Thinking about how Childe and the other harbingers are technically religious figures
They serve god, literally. They hear what she has to say and carry out her divine will
The tsaritsa calls to them in their lowest moment and personally selects them as her helpers. Afterwards they are reborn as a new person. Given a new name, uniform, and duty.
The fatui are snezhnayas equivalent of the crusaders if you think about it. Like they are all acting on the order of their god, although they are mostly in it for the money and power. They are sent out into foreign countries to enforce their gods will
They are basically if the church of barbartos were given guns and told to go wild. This is the funniest shit ever to think about.
It’s also super funny for These 1# god haters technically are servants of god. They honestly fit the definition of a missionary more than a diplomat, they are simply converting people to the words of the tsaritsa by holding their nation hostage
I’m not saying they are good priests and prophets but they still are. They make have the same enthusiasm as rosaria about their god but at the end of the day both are still nuns.
They are all the neglected children of the tsaritsa who doesn’t love a single one of them and they feel the same
Notes: Before reading, please note that this fanfic consists of: Friends with Benefits / Fuck Buddies (FUBU), Orgasm Denial, Rough Sex, Smoking/Tobacco Use
The rain against the high arched windows of the Northland Bank had slowed to a heavy, rhythmic thrum, mimicking the absolute lack of warmth within the room. Pantalone didn't look up when you locked the heavy oak door behind you. He was sitting at his desk, the soft glow of a green-shaded desk lamp casting long, severe shadows across the scattered receipts of the day's transactions. He didn't offer a greeting, and you didn't expect one; any polite fiction would only clutter the precise efficiency of why you were here.
He slid his fountain pen into its holder with a clinical click, reached into his breast pocket, and produced his silver case. With a sharp flick of his thumb, he popped it open, pulling out a dark, fragrant clove cigarette.
"Smoke then fuck?" he asked casually.
The question was entirely transactional, delivered with the exact same flat, even cadence he used when confirming the delivery of a cargo fleet or setting interest rates for the lower tiers of the Fatui. It was his version of consent—a baseline verification of the evening’s agenda, dry and utterly devoid of passion.
"Yeah," you replied, your voice matching his unbothered detachment.
Pantalone struck a match against the side of the box. The sudden flare of sulfur illuminated the sharp, aristocratic lines of his face and the chilling vacancy behind his spectacles. He took a long, slow drag, the tip of the clove cigarette burning a fierce, angry orange in the dimness of the study. The rich, medicinal scent of tobacco and bitter clove instantly filled the stagnant air.
He didn't offer you a drag, nor did he waste time lingering by the hearth. Instead, he stepped toward you, his leather boots clicking softly against the marble perimeter of the room before he reached the thick Persian rug. With his left hand, he caught your jaw, his gloved fingers clamping down with enough pressure to force your mouth open. He took another deep drag, held the smoke in his lungs for a fraction of a second, and then leaned down, exhaling the thick, bitter vapor directly down your throat.
You swallowed the smoke, the harsh sweetness scorching your lungs and bringing that familiar, heavy dizziness that served as the boundary line between the outside world and this room.
But before you could even exhale the breath, Pantalone didn't put the cigarette out. He kept it firmly clamped between his teeth, the thin trail of gray smoke curling up past his glasses, obscuring his eyes behind a hazy, indifferent veil.
With his free hand, he gripped the front of your shirt and violently shoved you backward onto the edge of the heavy mahogany desk. Inkwells rattled and minor ledgers scattered to the floor, but he didn't care. His movements weren't born of a sudden, desperate hunger; they were executed with the brutal, calculated efficiency of an interrogation. He unfastened his trousers, pushing his dark fabric aside, and parted your clothes with a practiced, rough finality. He didn't bother completely undressing you; he merely exposed what he needed, his expression entirely unbothered by the sudden violence of the shift.
When he thrust into you, it was a sudden, punishing force. The sheer, blunt size of him stretched you wide instantly, knocking the remaining air straight out of your chest as he buried himself fully inside your heat. Pantalone didn't pause to let you adjust to the deep, invading ache. He immediately locked into a hard, unforgiving pace, his heavy hips slamming ruthlessly against yours with a rigid, mechanical rhythm that made the heavy desk creak beneath your weight.
