#ilomilo

[odoritte]

ִ ♪ 私は感傷的ではない。

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🦢་༘࿐

[rainbow-wolf120]

Quick!! Just before pride month is over!

Here's a complication of some of my favorite ships! 3 oc X canons and 3... not??

These have been my OTPs at least once in my life. So I think they all should be celebrated. Yippee gay people!!

[greenandsorrow]

IF THE MONSTER UNDER YOUR BED NEVER HURT YOU, MAYBE IT WAS THERE TO PROTECT YOU. 🎈

Pennywise bonding with a teen!reader/ platonic

-> For technical reasons (for the plot to continue plotting), this chap focuses mostly on the past! Another thing... I appreciate your feedback and comments more than you realise, so don't hesitate to interact with my fics 🥺❣️

-> It's giving Stockholm Syndrome, I'm aware, but that's why it's called fanFICTION.

-> I think it's funny how each chapter turns longer than the last. I'm getting hooked to my own writing I guess.

-> Pennywise the Dancing Clown: A trans-dimensional entity that shapeshifts and feeds on the fear -and sometimes the flesh- of kids and animals. IT hibernates for 25 to 27 years, then wakes up for 12 to 16 months, manipulating reality and slipping past the notice of adults.

Listen to: Ilomilo by Billie Eilish

~ 3 ~

Pennywise's POV 🎈

For five long years he has stayed awake, stalking the streets of Derry... waiting. Pennywise's usual cycle -hibernating after a killing and terrorizing spree- has been disrupted. This time, something -someone- kept him from descending to the deep slumber he usually craves.

He can't fully understand it, but it's because of you -the spark, the tug of connection he isn't familiar with. He's hunted countless children without a second thought. But with you... When he had expected you to cower and break, instead, you had resisted, you had played his twisted games and stared back at him without losing your soul. You had made him so curious. And that curiosity has gnawed at him enough to eat away at his rest, putting him in a sort of restless trance.

Every time he tries to slip beneath the Earth and to return to the darkness he came from, he feels a pull, a shudder that makes him cling to the surface for just a little more, for just another silly, little, stupid, meek year.

But as the years have been slipping by, something else has shifted in him as well -a subtle thing that feels almost like restraint. He still lurks in the shadows, his instincts are still telling him to frighten and to feed… but each time he sees you, that impulse falters. Instead of scaring you, he finds himself watching, almost guarding you from afar.

It feels a twinge of protectiveness -an urge that should definitely not exist in a creature made to hunt and devour. It doesn't get it, doesn't know why It lingers to ensure no danger befalls you, before It vanishes for the usual twenty-seven years. Almost as though, Pennywise the Clown is bound to you by something unexplainable, something that's kept him from retreating to sleep.

And It hates it.

The longer Pennywise watches, the more he wishes he didn't feel this way. But when he does try to stir up the familiar darkness within his core, it's dulled and quieted. All he knows is that his hunger has been overpowered by something else, something… protective.

And this fact is as unnatural as it is inappropriate, for no other than The Eater of Worlds.

1979 Derry, Maine

"Let's play another game..! I... There is... There's one we haven't played!"

The door creaked open and the clown stepped inside with a look you had never seen before on him. He wasn't smiling, wasn't performing... he was serious, unsettlingly so. A reminder that Pennywise wasn't -and isn't- a real clown, not in the way he pretends to be. Drool slipped from his red lips, glistening in the early morning light filtering through a crooked and badly shut window. He had probably just interrupted his breakfast -maybe to see you- and the hunger in his eyes was unmistakable.

"What kind of game?" his voice rumbled low, sending a chill across your skin. Your stomach tightened and you swallowed down the bile that rose. His piercing, yellow gaze left you feeling exposed.

You struggled to think of something, anything that could buy you more time. You had to say something, or else he would just get pissed and maybe have you for breakfast, instead of the one he was -so rudely- interrupted from.

"The first one to… If I can name one friend before you do, I get to leave. If you win… You get to do whatever you want with me." You knew you were cornered, but the words had come out anyway.

A strange look flickered across his face.

"What's your name?"

You frowned at what sounded like an absurd thing to ask out of the blue. "Y/n."

He giggled.

"Oh really?! And I'm Pennywise the Dancing Clown! Now we've both properly introduced ourselves... We can be friends!!!"

The point of the game was for you to win... but he just had to be a smartass.

"WE CAN'T- CAN'T BE FRIENDS!"

Pennywise pouted, almost like a child who's just been told no. You could see the contradiction in him as he considered your words -a clown who loves games, whose eyes practically gleam with excitement... and yet a predator who's always calculating, always one step ahead, keeping his prey exactly where he wants it. He knew you had just tried to outsmart him, yet he stepped closer, drawn in by the idea of another game. Your captor knew way more about you than you had realized -he had been watching you long before he had decided to 'kidnap' you.

Actually, your desperate answer made him leave his spot by the doorframe and advance toward you, crouching down to your eye level. You were paralyzed in fear he could probably smell. Even while holding your breath, you could feel his own on your face... It smelled like a butcher's shop.

"Don't. Shout. At. Me."

You nodded.

His drool was still glistening.

"You're not leaving either."

Another nod.

Then, he left the room.

Later, you'd realize he had let you have your way with that idiotic game purely out of boredom -a way to break up the ancient routine It'd followed since the beginning of time. But in that moment, you were just trying to survive.

What happened next is clouded in fragments, your memory blurred by fear -or maybe it's nostalgia. Somehow, over time, you became something to him. Indeed... a friend... of sorts.

As more days passed, you dared to start speaking more freely, filling the silence between you. You'd mention that you were cold, or hungry and he would tilt his head in that curious way of his. The next day, a bag of chips might appear on the bed. Once, you coughed, your throat parched. Fortunately, you managed to murmur "water". A few hours later, there it was -water in a bowl.

You found your book -Alice in Wonderland- left in a corner of the room. You read to him, each word trembling from your lips but never letting your voice falter fully. Pennywise would sit at the edge of the bed, sometimes even curling up like a cat -making you question if he had any bones-, his gaze fixed on you with an unnerving intensity. You were scared that when you finished reading the book, your life would end along with Alice's story.

But it didn't.

Still, sometimes you made desperate attempts to escape, bolting to the door. But he'd catch you with a taunting grin.

