of self-preservation acting for you. would you believe a word he says if he tries to reassure you? or would you suspect his habit of using flattery to get the things he wants? either is a reasonable assumption on your part.

There is a silence that spells nothing but decisions for both of you, thoughts running wild with possibilities. It drags on for so long that it feels like an eternity before you move. Both of you impossibly still, too afraid to do anything lest you provoke the other with even the slightest wrong move.

the first to act so happens to be you, lips quivering and eyes watering as they sting with tears you've been holding back far too long. The lantern is lost to the snow. You crash into Pantalone's chest, almost toppling the both of you. You finally break, your emotions overflowing before you get a chance to catch up with them. you're terribly upset and worn down, exhausted, anxious and, most of all, more afraid than ever. Still, you are so happy to finally have a single taste of home back in your arms, even if he's gone stiff as a board, and you're scared he'll toss you aside. just a moment, and you'll be satisfied to have your love end then and there in a single gunshot because of your stupid decisions.

However, as soon as the action registers, your embrace is returned awkwardly at first. you soon both relax enough to hug so tightly you might suffocate before you make it home. you would be more than glad to spend your last moments that way, but thankfully that isn't the case. you will go home safe again tonight.

the guest room is a lonely place, even in your own home, but once your wounds were carefully bandaged and placed in front of the fire to warm up, you had more time to think than you should've. each time Pantalone approaches, even just to offer you warm tea and an extra blanket, you would flinch so violently it was as if he still held a gun to your head. 

you tried so hard to spend the first night back in your shared room, but even with all the warmth and assurance you could ask for, you found yourself on edge. you've spent every night of the past three weeks sleeping in the guest room by yourself. can your relationship ever be repaired? from something like that, you're not sure. you desperately want to believe there is something that can be salvaged, even when you have seldom spoken to each other since your return. The two of you exchange little more than curt greetings before Pantalone leaves to carry on his work. Still unfit for active duty, you remain alone in the silence of your shared home. you thought the silence might make it better and give you time to think, but you know at heart that you would much rather be distracted.

You doubt in this state that you could convince even the ever battle-hungry Tartaglia to agree to spar with you and that plants you firmly in bed, unwilling to get up. If you got on your knees and begged, you might be given some paperwork to complete. You choose to ignore the helping of papers on the desk in the corner of your room, blank if not for your name. you were supposed to write a report of everything that happened during your stint as a rebel. spending several days AWOL isn't something the Fatui looks past, even when it's a Harbinger's lover doing it, though it certainly helps to have that kind of reputation.

In your mind, you've had thousands of interactions with Pantalone where you tell him anything and everything. In her fantasy, you say everything you want him to hear and spill all your thoughts and worries. However, when you come face to face with him, you freeze up and choke on your words until he's gone. Pantalone leaves the house earlier than he used to and doesn't return until later. Maybe he's shutting you out to think, or perhaps he's shutting himself away from you to let your physical wounds heal before thinking of your psychological ones. Clearly, only one of you wants to talk, and Pantalone's sudden turn to pulling away only worsens that.

You want to tell him that, but even that conversation gets stuck to the confines of your mind when you can barely say a quiet good morning to him. 

All at once, it seems you've lost everything. First, your team and now your husband; next will probably be your job, and your life will follow suit if that happens. The Tsaritsa's benevolence must include letting those under even harsh scrutiny for their actions get medical care before they die. Otherwise, you're sure you would've heard something horrible about the verdict on that investigation Arlecchino threatened you with. Supposedly you would receive a letter including the conclusion, though you were warned it may take months to conclude. If a letter arrived, you certainly don't know about it.

You're not entirely sure what possesses you to check Pantalone's office. There's a sinking feeling in your stomach like he may have hidden it or innocently collected it and has yet to read the mail from this morning. Both options have you looking through the mail in search of the letter. Is it even there? Probably not. You simply convinced yourself that is it, and now you must find evidence to prove or disprove that idea.

You sort through the stack of envelopes left aside on his desk. You started with the unopened ones, but, finding nothing, you forced yourself to move on to the letters he had most definitely already read. You can tell by the way the ends have been cleanly sliced with a letter opener.

