#Gab | Silhouette

[hildergard]

just thinking about aemond x lowborn!reader (I found myself in love with that trope) he helps her by giving her food, money, clothes, and stuff. but the reader is a younger daughter or lives in a toxic environment and everything is monopolized by her family and when aemond finds out he simply sees red. i'm sorry if this doesn't make sense, but the idea is there!!!

PRECIOUS ★ AEMOND TARGARYEN

PAIRING | Aemond Targaryen x Lowborn!Reader

TAGS | Swearing, suggestive content, dysfunctional family

WORDCOUNT | 2.7k

NOTE | Enjoy this thing I wrote in one sitting and did not edit. If you see any mistake... no you did not. There probably is⏤English is not my first language. In my mind, they are "rich" enough to buy food so I focused on gifts instead. I hope you'll like it nonetheless. I tried to keep it short this time and, for once, I think I succeeded! Thank you for requesting this great prompt <333

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

Downstairs, the intoxicated patrons sang their bawdy songs and shook the walls of the inn. Their lewd rhymes travelled through the dingy floorboards and vanished against your parted lips. 

A hand went up your spine, grazed your shoulders, and stopped on your sweaty neck. 

“Where is it?”

The voice hit the air and sent shivers down your spine. That authoritative tone, those proudly exhaled consonants, those whispered vowels... His words exuded nobility and education and set your whole body ablaze. You closed your eyes for a second and imagined yourself blessed with such gift of the gab, but your sentence fell awkwardly from your bruised lips.

“What do you mean?”

The sticky sheets crumpled under your weight. You squinted to make out the silhouette of your lover. In the moonlight, his hair looked as if it had been woven from the stars. 

“Where is your necklace?" Aemond asked.

Mindlessly, your fingers hit an infinity of naked flesh. You gulped. 

“Oh... Well... I didn't want to wear a beautiful object liked that in Flea Bottom. Thieves are everywhere with the blockade–”

“I gave it to you for you to wear it," he cut you off. 

The pitch-dark night itself could not hide his discontent. 

“I know, my love," you say softly. 

He had been so happy to give it to you. The gold chain and the sapphire still sparkled in your dreams. Sometimes, at night, you would remember Aemond's delicate fingers against your neck, the refreshing coldness of the precious metal on your flesh, its weight against your throat... And then, the sun would tear you from your dreams and the only thing left around your neck would be the knot of your guilt.

“No matter," he finally said. 

Your prince's fingers descended on your chest, brushed against your nipple but did not linger, much to your regret. Aemond got out of bed and left your body cold⏤it was so easy to let yourself be consumed by dragonfire. It burned your heart oh so beautifully. 

Without a word, Aemond bent down and took a packet out of his leather bag. You looked away from his naked body, your cheeks aflame. The many nights you had spent with him, learning the map of his muscles and flesh, had done nothing for your shyness. It died in an explosion of pleasure each night but would always be reborn in the painful awareness left in the vanishing carnal bliss. 

Aemond came back and handed you the gift, one knee resting on the thin mattress. A lump twisted in your throat and rendered you speechless. With a trembling hand, you pulled the ribbon and let the fabric fall to reveal a magnificent dress. 

You closed your eyes for a moment and forced a smile onto your face.

“You shouldn't have," you said through clenched teeth. 

“You say that every time," he laughed. “And you know very well that I will not stop. You deserve to be pampered, my love."

You don't command a nobleman, let alone a Targaryen. Perhaps that was why Aemond kept ignoring your request, for it never changed. Every gift was answered with this phrase. There was no false modesty there, just the familiar, creeping guilt⏤an old enemy coming to torment you. 

“It’s beautiful.”

Your fingers brushed against the blue bodice, where golden threads wove in a fine, expensive, embroidery⏤a huge dragon slumbered in a field of flowers. 

At your words, Aemond smiled brightly and kissed your forehead. His lips left their wet imprint, which you did not wipe away. You would cherish its feeling a little longer. He moved down your cheeks and finally attacked your lips. You groaned and buried your hand in his hair before pressing your chest against his.

“I must go now," he said reluctantly between kisses. 

You stepped back with a sigh and glanced at the window. The hour of the wolf was darkening the sky. Downstairs, the patrons had quietened down. Heavy, awkward footsteps echoed in the corridor and doors slammed. 

At last, the more festive souls were going to bed. 

If you listened carefully, you could hear the bakers already hard at work. The first to rise, they sweetened the dreams of citizens with the sweet and greedy fragrances they distilled in the streets. 

Aemond slumped onto the bed one last time and pulled you in for a last kiss. 

“The next time I see you, I will rip that silk off your body," he smiled before pointing to the discarded dress. 

You nodded, avoiding his gaze, and kissed him one last time. 

Aemond⏤hood falling on his head⏤disappeared with an uttered I love you and left you alone with your guilt. A sigh shook your chest. 

You got dressed and went downstairs, leaving the stains on the linen as the only trace of your love. You absently nodded at Denyse, busy wiping the tables, and set off into the streets of Flea Bottom. 

It would take you a good hour to get to the forge. 

You already longed for your bed on the other side of the town. 

Flea Bottom, for all its faults, provided the discretion you needed to meet your prince every night. It was Aemond who had shown you this little inn after you refused to use the secret passages leading to the Red Keep⏤you would not throw yourself into the dragon's jaws.  

Your feet cursed you, but your heart thanked you for these precious moments⏤away from the reproaches and the forge, the vices of the court and the pressure of power. In this dingy room, the Prince softened and removed his iron mask to reveal the gentle soul hidden behind it, while you forgot the shrill cries that tormented your days. 

It took you longer than usual to reach the Street of Steel. As you passed through the wooden door, the hour of the Nightingale was casting its first rays of sunshine and waking up the workers. 

Your mother was waiting for you, arms crossed and a bucket of water at her feet. 

Without delay, she ripped the dress from your hands and replaced it with the bucket. A few drops splashed onto you, soaking the front of your sweaty tunic. 

“Where did you get that?” her sharp voice asked. “You stole it, didn’t you? How many times do I have to tell you–”

“I didn’t– It's not–”

She cut you off before you could come up with an excuse.

Her fingernails scraped at the embroidery, which held firm. 

“That’s some good work..." she mumbled. “We'll get a few silver stags out of it... Maybe enough to repair the oven. Meredyth? Meredyth! Come downstairs and take this to the weaver next door!”

You held out a shaking hand to try and retrieve the dress, but your mother glared at you. You lowered your head, your eyes wet. Aemond's face appeared in your thoughts and the guilt⏤always there⏤ignited. 

You no longer had the strength to fight the inevitable. Dawn, beautiful as it was, always had its share of disappointments in store for you. Every morning, your prince's gifts were snatched from you without remorse and sold to the nearest merchant. All that remained of your jewels and dresses was a thick leather purse hidden under the floor of your parents' bedroom⏤both took great pleasure in lecturing you about stealing and sinning. 

Your mother could pretend all she wanted to be pious and kind, a good believer with a guiltless conscience, but you knew the truth. She would never go through with her threats, far too happy with the gold dragons piling up under her pillow. 

Your sister ran down the stairs and grabbed the package before examining its contents. 

“Oh, Mum, it's so beautiful…” She took the dress out of its wrapping and pressed it to her chest before twirling around, not minding the dirt on the silk with her ashen fingers. “Can we keep it?”

Your mother scoffed. 

“To do what? You don't need an embroidered dress to forge swords and shoe horses. Why don't you go and see if Claere can take it? And you!" she turned back to you. “Clean the grindstone. You’ll sharpen the commissions next. Corwyn isn't here.”  

The knot tightened around your neck as you nodded and disappeared into the workshop. 

The hours passed. Sweat stuck to your forehead and the sparks from the grindstone bit your fingers. At last⏤to your delight⏤ nine o'clock struck the end of the day. You gave Duncan⏤a golden cloak⏤the dagger he had ordered, pocketed the fifty silver stags and wished him a good evening. 

When he closed the door, you hurried up to your room, washed yourself with the bucket of cold water, put on one of your best dresses and ran to Flea Bottom, ignoring your mother's cries, which faded under the beating of your soles. 

You arrived at the inn out of breath, but happy to be away from home. Denyse greeted you with a wink and watched you stride up the stairs. The steps creaked under your weight, but you did not care. Habit and euphoria carried you to an innocuous door. 

You opened it and a body flung itself against yours. A smile lit up your face. Aemond did not wait and pulled you to the bed. 

As his lips peppered your neck with kisses, his hands slipped under your body and roamed the length of your back. They clung to your dress and sought out the threads of your bodice, but suddenly stopped. You tensed. Gently, Aemond straightened up. He looked at you before his eye fell on your cotton dress.

“What is this?” 

“Aemond, I–” 

“Wasn't it to your liking? You should have told me. I would have asked the royal weaver to make the necessary alterations. We just received Essos fabrics. Perhaps it would have been wiser to talk to you about it before commissioning it,” he frowned. 

“It was perfect.”

“Was?”

You sighed and embraced him. Immediately, Aemond's hands searched for yours. Your fingers intertwined. He pulled you against him and tucked his chin into your neck. As he spoke, his breaths hit your skin and made you shiver. 

“What are you not telling me, my love?”

His closeness calmed you. With the tip of your pointer finger, you brushed his back and caressed the hollow of his spine. Your hand came to rest on the small of his back and traced invented letters that told of all the love you felt for him. He smiled against your neck and kissed it, understanding the gibberish you were writing with an ignorant hand. 

The language of love knew no illiteracy.

“Y/N?”

Your sigh struggled to come out, blocked by the muscular torso against your chest. It struggled to find its way to your lips and  when it did come out, it poured all its guilt into the air before suffocating you. 

“It's just that... I mean... Don't get angry, please, I couldn't bear it,” you begged.

“Never, my love. Now tell me.” 

“Your gifts… My parents… They sell them.” 

He straightened up and sought your gaze, but you turned your head away. Guilt lacerated your throat. You swallowed to get rid of the horrible feeling, but it remained. 

The Gods were punishing you. 

“They sell them and use the gold for the forge or when they feel like it.”  

He said nothing, which worried you. 

“Stop offering me more," you stammered. “I beg you, Aemond. I can't bear the guilt any longer. Please, Aemond. You must understand…”

He hushed you and gently caressed your cheek. You took refuge in the warmth of his palm and closed your eyes. His lips wiped away the few tears that rolled down your cheekbone. 

“It is all right.”

“Is it?”

“Yes, my sweet. Now please, do not cry. I cannot bear this sight.”

After your conversation, Aemond stopped bringing you gifts. Your heart sank, but you told yourself that it was for the best⏤your parents would, at last, no longer monopolise his fortune. Now, all your prince had left to offer you were his caresses and words, but you felt richer than if he had given you a piece of jewellery. 