"Tag, you're it!" he'd chuckle, pinning you effortlessly. "Winner gets a prize!" he'd mock, as if the only reward he needed was to see your defeated face. But despite the mocking, the punishing appearances of the enormous cockroach stopped.

Even his gaze softened over time, slipping from the predator's yellow stare to an electric blue. The games also shifted -grew less cruel- and with them, so did he. He no longer seemed intent on hurting you and instead, observed you with a cautious neutrality.

Each day It brought you random bowls of food and water -most likely stolen from unsuspecting housewives... And sometimes, It would linger just outside the door, listening to your voice as you read to yourself.

One evening, you found yourself in the backyard, gazing up at a lilac sky. He had taken you there -unbeknownst to you- because he had brought a little snack inside and didn't want that to scare you.

You missed your old life with a pang that made your throat burn, a feeling so deep you didn't even notice him approaching. Without thinking, you pressed yourself into the clown's chest, burying your face against his ruffled collar. His strange scent -a mix of damp earth and something much older- washed over you and for the first time, you felt… safe with him.

He didn't hug you back, didn't mimic the gesture, but his voice murmured strange words about humans, their fragile nature and then the usual pet name he would call you: "little one".

It was then that you realized -he wouldn't hurt you. Not now. Not after all this time. But the realization broke something in you, a dam holding back all the emotions that had been bubbling under the surface.

"Y- You won. You won!" you stammered, choking back tears. "I'm your friend! Kill me now!"

You collapsed to your knees and he watched -bewildered- as tears streamed down your face. For a moment, he just stood there and watched you cry. Then, tentatively, he reached out in an almost inquisitive manner, to catch a tear with a long, white finger and taste it. He seemed to pause, reflecting on something only he could understand.

And then on another day, another attempt to escape. You had found a tiny window in the basement and tried to squeeze through it. But he noticed, his monstrous form scraping against the window's frame, shattering the glass in a frenzy to reach you.

When you saw the shards cutting into his skin... You froze, guilt flooding over you. You returned to his side while murmuring apologies, your hands trembling as you pulled the glass from his wounds, piece by piece.

He didn't attack you -just stared at you with a seriousness that sent chills down your spine. You knew in that moment, that you had crossed a line, that there was something between you that shouldn't have been there -because you could've left but didn't and because he could've killed you but didn't either.

When you finished pulling out the glass pieces, he was pouting at you. "Meanie..." he said and stuck his tongue out.

In the days that followed, Pennywise grew quieter. He watched you differently, as if seeing you with new eyes -ones that held a warmth you'd never expected. And in a way, it made you feel… comfortable. Comfortable enough that one day, you dared to reach out, brushing a hand along his white cheek.

He froze under your touch, as if unsure how to react -his usually fierce, yellow eyes softening to that strange blue. A low sound rumbled from him -somewhere between a purr and a growl- and he tilted his head, pressing into your hand like a cat, seeming almost… content.

But that wasn't right. He wasn't human and he definitely wasn't a pet. It was something ancient and boundless... and yet here It was, in its favorite form, accepting your touch and even starting to crave it. You pulled your hand away and his eyes opened, watching you in a way that felt unexpectedly intimate.

Time continued to flow onward.

You were now given strange meals in even stranger containers -a cracked bowl, a chipped mug, even a metal dish that you could have sworn was meant for a dog! He didn't seem to understand the details of human routines, didn't quite grasp what you needed beyond food and water. Yet he tried, even if it were in ways that felt utterly alien.

One evening, just as the sun began to dip, you asked if you could go outside again. You hadn't meant it as a real question, but in the morning, you found the door to the backyard unlocked.

You didn't dare leave the property, but you enjoyed how the air was fresh and the grass was soft and the sky a little cloudy. You stayed out until evening came.

Pennywise watched you from a distance, the colors of the twilight reflecting in his eyes, giving him an almost haunting beauty. He joined you, sitting in the overgrown grass... murmuring things in a language that sounded both ancient and musical, like whispers from an old spell.

In the quiet, you leaned against him, letting the stillness speak for you both. And though he didn't return the gesture, just like last time, he didn't pull away either. You looked up at the stars, feeling that deep ache for home... He patted your head in a comforting manner... and in that moment you could almost believe he was a friend.

You were just a kid, but even with your naivety, deep down you knew the truth -he was a monster that had killed before and would kill again. Yet for now, he seemed content with your presence, more curious than threatening. He tilted his head, watching you with softness in his gaze, as if pondering the mystery of your existence.

Somewhere in your heart, you felt the shift. Pennywise, the monster, had grown attached to you. And you… well, you couldn't deny the attachment had become mutual.

The days blurred together even more after that, filled with silly games, with quiet moments and fragments of a bond you could neither define nor understand.

And yet, even as you tried to push away the thought, you feared that someday he might wake up and no longer see you as friend, or even as a curiosity, but as something he was hungry for once more. Still, in the quiet of the night it felt like a small, tragic eternity -two beings from worlds apart, drawn together and held by something both tender and terrifying.

The last days in the house at Neibolt St were the strangest. Pennywise grew quiet, almost pensive, as if some hidden clock was winding down inside him. You noticed how his smiles and giggles were fading, as if the game he'd once delighted in was losing its thrill. Sometimes, he would simply watch you with an unreadable expression, his eyes that odd, bright blue that almost felt... sad.

You felt a pang of sympathy for him. For all his power and for all his malevolence, he was still somehow... alone. You had felt it in those strange moments when -almost wistfully- he'd listen to you talk and read.

The last night felt different, filled with an air of finality.

As you laid on your creaky bed, you noticed him standing in the corner of the room, like some sort of sleep paralysis demon. He was staring at you with an intensity that used to scare you three months ago. You felt the impulse to speak, but you knew he wouldn't respond. Instead, you held his gaze, feeling a strange sense of sorrow settle over you.

When he finally spoke, his voice was almost too soft to hear.

"Little one, when you leave…will you forget about me?"

The question caught you off guard and you didn't know how to answer. You wanted to tell him that you wouldn't, that everything you'd been through would be impossible to forget. But Pennywise knew that memories could fade, that as you grew older, the edges of this nightmare would blur.

You just stared at him, searching for the right words.

His eyes held a strange depth, a rawness you hadn't seen before. But he didn't wait for your answer. He simply turned, drifting back into the shadows as he whispered...

"The game isn't over."