In no particular order, you restack them as you go, thinking there are too many envelopes for him to memorise their order.

Before you know it, you're staring down at the seal used in official — mostly only important — letters from high-ranking officers of the Fatui. You want to open that letter to be a request from the Jester. You'd also settle for a nag for funding from the Doctor or a written apology from Tartaglia for blowing an exorbitant amount of the Fatui's funding during his stay in Liyue.

However, you know that seal too well; it is used only by the Knave. Harbingers have customised variations of the official seal; some you've memorised more than others, as the differences can be slight.

Forget your words. Your breath catches in your throat as you reach into the opening to pull the neatly folded paper out. Please don't be a verdict. Your mind races with dozens of possibilities. As you read through the words as quickly as possible, the worst of your thoughts seems to be coming true. First, details of the investigation, including the validity of your initial testimony being validated by the evidence. Your men were killed by the blades carried by the enemy. Arlecchino then goes on to discuss the logic of your actions and the order the events took place. She mentions the physical state you were found in and examples of your injuries, noting many couldn't have been self-inflicted. She does not entirely dismiss the idea you may have had help, but you can probably work with that mindset.

Finally, however, she notes that, in all likelihood, your version of events is correct.

Arlecchino won't release the final verdict until she's sure, not one to put half-baked conclusions on official paper, but the fact Pantalone didn't even mention this much to you fills you with a rage you didn't expect. How could he hide the most crucial thing since you returned from you? He knows how much you've been fretting over this, even in the absence of proper conversation between you — the few words you managed around him were to ask about it.

You're unsure if your hands shake from weakness or a new influx of emotion you're not ready to handle. It's tiring being shut out; you're sick of being shut out. Even if you did move to the guest room, you still live in the same damn house. You still share everything but the bed you slept in, so why? Why is Pantalone keeping so much from you? Why did he suddenly stop speaking to you? he was the one going on about you lying, so what about— 

"What are you doing in here?" 

a voice from the doorway catches you so off guard that you jump at the sound, looking up to find Pantalone with a nasty look on his face. Judging by the state of your emotions, you imagine the look you're giving him to be equally rotten, pissed off, maybe. You didn't hear him come in; he must've done so quietly.

"The hell's wrong with you?!" Without meaning to, you raise your voice, half due to frustration and half the fault of that pent-up desire to communicate, spilling over in the heat of your breaking point. This is it. This is all you can take. This is where your patience and ability to keep your emotions in stops. "Three weeks! Three whole weeks I have waited for any sign that maybe, just maybe, I won't have my head sliced off my shoulder, and for—" you glance down at the letter to find the date, knowing Arlecchino marks the date of everything she sends as a precaution, "oh, about four days now— guess who has had an idea of how that investigation into his own husband is going?"

You barely even noticed you had blown a gasket until you were done, stood from the chair Pantalone should be sitting at, hands resting on the table. Your palms hurt; you must've slammed them down at some point, as the sting is dull but still there. More than anything, your breath is laboured, and you might start to cry again if you don't get a hold of yourself. You're so mad it makes you feel dizzy, like you might lose your footing if you're not careful. 

Ah. That's not your anger. The realisation hits you hard as you lose your balance and topple back into Pantalone's chair. You got so tense and behaved carelessly, worsening your health. You're not used to being so fragile.

"Don't get yourself too wound up—" Pantalone made his way to your side at some point— "you'll make it worse."

You don't care if you make it worse. You really don't, but you know that throwing a tantrum is childish and solves nothing but making Pantalone worry for you more. It only pushes him further away from you and helps no one.

But Archons, you're just so irritated, your emotions at an all-time high. You've spent three weeks forcing them into a tiny box they don't fit in. You've spoken to nobody about it, said nothing of the kind of thoughts you had stranded out there alone, the only survivor of your squad. An overwhelming abundance of guilt tells you that you should've died along with them; you were a coward for how you acted following their deaths. You're just a filthy coward, aren't you? Cowards are of no use to anyone, let alone the Tsaritsa. Maybe it would be best if it was declared you weren't fit for duty. Arlecchino should just decide you've tarnished Her Lady's honour.