Your hammer struck the iron, sending sparks flying. They nicked at your cheeks but did not dim the smile on your face. Your thoughts drifted back to last night, Aemond's warm skin against yours, his hand between your thighs, his warmth and his thrusts… 

A metallic noise brought you back to reality. You raised your head and blinked, expecting to find Corwyn in the workshop, but there was only you. 

It comes from the shop, you realised. 

You frowned⏤thinking about the person behind the counter⏤and wiped your hands on an old towel before walking to the front. Worry settled in your chest as you quickened your pace. 

Your father never dropped his tools. Years of experience had turned his hammer into a part of his hand. He was no longer the young apprentice you or your siblings still were. 

You stumbled into the shop. 

“M’prince!" your father stammered. “To what do we owe this honour?”

Your wide eyes met Aemond's satisfied one. The towel fell to the floor. 

“Would you like a sword? I have several that might please you. No Valyrian steel around here unfortunately," he chuckled, "but they cut just as good.”

“I’ve come to discuss your daughter's affairs.” 

“Meredyth?” 

“Your youngest daughter," the Prince replied. 

Your father gave you an incredulous look when you reached him. His fist tightened around the hammer he had picked up. 

“I heard a rumour that rather annoys me, I must admit. A rumour about valuable objects that have an unfortunate tendency to disappear.”

Your father grabbed your upper arm to keep you in line⏤ unwilling to sully his image in front of the Prince Regent. 

“Her mother and I...! We've told her a hundred times not to steal! She's a good girl, m’prince. She's just a little... lost. Youth, you know," he smiled nervously. “No need to make a big deal of it. Don't you think?”

“Oh, your daughter is innocent. You are the problem, sir.” 

“M-me?”

“You see, those objects were gifts. From me, might I add. And I take great offence that you not only stole them but shamelessly sold them for your own gain, embezzling money from the crown. This is an act of treason, did you know that? I could have your head for this.”

You massaged the bridge of your nose between two fingers and sighed, cursing your lover's hot blood and praying to the Gods to give you the strength. Three eyes burned at your temple⏤two of embarrassment, one of pride. You met your father's gaze and shrugged. 

“I… I beg your pardon, m’prince. We didn't know.” 

Your father set down his hammer on the counter and curtsied. His callused fingers waved, unsure of what to do, before plunging into the centre pocket of his leather apron. 

The prince stared at your father for a few more seconds, gloating as he squirmed with embarrassment, and moved towards you. Gently, he took hold of your wrist. You gasped when a cold sensation touched your hand. You looked down and found a magnificent ring on your finger⏤a fine circle of twisted gold with several sparkling sapphires.

“And there it was. Something as precious as you," he smiled, stroking the jewel with his thumb. “A thousand stones could not compare with your eyes, but I must admit I cannot wait to see it on your finger tonight. It will be all the more beautiful under the moonlight.”

Aemond kissed your hand before straightening up to glare at your father. 

“If I hear this ring has been sold, you will suffer the consequences. Is that clear?”

“Yes, m’prince.”

“Hmm. Good.”

He left the forge with a confident step and slammed the door behind him. 

Silence stretched on. Your teary eyes remained riveted on the jewel. The imprint of his kiss still warmed the back of your hand and made your heart race. You shook your fingers, welcoming this new weight, and smiled brightly.  

After several minutes, your father, his mouth ajar, finally turned to you. 

“Now, what on earth did you do to seduce a prince, girl?

[hopplessilse]

Dylan's stepfather

bsf!Joel x f!reader Rating: 18+ Halloween special.

Other stories:

The nanny x Joel Insta!Joel serie masterlist

Summary: From the first time you met your boyfriend's stepfather, you found him quite attractive. You could see how his gaze towards you changed over the months. At his neighbor's party, you see that he wants you too.

Warnings: age gab (joel in his 40's, reader early 20's) pet names, comfort person, smut, teasing, fingering, oral (f! receiving), infidelity (on both sides), soft! joel

A/N: just have this in mind, he's a nice stepdad, I don't support infidelity, I just wanted to share my dirty thoughts that's it.

You never thought your relationship with Dylan would go this far.

From the first moment you met him you knew he would be an important person in your life, you were different in so many ways. You were friends from the beginning, but as a man he didn't avoid having a crush on you, he had confessed it to you at a party, you only remember rejecting him at the time because you only saw him as your friend.

But surprise… Because of how close you were he knew everything about you, he knew when something was wrong, he was always with you when you needed a shoulder, when you needed advice. You always appreciated him for that, and from one moment to the next you saw him with different eyes. He was no longer just your best friend, but a guy who would always be there for you, that you could trust and turn to whenever you wanted.

All went to shit when you decided to kiss him, that kiss led to more, and that more became a new story for both of you.

They decided to keep the relationship as smooth as possible, they didn't want to rush things, everything in their own time.

Despite being best friends, you still didn't know his family, because you never went to his house, whenever you went out it was to fairs, to the movies or with other friends to parties. But you knew his dad had left when he was 6 years old, and you knew his mom had a partner he'd been with for 5 years.

On one of those nights out, he let you sleep at his house since you were too drunk to go home. You didn't sleep more than 3 hours, you woke up trying not to wake him, took your boots in hand and left the room quietly. You staggered down the stairs a little from sleep and the alcohol you had in your system.

When you reached the bottom of the stairs one of your boots fell out of your hands, you cursed under your breath since the house was in total silence and total darkness, you lifted it up and at the same time the light in the kitchen that was at the back came on illuminating part of the living room and the front door.

You froze at the sight of Dylan's stepfather leaning back on the kitchen doorstep. It was the first time you'd seen him in person. All drunk, disheveled and barefoot, what a great introduction.

"Who is love?" a female voice sounded in the background in the kitchen, a female silhouette peeked out from behind the man who kept watching you from head to toe, when you saw the lady you knew it was Dylan's mom, she looked a lot like him.

"Oh," she covered her mouth when he saw you, "Hello," she said your name

"Hi" You looked at both of them with your eyes narrowed by the light "I'm sorry, I didn't want to bother anyone, I was leaving" You stepped to the front door to take the doorknob in your hands

"don't worry darlin, be careful"

You just turned around to give them both a smile and quickly left the house.

That had been your introduction to the parents of your best friend, now boyfriend named Dylan.

After that, Dylan decided that it would be prudent to introduce you formally, since his mother already knew about you and it would be best if she knew you in a better state.

It had already been 4 months since that meeting and since he introduced you to his parents. Better circumstances in meeting your mother-in-law and father-in-law… That you found really attractive, it was all a dream. He was cute, gentlemanly, he was funny, he had a dreamy smile, his big, stocky body, you knew he was a contractor, that's why he was so good.

You don't know how many times you've dreamed about him since you met him. It was agony to go to his house and see him sitting on the couch with a beer in hand, sometimes he wore shorts, other times he came home from work, they were the best because you could see him come home at night, Ready for dinner, but before he always went to bathe to look presentable, and you were grateful for it since you could appreciate the way his hair looked wet, his wet curls falling down his forehead, the smell of soap on his skin, a sensual man you wanted to take you right in the kitchen, at the table where he ate with his family.

He always treated you well, invited you to dinner with them, you went out with them, and even when Dylan was busy and didn't listen to you, he would invite you to watch the football game with him. Those moments were the ones you cherished the most. Those were the only minutes where you could be close to him, rubbing your knee against his, laughing along with him, talking about his afternoons, where you could appreciate his beauty more closely for a few more minutes.

Your friend told you that you were obsessed with your boyfriend's stepfather, as much as you wanted it to be a lie, it wasn't, she told you that you should mess with him once and for all to end the agony, that you should do it to see if it was just a whim or you really liked it.

It was crazy for you to think you could do such a thing. You knew it would be hard since Joel Miller doesn't look like the easy guy, he was going to give you too many buts for being his stepson's girlfriend or worse, think you're crazy for trying to mess with him.

On one of those evenings, Dylan invited you to a costume party his neighbor would be giving. He told you that normally his neighbor likes to give parties and they always go, according to him there is always something new, something that makes it different from all the previous ones, this time would not be the exception.

Being in his neighbor's backyard you realized that they all knew each other, they were all close. You felt a little out of place because everyone was getting to know you for being Dylan's new girlfriend, yuck.

You had forgotten the disgust for those titles.

Everyone was raving about how beautiful you were, how beautiful you looked in your dorothy dress, what you wore more than anything to get Joel's attention with the neckline and how small it was, so much so that when you sat down next to him you noticed that he looked away from your thighs when he saw that the dress had gone up revealing more of them.

On the other hand, he was dressed as a pirate, he looked ridiculously sexy, with the hat and the dark t-shirt that was open the first two buttons revealing his chest with pubic hair.

The food was pleasant, you could feel his gaze on you from time to time, he would let his eyes fall on you when Dylan talked, since you were in the middle of both of them, it was a good opportunity to be able to appreciate you.

You were drinking from your glass when his voice snapped you out of your thoughts.

"Boring?"

You turned to look at him by lowering the glass and setting it down on the table. He had that cute smile that he always gives you when the two of you are alone.

"Not really, I'm waiting for the action Dylan promised me" you smiled coquettishly at him as you turned a little in your seat facing him

"Mmh, I'm sure this time it's going to be karaoke," he said, mimicking your action and putting his arm behind your seat, brushing his fingers against your right shoulder.

"Why do you think that?" You crossed your right leg over your left, swung it a little so that your leg touched his which was covered by his dark pants and boots.

His body was giving you signals, as he brought his leg closer to yours

"Trevor likes to sing, I always hear him through the patio door"

Both of you laughed and stared at each other for a while, until you decided to speak

"Have you come to many of these parties?" You leaned your arm against the back of your chair, your hand hovering near his bare forearm

"Amm I haven't always had the taste, I've only been in 2" He took his beer and drank from it while watching you

You frowned, "but… You've lived here for 5 years haven't you?" your voice dropped when you say the last thing

"haha no honey"

Honey!? It was the first time he had called you anything other than your name

"I've only lived here 2 years, the parties I've had" he smiled at you and you smiled back

You knew he was going to tell you something, but Dylan's mom's voice came in.

"Honey, could you help Trevor put his horns down," she said, leaning back on the table with both hands and making puppy dog eyes

Joel removed his hand from behind your chair and stood up grunting on the spot, before he walked away he turned to look at you and said

"I told you so"

You smiled as you watched him walk away. Forgetting that Dylan's mom was still at the table, dressed as a pirate.

"What did he tell you?" You turned to look at her with the stupid smile on your lips, you just laughed awkwardly

"We were talking about what would be the big surprise this time, and he said karaoke" You gave her a smile and she just smiled a little

"Always know before everyone" she looked at you for a few more seconds while you nodded to her answer and then spoke again "I'll be back now, have fun darling"

"Thank you," you said as she walked away

Dylan was by your side, he was dressed up as the joker because he didn't like the wizard of oz, on the other hand he didn't pay attention to you, whenever he was with people he knew from a long time ago he forgot about you, he concentrated more on his conversation with that person, you wanted him to include you in his conversations.