The friction was instant and intense, a burning heat building rapidly between your thighs as he bared his length to the root with each long pull, only to drive back in with a heavy, wet thud. But when you looked up at him through the haze of smoke, you found absolutely nothing but ice. He looked entirely separate from what he was doing. He held the cigarette between his index and middle finger now, taking a slow, leisurely drag even as his lower body continued to hit you with ruthless, unyielding force, the slick friction of your bodies echoing loudly in the quiet room. He exhaled the smoke upward toward the ceiling, his face a mask of profound indifference. He was using your body as a piece of machinery, a physical release to burn off the mental stress of managing a global empire, while keeping his mind entirely locked away in his ledgers.
The pleasure began to tighten violently in your gut, a desperate, sharp necessity taking hold of your senses. Your hands clawed at the polished edge of the desk, your legs tangling around his hips instinctively, trying to force a faster reaction, trying to shatter that infuriating, perfect composure as his thick length repeatedly battered against your deep, sensitive core. You let out a broken, ragged sob, your hips stuttering against his as you pushed yourself directly into the point of friction, desperate to break over the edge.
Pantalone’s eyes snapped down to yours, cold and analytical through the rising smoke. He noticed the shift instantly, his brow furrowing with a brief, authoritarian displeasure. Without breaking his heavy, punishing stride, he leaned his forearm heavily across your chest, pinning you flat against the cold wood, completely paralyzing your movements and forcing you to take the full, deep weight of his thrusts.
"Don't cum yet unless I tell you to," he murmured.
His voice wasn't raspy or breathless; it was perfectly level, steady, and entirely dominant. It was a condition of the transaction. He didn't want you slipping into the quiet comfort of an afterglow while he was still using you. He required your absolute, agonizing awareness of every hard, heavy stroke, your walls twitching and clenching helplessly around him, suspended at the peak of frustration simply because it suited his timeline.
You choked back a gasp, your fingers digging into his leather gloves as you forced your body to obey the restriction, your core aching and dripping wet against his thighs as he continued to ruthlessly ride you. The forced denial made the friction excruciatingly sharp, every brutal thrust a deliberate test of your restraint. Pantalone watched the tension ripple through your jaw, a ghost of a cruel, satisfied smirk touching the corner of his lips before he took another slow drag of his cigarette. He continued to fuck you, his pace rigorous, heavy, and entirely detached, the ashes from his cigarette falling onto the dark wood beside your head.
He kept you right on the agonizing verge for minutes, his movements unhurried and mechanical, until he finally reached his own quiet conclusion. He took one last deep pull of the cigarette, his grip on your hips tightening until his fingers bit deep into your skin, driving his length into you one last time to bottom out heavily against your womb. His breath hitched in his throat for three heavy, deliberate seconds as his body went completely rigid against yours, enduring the sharp spike of physical release, filling you deeply without a single sound escaping his lips. He didn't call your name; he didn't press his forehead against yours. He simply took what he needed and let the tension drain from his spine.
As his pulse slowed, he leaned over and carelessly crushed the remains of the cigarette into a crystal ashtray on the corner of the desk. He relaxed his forearm from your chest, freeing your lungs.
"Now," he permitted softly, the word a casual dismissal as he pulled out of you without a single backward glance, leaving a heavy smear of slick and heat between your thighs.
The sudden loss of his heat left you shivering against the cold mahogany as your delayed, ruined climax finally broke over you in violent, helpless waves, leaving you spent and trembling in the dim light.
Pantalone was already standing by the washbasin, wiping his hands and his length with a fresh linen cloth. He adjusted his vest, straightened his cravat, and slid his glasses back into their perfect position on the bridge of his nose. Within moments, his appearance was immaculate, the disarray of the past half-hour completely erased from his person.
He walked back to his chair, sat down, and picked up his fountain pen, the nib scratching against a fresh piece of parchment before you had even finished gathering your clothes from the floor.
"Leave the key on the mantle," he said, his eyes already fixed on his financial columns. "I have a meeting with the Doctor at midnight."
Not Pantalone returning to haunt my thoughts after so long. Welcome back sir, I’ve missed you.
Warnings: Yandereish Content, Implied Stalking, Non-Con Voyerism, Blackmail, Implied mutual masturbation, No Pronouns are used for the reader, my bad writing, anything else I missed, NSFW, 18+
A/N: I don’t think this qualifies as it, but I’m tagging this as Yandere just to be safe. Link to Part 2
Pantalone's vanity is such that he enjoys recording different acts of pleasure, whether they be on himself or with others. He keeps all the videos on a private server that is buried deep within a bank of ordinary Northland Bank servers. Not even the IT department is aware of its existence. Pantalone is savvy enough when it comes to technology that he prefers to maintain the server himself. It spares him the trouble of having to babysit any unintended witnesses to his depravities. God forbid knowledge of the videos becomes common, or worse one of his videos hits the public. The carefully crafted image of himself would shatter in seconds. Leaving him to be humiliated before his peers and the world. It's an idea he doesn't enjoy. Which is why his attention is instantly drawn the second the security protocols on that server are breached.