At last, you understand. You understand why Pantalone has avoided you for three straight weeks — you are not the man he married. You are some imposter of that man who would brave even the strongest foes without an inkling of a thought he might lose. You are a cowardly and pathetic excuse for that man. You bury your face in your hands, rubbing harshly at your face in some attempt to outlet that frustration. It seems so stupid you didn't realise it before. It's terrible to divorce an injured man, so he must be waiting for you to recover enough for him to leave you—

"I'm sorry."

Out of all the anticipated responses, that wasn't high on your list. You bite your lip, waiting to hear what comes next, chewing at it nervously.

"I thought if I kept that from you…" he trails off suddenly like there is more. Maybe he lost the words to say it, or maybe he didn't have very nice things to say in the first place. "I thought it would be easier to focus on your recovery if you weren't aware of how far Arlecchino was delving into your private life. I didn't—" 

When you look up, you see a man with a look in his eyes like a kicked puppy, the visible distress you're in like a kick to his gut. He realises everything he's done to contribute to you ending up this way. You need him, truly, more than anything right now.

"You want to divorce me now, don't you?"

What possessed you to say that is far beyond both of you, but it's not any kind of accusation. It's just a question.

"No?" Still, he seems to think that's absurd; the look on his face is nothing short of pure confusion, like you just said the most ridiculous thing he's heard, and you had. "Why would I— No, I don't want a divorce."

"Then why are you avoiding me so much?" You shrink in your place, making yourself small as you were that night, and it raises the same pity in him that he felt then. "Why won't you talk to me? Why aren't you ever home?"

He is terrified. He is terrified to be close to you, even when he knows you need him.

A voice in his head asks what if you're still tricking him? What if this is only an act to gain his sympathy? He knows it's not, but the feeling, the paranoia, rings so clearly in his head he struggles to see you on the verge of tears. He doesn't want to trust you yet, even though he knows any comrades you had on either side are long dead. Even Arlecchino corroborated your story to some degree; she had yet to confirm the rest. So far, however, you were being liberated of any fault piece by piece. So why? Why does he feel so anxious about allowing you back into his home?

You live there; your entire life is in that house. He has built his everything up here, you by his side. It was hard to imagine that a singular mission gone south could cause this amount of damage. Yet, you are curled up in his chair while he stands beside it, taking your bandaged hand to squeeze it tightly and reassure you. He wants so desperately to believe that you told the truth. The nagging voice in the back of his mind constantly pushes the idea that you lied, trying to convince him your words didn't make sense. Everything makes sense. Arlecchino would not lie about that.

On the other hand, you've got such horrible anxiety, unlike the silly little thoughts you had before. It's not about whether Pantalone likes the flowers you get him or prefers silver jewellery or gold. It is about whether or not he secretly plans to divorce you. Your failure and the worry you caused him weigh heavy on your mind, all boiling down into one conclusion. You have caused him nothing but grief for what? A month now? Probably more than that. Who's to say you weren't a bother to him before the mission? What if you've always been a bother, and this is just his excuse to justify it?

That would explain why he pulled away so suddenly. Maybe it is about the flowers and the jewellery, perhaps he preferred flowers your money couldn't buy. You know he's not that materialistic, but it's the only way you can make sense of it. Maybe, for a Harbinger, you will never be enough. Perhaps he expected you would have taken Tartaglia's place as Eleventh before he got the chance. You were content and happy as a measly Captain under Pantalone's sector and never seemed to strive for more. You thought that would take your time away from him, but you also didn't want more than you needed. Were you meant to strive for more than that? Is that it?

Your deliberations are only working you up more, the opposite of what he warned you not to do. The tears start rolling down your cheeks again, warm and unable to be stopped by simply wiping them away as more only take their place. Maybe Pantalone doesn't want a crybaby for a husband. Then what? You would still be failing him even now.

You hiccup your sobs out for a moment, trying to force yourself to breathe so that you'll calm down. "I want you to tell me why you've been avoiding me and why you keep leaving so early and coming home so late." You quickly wipe your tears once again, the roughness of the bandages binding your hand quite unpleasant against your eyes. "Can we just talk? A-And be honest with each other like we promised we would."