You sat for a long time doing nothing, watching in the distance Joel connecting the speakers with his ridiculous but sexy pirate costume, you saw how he talked to Trevor animatedly, the smiles he gave to Dylan's mom. Whenever you see her remember that he's her partner, you remember how twisted it all is, how wrong it is to want him, especially since he's Dylan's stepfather. He's been there for him every step of the way, watched him grow up and been a father figure to him from the first moment he met him.

From drinking so much soda your bladder was about to explode, you couldn't help but wrinkle your nose from the urge to urinate. You turned to look at Dylan to touch him on the shoulder and get his attention, he turned to look at you with his eyes open.

"What happened?" he said a little quickly

"I need to go to the bathroom," you said in a whisper

"Go up the stairs, it´s on the right side at the end of the hallway" The music was present and on top of that he spoke too fast that you barely understood him.

You just nodded and he turned to continue their conversation.

You got up sighing heavily, smoothed your dress, tried to grab it with your hands as the air was lifting it up and the people around you were watching you. In the distance you saw Joel by the speakers talking to Mr. Trevor, you walked up to him and touched his shoulder, he turned and smiled at you.

"Hey… Do you know where the bathroom is?" You moved closer to his ear so you could talk to him, as the music was loud and you were both standing next to them.

He came close to your ear to speak to you and your skin crawled as you felt his hot breath close to your skin.

"it´s on the second floor," he said, almost shouting, as soon as you heard his voice over the music

"Eeh!?" you looked at him confused, pointing to your ear and horn, implying that you didn't hear him

He just sighed, turned to see Trevor whispering something in his ear, then took your arm and led you to the steps that led to the door of the living room. Once inside the house, which remained in absolute silence and with some table lamps on, giving a subdued atmosphere, he turned to look at you while he let go of your arm and pointed to the stairs that were in the hallway.

"To your right, the last door at the back," he said as he walked around the room picking up some cans that were on the coffee table

You walked over to the stairs and looked up, the entire second floor was in complete darkness. You swallowed and looked at him, you saw how he left the cans in a bag near the kitchen and he turned to look at you, he laughed when he saw that you were still at the top of the stairs.

"What's wrong?" he came to your side and turned upwards and then turned his eyes back to you, "Are you afraid of the dark?" he let out a small laugh in mockery

You looked at him and fell silent, answering his question.

"For God's sake, honey" he sighed, again that name, it would be your end if he called you that way again "Let's go" he waved with his hand for you to follow him upstairs.

You climbed the stairs behind him, trying to see where you were stepping. You passed through the corridor that was dimly lit by the light that came through the windows that looked out onto the courtyard where the party was going on.Suddenly, Joel stopped in front of a white door and beckoned you in.

"The bathroom" He opened the door for you and turned on the light, coming out of it to let you in

"There's no light in the hallway?" You stood at the entrance to the bathroom looking at him in the darkness

"Probably yes, but he doesn't like to have the lights on" You could see the sparkle in his eyes because of the little light that came in, he looked so attractive in the dark.

"Can you wait for me?" you gave him your puppy look as you leaned your cheek against the door and looked at him from under your eyelashes

You heard him curse under his breath and let out a heavy sigh looking out the window and then returning his gaze to you, he just nodded and you saw him leaning against the wall in front of the window and to the side of the bathroom.

You just smiled and closed the door.

When you closed the door the atmosphere changed, you felt a sudden pain in your chest and stomach, anguish? Nerves? You looked in the mirror and just smiled, a nervous smile.

You relieved yourself and then washed your hands, wet your braids that hung at both ends of your shoulders. You looked in the mirror and your self-esteem went up, you really looked great in the costume, you hoped Joel had made a comment about it, you longed for a 'you look beautiful in that dress' 'wizard of oz, I like that movie' something that made you feel special.

You decided it was time to leave, Joel would probably be gone by now and you'd have to go down the hall of horror by yourself. You opened the door with your eyes down and when you pulled it up or surprise, Joel was still there, leaning against the wall with the light of his cell phone shining on his face. He turned it off when he noticed your presence, he smiled at you.

"All right?" He looked you up and down checking that everything was in order.

"All right" you smiled at him and for a moment you thought about it…

You had it right in front of you, alone, in a dark hallway that was only lit by the light of the bathroom and the dim light of the patio. He looked at you a little confused as you fell silent while you watched him, you couldn't think of anything else to say other than…

"Could you help me with something…?" You looked into his eyes trying not to see or hear you nervously

He pulled away from the wall to approach the bathroom door and look inside, look at you from above.

"How can I help you?" he said almost in a whisper, causing his voice to come out hoarse and deep.

"Can you come in?" you stepped aside, making room for him to enter the bathroom

You saw how his eyes swept over the bathroom, he was thinking about it, you sighed silently, you recoiled when you saw him come in and close the door behind him. You leaned against the sink while you looked at him, he was looking at you from the door, leaning back and you could notice a bulge in his pants, it wasn't that noticeable but you noticed it easily, you hadn't even done anything and it was already like that.

You turned around with your back to him, you looked at him in the mirror and noticed that he ran his eyes down your legs while keeping his mouth half open, you smiled the moment his eyes connected with yours.

"Could you squeeze my corset please" you said it in the most seductive, cute and flirtatious tone you could, you looked at it over your eyelashes wiggling them while tilting your head to the side.

Joel didn't say anything, just approached you from behind, stopped, and delicately ran his hands over the fabric around your waist. You felt his hands untie the knot of your dress, suddenly he pulled the ribbons hard and you let out a groan. He look at you through the reflection of the mirror waiting for you to say something, you just looked at it.

"That hard, is it alright?" Again his voice sounded hoarse from deep in his throat

"Yes… it´s alright" you couldn't stop looking at him with those eyes, you knew they drove him crazy, especially since that's how Dylan's mom looked at him… always looked at him like that, always.

He tied your bows back into a bun, when he finished he left his hands resting on your lower back, his gaze was lost somewhere on it. You jumped at the feel of his hands on the hem of your dress, his fingers brushing against the skin of your thighs.

"This dress is too small to be Dorothy" his gaze was still behind you

"It was the only one they had" you said in a small whisper, now your voice came out nervous

"The only one" he repeated while letting out a laugh, he looked up and looked straight into your eyes, he was much taller than you, despite wearing heels he was still tall, so you could see his face perfectly on top of yours. You noticed that his eyes turned dark and his smile faded and his jaw hardened

"Dylan doesn't like Wizard of Oz."

"I know" you slowly turned to face him, you looked up at him while he lowered his gaze with his face still serious.

You caressed his veiny arms, felt him tense under your touch, couldn't help but bring your body closer to his and felt a series of emotions and sensations as you felt his bulge near your pelvis.

Oh my! It felt big, it definitely was, you had no doubt about it.

He, for his part, closed his eyes at the contact.

"I used it for you," you leaned up and whispered close to his lips. That was the end for him to lose his sanity.

You saw him abruptly walk away from you, you saw him go to the switch and turn off the light in the bathroom, the only light coming in was the backyard light through the window next to you. He come back to you and take you by the face delicately to join your lips in a slow but sensual kiss at the same time. You felt his tongue ask for access and you opened your lips for it to enter, you couldn't help but make a moan from the pressure that his mouth was making on yours.

You placed both hands at the ends of his arms, stroking up and down stopping at his wrists. His hands went down your sides, your neck, your arms, until they reached your waist and surrounded it with both arms drawing you to him.

Joel pulled you towards him so that your buttocks squealed through the sink material, making your dress ride up more revealing your white cotton panties that you were wearing. The new posture made you couldn't help but lift both legs and encircle his waist and if possible be closer to him feeling his hard erection touch your panties. Because of the friction, Joel couldn't help but let out a groan in your throat.

You couldn't imagine a hotter scenario than this, and that it was with Joel.

Joel couldn't help but touch you desperately, he ran his hands down your thighs going up under the fabric, lifted you up a little so he could put his hands under your buttocks and squeeze them in the most delicious way, he was massaging them while his tongue ran over your mouth.

You parted for lack of breath and a trickle of saliva was present between your lips.

"I want to taste you so damn bad," Joel's words came out between gasps, trying to get the air back in his lungs.

"I want to taste you too" You looked at him desperately and put your right hand on his growing erection, gasping as you felt the size and thickness under the pants. Joel couldn't help but let out a laugh when he saw your reaction.

"You can take it, I know that little mouth can" he left a kiss on your lips as he walked away you gasped "but tonight it's about you and this one" his right hand left your buttocks to position itself between your legs and touch your clit on the fabric of your panties, you gasped on contact "this pretty pussy that cries desperately to be tested"

"Joel. . . Please" you cried as you felt the friction between his fingers and your clit, the pain you felt was unbearable, you needed to free yourself from that pressure

"I'm desperate too honey" the words came from his lips as he put his hands in your dress and grabbing the beginning of your panties he lowered them little by little letting them fall to the floor.

From one moment to the next Joel was kneeling in front of you, holding your thighs and resting one of them on his shoulder, while your other leg is more open and your heel resting on the dresser, you were at his disposal, completely. You felt the air from the window enter and touch your pussy that was crying out loud to feel Joel.

“so beautiful” his words were getting lost in the skin of your inner thigh as he moved up with delicate kisses along it. He stopped when he was inches from your clit. You felt his breath caress your wet entrance and you couldn't help but moan in desperation, grabbing his hair by the nape of his neck to bring him closer.

He just laughed and finally joined his lips with your vaginal lips. A loud whimper left your lips as you threw your head back.

“Calm down, sweetheart, you must be careful with those cute moans.” His hand that was holding your leg open, he directed it to your lips to open them wide with his fingers and have better access to your clit. He approached it and with the tip of his tongue he began to touch it from one side to the other.

It was impossible for you to stay silent, you had fantasized about this moment for a while, and just when it came to pass, it was at a damn party full of people, including your respective partners. With your right hand you covered your whimpers but you couldn't help but uncover it to hold Joel's hair with both hands and pull him closer to you.

Joel realized that it was difficult for you to stay silent, you only saw how he left his place to get up and stand in front of you. You looked at him confused, you were about to protest when you saw that he took off the bandana that he was wearing on his wrist and without warning he put it over your mouth, tying it around the back of your head. The bandana got between your lips and your teeth clenched it.

“I need you to stay quiet so I can give you the best oral orgasm you will ever have.”

Hell yeah

Just hearing that husky voice with that southern accent could make you come in seconds. You just nodded, seeing him with crystallized eyes screaming for him to end your agony.

He returned to position himself between your legs and without warning he buried his head between your legs, you let out a merciless moan.

“aahh” you moaned through the red fabric.