And as he vanished, you were left in the cold darkness, with the silence pressing down around you like a final embrace. You clutched your knees to your chest, feeling the weight of those words settle heavily in your heart. You knew that even if you did forget him one day, some part of him would linger -an echo in the back of your mind, a memory that would never truly die.

That night, as sleep began to take you, you imagined him in the backyard... looking up at the stars and wondering if you'd remember.

It really felt like something precious had been taken away from you too early.

The next morning, you woke up in your own bed, in your home in Witchham Street.

For a moment you thought you'd died... Εveryone around you acted as though you'd never disappeared, as if those harrowing months at Neibolt hadn't happened at all. But there was one particular detail that hinted otherwise... A red balloon, floating silently at the edge of your bed.

That morning, you also got your period for the first time.

Stepping outside, the daylight was so bright and so warm, a stark contrast to the darkness you'd lived in for weeks. You squinted at the light, feeling almost as though you'd stepped into another world. It was hard to believe that just the night before, you had been in his arms -you had been seeking comfort from the monster who had held you captive.

Part of you seriously considered whether it had all been just a dream. Still, for days, you felt his absence like a missing heartbeat.

The world around you seemed much louder and the colors almost too vivid. Sometimes, you'd catch yourself looking for him in the shadows, half expecting to see his shape looming in the corners of your room.

At night you'd lie awake, thinking of his strange question...

"When you leave… will you forget me?"

You didn't know how to answer, even to yourself.

As much as you wanted to return to your old life and to move on from that nightmare, you felt a small part of you ache with the loss. You had lived through something impossible, something that had left you changed.

There was no going back to who you were before.

Over time though, the memory of him faded into something almost surreal. You didn't speak of it to anyone -the words felt fragile and sacred, as if telling the story might diminish it.

But the craziest thing that happened? You continued living as if everything was perfectly normal.

You only thought of Pennywise again that Christmas, in 1979...

The holidays had come to Derry and your family decorated the house with lights and garlands, the scents of pine and cinnamon clinging to every corner. There were gifts under the tree and snow falling outside the windows. Everything was festive and happy.

But when you woke up in your cozy little bedroom -on the 24th-, near the foot of your bed laid a single, crumpled sunflower. It must've been from the patch in the backyard where you'd sometimes sit with him, where the wildflowers had managed to grow despite the gloom. You held it gently, careful not to disturb its fragile petals. It felt like a memento of your time together -a reminder that what you had shared was real, however bizarre and terrifying.

On some nights, when the world was silent, you'd find yourself reaching for that sunflower, feeling the dried petals crumble beneath your fingertips. You'd lie awake, wondering where he was -if he still remembered, if he still waited. And though you'd never say it out loud, a small part of you hoped he did. Because no matter how much time passed, no matter how much you grew or changed, there was one truth you could never deny... He had left his mark on you, a scar that you'd carry forever.

And somewhere out there, you felt certain, Pennywise was waiting.

In the years that followed, you held onto those fleeting memories. They had a strange, magnetic pull -a mix of terror and fascination. You couldn't help but feel that if you let them slip, if you completely forgot, you'd be leaving behind a piece of yourself.

The Losers helped ground you.

They were your anchors to the present, pulling you back to laughter, to familiar faces and to the warmth of friends who shared their own scars and secrets. They never asked about the nightmares that sometimes made you stir, the shadows you occasionally saw out of the corner of your eye. And you never told them.

But there were also moments -quiet and lonely moments- when the weight of it all crept back, haunting you with unspoken questions. You'd wonder if he thought of you, if he missed you in his own twisted way. Did he ever feel the same hollow ache?

And deep down, you even wondered what might happen if he came back. Would he be nice and protecting? Or would he be just as monstrous and alien as before?

On some other nights, when the wind picked up, you swore you could feel his gaze -a distant yet familiar watchfulness that was both comforting and unnerving. It was as though he was still guarding you.

And so you moved forward, feeling the tug of those memories lessen but never fully vanish.

Would he stay away? Or would there come a day when that half-remembered monster with the childlike heart would find his way back to you?

1984 Derry, Maine

You tell yourself you hate Pennywise.

You tell yourself that, because you have to believe it is true, because that's the only way to move on. But deep inside your mind you can still feel him -his question echoing faintly in you, lesser and lesser each year, like a bond stretching thinner and thinner.

Currently, you're pondering over a glass of Cherry Coke. Yesterday, Bill had asked you about your dreams. He wanted to know if the clown that took away his little brother haunted you as well. You had simply shaken your head 'no', but the truth was the complete opposite.

Until you turned fifteen, Pennywise was still in your dreams. You remember those dreams even more vividly than your days in the house on Neibolt St...

You always had a strong imagination, which came with vivid dreams and equally vivid nightmares. In those dreams, Pennywise would come to you whenever you were scared. He'd pull you close in that tender way he never did in reality, fighting off every dark shape in your mind and then wrapping you in a kind of warmth you can't explain with words.

Sometimes, you'd apologize to him in those dreams -feeling an unnamed guilt- and he'd boop your nose with a soft and soothing "It's okie-dokie, Y/n."

Sometimes there'd be a red balloon waiting by your bed when you woke up, or maybe floating outside your school window. And on one specific evening, when the sadness felt like too much to bear, he appeared at the edge of your bed instead of the balloon. He hugged you and stayed with you until morning came, his glowing eyes softly illuminating the darkness. For once, they didn't scare you.

But as you grew up, you began to dream of him differently. In the nightmares, he'd chase you with a crooked smile and eyes that were dark with hunger, until you couldn't run anymore. Then you'd turn, tears streaming down your face, pleading with him and saying you were sorry over and over. You could never remember why you were sorry, but you knew that somewhere deep inside... you had hurt him. And somehow, you couldn't shake the feeling that it was you who'd let him down.

You tried to explain this to him, even though it was only in dreams -your Penny, who had watched over you. But he still seemed sad. So the dreams began to fade and he stopped showing himself altogether. Even then, you could still feel his presence, as if he was looking over you but choosing to stay hidden.

The few glimpses you have left are rather strange. Once, you had a dream with an uncanny intensity. It was the first different kind of dream -a dream where Pennywise was there as well, but puzzled, as you began to see him through a different lens. It left you feeling unsettled. Not sure what it meant, only that it somehow changed everything.