Your pleas do not fall on deaf ears. Pantalone wants to listen to everything you have to say and tell you everything as long as you're willing to be as honest as you say you will be. He has faith you will, even with the voice that tells him you won't. If Pantalone never hears you out, then it doesn't matter how much truth you speak, as nothing will save your marriage from him refusing to believe it. If he wants to mend this as you seem to, he has to do his part. It should've been obvious it would be difficult after the heights of emotions you both experienced in a few days. 

The two of you must work through this eventually, preferably sooner rather than later.

"We'll talk for as long as necessary, my darling, and be as honest as possible with each other." Pantalone takes your other hand and brings it to his hands, warm and soft against your skin — just that much puts you at ease. One of his hands brushes your hair from your face and wipes your cheeks, a gentle, affectionate motion that is not lost on you. 

A man that did not want to be married to you would not be so tender toward you, would he? He would be cruel and taunting in your weakest moments. Pantalone is not sympathetic towards those he does not care about, and his idea of feigning it is vaguely veiled mocking. This is different — it's genuine. You nod in agreement.

"I don't want it to end," your words mumbles as you try to keep yourself together, "I don't want to break up over this."

"We won't," his reassurance comes hastily but is not insincere in the slightest, "we'll work through this. I promise we'll talk about it."

With confidence, you can't say everything you both have to say will be said, but you know that you intend to try to get as much as possible out. If that's all you can manage for a day, then that amount of progress is better than none. It's better than pushing and pulling forever; that is enough for you to know it will be alright.

CROSSPOSTED ON AO3

[eluxcastar]

Ok lets go SImply reblogging your oneshot for my req isn't enough i need to analyze and annotate the entire thing like a literature professor and tell you Everything. (✿◡‿◡)

pantalone might be ooc

He's not!!!!!! by which i think this is fairly a Really Good portrayal of the guy considering the 5 sentences we know about him. He's strict!!! frankly a little scary!! And also chill and positive about loverboy!! But it felt Just Right!!!! ( •̀ ω •́ )✧

descriptions of blood

description so good i might as well have killed that man myself

...pretend that his lore has a spot where this fits perfectly

I think i can make it fit!! would you be cool with making minor changes if so?

"You're very good at what you do."

Imagining the same voice as sebastian michaelis saying this with the sexiest buttersmooth voice is eviscerating me. Very self-indulgent but praise kinks will always slay so hard.

...on the verge of stabbing him a moment ago. 

This,, and the small thing i wrote about loverboy launching them both out the window to escape an onslaught of assassins in my other req. get you a ship where one of them has completely normal knee-jerk reactions to kill the other <3

...as he crushes their hand beneath his shoe without mercy

Fatui Harbingers - House of Wolves - KIERU 0:15

...Instead, Pantalone looks unfazed by it all, stopping as he reaches the other side of you, free of most of the blood. He greets you with a knowing smile as he usually does.

hey ririto this is so ominous and eerie for some reason not known to me. Just the backdrop of grey and snow and probably a gruesome corpse right next to loverboy and Pantalone has a silent smile through everything. Delicious sentence 10/10.

"I knew making you a banker was a good idea,"

THIS IS SO. The confidence and quite calm assurance that pantalone says this with is SO. You'd never be sure whether to lean into it and let out a sigh of relief,, o r back up further becuase it sounds so good but all in the wrong ways.

...thumb brushing across your bottom lip slicked with blood.

fellas is it professional to feed double edged words of honey to your young inexperienced subordinate while kneeling in front of his battered and bruised self who killed someone for you,, and run a gloved thumb across his blood soaked lip. ( ͡• ͜ʖ ͡• )

"Who knew you had so many other talents,"

you are infusing these dialouges with crack cocaine giggling kicking my feet while being slightly concerned because Sir. What do you mean by that.

"Ah ah," he says, a harshness seeping into even just that sound. "Stay."  You stay put,

thank you for making loverboy so Ouppy.