The movements that Joel made with his lips and tongue were forbidden, inappropriate, he was attached to you like a hungry puppy to its mother. He accelerated and slowed down the pace of his tongue when he touched your clit, as you could imagine it was red from so much friction and suffering. You felt his tongue pass through your entrance, you felt how he put it in and out to slide it back through your folds and reach your clitoris to suck on it. You were afraid that the bandana wouldn't be enough to silence your whimpers and moans from the guests below.

You were so close when Joel pulled away and sat up. Your vision was blurred with tears, your body arched asking for more, you needed to finish as soon as possible or you would break right then. Joel, he can notice your suffering and he dedicate some words of consolation to you.

“I'm going to give it to you,” he looked at you over your eyelashes, joining his forehead with yours to say in a whisper, “but I need it between my fingers.”

Those last words were accompanied by a moan from you while his fingers separated your folds, making their way to your entrance. When you felt two of his fingers enter slowly, you whimpered, shedding a tear. At no time did you separate your eyes from his, his gaze was full of desire, you could see that the wait also hurt him. He was admiring every expression your face made when you felt his fingers inside you, the way your lips trembled and opened, letting out little moans asking for more, the way you drew your eyebrows together, how you threw your head back in pleasure, the way you moved your body along with his fingers, how your body arched from the pleasure his fingers provided.

If that was because of his fingers, he couldn't imagine how he would have you on his cock

His fingers had a firm and constant movement, moving in and out of you quickly. He needed to feel you as soon as possible, he accelerated his movements while with his other hand he caressed your red clit, your breathing was labored and accelerated, creating a hot aura on your chest.

"Cum on my fingers darling, be a good girl and cum.” That was the last thing you heard before you lost your sanity and collapsed on his fingers.

Both of your hands ended up on his arms, you held him with such great strength that you would surely leave marks from your nails on his skin. Your moans and whimpers filled the bathroom echoing off the walls, Joel held you with his free arm so you wouldn't lose your balance and hit the mirror.

A few seconds passed, you had your head resting on his chest, his fingers had already left your pussy, both of his arms held you by the waist, caressing it over the fabric of your dress. While you tried to regulate your breathing, your legs trembled from the effort and pressure they exerted. This was you, a mess thanks to Joel Miller.

“Do you need a few more minutes?” Joel's voice returned to the room

You let out a heavy sigh and nodded your head still on his chest. You slowly raised your head as you felt Joel's hands untie the knot of the bandana that still covered your lips, he removed it and massaged your cheeks and then leaned in and placed a kiss on your lips.

You smiled weakly at him.

"are you okey?" He asked you with a concerned tone in his voice.

"Yes...just” you laughed nervously “that was great”

you said looking him in the eyes, he gave you a smile and kissed your forehead

“I'll go to the bathroom in the other room, come down to the party or someone will notice.”

“okay”

You got off the sink and reached over to grab some paper to clean yourself, you threw the paper away and bent over so you could grab your panties off the floor and put them on. Joel gave you one last look before leaving the bathroom, you heard the door to the other room close and that's when you left the bathroom.

Once you were at the party again, you realized that everything was still the same, they were singing with the music at a questionable volume, but you were grateful for that.

Dylan was near the pool talking with his friends, and his mother was at a table chatting animatedly with one of her neighbors. Everything was normal, no one noticed your lack of presence. You stayed close to where the beers were while you drank one, in the distance you saw how Joel was leaving the house, as if nothing had happened, his clothes arranged, his hat on and the damn bandana with which he covered your mouth, was put on your wrist.

You watched as he returned to Trevor. You knew he felt your gaze because shortly afterward he turned to see you, with that damn smile.

You didn't know when it would happen again, or if it would happen again….but you looked forward to that day.

[chestcongestion]

"Hhnnk! Hhhdt-! Hh-hhhHhtzhh! Hhnt-"

A pinches their nostrils shut, clenching their jaw and grinding their teeth as watery mess rumbles around in their sinuses, tickling their sensitive nares and making their breaths hitch.

They peek around the wall they're using as a hiding place, gazing at the gaggle of silhouettes across the street, sighing in relief when they realize they haven't been noticed.

"H-HhhDdt'shoo! HnK'tSHH-shoo!"

A's shoulders hunch up around their ears, and they struggle to let out a small, watery sniffle, dabbing at their nose with a cloth and wincing, noticing a few mutters of "Did you hear that?" from the cluster of shadows.

"Real smooth, A, what happened to 'silence is our greatest asset'?!" B whispers, imitating A's previous statement with rolled eyes and a mocking inflection.

"There's a difference, you were gabbing like a schoolgirl, I'm hunched behind a brick wall in the rain with a head cold!" A hisses, still whispering far more effectively than B, even with the scratchiness of their voice.

"Oh boo-hoo," B teases, sticking out their tongue.

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

☠️ Something Dread, Something Red: Chapter Thirty-Seven

Something Dread, Something Red: Stuck in a proposal to a Marine Commodore, you escape minutes before your wedding in one last ditch effort to avoid getting married to a tyrant. Barely making it to the port of your town, you stumble across a ship just starting to leave and beg for passage off the island. You fail to notice that the people you beg for help, are pirates.

Warnings: Alcohol.

To Note: “Red Haired” Shanks x FemReader

Word Count: ~3.4k

Previous | Masterlist | Next

"Are you sure he invited us?" you ask, giving your fiancé a very stern and scrutinous look. You were on your way to Kuraigana Island, Mihawk's place of residence, and you were wondering if the poor man even knew of Shanks' plans.

A smirk tugs at Shanks' lips. "Mihawk? He's aware of everything. Trust me, he's probably already preparing some sarcastic remark for when we arrive. Did I mention he has a very impressive wine cellar?"

You raise an eyebrow. "So our wedding will be entirely based on the fact that Mihawk has impeccable taste in wine?"

Shanks chuckles. "Not entirely. Mihawk's an old friend. It's good to catch up once in a while. He's also a captain which means he can officiate our wedding, treasure. Don't worry, everything will work out." With that Shanks leaves you at the stern, glowering at the idea of dropping unannounced.

Well, the Red Force will continue to sail smoothly towards the dark and foreboding Kuraigana Island in the distance regardless of your wish for proper decorum. As the Red Force draws near, you can see the silhouette of Mihawk's castle looms against the horizon, a stark contrast to the vibrant, bustling atmosphere of your pirate ship. Your heart races with anticipation and unease.

"Land ho!" Yasopp shouts from the crow's nest.

The Red Force slows down, its massive hull creaking as it approaches the dock at the abandoned harbor. You clutch the railing, peering into the thick fog that blankets Kuraigana Island. The place feels otherworldly, almost like a forgotten realm.

“Why is the whole island so dark and gloomy?” you ask, unable to hide the apprehension in your voice.

Benn Beckman steps beside you, his ever-present cigarette glowing dimly in the mist. “It wasn’t always like this,” he begins, his voice carrying a weight of history. “Years ago, this island was home to the Shikkearu Kingdom. It thrived until war and calamity reduced it to ruins.”

You look around, noticing how the desolation seems to seep into every crevice of the island. The air feels thick with memories of a lost era.

“Mihawk took up residence here after that,” Benn continues, nodding towards the looming castle. “He found solace in its isolation. Suits him well—no distractions, no interruptions.”

You glance at Shanks, who’s busy directing the crew as they secure the ship. This is were he wanted to marry you? A confusing idea but no doubt he had his reasons so you would trust him. He catches your eye and gives you a reassuring smile. Despite his nonchalant demeanor, you sense a deep respect for Mihawk and this desolate place.

“Don’t let appearances fool you,” Benn adds, sensing your unease. “Mihawk’s castle might look grim from out here, but inside it’s quite different—full of life and color. You should see that atrium.”

You nod slowly, trying to reconcile the island’s grim exterior with Benn’s description of Mihawk’s sanctuary. The contrast intrigues you, making you eager yet anxious to step onto solid ground.

As the gangplank is lowered, Shanks offers you his hand with a wink. “Ready to meet the ghost of Kuraigana, treasure?”

"If we don't lose ourselves in the fog," you speak, taking his hand and stepping onto the dock. The other men follow suit, Lucky Roux carrying a barrel you suspected contained alcohol, Gab and Limejuice lofting crates of food on their shoulders. Even monster had a bag slung across his body. "What are you planning? A seven day feast?" You continue, eyeing Yasopp who now carries a crate labeled 'explosives'. "And why do you need explosives?"

"A wedding, Lady Captain!" Yasopp booms in reply. You can only hope the explosives were for fireworks and not something actually exploding. However you had seen Gab stuffing extra knifes into his pack before leaving so knife throwing challenges are definitely on the table.

The castle looms ahead, its dark silhouette cutting through the mist like a jagged tooth. The closer you get, the more imposing it becomes. Yet, there's an undeniable beauty in its gothic architecture, a stark contrast to the vibrant life aboard the Red Force.

As you approach Mihawk's castle, the massive doors creak open. There he stands, Dracule Mihawk himself—tall, imposing, with those hawk-like eyes that seem to pierce right through you. You find that your eyes are drawn to the massive sword hanging on his back, the hilt bejeweled and shining.

"Mihawk!" Shanks calls out cheerfully.

Mihawk’s gaze shifts to Shanks and then to you. His expression is unreadable as he steps forward. "Shanks," he says slowly, the name laced with mild irritation. "To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?"

You shoot Shanks a dirty look which he promptly ignores, and Mihawk definitely catches.

Shanks grins broadly, entirely unfazed by Mihawk's demeanor, or your glare. "I need a captain."

"Whatever for," Mihawk sighs out. "Or have you lost your title?"

Shanks’ grin widens as he steps closer to Mihawk. “I need an officiant, my friend.”

Mihawk’s eyes narrow, his gaze flickering briefly to you and then back to Shanks. “You’re capable of officiating a wedding on your own, are you not?”

A chuckle escapes Shanks as he shakes his head. “I may be a captain, but even I can’t officiate my own wedding. It’s bad form. I need someone I trust to do the honors.”

Mihawk's gaze shifts to you, his eyes narrowing in curiosity and perhaps a hint of disdain. "And who is the brave soul foolish enough to marry you?"

You step forward, lifting your chin with the poise instilled in you since birth. "That would be me," you declare, your voice steady and clear. "Linaria Bonn, though I prefer to go by Aria now."

A flicker of recognition crosses Mihawk’s face, quickly replaced by an inscrutable expression. "The noblewoman who fled her arranged marriage," he states, not as a question but as a fact.

"Indeed," you reply, meeting his gaze head-on. "And now, I'm choosing my own path."

Mihawk studies you for a moment longer, then inclines his head slightly. "You must be quite brave—or perhaps just reckless."

A small smile tugs at the corner of your lips. "I’ve learned that bravery and recklessness often walk hand in hand."

Mihawk’s eyes flash with something akin to amusement. "Spoken like someone who has faced adversity and come out stronger." He glances at Shanks before returning his attention to you. "Very well. I will officiate this wedding—if only to see what kind of chaos it brings."