And still, each time you're scared, you call out for him in your dreams. You search, even while knowing he won't appear like he used to. Maybe it's because you had once blurted out that he was a killer, that he took innocent people like Georgie. It's all so blurry now, all these things you can't quite remember but can't entirely forget either.

You miss him.

You know Georgie's disappearance and so many others are somehow linked to that clown. But if his pattern is to stay on Earth for a year and hibernate for two decades (like Ben figured out), why then, hasn't he gone to sleep in five? It's almost as though he can't bring himself to leave.

Maybe you are asking too many questions. Or maybe you are starting to find the answers...

You're just a girl. And he… he's a boy in a strange, unfathomable way.

There are times when you think he's gone for good. But then there are other times -like when Oscar, the thick orange cat you've taken to caring for, curls up by you in a way that feels just a little too familiar. His stare, intense and watchful, feels more like an any ordinary cat.

You call him Oscar, but maybe -just maybe- you know it's him.

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[pepsiluvr0209]

Ilomilo (Cinderella)

WARNINGS: Angst, Kidnapping, Death if you squint, Slight age regression if you squint real hard

Disclaimer: I understand the whole issue with romanticising mental health. As someone who does struggle with mental health, if you find subjects like this uncomfortable, then simply scroll by, a lighter Chris fic is on the way.

This is not to do with justifying any abusive actions, and if anyone treats you or someone you know that way, please tell somebody you trust and get yourself or anybody else out of the harmful relationship. This is simply a fanfiction, nothing else, but if you do find yourself uncomfortable then by all means stop reading.

(THIS IS AN AU FIC, NOTHING MATT WOULD DO OBV)

Matt Sturniolo x Reader

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧.˚ₓ

"Told you not to worry,

but maybe that's a lie"

“You can’t keep doing this Matt!” 

“Doing what, darling?” He looks at you with a malicious smirk, head tilting, showcasing his defined jawline and contrasted silver chain. 

“When am I going to be allowed out of this house without you constantly behind me? Like a- Like a shadow. When can I call my family huh?”

“Oh darling, we’ve talked about this.” Matt coos, gently holding your cheek in the palms of his cold hands. His shiny rings cool to your heated skin, making you wince in his hold. “Remember,” And he tilts your head up so he can stare into your glossy eyes. “You can leave whenever you want.” And he let’s go. “But you will regret it darling. Trust me.”

“Matt.” You whimper. 

“No baby. You’re mine. Remember angel? Mine.” And he holds your shaking frame to his chest, your cheek bathing in the scent of his musky cologne. 

The tears you shed left wisps of a broken romance, thread together by the bounds of Matt’s love. Of his obsessive, manipulating love. 

Pools of regret flow onto his black t-shirt as he holds you close. You needed to run. 

"Honey, what's the hurry?

Won't you stay inside?"

“Hey love, I’m just going to head out to the store.” Matt speaks, as he places a cap on his soft head of hair. 

“Okay.” You whisper. 

He smiles and kisses your forehead, his voice barely audible as he murmurs, “Don’t even think about leaving me.”

Sending waves of goosebumps along your skin, he smiles at you and caresses your cheek lovingly before you hear the door slam. 

You let go a terrified breath you didn’t even realise you were holding and raced to gather your stuff. It was now or never. 

Shoving things into a random bag, you run downstairs and look around before racing towards the front door. Just as you were about to make your exit, you hear a menacing voice. 

“I knew you would run sweetheart.” 

You’ve never heard a voice so cold. A voice so sharp it sent blades hurling towards your heart, piercing your skin and bruising your muscle. A frightened sob escapes your lips as you turn around and see your boyfriend standing down the hallway. The lighting cloaking half of his figure in a dark cloud. 

“I’m sorry.” You cry. 

“Step away from the door.” He says in a scarily sweet tone. “And I promise it’s all going to be okay.” You see him twisting around an object in his right palm, fingers nimbly twirling the blade making your blood run dry. 

“Y/n.” Matt growls warningly. He starts leering towards where your body is standing and you gasp in fear, turning towards the door, dashing towards the exit and potentially your freedom. 

You slam the front door shut and just run. You knew damn well Matt wasn’t stupid. He knew where you were going to go, but without a car there’s not really any other place else.

It should’ve been more obvious to you. The over-protectiveness, the threats, hell even moving to a town with barely anything in it. 

Walking red flags zoomed by your day to day life and you just ignored it as if it was the clouds painting the sky, or the maliciousness dripping off your lover's smile. 

Frantically, you banged on the door, sobbing for someone to let you in, having no idea if the man you once loved was hot on your tail. Finally it opened, and you threw yourself inside, ignoring Nate’s confused inquiries. 

“Hey, hey what’s wrong?” He grabbed your forearms and levelled towards your collapsing figure. 

“It’s M-Matt.” You choked. “He’s gonna be here soon. Hide.” 

Loud and bone-shivering knocks, banged through the whole house, shaking each of your nerves and polished floorboards. You whimper and hurtled yourself up Nate’s stairs looking for a place to hide. Grabbing a throw blanket off some bed you launch for the closet and cover yourself up, hyperventilating in the enclosed space. 

Nate had no clue what was going on, but he knew that his best mate was a bit of a protective character, so maybe there was a fight or something. He thought back to how distressed you looked and decided against opening the door, but when the loud, angry knocks resumed, he knew better than to leave Matt enraged. 

As soon as the innocent friend opened the door he was effortlessly clocked in the head, by a man with a tattooed arm. Matt. He stepped over his old friend’s body, his slow footsteps echoing throughout the semi-vacant house. “Oh angel,” He starts. 

Your body goes rigid as you lightly hear his voice echoing through the walls. “You never fucking listen!” Matt’s voice grew at the last three syllables, earning muffled sobs from your hiding place in the closet. “And look at where that got you.” His tone turned sickly sweet, gently walking up the carpeted steps, ready to catch what is rightfully his. 

“Oh darling, we’re gonna have so much fun. And I’ll make sure you never run from me. Ever. Again.” You can make out the door to the room across from yours creaking, signifying that Matt is getting closer and closer to sealing your doom. The closet is one where it is built by shutters, meaning if you squint through the blanket you can see your boyfriend's black jeans carefully entering the room adjacent to yours, through the slits in the closet door. You throw the blanket more over yourself, curling yourself against the floor to try and make yourself a less visible lump. 