"Lord Harbinger," you try to say

yes,, this could be a minor thing to adjust: i think we could actually fit this oneshot somewhere AFTER he gets his vision,, and BEFORE Pantalone becomes the Harbinger Regrator. Can be a valid reason for Pantalone to see that reader failed to kill the assassin from their shitty negotiation meeting,, and wanting to newly test him again after he had his vision + ambitions awakened to see if he can get past the fear of killing NOW. (Even then,, maybe due to inexperience/unfamiliarity of using visions, reader didn't think to raise his advantage of supernatural powers against another visionless man in this scenario.)

I'd think his first kill was one of the factors that caused him to leave after his 3year duty, not sticking around for Pantalone's promotion to Regrator.

"You are much like your father."

Top 10 things Not to say to someone with daddy issues-

...they're as wet behind the ears as you are.

Dear diary, Today i learned a new speech of expression

...Pantalone's hand that rests on your chin moves... "Now, try again. Dear banker, whatever do you mean?" 

this whole paragraph. What on earth do you mean 'ooc pantalone'. This is the MOST pantalone thing you could've written. Strict and intimidating about improving reader's meek attitude. a Push in the right direction.

"Is this a test?" you manage, words muffled by the way he squishes your face like putty beneath his fingers.

(thank you for making loverboy so Ouppy) x2

...and you know who, regardless of how 'anonymous' that source may have been in his words.

I MAY BE STUPID. （；´д｀）ゞ I CANT TELL. who you are hinting towards 😭😭

"Hold this," he adds, an unnervingly tender instruction for the way he was just behaving. 

There he is. its reminding me of: the same pantalone that washed reader with a clock in my very first req to you.

...looking probably about as pathetic as you think you do.

POV: You're Pantalone looking down at Loverboy.

I forgot how much of a bug-eyed wet dog loverboy is before his time-skip "character development" so to say. Thanks i love him.

"next time someone approaches you from behind, don't wait to stab them. Don't reach for your wet knife with your wet hands, either. Both of those things will get you killed."

I think pantalone is entirely having too much fun with observing Loverboy try climbing the ropes to how REAL fatuus run business.

"Come now. You want to go home and back to Liyue, don't you? I'm tired of this cold." 

Σ(っ °Д °;)っ back to liyue??? Loverboy is Liyuean??? pantalone stays in liyue??? I ALWAYS THOUGHT arlecchino called pantalone a bitch in Signora's funeral for "never leaving the comfort of his homeland?" Whuh-?

ALL IN ALL,, CLOSING THOGUHTS,, GOOD FOOD RIRITO DINNER HAS BEEN SERVED, ATE, AND LICKED CLEAN 10/10 ILY

I GOTT THIS JUST BEFORE I WENT TO SLEEP AND ONLY JUST GOT THE TIME TO ANSWER IT BUT I KNEWWW YOU WOULD GET THE HOUSE OF WOLVES REFERENCE

That is true actually and I realised after I posted it that like, wtf is in character for him?? 😭 he's said like two things and while I have memorised those things they're not a lot to go off but I'm glad you enjoy him (ﾉ´▽｀)ﾉ♪

Also if you can make it fit, feel free ☆(≧∀≦*)ﾉ I sorta only had a vague idea of where it might go, but at that point in time, loverboy works abroad in the Northland Bank. I'll also throw in that he travelled there for that job and unfortunately does not come from Liyue 😔 (unless he's supposed to?? I got the impression he was from Snezhnaya) it was more a "I bet you'd love to be back at a desk job rn" or something to that effect, loverboy is going back to the bank once things are settled where he belongs but Pantalone isn't going with him (hence why they're in Snezhnaya when this happenscause I also interpret at as him not liking to leave Liyue)

I'm so glad the J Michael Tatum love never stops but also you're so right praise kinks absolutely do. I also noticed that them trying to kill each other is like, a repeated theme so far 😭⁉️ LIKE WHEN PANTALONE WENT TO FIND HIM LAST ONESHOT HE WAS GONNA KILL THAT FUCKER