"Chaos follows Shanks wherever he goes," you respond with a touch of dry humor. "And I take it with my afternoon tea."

Mihawk’s piercing gaze lingers on you, his hawk-like eyes assessing every inch of your resolve. For a moment, the gloomy island around you fades, and it's just you and the warlord locked in a silent battle of wills. But you don’t flinch or look away. Instead, you hold his gaze, your chin lifted high and eyebrow arched.

A hint of a smile touches Mihawk’s lips, barely perceptible but unmistakable. "You have spirit," he finally says, his voice carrying a note of approval. "Perhaps more than I anticipated."

Before you can respond, Shanks steps in with a mischievous glint in his eye. "Did I mention Aria has an impeccable taste in wine?"

Mihawk's interest piques visibly. His eyebrows arch ever so slightly as he turns to Shanks. "Is that so?"

Shanks nods enthusiastically, clearly enjoying the exchange. "Indeed. She’s quite the connoisseur. It's been rather difficult finding wines she will actually dink."

Mihawk's gaze returns to you, curiosity mingling with respect. "Very well then," he says. "Let's put that claim to the test."

Mihawk offers his arm and without taking your eyes off his incredible hawk-like eyes, you step forwards and slid your hand through his arm. His embroidered jacket feels deceptively soft beneath your fingertips as Mihawk turns to lead you to the wine cellar.

As you walk away, Shanks' voice rings out behind you. "Oi, Mihawk! You better not seduce my future wife with the allure of your wine cellar!"

You can almost hear the smirk in Mihawk’s voice as he replies without turning around. "I assure you, Shanks, my intentions are purely professional."

"I never said mine were," you inject with a soft giggle, smirking to yourself as Shanks groans in exasperation. You glance back to see Shanks shaking his head with a grin, clearly trusting Mihawk despite his playful warning and your teasing words.

Benn slaps his shoulder. "Seems like Aria finally met her match," he says with a smirk.

Mihawk leads you through the castle, his stride steady and purposeful. The air inside feels cooler, a refreshing change from the outside humidity. As you descend into the wine cellar, the earthy scent of aged oak and fermented grapes envelops you. Rows upon rows of barrels and bottles line the stone walls, creating an ambiance that is both inviting and mysterious.

He gestures to a polished wooden table set with an array of crystal glasses. "Shall we begin?"

You nod, feeling a rush of excitement at the prospect of this unexpected adventure. Mihawk carefully selects a bottle from the nearest rack, its label aged and slightly faded.

"This," he says, holding it up for you to see, "is a vintage from the Muggy Kingdom's prime years. A deep red with notes of blackberry and leather."

He pours a small amount into your glass, the rich liquid catching the light as it swirls. You lift it to your nose, inhaling deeply. The aroma is intoxicating—earthy with a hint of spice.

You take a sip, letting the wine coat your tongue before swallowing. "It's bold," you observe, savoring the lingering taste. "The tannins are firm but not overpowering. There's an underlying sweetness that balances it out."

Mihawk nods appreciatively. "Precisely. The balance is key with this vintage." He pours himself a glass and takes a sip, his eyes closing briefly in contemplation.

He reaches for another bottle, this one with a more vibrant label. "Now, for something different—a white wine from Sabaody Archipelago."

As he pours the pale liquid into your glass, you notice its light, almost translucent color. You bring it to your lips and take a sip.

"It's crisp," you say thoughtfully. "With hints of citrus and green apple. The acidity is sharp but refreshing. A rather pleasing wine for a spring day I should think."

Mihawk smiles faintly. "An excellent observation." He takes his own sip, his eyes meeting yours over the rim of his glass.

The two of you continue like this, moving through various bottles and vintages as if time has no hold on this hidden cellar. Each wine brings its own story—a tale of land and climate, of skillful hands and patient aging.

"This one," Mihawk says, presenting a bottle with an intricate label depicting waves crashing against rocks, "is from Water 7. A complex red with layers of flavor—cherry, tobacco, a hint of Agua Laguna sea salt."

You taste it and nod in agreement. "It's like drinking the essence of the sea itself. How peculiar…"

The hours slip by unnoticed as you and Mihawk delve deeper into the wine cellar, your conversations echoing softly against the stone walls. Each bottle brings with it a new discovery, a fresh wave of flavors and stories that bind you in a shared passion for the art of winemaking.

“This one,” Mihawk announces, holding up a dusty bottle with reverence, “is from a small vineyard in Alabasta. Only a few dozen bottles were ever made.”

You gaze at the bottle with wide eyes, excitement bubbling within you. “Oh I do so wish to have a taste,” you say wistfully, barely able to contain your enthusiasm.

Mihawk’s eyes gleam with mischief as he uncorks the bottle and pours the deep, crimson liquid into your glass. The aroma is intoxicating, rich with the scent of dark berries and exotic spices. You take a sip, savoring the complex layers of flavor that unfold on your tongue.

“Exquisite,” you murmur, closing your eyes to fully appreciate the taste.

Mihawk nods in agreement. “Indeed. The winemaker was a true artist.”

The conversation flows as easily as the wine, each topic leading naturally into the next. You find yourself discussing the merits of various wine regions, debating which climate produces the best grapes.

"Alabasta's dry heat brings out such intensity in the grapes," Mihawk states firmly.

You laugh softly, shaking your head. "But nothing compares to the cool breezes of Sabaody Archipelago. The balance it brings is unmatched."

The night wears on and more bottles are emptied, your inhibitions soon fade away. You feel a lightness in your head, a warm flush spreading through your body.

“I’ve always wondered,” you begin, giggling as you struggle to form your thoughts coherently, “is Rosé closer to white or red wine? I think Rosé is clearly closer to a white wine,” you declare, your words slightly slurred from the wine. “It’s lighter, more refreshing. It’s like a summer breeze in a glass.”

Mihawk, equally inebriated, narrows his hawk-like eyes at you. “That’s where you’re wrong. Rosé is much closer to red wine. The process involves leaving the skins on for a short time, which imparts color and some tannins.”

You shake your head vehemently, nearly spilling your wine. “But it’s not just about the color! The flavor profile is lighter, the body is more delicate. It doesn’t have the same heaviness as red wine.”

Mihawk leans closer, his eyes burning with intensity. “The skins, Aria. The skins are crucial. They give Rosé its character. Without them, it would be insipid, lacking depth.”

You roll your eyes, feeling a surge of stubbornness rise within you. “But what about the acidity? Rosé has a higher acidity, much like white wine. It’s crisp and vibrant, not rich and bold like a red.”

“Acidity isn’t everything,” Mihawk counters, his voice rising slightly. “The structure, the backbone of Rosé comes from the skins and the tannins. It shares more DNA with reds than whites.”

Your cheeks flush with frustration and wine. “Oh please, Mihawk! Just because it has some tannins doesn’t make it a red wine! It’s all about the experience—the lightness, the freshness!”

Before Mihawk can respond, Shanks steps into the cellar, blinking in surprise at the heated exchange before him.

“What in the world are you two arguing about?” Shanks asks with a bemused smile.

You turn to Shanks, gesturing wildly with your glass. “This stubborn man insists that Rosé is closer to red wine! Can you believe that?”

Mihawk crosses his arms over his chest, his gaze never leaving yours. “And she insists it’s closer to white wine,” he says with a huff.

Shanks looks between the two of you, clearly amused by your drunken debate. “Is this what happens when I leave you alone with Mihawk for a couple of hours?” He chuckles. “You get drunk and start arguing over technicalities?”

You nod vigorously, pointing an accusatory finger at Mihawk. “He just doesn’t understand!”

Shanks steps closer, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Alright, alright, I think it’s time for bed,” he says, reaching for your hand.

You pull away, shaking your head defiantly. “No! We still haven’t figured out if Rosé is closer to white or red wine!” Your voice rises in pitch as you glare at Mihawk, who simply raises an eyebrow in response.

Shanks rolls his eyes, a smile playing at his lips. “You can debate wine all you want tomorrow. Right now, you need sleep.”

“But Shanks—” you begin, only to have your wine glass gently pried from your fingers. You let out a small noise of protest and your hands paw at the glass now out of reach, but Shanks remains undeterred.

“Come on, treasure,” he says softly, pulling you to your feet. The room spins slightly as you stand, and you grip Shanks’ arm for support.

Mihawk watches the exchange with a bemused expression. “Good luck,” he says dryly to Shanks.

“Thanks,” Shanks replies with a chuckle. “I’ll need it.”

As Shanks guides you out of the cellar, you continue to grumble under your breath. “It’s not fair… We were just getting to the good part…”

“I promise you can continue your debate in the morning,” Shanks assures you, his tone gentle but firm.

You pout but allow him to lead you through the castle halls. The cool air helps clear your head slightly, but you’re still unsteady on your feet. Shanks’ presence beside you is a comforting anchor as he steers you towards the guest quarters.

When you reach the room designated for you, Shanks opens the door and nudges you inside. “In you go.”

You turn to face him, eyes narrowed in stubborn determination. “This isn’t over.”

Shanks laughs softly, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t dream of ending it prematurely.” He leans down and plants a soft kiss on your forehead before guiding you towards the bed. "Sit, let's get you changed into your nightgown."

You sink onto the edge of the bed, your mind still swirling with the remnants of your wine-fueled debate. Shanks kneels before you, his one good arm working deftly to remove your shoes.

“You’re not as steady as you think,” he murmurs, a soft smile playing on his lips.

You huff in response, crossing your arms over your chest. “I was perfectly steady until Mihawk started with his nonsense about Rosé being closer to red wine." You scoff at the idea.

Shanks’ touch is careful, almost reverent, as he sets each shoe aside. You watch him through the haze of wine, a warm feeling spreading through your chest. There's something undeniably comforting about his presence.

He stands and offers you a hand. "Up you go," he says softly.

You take his hand, letting him pull you to your feet. The room sways slightly, but Shanks' steady grip keeps you standing. He begins to untie the strings of your dress, his fingers nimble despite the task being more suited for two hands.

You try to help, but your movements are clumsy and uncoordinated. Shanks chuckles softly. "Hold still, treasure," he murmurs. "Let me do this."

You nod and let your arms fall to your sides, trusting him completely. He is so endearingly attractive like this. The dress loosens and falls away, leaving you standing in your undergarments. Shanks unhooks your bra and pulls it from your arms as you blink.

He retrieves your nightgown from a nearby chair and slips it over your head, guiding your arms through the sleeves with practiced ease. The fabric is soft against your skin, and you sigh from happiness.

"All done," he says, stepping back to admire his handiwork. You smile up at him, feeling a sense of calm settle over you.

"Thank you," you whisper, swaying slightly on your feet.

Shanks catches you before you can stumble, his arm wrapping securely around your waist. "Easy there," he says with a grin. "Let's get you into bed."

You pull back from Shanks’ embrace, shaking your head stubbornly. "I don’t want to go to bed yet," you insist, your voice still tinged with the defiance fueled by wine and unresolved petty debates.