You hadn't intended to access it. At least that's what you told yourself when you'd found it. You had simply hacked into Northland's mainframe and were taking a look around. It was your hope that you could mine out some useful information that you could sell on the black market. Bank records weren't anything of real value, they were a dime a dozen on the open market. You could care less about those. It was general knowledge, at least amongst your circle of comrades, that Northland was little more than a cover for the Fauti's less than scrupulous practices. Meaning if you could find any information on the organization's plans or movements, you would hit the proverbial gold mine.
When you had discovered the server all the way at the bottom of a nested list, you already had enough information to get you through the next few months. You should have left it alone. But your curiosity got the better of you. The higher security protocols triggered your interest in a way that the standard Northland servers hadn't. This singular server was a puzzle to you and you being you, viewed the stricter restrictions as a challenge. This server's security wasn't a standard system that could be easily overridden. You quickly discovered that the protections around the server were custom made. Meaning its owner had intended for it to be fool proof when it came to keeping any unwanted individuals out. That thought only intrigued you more. What could be so precious that this level of security was required? Was it weapons codes or plans for world domination? Surely whatever was there would be profitable enough that you would never have to work again, right?
After days of trying, to the point that you were nearly exhausted, you finally got in. It had taken a monumental amount of research on your part to figure out a way around the complex coding. What you discovered was well worth your efforts. On a server for one was a treasure trove of videos. All of them private, all of them explicit. You could hardly believe it.
You should have just left well enough alone after that. The knowledge that you could watch the Regrator get off in some of weirdest ways possible should have been enough. Even in your greed, you should have grabbed some of the more disgusting videos and sold them for a large profit. The funds would be more than enough for you to evade the harbinger’s wrath and start a new life elsewhere. Most importantly, after you had accessed the server, you should have checked for additional security measures; namely tracking. If you had, you would have realized that the access records were being monitored. You would have known your IP address and location had been captured. You would have realized that your fate, at least where the Regrator was concerned, was already sealed. Unfortunately for you, that wasn’t what happened. Instead, in your own depravity, you had set an alert to be notified of any updates to the server so you could see what perversion he indulged in next.
Pantalone knew the second the server was breached. He was in the middle of a meeting when he received the notification. It was only by the grace of the heavens that he managed to keep himself contained. Security breaches weren’t an uncommon thing. Northland was a common target for hackers and resistance fighters alike. It was why he laced lies and false plans throughout the servers. Pantalone had more than enough data on what they were looking for. All he needed to do was place it in specific areas so they wouldn’t have cause to go deeper. Not many people were inclined to keep digging after they’d already found the treasure. You were obviously the exception. That told him you were either abnormally greedy or you didn’t know what was good for you. It didn’t matter to him. You had made yourself a target. The question was how best to deal with you? Finding you would be simple. His tracking software would see to that. Pantalone only needed to assess the damage to determine whether he needed to act now or if the matter would keep until his afternoon tea.
After the meeting’s sudden adjournment, in the privacy of the now empty space, the analytics gave him surprisingly good news. Nothing had been taken. You had breached the security, but you hadn’t stolen anything. In fact, all you had done was browsed his videos like it was your going through your own personal library. He supposed for now it wasn’t that bad.Clearly you’d been snooping and that was all. The matter could be fixed with additional security to stop you from coming back. If word of the videos got out, it was something he could easily deny. From his end of things, you had no proof. Even if you’d taken screen captures, you still risked exposing yourself and your less than legal activities. You would have to publicly admit you had committed a crime. If you did, then it was nothing to him to silence you for good. After all, any number of nasty accidents could be arranged and none of them would be traceable to him. All he could do now was wait and see.
It took you a few days to go back and try again. After your first encounter with videos, you’d set the notification and promptly walked away. You’d told yourself the notification was enough. You didn’t need to go back unless he posted something new. The image of him looking so vulnerable though. Of him gasping and moaning and whimpering as he ran his hands over himself was a tough one to forget. Despite everything that made him terrifying, beneath it all, the weakness he willingly put on display was utterly alluring. You knew the videos were for his eyes only. That the exposed nature of them was for him to enjoy. But you couldn’t help but allow your mind to wander back to them. God he had looked so pathetic. Pantalone always projected an image of strength to the public. To see him so weak and needy was addictive. Your own desire to see him make an absolute mess of himself demanded it. Which was why, despite your better judgement, you found your way back into Northland’s systems.