“Sweetheart.” He taunts. “Don’t play these games with me baby. Come back to me.” The door to the guest room squeaks as he pushes it more open, and you hold your breath, silent tears of terror roll down your flushed cheeks. You can hear his soft footsteps get closer and closer, until they stop. You hear ruffling and then a voice right next to your ear. 

“I wish it didn’t have to happen this way.” 

The closet door flings open, and before you even have time to scream, his arms are already holding the blanket, you previously had on yourself, against your face, limiting your ability to breath. You claw at his strong hands, trying to wriggle out of his secure grasp, but it was too much. You can slowly feel yourself slipping away.

"The world's a little blurry, or maybe it's my eyes

The friends I've had to bury, they keep me up at night."

“Hi baby.” You can feel a hand graze your cold forehead, pushing stray hairs away from your face, so it frames your tired expression. Slowly blinking your eyes open, you realise you’re back here in you and Matt’s shared room. “My throat.” You can barely get out. “Oh, here.” And your boyfriend holds up a glass of water towards you, soft blue eyes gazing at your hunched figure expectantly. You reach to grab the fragile glass when you realise, you can’t. “What did you do?” You rasp, straining your wrists against the cold, sharp metal. You can feel the claustrophobic circles digging deeper and deeper into your skin as you restraint against them. “Shhh, nothing darling.” And he brings the cup to your lips. “Hold still.” He growls, his free hand firmly holding your jaw as he brings his steady hand to your trembling lips. Gently, Matt pours the water down your throat, some of the liquid tumbling from your mouth down to your shirt. “Here.” Matt whispers, as he tugs the sleeve of his hoodie, and wipes the water dribbling down your mouth, along with salty, stray tears that lingered on your face.

“Why?” You tremor. And Matt just sits across from you, admiring all of you, now that he has you to himself and you can’t leave. Ever. “Look at how pretty you look.” He cooes. “Matt.” You almost sob, awaiting his reply as to why he could be this cruel. “Oh angel, I know.” And he wraps his arms around your head, scooching himself so your back is pressed against his stomach, cradling you on his lap. “Do you want anything? Food? Cuddles?” “Home.” You choke out. “I want to go home.” Half of your face is pressed into Matt’s warm hoodie, but he still heard your wobbly sentence and it made his expression drop, turning into stone. “Darling,” He seeths. “You are home.” “Home.” You cry again, tears getting stuck in your throat causing you to cough erratically, gasping for breath. Matt sighs irritatingly and gently holds your sputtering figure by the waist, moving you off his lap. He gets up and just looks down at you. “Pathetic.” Matt then crouches down so you can look at him, pale face, red cheeks drenched in tears. “You might not love me baby, but you better learn to because nobody loves you more than me okay?” All you can do is nod at him, which leaves Matt with a satisfied smile on his face, and with that he exits the room.

"Try not to upset you, let you rescue me,

The day I met you, I just wanted to protect you."

Once Matt can’t hear your strangled cries, he figures now is an appropriate time to at least uncuff you, and see how you react. He’s been planning this for a while, his protective acts not going unnoticed by you, made him scared that you would leave him for someone who isn’t as batshit crazy as he is, but he can’t help it. He loves you.

“Sweetheart.” You hear the several locks on the door click, only to reveal the one person you're most afraid of at this moment. Your knees go up to your chest as you peek at him through thin strands of your hair. Matt crouches in front of you, placing his large, ringed hands on your knees, staring back at you with a small frown on his face. “I’m going to uncuff you.” Instant thoughts start racing through your head and just like he can see the gears turning in your skull, his expression turns serious and forcefully lifts your head up so you can make direct eye contact with him.

“Remember what we talked about love.” After a slight pause, he brings his right hand to his back pocket revealing a small silver key. Almost as if he was teasing you, he brings the item to the hole of your cuffs letting it linger there for a minute. All that could be heard was your heavy breaths, anticipating your release. With a sigh he clicks in the key, freeing your right hand then your left.

Flexing your wrists, Matt stands back, awaiting your decision. Stupidly, you eye the door and just hope God is on your side as you sprint towards the metal knob, sweaty palms twisting the rounded object with no avail. A broken sob leaves your wrists as you turn to Matt, pleading with him to let you go. Matt watches you and almost feels sorry for you, witnessing your distressed expressions and tired frame. But sickening enough, that sympathy is overrun by a heavy tank fuelled with pride. Seeing you like this almost gives him a sense of twisted joy, your tears fuelling his madness.

“You didn’t think I would make it that easy bug?” He pouts, arms coming behind you to hug your shaking figure. “No.” You sob. “If I let you go, you gonna leave?” “N-No.” “Good girl.” He whispers and lets go of carefully, leaving you alone by the door as he walks back towards the bed. “No.” You cry again and quickly pad over to him, making yourself home in his open arms. “There we go.” Matt gently praises, his hands holding you up to rest against his warm skin. Cologne filling your senses as you snuggle into his shirt, silently hating yourself for finding comfort in the man who scared you, but coincidently loving the way he held you close, and whispered love filled praises into your ears, kissing your forehead with utmost care.

"B-B-B-B-Breathe."

“Matt.” “Mmm, my love?” He mumbles, nudging his head with yours to show you that you’ve got his undivided attention. “Can we… Can we get food?” He looks at you, studying your tired features before softly sighing and pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. “Of course angel, there’s food downstairs.” He taps the side of your thigh as preparation for him to stand up, arms cradling you as he presses you close to his chest. Matt carried you downstairs, footsteps pressing against the plush carpet. “Here.” He mumbles, resting you on a kitchen stool, before he takes out takeaway thai from the fridge. Matt instantly picks up on your fidgety behaviour and he can see the thoughts in your eyes rushing miles a minute. “All of the doors are bolted shut my love, so don’t even try.” He speaks nonchalantly sifting through the plastic containers of pad thai and spring rolls. His statement makes you freeze up and slightly whimper. Even though you weren’t doing anything, the fact that you couldn’t leave, stripped you away of the stability you were feeling a mere 15 minutes ago.

Matt sighs, as he places 2 plates chock full of thai in the microwave, shutting the door and turning to face you. “Look, I didn’t want it to end up this way.” There’s a pause through his sentence as he walks towards you and tilts up your jaw so you're looking right at his face. “There are a lot of bad people out there baby- God knows how many people would even think twice to snatch you away or-or” “Kidnap me? Hold me hostage?” You hoarsely whisper and he clenches his jaw, hand still resting comfortably on the warm skin of your cheek. The microwave beeps.