Confident possibly mildly degrading Pantalone is literally my favourite thing, like I chew on him. I chew on him being unnervingly calm because what would he have in the eyes of a wet mop boy besides an unwavering poker face. Get yourself a man who uses the blood of your enemies like your lipstick and knows he made good choices stationing you at his shady probably money laundering black hole of debt he calls a bank

Yk I agree actually I was trying to figure the timeline out in my head and realised it would've made more sense to happen before he was a Harbinger so I agree with this revision that actually makes it fit the lore and if I ever decide to make it a longer multichapter fic I'll definitely fix that 💀 t'was a victim of laziness

YES YES THIS Pantalone basically shaping him up so he doesn't literally die and being strict with it get so him. He'll prompt him to say it again but won't let it slide because that behaviour isn't going to be beneficial, especially not with someone who may be working under him long-term

I went back to read the part about the anonymous source line came from, and I think I figured out what happened here, so allow me to explain  (;ﾟдﾟ)   Ok so, it has a bit to do with the weird way I wrote this because when I said I wrote this on the train that was half a lie. I wrote some of it on the train and the rest at the library where I also edited what I already had because the spelling mistakes were atrocious. I did write down who it was but cut it when I decided it cluttered the story a bit which retrospectively was also a mistake because I didn't think about the fact it would seem like I was hinting at something at the time (ﾟ▽ﾟ*) the shorter, boring answer is that there's no one Ririto did a big silly and cut context in the chaotic editing this suffered

LMAO NOT THE CLOCK AGAIN

I love him the wet mop boy. I was like I want him to be at least a lil pathetic rn because his concerns are completely different. He's thinking about how to not die, and how much he misses his mom and his much fatui dick his dad must've been riding before death to think this career path was worth it (slash JOKING but he is still wondering why his father would have done this job willingly) that and I think men who whimper are cute thanks for coming to my Ted talk

HE IS ENJOYING IT and I love it sm

Hehe I am glad to know you haven't gone hungry today (^o^) and such high ratings for the banker and loverboy

[eluxcastar]

thinks are being thunked 🧐 GREATLY influenced by the sexiest white suit in all of mankind worn by the prettiest genshin man EVER

which specifically got me thinking about Lord Regrator himself in a pair of evil and sophisticated suit 😩 completing the look with a CANE. Do you know how sexy it is for men with glasses to have Canes? i just KNOW that bastard has commissioned separate and uniquely-designed walking canes to match each of his outfits. Speaking of which, im going to throw my little male reader into this too, because why not. I'd like to think Pantalone is the kind of dude who believes 'subtly one-upping' his business partners and negotiators, to be the second-most satisfying thing in the world. First being a successful profitable endeavor. A petty bitch who does a background search on his wealthy clients before meetings, "oh it's an inazuman entrepreneur?" Suddenly he's wearing the grandest flowing robes befitting a (Japanese) king. "a group from sumeru?" bro is about to dress like a Desi maharaja. Pantalone CAN, infact, outdo the doers. 😏😋 In this case; (pre-relationship) where the harbinger dons an imposingly HOT suit- complete with priceless accessories to flaunt right under the noses of his newest clients from Fontaine. Our reader (and a couple other lawyers and bankers) also attend this meeting and has to try so hard not to shamelessly eye Pantalone in front of everybody. (he succeeds. Because distractions = disappointments. And you DON'T want to disappoint the harbinger. Sometimes working under him means Fear > Horny)

skkskskskks I feel like I want to pin down the dynamic like: Reader (praying) : I am a pious fatui. No temptation can stray me from my path of duty. Pantalone (yes i hc him to occasionally use a casual petname. Not affectionate, but more smug) : What was that, my dear? Reader : 😩😭💦��🔥😲🤤😔😩🥴😵