The additional security should have been a red flag. You hadn’t sold what you’d taken a few days earlier, meaning that there was only one reason for the additional firewalls; your visit to the private server had been discovered. Your own need to peer back into Pantalone’s private world dismissed the additional security as little more than red tape. The bank had instituted a new security policy or something like that. Breaches were common, so it’s likely they were attempting to dissuade smaller hackers with new measures. For you though, they weren’t anything. Not after you had figured out how his security worked. You bypassed them easily enough, quickly tunneling down into the treasure trove that rested at the end.
This went on for weeks. You tried not to make it a daily thing as that felt excessive, but every time he posted a new video, which was becoming more frequent, you found yourself going there right away. The temptation to see his latest perversion was simply too great, especially since watching him had helped bring you to some of the best orgasms of your life. At this stage, at least in the back of your mind, you felt he had to know. Different aspects of his videos had changed. It was nothing dramatic, but you had noticed slightly improved lighting, better camera angles, and above all, the mumbled utterances of are you enjoying this as he got himself off. It was hard to believe he enjoyed being watched when he was like this. His image was always so controlled. As you sat in a post orgasmic bliss after his latest video, you wondered if he was doing just that? Was he tailoring this image of himself specifically for you, based on what you enjoyed? You scoffed at the possibility. He didn’t know. He couldn’t know, right?
As you thought about it over the next day or so, you swore to yourself that you’d been careful. You hadn’t given him a way to know you had been there or at the very least you appeased yourself with the idea that he couldn’t find you. You had cracked his security protocol enough that the normal alarms wouldn’t trigger. On his side, you should have looked like a regular user and nothing more. Even if he had figured out specific videos were being watched without his consent, he wouldn’t go so far as to bait you, would he?
Your answer came in the form of another video, one where he explicitly used your name.
The second it passed his lips your entire body went cold. All you could do was blankly stare at the screen as he sat there in all his magnificence, looking utterly proud of himself. For a moment you thought you’d misheard it. He hadn’t said your name, he didn’t know it. Again, you swore to yourself that you had been careful. He couldn’t know anything about you. Then, as if on que, he said it again. This time, with a smirk so sinister you leapt up from your chair just to get away from it. God he knew. Oh fuck, he knew. You immediately went to close the screen, your arousal long forgotten due to the reality that was now seeping in. The Regrator knew what you had been up to. He likely had known for weeks now. It explained the changes and tweaks made to the content. It explained his utterances and questions as he stroked himself. He was imagining you watching him. That fact sent a chill down your spin. He shouldn’t know you exist. Yet he did and worse than that, he was getting off on the fact that you watched him.
Your hand was on the button. You were seconds away from closing the window when his melodic voice washed over you again. “Before you close this darling. Just know, this one tells me how far you got.” As your eyes drifted over to the screen, you saw a shudder ripple its way through his body. On top of everything, the bastard had the nerve to be close. “End the fun too soon and there may be-” He gasped as he ran his fingers over the tip of his cock. “Consequences.” You swallowed, not daring to imagine what those might be. He had your name, which meant he knew how to find you. Even if you tried to run, you wouldn’t get far. Your funds might get you to somewhere like Nod Krai, but you wouldn’t have enough to pay the guilds for their silence. It wasn’t like you were well equipped to survive out in the wild either. To stand a chance of making it there or really anywhere, you would have to take a job in the city. That meant a proper address tied to your name. All it would take was for Pantalone to get a hold of your paperwork. After that, you were a sitting duck.
From the screen, he smiled at you again, moaning your name as his movements grew more erratic. He was going to cum. As you stood there and shook in fear, he was going to have the nerve to cum. “Fair’s fair-” He groaned out another darling. “You obviously enjoy watching me.” He paused long enough to get the rest of the sentence out. “It’s only right I should get to see you.” Your stomach collapsed to the point that you felt like you were going to be ill. He wasn’t serious. “You’ve…” He groaned in satisfaction as he teased the tip of his cock with his fingers. “Definitely caught my attention dearest.” Pantalone tightened his grip slightly, his hips jerking and stuttering as his movements grew messier. He was getting close now. You could see it in the way he furrowed his brow. The regrator was desperate to hold on, but you knew him well enough to know that wouldn’t be the case. The second he drew his bottom lip into his mouth, it was over. In what you would consider a truly glorious display, Pantalone came moaning your name.