“I’m just protecting you darling. Soon, you’ll learn to love me. But for now, this will have to do. Your mine. Correct, darling?”

You just nod your head in conformation. “Yours.”

"And I don't want to be lonely,

Was hoping you'd come home.

Even if it's just a lie."

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧.˚ₓ

sorry for the long break I missed youuuu

PLEASE LEAVE REQUESTS I GOT SM FREE TIME RN

I love u and remember your better than whatever Matt was playing at in this fic smh

also do u guys want a tag list? lemme know

[guumiester]

So…many…fandoms

First doodle page after art fight has ended, ngl I had to stop myself from drawing Bendy all over lol

[userbillieeilish]

ilomilo stares of the week: october 13th to october 19th

[katiekatdragon27]

How have I never drawn fan art of this game before it literally built me.

Everyone and their entire families should play Ilomilo right now I'm not even kidding it's so good and fun and creative the emotional and I HATE that everyone sleeps on it.

Progress images (and some design points) below the cut:

When customizing the designs, I wanted to make them look like the source materials, ie. plushies. I made them have seams an stiches like their original designs but gave them cloaks instead of the weird body suits they naturally have. Also, the rectangles where their faces are are masks. Their actual faces are much fluffier.

That's really it. I love them. Play their game. Listen to their OST. Do it. Do it already-

Have a nice day dudes :))

[vgtrackbracket]

Video Game Track Bracket Round 2

Ashley's Song from WarioWare: Touched!

vs.

Together from ilomilo

Propaganda under the cut. If you want your propaganda reblogged and added to future polls, please tag it as propaganda or otherwise indicate this!

Ashley's Song:

Ashley's level is the best level in that game because it's the best song in the game

Together:

Ilomilo's soundtrack as a whole contains lots of different instrument noises and unique sounds that are quirky and fun, but this specific track brings them all together, just like the name, and it's the credits song, so essentially it's a culmination of everything you just experienced and so it is the best song in the game, I think at least.

[billie-fuckin-eilish]

You’re looking right at me!

[azure-firecracker]

I am convinced that ilomilo by Billie Eilish is about Season 2 MSR (lyrics and spoilers under the cut).

Specifically abduction arc Mulder.

Told you not to worry

But maybe that's a lie

Honey, what's your hurry?

Won't you stay inside?

Remember not to get too close to stars

They're never gonna give you love like ours

Where did you go?

I should know, but it's cold

And I don't wanna be lonely

So show me the way home

I can't lose another life

Hurry, I'm worried

The world's a little blurry

Or maybe it's my eyes

The friends I've had to bury

They keep me up at night

Said I couldn't love someone

'Cause I might break

If you're gonna die, not by mistake

So, where did you go?

I should know, but it's cold

And I don't wanna be lonely

So tell me you'll come home

Even if it's just a lie

I tried not to upset you

Let you rescue me the day I met you

I just wanted to protect you

But now I'll never get to

Hurry, I'm worried

Where did you go?

I should know, but it's cold

And I don't wanna be lonely

Was hoping you'd come home

I don't care if it's a lie

*cries in S2 MSR*

[odoritte]

𝖡𝖨𝖫𝖫𝖨𝖤 𝗘𝗜𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗛 MESSY 𝗟𝗔𝗬𝗢𝗨𝗧𝗦 ... ୨ৎ

𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 or 𝗿𝗲𝗯𝗹𝗼𝗴 if you save !!

[little-blurry]

Outras pessoas não ficariam, outras pessoas não obedecem Você e eu somos iguais, você realmente deveria fugir 🎶

[svnflowermoon]

the world's a little blurry (or maybe it's my eyes)

[ilomilo-plus]

Happy Birthday ilomilo!

[userbillieeilish]

ilomilo

[honeysmokedham]

ilomilo || Declan & Hamstring

When: 4/4/2024 Where: Saol Eile Who: Declan (TBA) & @honeysmokedham What: Cliodhna arranges for a spare tour guide to show Hamstring around her new home of Saol Eile, the two meet and Declan decides to show her his favorite spot.

The goal of each of the 49 levels is to unite Ilo and Milo, who are on separate sides of the level and must work together to meet. 

A quartet of banshee women stood in a semi-circle around Nora - or Hamstring as she was beginning to be known here. They spoke in the speedy ease of women in charge. Hamstring was under no illusions on who the topic at hand was, despite the language barrier. Every now and then she would recognize a word. Regan. Hamstring. And that was it. Eventually, after being regarded forever, a length of time that would have been made easier with the use of scrolling on her cellphone, Cliodhna spoke. To paraphrase everything, since Hamstring was barely paying attention, a spare tour guide named Declan Diggory and that she was going to spend time with him every day until some word Hamstring didn’t understand but assumed meant she was comfortable with getting around Saol Eile.

That was why Hamstring got out of bed before 2 pm, her normal time of waking, and made it outside of Cliodhna’s house in the early hours of eleven am. “Declan?” Hamstring stopped in front of the guy standing outside. Fear leaked out of him, it leaked out of most of the humans that lived here. If Hamstring had even stopped to consider that, she may have thought it was weird. But humans were fearful creatures, and them being scared of anything just made sense. “Hamstring.” Hamstring pointed at herself as she stifled a yawn. She was really doing a good job at falling into the role of banshee. “Where are we going?”

The arrival of Regan Kavanagh had brought an onslaught of whispers onto the community. Declan was used to being on the outskirts– too far removed from what it meant to be respected within the aos sí, but a part of it all the same. Still, he knew what would come next. It was obvious in the way his mother spoke. His purpose– a shred of who he was meant for something important; something that he’d known would be his downfall his entire life. He was nothing but a lamb for the slaughter, and he’d been so used to that thought; that it would end this way, his neck cut with the blade of his mother’s choosing. But with Regan Kavanagh’s arrival, something changed. 

With her arrival, something changed. Exhaustion and worry etched itself into Declan’s features as he waited nervously outside of Cliodhna’s house. Finally, Hamstring emerged and his expression blistered. He shouldn’t be here; shouldn’t pour his indecision and fear into her hands. It wasn’t hers to bear. Perhaps he’d save it for later, when he was sure he could trust her. She was different from the women he’d grown up around; less vicious, less vindictive. “Was told to show you around.” He offered her a warm smile before gesturing ahead of himself, “and so I will.” He fell into step next to her. “There’s the base of the falls that I’d like to show you. I spent a lot of my childhood skipping rocks there.” Would that be boring to her? All he knew was that he was supposed to keep her busy; entertained to a degree. “Thought that perhaps I could give you a glimpse of our home.” Your new home, he didn’t care to add. 