Shanks sighs softly, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Alright, how about we cuddle instead?" His tone is gentle, coaxing, as if he knows exactly how to navigate your stubbornness.

You pause, considering his offer. The idea of cuddling sounds incredibly appealing. Reluctantly, you nod.

Shanks’ smile widens as he guides you to the bed. "Come on then," he says, settling down and pulling you into his arms. You nestle against him, feeling the warmth of his body seep into yours. His lone arm wraps around you securely, holding you close.

The room is quiet except for the soft sounds of your breathing and the faint rustle of the sheets. You feel safe in Shanks’ embrace, his presence a comforting anchor amidst the swirling haze of wine and emotions.

He strokes your hair gently, his touch soothing. "Feeling better?" he asks softly.

You nod against his chest, feeling a sense of calm wash over you. "Yes," you murmur. "This is nice."

Shanks chuckles softly. "Thought it might be." He continues to stroke your hair, his fingers moving in slow, rhythmic patterns that lull you further into relaxation. Your eyelids grow heavier with each passing moment, the warmth and comfort of Shanks' embrace making it impossible to stay awake.

Date Published: 8/19/24

Last Edit: 8/19/24

Previous | Masterlist | Next

[mudzdale]

that said i genuinely think if they had just swapped the shiny and the regular's colors that would take care of at least 70% of the issue

disclaimer that i like pasovan a lot. maybe i shouldnt but i do. i want to collect them and all. and not to say that The Pokemon Company doesnt have its own creative lapses. but in terms of sharp and inspired fakemon...

Girl That Is Just A Real-Life Horse.

[gynarchie77]

Gerechtigkeit am Tag Urteil in der Nacht

Das gedämpfte Licht des Gerichtssaals hob das massiv wirkende Eichenmobiliar hervor. Die Uhr über dem Richter zeigte 10:00 Uhr an. Die Anspannung war spürbar. Alle Augen richteten sich auf den Eingang des Gerichtssaals. Claire Moreau, eine der angesehensten Anwältinnen der Stadt, betrat den Raum, gekleidet in eine Anwaltsrobe, die ihre schlanke Silhouette betonte. Sie hatte langes, zu einem strengen Knoten gebundenes braunes Haar, tiefe haselnussbraune Augen und einen selbstsicheren Gang, der ihre Erfahrung verriet. Ihre Körperhaltung zeigte ein Selbstbewusstsein, das durch Jahre gewonnener juristischer Schlachten geprägt worden war. Der Fall des Tages war besonders heikel - ein Finanzskandal großen Ausmaßes. Claire vertrat die Verteidigung, was für viele eine Überraschung war, da sie vor allem für ihre Scharfsinnigkeit in Verfolgungsangelegenheiten bekannt war. Doch sie war nicht der Typ, der vor einer Herausforderung zurückschreckt. Während sie ihre Akten an ihrem Platz vorbereitete, durchzogen Flüstern den Raum: "Warum hat sie diesen Fall angenommen?" "Sie hat wirklich Mut!" "Sie ist zum Scheitern verurteilt." Claire jedoch schien unerschütterlich, ihre ganze Aufmerksamkeit dem Richter gewidmet, der gerade die Sitzung eröffnen wollte. Ihr gegenüber stand die Anklage, angeführt von einem jüngeren, nervösen Anwalt, der verstohlene Blicke zu Claire warf, sichtlich eingeschüchtert von ihrer Präsenz. Die Sitzung begann mit den üblichen Erklärungen. Claire, mit einer ruhigen und gelassenen Stimme, begann das Fundament ihrer Verteidigung zu legen, die Anklage mit ihren scharfen Argumenten zu verunsichern und die Situation zu Gunsten ihres Mandanten zu wenden. Das Beeindruckendste an Claire war nicht nur ihr juristisches Fachwissen, sondern ihre Fähigkeit, Menschen zu lesen, ihre Bewegungen vorauszusehen und sie zu kontrollieren, ohne dass sie es merkten. Der Tag war lang, der Austausch intensiv, aber am Ende, als die Menge den Gerichtssaal verließ, wussten alle, dass Claire Moreau einmal mehr bewiesen hatte, warum sie als die Beste galt. Was jedoch die meisten nicht wussten, war, dass der Gerichtssaal nicht der einzige Ort war, an dem Claire in der Kunst der Dominanz glänzte. Nachts tauschte sie ihre Anwaltsrobe gegen die einer Domina aus, bereit, eine ganz andere Art von Gerechtigkeit zu erkunden. Dieser Kontrast zwischen Tag und Nacht, zwischen Professionalität und Verlangen, war es, der Claire so faszinierend und ungreifbar machte.

Die Stadt hatte zwei Gesichter. Tagsüber war sie voller Geschäftigkeit, Autolärm und eiligen Passanten. Nachts verwandelte sie sich in einen Ort voller Geheimnisse, verborgener Geheimnisse und unausgesprochener Wünsche. In dieser Welt fühlte sich Claire am lebendigsten.

Im alten Viertel der Stadt, fernab von Wolkenkratzern und Neonlichtern, gab es eine unauffällige Gasse. Nur diejenigen, die von ihrer Existenz und ihrer Bedeutung wussten, wagten sich hinein. Am Ende dieser Gasse war eine schwarze Tür mit einem Türklopfer in Form eines Löwen. Sie führte zu einer eleganten, aber diskreten Einrichtung, die nur den Eingeweihten bekannt war: "L'Antichambre".

Hinter dieser Tür öffnete sich eine Welt der Lust und Macht. Dunkelrote Samtwände, Kerzenhalter mit flackernden Kerzen und sinnliche Musik, die die Besucher umhüllte, schufen eine intime Atmosphäre.

Claire betrat "L'Antichambre" mit der gleichen Selbstsicherheit wie im Gerichtssaal. Hier war sie zu Hause, respektiert und gefürchtet. Aber hier war sie nicht Claire Moreau, die Anwältin. Sie war Herrin C.

Herrin C ging zur Bar, wo die in Leder und Spitze gekleidete Barfrau ihr ohne ein Wort ihren Lieblingscocktail servierte. Um sie herum bewegten sich andere Dominante und Unterworfene, einige in Rollenspielen, andere einfach im Gespräch.

Aber heute Abend hatte Claire eine besondere Verabredung. Sie ging zu einem privaten Raum im hinteren Teil des Etablissements. Drinnen fand sie alles, was sie für ihre Sitzungen benötigte: Ketten, Peitschen, Seile und viele andere Instrumente des Vergnügens und Schmerzes.

Sie nahm sich einen Moment Zeit, um sich in ein passendes Outfit für die Nacht zu kleiden: ein schwarzes Lederkorsett, Overknee-Stiefel mit hohen Absätzen und eine Spitzenmaske, die nur ihre fesselnden Augen zeigte. Sie war bereit.

Die Tür öffnete sich leise und ein Mann trat ein. Groß, athletisch, mit kurz geschnittenem schwarzen Haar, trug er eine Maske, die den Großteil seines Gesichts bedeckte und nur seine intensiven blauen Augen freigab. Claire konnte die Spannung in ihm spüren, eine Mischung aus Nervosität und Vorfreude.

"Willkommen", sagte sie mit sanfter, aber bestimmter Stimme. "Bist du bereit, dich zu unterwerfen, deine tiefsten und dunkelsten Wünsche zu erkunden?"

Der Mann nickte, sein Blick fest auf sie gerichtet. Es war klar, dass er bereit war, sich in die Welt der Herrin C zu verlieren, eine Welt, in der sie alle Macht hatte.

Der Raum war gleichzeitig intim und beeindruckend. Die rohen Steinmauern wurden von Fackeln beleuchtet, die bewegliche Schatten erzeugten, die im Rhythmus der sanften und fesselnden Musik tanzten, die aus den versteckten Lautsprechern kam. Jede Ecke schien eine Geschichte zu erzählen, jedes Instrument hatte seine eigene Geschichte.

In der Mitte des Raumes thronte ein großes Himmelbett mit stabilen Pfosten, dessen schwarze Seidenlaken zur Sinnlichkeit einluden. Überall waren sorgfältig verschiedene Ausrüstungen angeordnet: ein Andreaskreuz, ein Käfig, ein Spankbock sowie abschließbare Schränke, die alle Arten von Instrumenten enthielten, von den sanftesten bis zu den grausamsten.

Claire, oder besser gesagt, Herrin C, ging langsam um den Raum herum, ihre Finger streiften jedes Objekt und riefen Erinnerungen an frühere Sitzungen hervor. Sie war stolz auf ihr Verlies, auf die Atmosphäre, die sie geschaffen hatte, eine Mischung aus Respekt, Angst und Begehren.

Der Mann, dessen Name noch ein Geheimnis blieb, beobachtete aufmerksam. Er konnte Claires Leidenschaft für diese Welt spüren, die Art und Weise, wie jedes Element im Raum eine Erweiterung von ihr selbst war. Er war sowohl neugierig als auch ängstlich in Erwartung dessen, was kommen würde.

"Jedes Objekt hier hat eine Geschichte, einen Zweck," flüsterte Herrin C. "Einige sind für Vergnügen, andere für Schmerz und manche für beides. Es hängt alles davon ab, was der Unterworfene bereit ist zu erleben."

Sie näherte sich einer Reihe von Peitschen, die an der Wand hingen. Sie wählte eine aus und schwang sie sanft, wobei das Leder durch die Luft zischte. "Einige lieben das Gefühl von Leder auf ihrer Haut, den scharfen Biss gefolgt von der wärmenden Nachwirkung. Andere bevorzugen Seile, das Gefühl, eingeschränkt zu sein, ausgeliefert ihrem Dominanten."

Der Mann schluckte, sein Blick auf die Peitsche gerichtet. Er hatte zuvor einige Spiele erlebt, aber nie etwas von dieser Intensität.

Herrin C kam näher, die Peitsche immer noch in der Hand. "Es ist Zeit herauszufinden, was du wirklich magst", sagte sie und strich mit dem Ende des Leders über seine Wange.

Er schloss die Augen und bereitete sich darauf vor, in die Tiefen seiner Wünsche und ��ngste einzutauchen, geleitet von der erfahrenen Hand von Herrin C.