“You-” His voice was heady with lust as he came down from his orgasm; pleasure and satisfaction dripping from every single word. It was as annoying as it was alluring. You had just watched the regrator get off to you or at least the idea of what he was going to do to you. Despite everything you were feeling in the moment, you couldn’t help but be a little flattered. “Have 24 hours to respond. I won’t bother with access rights. If you’re clever enough to get through my security, then I’m sure you're clever enough to figure out how to get a video of your own onto this server.” You gapped at that your temporary sense of pride long forgotten. Not only did the bastard want payback, but he was going to set you up for failure to get it? It had taken you days to understand how the server worked. Even then you’d only barely gotten into it with read-only access. Now he expected you to update your permissions, on your own? In less than 24 hours? He had to be insane. “I do hope you’ll give me a good show. After all, I’ve made quite the effort for you. The least you can do is return the favor.” The pause after that overtook everything. Your spinning mind automatically went into overdrive. What were you supposed to do? What could you do? You had hacked your way into the private server of one of the most powerful men in Sneznaya and stolen from his public servers. That alone was enough to earn you a ticket to jail. Then, with his full knowledge, but not his consent, you had been pleasuring yourself to him for weeks. Now, he was demanding compensation in the most humiliating way possible. He couldn’t actually expect you to film yourself, could he? At least not in the same method he did for himself. Surely he was joking. He had to be. “If I don’t see anything from you as of the time you started this little video then I’ll take that as an invitation to see you in person so that we might experience this little delight together. It has been ages since I’ve had anyone fun here.” Your legs automatically gave out. You fumbled your way back into your chair, tears forming in your eyes as reality finished setting in. He was going to make you do it. Come hell or high water, the Regrator would get his way with you. The question was, could you get the video on the server in time or would it be easier to sort this out in person? Despite your lack of funds, could you try to get to another border or at least out on the open sea? Could you swing that before your time ran out? “Before you think I can’t find you, or you believe you can get away, just know I have spies close by watching your every move. If they catch you trying to run, then we’ll meet each other much sooner than expected.” Of course he already had people on you. He’d probably sent them as soon as he’d begun this sick little game with you. “I’m eager to see how you’ll respond dearest.” Your eyes came back up to the screen before you realized they’d fallen away. The sinister smile he’d held the whole time mocked you from the other side of the screen. “Don’t keep me waiting for too long. It ruins the fun.” With one last laugh, the video ended. Leaving you in complete darkness.
What now? Was it worth your time to meet his challenge? Did you really believe you could get the necessary access rights in time or would your time be better served trying something else? You thought about trying to find his spies. There couldn’t be that many, could there? Maybe you could take what you had and buy them off. Maybe you could try to use force as a means of escape. Even if you managed it, there was still the matter of trying to get away. The cities were warmed to make them habitable. But in the frozen tundras of Snezhnaya, you doubted you would make it a mile before you froze. Were those your choices? Comply or die? Was that all he had left you with? You let out a broken sob at the thought.
With tear filled eyes, you looked back at the dark screens. He’d insisted you shouldn’t disappoint him. You knew that applied to your actions as much as your video. If you forced him to wait for nothing, you knew the consequences would become more severe. Right now he had given you a choice. He’d only asked for one video. If you didn’t acquiesce to his request then one could turn into an infinite number with a snap of his fingers. Worse still, he could find you and he could demand that you give him what he wanted in person. If those were your only options, then you preferred to keep him as far away as humanly possible.
With shaking hands, you reached for the keyboard and mouse, closing his video. You had to try, didn’t you? Even if you hated it, even if you failed, you still had to make an effort. Because even the smallest effort might be what stayed his hand. At least, you hoped it did. In all honesty, nothing actually would. Even if by some miracle you managed to meet his deadline, that only opened the door to additional demands. More videos, tougher challenges, and tighter timelines. Because that was the real payoff for him, wasn’t it? The show he wanted wasn’t the video, it was the challenge in getting the video to him. Pantalone wanted to be impressed to the point that he had demanded it. The price of his individual attention was that you show him how capable you really were. He wanted to see if your meddling was a fluke or if you were as competent as you had shown yourself to be. If that was the case, then you decided you would rise to the occasion. As the terror of the situation settled into anxiety, you decided he didn’t matter. You would do what he wanted, but you wouldn’t do it for him, you would do it for yourself. You would prove that you could beat him at his own game, even if you had to humiliate yourself to win.
Your fingers began to work over the keyboard as you opened windows and command prompts. Because like the server, that was the challenge. You became determined to beat the Regrator at his own game, if only to save yourself.