Jet Lag tugged at Hamstring’s existence, warping her down to her very soul. An old tiredness that wasn’t kind enough to greet her like the old friends they were. It didn’t help that her body was still stiff from the unconventional travel. Her physical hamstring was in pain from being curled up tightly, what she really needed was a banana. Hamstring tried to ignore the pain, focusing on Declan’s words. His accent framed the words beautifully, drawing Hamstring into the conversation, making her want to ask him more questions so she could hear his musical tones fill the silence between them. 

“A waterfall? That’s sick.” A pause as Hamstring considered that her American zoomerisms might not translate well to someone whose first language wasn’t English. Was his first language English? There was, perhaps, a lot of research Hamstring could have done on Ireland beyond googling which snakes were native to Ireland - none - and what bears she could see in Ireland - also none. The two creatures that made her feel most at home were also two creatures that didn’t exist here. “Cool, I mean cool.” Hamstring murmured. He mentioned wanting to show her around our home, and all of a sudden it dawned on Hamstring. Everyone here truly believed she was Hamstring, the pre-banshee that would one day be a full banshee, staying forever. The cramp in her hamstring suddenly tightened and Hamstring sprawled face first into Declan. 

With a raised brow, Declan gave a small nod. “I don’t believe it’s sick, we take care of the waters especially well here.” To a degree; maybe not as much as an actual nereid or nyx would, but they were still caretakers of the world around them. We and they had separated themselves from him, as there wasn’t much he could give to the world around him– apart from his life, for the girl that stood in front of him now. He observed her for a moment longer before gesturing ahead, willing Hamstring to take the first few steps for their tour. After a moment of brief silence, she corrected herself. That did make much more sense. “Ah, it is quite cool.” There was something he noticed within moments of meeting Hamstring; it was easy to smile around her. Effortless, even. 

Before they could get started on their trek, Hamstring was falling face-first towards him. Unable to hold himself upright in the time it took her to fall, he tried his best to support her weight as they both crashed down to the ground. Now, with her on top of him, he blinked up at her, nose twitching as strands of her hair tickled his face. “Are you alright?” He asked, a small laugh parting from between his lips as he looked up at her from the ground. She was much prettier up close, he realized. Though extremely tired; he could see the bags beneath her eyes almost as if they were a permanent fixture. He wondered if she would look different once activated; eyes liquid black, erasing the natural brown… it was a shame he wouldn’t be there to see it. 

Fuck. This was like one of those videos. The lame ones that would start with a voice-over. ‘So this is me, and I bet you’re wondering how I ended up on top of one of the most handsome men I’ve ever seen, his eyes staring into mine, my heart beating faster than it should.’ Then it would record scratch and time would go back. But this wasn’t a lame video, and Hamstring would say any of the words, even if she noticed her heart beating a bit faster if she also noticed his laugh sounded sweet, and most of all, that the fear that had been casually draped over him, like most humans here, dissipated the moment of the fall as they laid there looking at each other. “C-cramp.” Hamstring stammered out the world, failing every bit of cool girl standard she’d ever held herself to. “That was my bad.” But it took her a moment longer than it should have to extricate herself from him and stand back up, offering a hand to help him as well. 

“The airplane ride here wasn’t great for my legs.” She continued, in way of apology, suddenly deciding to look anywhere but at Declan. “Are you okay?” Hamstring was shoving her hands in her pockets, remiss that there were no snakes in there to distract him from how awkwardly this was going. The temptation to defuse the situation with an illusion washed over her. It would be easy. She would scare him, he’d cry or maybe pass out, and then she could forget how embarrassing this was. Except she couldn’t cast an illusion or someone would find out she wasn’t who she was claiming to be. Worst of all, she didn’t want to scare him. She wanted him to keep talking about the waterfall that he used to skip rocks at. “Should we keep going? I mean, we can cancel. If I crushed your legs, or something.” Give him an out to take, because no one likes spending time with a monster. 

“Don’ worry, it’s no problem.” Declan waited for Hamstring to rise before he stuck out his own hand, allowing her to pull him back up onto his feet. He dusted his backside once upright, listening to her reasoning for why it had happened in the first place. “I’ve never been on a plane. Didn’t know it could cramp you up.” He crossed his arms over his chest, noticing the way she would look anywhere but at him. Had he done something wrong? “Oh, I’m right as rain. A fall can’t really take me out, don’t worry your head about it.” He flashed her a grin before gesturing forward again at her insistence. 

“Aye, it’s not that long of a walk, and I think my legs are perfectly fine. Let’s go.” 

True to his word, the walk did not take long, though he felt the need to slow down in case Hamstring’s leg decided to cramp up again. He could hear the rush of water before he could see it, and the chill to the air draped over them like a second skin the further they pushed onward. “You can feel it, right?” He leaned down at the base of the trail that’d lead further down to the bank of where the falls met the river, picking up a few solidly shaped rocks before popping back up. 

“It doesn’t if you have a seat,” Hamstring mumbled. If he hadn’t been on a plane did he know planes had seats? As much fun as she’d been having around Saol Eile, it did give off extreme cult vibes. She had no idea how much outside influence was allowed in. Wynne’s cult seemed like it did a good job of keeping everything modern and pop culture out, lending to interesting conversations. Was it the same here? Did banshees care what their humans got up to? “Do you want to go on a plane?” Was it too soon to ask him about how horrible these banshees are supposed to be? That was the one thing she was hearing repeated over and over again from everyone. Banshees are horrible and not to be trusted. What about their human tour guides? “I mean, it seems nice here.” 

“Right. Let’s go.” In place of words that should have been, I’m glad you’re okay. Or maybe, sorry again, haha, should have worn my hiking boots. That last one was a lie though, because her giant combat boots, laced securely around her ankles, made for great hiking boots. She’d hiked the forests around Wicked’s Rest in them continuously. Hell, she’d walked across America in them, and today of all days was the day she fell in them. That, she decided, was why her heart had been racing. 