Nach einigen Augenblicken, die wie eine Ewigkeit zu dauern schienen, sagte der Mann, außer Atem und mit zögernder Stimme: "Mein Name ist Damien." Meisterin C neigte leicht den Kopf, ein halbes Lächeln auf den Lippen. "Ich schätze die Ehrlichkeit, Damien. Aber hier, in diesem Raum, ist dein Name unwichtig. Was zählt, ist, was du bereit bist zu geben, zu fühlen und zu entdecken." Damien nickte und erkannte die Macht des Moments. Er fühlte sich verletzlich, aber gleichzeitig war eine spürbare Aufregung in der Luft, eine Energie, die nicht verneint werden konnte. Während der Abend voranschritt, erlebte Damien eine Reihe von Empfindungen, die er sich nie vorgestellt hatte. Er war erstaunt über das Vertrauen, das er dieser Frau so schnell entgegenbrachte, und ließ seine inneren Barrieren fallen. Irgendwann, als Damien gefesselt und mit verbundenen Augen war, spürte er etwas anderes. Es war nicht Schmerz oder Vergnügen, sondern eine tiefe, fast spirituelle Verbindung zu Meisterin C. Es war, als würden sich ihre Seelen erkennen und auf eine Art und Weise verbinden. Als er schließlich von seinen Fesseln befreit wurde, flüsterte Damien mit tränenerfüllten Augen: "Wir haben uns schon einmal getroffen, oder?" Claire, überrascht, nahm ihre Maske ab und enthüllte ihre haselnussbraunen Augen. "Wo glauben Sie, mich gesehen zu haben?" Damien zögerte und suchte in seiner Erinnerung. "Es war vor Jahren, bei einer Konferenz über Recht. Sie waren die Hauptrednerin. Ich war im Publikum und von jedem Ihrer Worte gefesselt. Ich habe Ihr Gesicht nie vergessen." Claire lachte leise. "Die Welt ist klein, nicht wahr? Aber hier hat die Vergangenheit keine Bedeutung. Es zählt die Gegenwart." Damien lächelte und erkannte die Wahrheit ihrer Worte. Doch diese Offenbarung veränderte die Dynamik zwischen ihnen. Sie waren nicht mehr nur Domina und Unterworfener, sondern zwei Menschen, die in der Vergangenheit einen Moment geteilt hatten und auf unerwartete Weise wieder verbunden waren. Die Nacht endete mit einer erneuerten Intimität, jede Berührung und jedes Wort war von tieferer Bedeutung. Der Morgen dämmerte, und während sie sich anzogen, erfüllte sie beide ein Gefühl der Dankbarkeit. Sie wussten, dass diese Nacht nur der Beginn eines größeren Abenteuers war.

Die Sonne stieg langsam auf und färbte den Himmel in Schattierungen von Gold und Rosa. Damien, der die gepflasterten Straßen entlangging, spürte noch immer den Nervenkitzel der Nacht auf seiner Haut. Jeder Schritt erinnerte ihn an die Intensität dessen, was er erlebt hatte, die seltsame Mischung aus Entdeckung und Vertrautheit. Er hätte nie gedacht, dass ihm die Welt des BDSM ein solches Gefühl der Erfüllung bringen könnte, geschweige denn, dass seine Führerin jemand wäre, den er in einem völlig anderen Zusammenhang bewundert hatte.

Claire hatte gemischte Gefühle. Sie hatte immer eine klare Linie zwischen ihrem Berufsleben und ihrem nächtlichen Leben als Meisterin C gezogen. Damien in "L'Antichambre" zu treffen, hatte diese Grenzen verwischt. Während sie die Tiefe ihrer Verbindung schätzte, war sie sich der potenziellen Komplikationen bewusst.

Einige Tage später, als Claire auf dem Weg zu ihrem Büro war, bemerkte sie eine vertraute Gestalt. Damien, in einem eleganten Anzug, unterhielt sich mit einem Kollegen vor einem Café. Sie hielt inne, unschlüssig, wie sie reagieren sollte. Es war ihre erste "offizielle" Begegnung bei Tageslicht.

Die Sonne stieg langsam auf und färbte den Himmel in Schattierungen von Gold und Rosa. Damien, der die gepflasterten Straßen entlangging, spürte noch immer den Nervenkitzel der Nacht auf seiner Haut. Jeder Schritt erinnerte ihn an die Intensität dessen, was er erlebt hatte, die seltsame Mischung aus Entdeckung und Vertrautheit. Er hätte nie gedacht, dass ihm die Welt des BDSM ein solches Gefühl der Erfüllung bringen könnte, geschweige denn, dass seine Führerin jemand wäre, den er in einem völlig anderen Zusammenhang bewundert hatte.

Claire hatte gemischte Gefühle. Sie hatte immer eine klare Linie zwischen ihrem Berufsleben und ihrem nächtlichen Leben als Meisterin C gezogen. Damien in "L'Antichambre" zu treffen, hatte diese Grenzen verwischt. Während sie die Tiefe ihrer Verbindung schätzte, war sie sich der potenziellen Komplikationen bewusst.

Einige Tage später, als Claire auf dem Weg zu ihrem Büro war, bemerkte sie eine vertraute Gestalt. Damien, in einem eleganten Anzug, unterhielt sich mit einem Kollegen vor einem Café. Sie hielt inne, unschlüssig, wie sie reagieren sollte. Es war ihre erste "offizielle" Begegnung bei Tageslicht.

Damien bemerkte sie, und ihre Blicke trafen sich. Ein schüchternes Lächeln erschien auf seinen Lippen. Claire näherte sich, ihr selbstsicherer Gang verriet kaum ihre Überraschung und Verlegenheit. "Guten Morgen, Meisterin", sagte Damien leise, ein verschmitztes Lächeln in den Augen. Claire lachte leise. "Hier bin ich einfach Claire." Damien's Kollege, neugierig auf den Austausch, warf einen fragenden Blick. Claire streckte die Hand aus. "Claire Moreau. Wir haben uns vor einiger Zeit auf einer Konferenz getroffen." Nach einigen höflichen Gesprächen beschlossen Damien und Claire, gemeinsam Kaffee zu trinken. Sie saßen sich gegenüber und sprachen über dies und jenes, und vermieden sorgfältig das Thema ihres nächtlichen Treffens. Doch die Spannung zwischen ihnen war spürbar. Beim Abschied nahm Damien einen tiefen Atemzug. "Claire, ich weiß, dass wir aus unterschiedlichen Welten kommen und dass das, was wir geteilt haben, komplex ist, aber ich möchte… mehr über Sie erfahren. Nicht nur über Meisterin C, sondern auch über die Frau hinter der Maske." Claire nickte, berührt von seiner Aufrichtigkeit. "Ich stimme zu. Aber lassen Sie uns unsere Zeit nehmen und uns ohne Masken oder vordefinierte Rollen kennenlernen." Beide trennten sich mit einem leichten Herzen, voller Vorfreude auf ihr nächstes Treffen. Die Bindungen, die im Mondschein geknüpft wurden, begannen im Tageslicht Wurzeln zu schlagen.

[icarus-suraki]

It was a rainy Monday night when she came up to my office. I saw her silhouette on my frosted pebbled glass door and I knew this was going to be trouble.

They don't make frosted pebbled glass doors like they used to. I had to source this one specially. I cut the door to fit it in myself. The landlord didn't like that but he doesn't understand aesthetics. Same reason I keep my blinds half-open all the time for those angular and linear shadows: aesthetics.

I put the decals for my name up on the door too: Harry Cross, Researcher. The letters were backwards for me on account of being inside my office: ɿɘʜɔɿɒɘƨɘЯ ƨƨoɿƆ γɿɿɒH

Then the letters were ||||| ||||| ||||||| when she opened the door.

"Hello, Hodie," she said.

"Hodie" is what they call me if they know me: Harry "Hodie" Cross. It was a long-ago yesterday that I got that nickname. I'll tell you why tomorrow.

"Hey, kid," I said.

You could call her a leggy blonde. Blondes come in only a couple of flavors in these kinds of stories: icy and honey. But she wasn't a blonde. She was pretty leggy, though, considering she had two of them. She'd be leggier if she had more but you take what you can get. So you could call her a leggy blonde if you wanted but I'm not about to. She was maybe somewhere between 17 and 43 and she looked like she had a lot on her mind. I'm telling you all this for your benefit; she's my cousin so don't get any ideas.

She took my hat off the rack and put it on as she walked over on those two legs; the hat looked better on her than on me.

"How're your brothers?" I asked.

"Fighting," she said as she sat down on the other side of my desk.

"Too bad," I said.

She shrugged. "It happens every night."

This kid here, Issy, she's got two brothers, Shem and Shaun and they've each got a share of the city. Shem's got a lock on the stationery business in this town and Shaun's got a mail delivery racket going. It never ends with those two and sometimes I think Issy just plays referee when they're brawling.

I kicked my feet up on the desk. "So what brings a girl like you to a nice place like this? The rain? The park? Other things?"

"I need you to find someone for me, Hodie."

"Yeah?" I lit another datura cigarette. I couldn't find the one I'd just had in my hand. "Who?" I lost my cigarette again.

"Ellmann."

I gave her a look. Two-ells-two-enns Dicky Davy Ellmann was another big man in this town, but for the right reasons. He was smart; he knew his stuff, and if he didn't know, he knew how to find out. A regular tome, that guy.

I found another datura cigarette in my hand and lit it. "With that blue and black jacket of his, he should be easy to find." I paused for a second. "You don't think he's…I guess some people would call it 'recycled'?"

"I don't think he's in the box."

We all know the old cardboard box where you end up when it's time to leave the city of letters.

"Still in the old place, then, huh? Why're you looking for him?"

"Because of this."

She slid a Tumblr post across the desk towards me:

I read it and gave a low whistle.

"I need to know if it's true, Hodie. And if anyone's going to know, it's Ellmann and nobody knows where he is."

I leaned back in my chair, which I also had to source specially as a vintage piece since the aesthetics demand something other than a pink gamer chair in this establishment, and kept looking at the post.

"Why not just ask the usual crowd?"

"With Artie out there causing trouble?"

She was right: Artie Intel was a thorn in everyone's side these days. He liked to talk but only about three words of what he said were true. It was all good language but it was all wrong--not even fiction, just plain wrong. Real gift o' the gab with this one. And a town like this might run on fiction but sometimes you just need facts. The problem was that people were starting to listen to old Artie and starting think what he was saying was making sense.

"Hodie, please?" she said. "You've got a nose like a bloodhound."

"It's not that big."

"You got droopy eyes, though."

She had me there.

"And droopy ears."

That was maybe going too far.

"All right," I said. "I'll take the case."

"I knew you would, Hodie. And I know you'll find him."

I tossed the post back onto the desk. "When I set out to find somebody I find 'em. That's why they pay me."

[gamebunny-advance]

Developing S0-R0 (Sketches)

I just feel like drawing Kun3h0-likes lately, so I decided to work more on developing a "rival" character for her. Right now, I'm whittling away at this design that I'm calling "S0-R0" for the time being.

The 2 pics are the latest drawings, then I have the progress of getting to that point in chronological order. You can see the very first "rival" sketch in the last Misc doodle dump.

When I first went into this project, I didn't have any strong direction for where I wanted the character to go. Since Kun3h0 isn't fully developed as a character either, it was kinda hard to think of a foil to basically nothing. However, I did know that I at least wanted the rival's theme to be "stars" to contrast Kun3h0's hearts. So whatever I did was gonna drift towards sharpness.