I've been hoarding this ask for months because I love it, and I was gonna write something short for it, but I finally decided I wanna fuss over it instead cause OMG UWEGDUYF Pantalone trying to one-up his associates is so real you can't convince me he isn't lowkey envious and depending on how you spin it kind of an attention whore but subtly like, if people aren't taking notice of him he takes that as a sign to work HARDER

especially his darling cause, like, who else should get their attention?? HE deserves that, and he damn well knows he's gonna get it anyway, but he's gotta please them too, even before their relationship where it's like a teasing thing cause there's no way he doesn't notice and take advantage of the attention to bask in it a little. he's hot and he knows it. someone called him the dom's dom one day and that's so REAL he IS AND HE KNOWS IT

also I'm working on your Kaveh request my child it's coming I swear

[eluxcastar]

RUMIR BB GO TO SLEEP 😭 but I only just got around to this so YES

Gonna kms my whole response got deleted I gotta retype it all

I believe it is canon, and I'm pretty sure he's from Liyue?? That's what I thought was canon anyway, I lose track of what is and isn't all the time though

I agree that he isn't careless with his money. It's like how some people are rich and still work all the time. Working all the time is how they got that rich in the first place and they can lead modest lives and only make dumb decisions sometimes. Working is a hobby atp which I don't think is the case for him but it's the same deal. Conserving wealth and not overindulging because that's the mentality that got you there and that's the mentality that'll get you further still

Also the ARLECCHINO ERASURE 😭💔💔 Idk if I can forgive this (slash joking I can't talk I forget Pulcinella exists all the time)

But yeah his use it beyond that of several of the higher ranked Harbingers in terms of political prowess but I also wonder how they calculate the positions. Because how can twinky little Dottore (a grown man I refer to as my girlfriend) be above Capitano who assumedly would be very physically strong even if mihoyo let us down and he turned out just some random mf but below peepaw (the other grown man I call my girlfriend).

The whole system is whack 😭

It depend how they measure strength because if they mean physical strength then why is there a decaying grandpa in the middle of their ranking, and if they mean political then Pantalone and Arlecchino are too low 🧐

But briefly on his association with Dottore I do ship it because I love both versions and believe in having my cake and eating it too. I love using them like I'm five and they're my suffering Barbie dolls like in something else I'm writing they're just in a back and forth to get one up over each other just because they don't want to be at the other's whims. Loverboy just smiling and nodding while internally being like 🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩 reminds me sm of the protagonist of that because the whole thing is told from their perspective and they get treated like the two's divorce kid 😭

They observe every weird argument they have and half of them don't even make sense because they concurrently fight about two completely different things at once. It's always petty things too 💀 like Pantalone will be like "Dottore didn't close the door when he left 🤨🤨 he did that on purpose so I'll have to get up to close it didn't he" and that bitch is just careless and needs to learn what a doorknob is. Meanwhile Dottore is scrapping for a way of revenge because the other day Pantalone contaminated a sample he'd collected and it was definitely on purpose (not a result of Pantalone having no idea wtf Dottore is doing half the time) 😒😒

But the whole thing culminates into one MASSIVE red flag because the root cause of the whole thing is their knowledge that they are working with and against each other. They are sabotaging each other in ways that are mildly inconvenient in their minds when it's usually just carelessness or accidental. They can't be equals, someone has to 'win' and they're both cocky enough to think it will be them who'll come out on top, even though they can assess how difficult it will be

Pantalone using it as a power gateway is so real like, how else will he achieve what he eventually wants? More power gives him even more freedom to do more and doing more would get him recognition to get more power and more power means more resources. Dottore is a resource and Pantalone is a utilising man

My absolute favourite headcanon about him is that he uses his delusion as a small scale means off offsetting the imbalance between gods and humans, stealing their authority and taking the kind of power only they can grant. In short that he's obsessed with his delusion, which bleeds out into the way he chooses to use it

He's important, yes, but in terms of importance there are at least eight other people above him when he becomes a Harbinger. It is another step in the grand journey of progression in his book and tbh I don't think there can ever be a moment where he thinks "This is enough", because every step has another after that and so on. Nothing will ever truly be the end even if he thinks he has some ides of how it'll all go.

I am on brand replying at two am 😭 I gotta go to sleep oml it's late

Good luck 😭❤️

Idk how interesting this information would be to anyone else but in my notes all of my reader characters have names so I can keep track of which one the notes belong to. There's only one exception and it's Pantalone's husband— he's just Loverboy 😭