“Feel what?” The only thing Hamstring could feel was the awkwardness of existing in her own skin. The itch of her illusions tugging at her to create a monster. The want to look at his smile again. No, wait scratch off that last one. She did not feel that last one. Hamstring devoted herself to looking around, trying to feel what it was he felt. She could smell the rolling water, the fresh foliage, the crisp cool air. It felt nice and quiet, far enough away from Saol Eile that the sounds and smells of civilization were lost. She watched him pick up some rocks, she picked up her own. Right, skipping stones. That was what they were going to do. Hamstring had never skipped rocks before, she reflected mildly that Cass would know which rocks were the best, but to her untrained eye she picked up a handful of whatever, shoving them in her pocket and hoping it would work. 

“Can’t imagine that I’ll get the chance. No airport here.” Not to mention he had very little time left, if fate had its way (it always did). Declan hummed under his breath as he continued, “reckon I’ve seen a plane on the telly once or twice, looked a bit… I’m not sure how they keep it up in the air.” Everything in his life concerning fae made sense, but the idea of a metal contraption being suspended in air was where he drew the line. Then again, he’d been raised with nothing else. 

“The air. It’s much cooler here, isn’t it?” He could feel the mist dotting the skin of his forearms as they rounded the corner, the spoils of rocks drying his hands with their caked mud.

The base of the falls was grand; foliage wrapped around the bank, both dried and live vines wrapping themselves around the neighboring trees. The water was a clear blue, pebbles and stones visible at the bottom, algae scraping along the floor of the river. “There’s a path that leads beneath it, you can feel the water even better from there. Would you like to go?” He looked at Hamstring, same smile intact, eyes glinting with something akin to hope, maybe. Hope that she wouldn’t turn him down, that he would show her her new home, that she wouldn’t be afraid of it, but instead fall in love with it the way he had. Though, he assumed there would be many differences in the way either of them approached the aos sí. 

There was an airport here somewhere, but not someplace Hamstring had any context for. Her travel here was a blur of cramped sitting, being jostled against things, muffled talking, and a lot of waiting. The airport could have been in the town or five towns over, for all that Hamstring was aware of. However, she did assume it was the cult activities of the aos sí that made him assume he’d never leave. It was taking everything in her power to convince Regan to leave, she couldn’t imagine how hard it’d be to convince people who never had a taste of freedom. But that was sad, wasn’t it? To only know one life. How would he know if this was the life he wanted? He’d never get to test another one on to see how it fit. “Maybe one day.” Hamstring threw out there. Just to get the idea out there. “I think they keep them up with engines, aerodynamics, and physics. I’d have to google it, to know more. What kinds of things do you guys have on television here?”

“Yeah, I guess it is.” Hamstring looked down at her arms, covered in goosebumps from the chill. She’d been too distracted to notice. “It’s nice.” It was nice. Hamstring loved being in nature. She wouldn’t spend so much time in the forests around Wicked’s Rest if she didn’t. It was nice, she reflected, that she’d be able to spend time here, by the waterfall, during her time here. 

The water was beautiful. The kind of thing people put on a postcard with the caption ‘Wish You Were Here.’ Perhaps she would send that postcard to the entirety of the bears and snakes race, to get them to come visit. Hamstring was watching a spider crawl over a rock when Declan asked her a question, she looked up and was greeted by his smile. A welcoming and hopeful smile. How could she say no? “I’d like that.” She’d like that a lot. Hamstring moved closer, “Lead the way.” 

“Ah, so you’re smart and pretty.” Declan didn’t bother shying away from the compliment– he’d been taught to speak his mind in the same way he’d been told to keep his grievances to himself. It was an odd combination. At her question, he thought for a moment. “Well, I’ve seen Grease 1 and 2 about thirty times on an old VHS tape that somebody smuggled in. It’s in my closet to this day.” He didn’t bother mentioning it’d been his sister who’d done the smuggling. She wasn’t a needed topic at this moment, as she had been forced from his mind the moment she chose to abandon activation and leave with the one who was supposed to spill their blood. “There are other things, too… but it’s usually fae media. We have actors too, you know. Muses, actually.” It was said with a light chuckle as he shifted the rocks around in his palm, the sound of them knocking together bringing back a sense of childhood when he’d come here with both his sister and mom. 

Those days had since past, and he was here with somebody new– somebody who didn’t look at him as though he were nothing but a sacrifice. Declan watched Hamstring’s expression change as she looked at the water. “Beauty, isn’t she?” His gaze lingered for a moment before he cleared his throat, stuffing his own rocks into his pockets as the skipping would come later. Declan did as he was asked, leading the way towards the trail that’d take them to the back of the falls. It was narrow and slippery, and maybe a bad idea given how she’d fallen earlier, but if she did so again, he’d do his best to catch her once more. “Give me your hand, this bit is a little rocky.” He held out his hand for her to take, smile still intact. “C’mon, you can trust me. I won’ let you fall.” 

The words slapped Hamstring, but not in an unpleasant hand burning your face way, but in a way that made her pause. A deer in the headlights. The illusions twitched inside her, ready to come out, to deflect away from her, to scare him and change the topic. It was easy to keep people at arm's length when you could scare them into changing a topic. How did someone deal with moments like these without scaring someone? But she couldn’t scare him. She was a pre-banshee. Not a bugbear. Hamstring would be good, so something new happened. A blush crossed against her features. Breaking the mask of blank emotionless calm that she’d spent years perfecting. Instantly she looked away, hoping her hair would hide her shame. 

“My dads love Grease. They told me it was a gay staple. Grease Lightning and all that.” Fae only shows? Did they play in fae-only towns only? Or were humans allowed to watch them too? “Muses.” Hamstring repeated. “To be honest, this is the most fae I’ve been around my whole life. I know a few, I mean. Regan and some others. But I didn’t know there were whole towns dedicated to fae and fae stuff. Does any of the muse stuff play on human television, or is it for fae only?” “Yeah. It’s beautiful here. I would never go back into town if I could choose to be here all the time.” He cleared his throat, and Hamstring was looking at Declan again. That charming smile intact, and Hamstring knew she could trust him. Emilio could call her reckless, and maybe it was, to trust someone from the banshee town when she’d been told repeatedly not to do that. But in that moment, his hand reaching out to her, she knew he was better than all of this. “I trust you.” Because words can mean something when they fight their way past the anvil in her throat. Hamstring reached out and placed her hand into his and followed him down the narrow path.