The first chronological sketch is almost a straight inverse of Kun3h0's design in terms of palette. I wanted the silhouette of their arms and legs to be roughly similar so that it's more clear that they're supposed to be connected and not (just) that I have a limited amount of body-plans that I default to. I do like the black/green color scheme, but they've got a real "XBox" and "Monster Energy" vibe to them.

The outfit itself was heavily based on these clothes, just to give me a little direction, but the current design really drifted away from this.

(I added spinning bulborb just so the clothes wouldn't stretch out the post too much)

I also borrowed an old idea from my "Digital Idol Kayane" design, where she had some of her elements floating around. I figured since Kun3h0's ears/antenna just kinda "float" that I could apply the same logic to the whiskers. That detail would persist through most iterations of the design, but I eventually dropped them.

But, I was still pretty unhappy with that design, so I made another sketch and started working around it. The first iteration was mostly a palette swap to get away from Monster Energy, so I went with cyan since it's a kinda futuristic color that I thought would go great with the black base. Eventually it evolved into the second iteration where I went back to giving them the pants of the very first rival sketch and working from there. I'm not quite sure where the idea for the spikes came from. I think I just wanted to add some more "sharpness" to really work in the star motif, but then that kinda became the "main" motif beyond the stars.

I thought the black/cyan/red color scheme was really cool, but it kinda works against my established symbology where stars are yellow and moons are blue. In the event that I design a moon-motif character in the GAB universe, it would be odd for them to now not be able to use blue because the star-motif character got to it first. So, I did another palette swap, this time exchanging cyan for yellow and gold.

While I was working on that, I also got the idea to design their mascot to help with the design process. Since Kun3h0 was originally based on GAB, I thought that it might help me come up with ideas to solidify the mascot design first and that would help me design the rival proper. So, I made this little fox fella and have been designing S0-R0 around them since. I made several other palettes for the mascot, but in the end I went with my first design.

Finally, I took another stab at the outfit and landed on this minidress and made the collar comically large. I really liked the idea of this slim body being covered in large, overbearing spikes. I also took out more of the red accenting since I wanted to limit their palette as much as Kun3h0's, which is a neutral + 2 shades of the same color + a pop of one other color for small details.

It's not perfect yet, but I do like this direction. I went with this for some rough characterization: While GAB sought out someone with a strong heart to help them, FOX (name not final) sought someone with physical strength. Unlike Kun3h0 who is more emotional than a robot ought to be, S0-R0 tries to complete tasks as efficiently as possible, which leads to them using physical force to address most of their problems. They're not evil per se, they just don't consider the greater ramifications of their actions if they still ultimately complete their original task.

I haven't drawn it yet, but I think their weapon would be a morning star/flail.

[heartlostinsea]

1773: Tadhgs Brust hob und senkte sich schwer und schnell. Seine Lunge schien zu glauben, nie wieder die Möglichkeit zu haben, auch nur einen Atemzug zu tätigen. Er konnte immerhin noch immer das ganze Wasser an seinem Körper spüren und Teile davon schienen auch in seiner Lunge gelandet zu sein. Auch nach einigen Minuten, in denen er nur zwischen Husten und Atmen entscheiden konnte, wollte sein Körper sich immer noch nicht beruhigen. Als Seemann nicht schwimmen zu können, war nicht gerade schlau, aber auch nicht ungewöhnlich. Und die See war stürmisch, unbeugsam und gefährlich. Das hatte er schon immer gewusst; und sein Vater auch. Das hatte aber niemanden davon abgehalten ihn bei der ersten Gelegenheit auf ein Schiff zu verfrachten und an diese Art von Arbeit zu bringen. Vierzehn Jahre war es gut gegangen, ohne, dass er je über Bord gegangen war. Dabei hatte er schon einige Male mit angesehen wie die See die Leute verschluckten; auf dem Schiff und an anderen Stellen. Sein Respekt war daher schon immer groß gewesen – bis jetzt. Es war nicht mehr nur Respekt vor den Walen und Haien, die sie bereits einige Male gesehen hatten. Es war das, was ihn greifen konnte, was ihn in den letzten dreißig Minuten gejagt, gepackt und mit in die Untiefen hatte ziehen wollen. Ein Schauer überkam ihn, während George ihm auf die Schulter klopfte. „Mensch, Junge… Du hast uns einen Schrecken eingejagt.“ Der bereits an die sechzig grenzende Mann hatte ihn angesehen, doch Tadgh bekam seinen Kopf nicht hoch. Sie alle waren nass und erschöpft, doch nur Tadhg war über Bord gegangen. Als er seinen vor Nässe triefenden Schopf hob, konnte er in Georges Augen erkennen, dass er nicht daran geglaubt hatte, ihn je wiederzusehen. Und er selbst hatte auch nicht daran gedacht, dass er nun wieder an Bord sitzen würde. Seine blutenden Ohren und das Kratzen in seiner Lunge waren zu der Alternative also nur eine harmlose Nebensächlichkeit. „Komm, Junge.“, konnte er den Alten sagen hören. Sein Blick ging zum Inneren des Schiffes. Doch als er aufstand, drehte er sich noch einmal um und konnte geradewegs in den Sturm sehen, dem sie entkommen waren. Dabei schien er die Schreie, die er unter dem Wasser gehört hatte, erneut zu hören; nur leiser und weiter weg. Und sie würden ihn in jedem seiner Träume heimsuchen, ebenso wie die blonden Haare, die grünen Augen und die Silhouette ihres Fischschwanzes.

2023: Zweihunderfünftzig Jahre später hatte er längst gefunden, wonach er gesucht hatte. Und es hatte ihm ein Leben geschafft, mit dem er so wenig umgehen konnte wie mit der Tatsache, dass es Meerjungfrauen wirklich gab. Geburtstage hörte er auf zu zählen, Erinnerungen verblassten und nichts konnte mehr den Wert des richtigen Lebens gleichkommen. Das Einzige, das blieb, war die süße Hölle, die ihn Nacht für Nacht heimsuchte.

Name: Tadhg Fitzgerald Geburtstag: 17. Oktober 1743 Geburtsort: Galway Familienstand: Verwitwet Kinder: Niamh Fitzgerald Charaktereigenschaften: sanftmütiges Herz, robust im Umgang mit seiner Arbeit; nach dem Seesturm weniger klardenkend und fanatisch nach seiner Erinnerung lechzend Kennzeichen: Dunkelblaue Augen; wellig bis lockiges Haar; Narbe mittig, kurz unter dem Haaransatz beginnend über Braue und Auge verlaufend bis zum Beginn seines Kieferknochens Erschaffer von: Aine O'Hagar Universum: reale Welt // Night Huntress (Jeanine Frost); siehe Schreibsetting Schreibstil: Roman Schreibsetting: Hintergrundgeschichte im 18. Jahrhundert (unabhängig vom Night-Huntress-Bezug); Übernatürliche Welt in der Gegenwart (plus minus) // in: Galway, anderen Küstenorten, auf See, anderen Landschaftsgebieten; ggf. auch in anderen Ländern // beim Alter anpassbar (je nach Möglichkeit zwischen 20 und 35; das würde ich aber individuell absprechen, sofern es von Bedeutung ist) Schreibort: e-Mail, weil es mir ordnungsmäßig hilft und ermöglicht öfter zu antworten // Smalltalk o. Ä. per Tumblr-Chat: Ich unterhalte mich gerne mit anderen, d. h., dass man nicht immer zwingend einen Roman schreiben muss. Ich bin für jedes tiefergehende Gespräch dankbar, aber man kann Gespräche auch gerne mit einem 'Hallo' beginnen. Schreibzeiten: Unterschiedlich; dabei kann es zu Unregelmäßigkeiten kommen. Anwesenheitszeit: Unter der Woche weniger; unregelmäßig, d. h., dass ich das Schreiben an mein Leben anpasse und nicht umgekehrt. Da ich mich auf einen Schreibort festgelegt habe, kommt es weniger vor, dass ich einen Text übersehe. Sollte ich bspw. über zwei bis drei Wochen hinweg nicht antworten, liegt es voraussichtlich an meiner realen Situation und hat nichts (persönlich) mit dir zutun. Wenn ich bei einem Setting o. Ä. nicht vorankomme oder Fragen habe, melde ich mich in der Regel. E-mail-Adresse für Romantexte: Auf Anfrage

[fnafsbheadcanon]

Cassidy: Don’t you see now? We can be one soul stronger, and you are alone. You can’t win. So why do you still FIGHT?

The boy was his knees, looking up at the dark shadowy girl, and tears on his eyes that are falling to the black abyss that is nothing. The only reason he sees her is that of her barely visible black hair, the photo-negative blue eyes, and that grin.

That grin is what terrifies the boy the most. It didn’t look innocent. It looked evil, and yet she doesn’t look like she wants to hurt him.

Cassidy: Right now. WE are your only friends that you have. We can make sure your soul is fixed.

After that she extended her hand to the boy. Her eyes pierced at the boy, but not in an angry way but more of a serious way.

He doesn’t know what to say. It felt like time was slowed down until he made his choice. She’s giving him a choice: Accept or refuse. He doesn’t know what to choose. He think everything that has happened. From his best friend kidnapping Vanessa, Freddy, and the other two he just remembered that are Tony and Ellis. Knowing damn well Cassie is behind all of this. Under the control of that virus, and worse the others are probably also under the influence.

He has no one, but himself and this person in front of him. He knows the risk if he does accept, but refusing to doing this himself is impossible. It would take ages to find, and free them without a proper plan.

With great reluctance, Gregory grabbed her hand. She looked satisfied, and almost excited. He stood up. Both of them having the same height.

The boy still has one more thing to ask.

Gregory: Who is “we”?

She didn’t respond, but more of showed. She pointed behind her with her thumb: There were 5 or 6 other shadowy figures just like her. With height of a kid or younger. They all stared at him.

He didn’t have the time to ask as he felt sleepy and tired so quickly all of a sudden. His vision fading fast. The last thing he saw was the girl quickly gabbing him to make sure he doesn’t fall flat in his face. He was that possible since she’s just a shadowy like figure is the least of worries.

Cassidy: See? I told you he would accept. Now he is our friend.

She turned around to them.

Cassidy: Ot would take to understand body possession, but we have a lot of time.

One of the figures that was a bit shorter than her walked in front of her. The silhouette was wearing a white mask with purple tears and pink cheeks.

?: Why not telling him the full truth? We’ll earn his trust that much faster.

Cassidy: You’re silly little Emily. You know why: He would have to accept the dreaded reality of his once best friend is beyond saving. The virus not only merged with her body and mind, but also her very soul. Her strong vengefulness, hatred, and rage at Gregory is what unfortunately made her lose her humanity. She has become one with the virus, and we felt that presence when she took his other friends. He would have to make the unfortunate choice of taking her life because that is the only way to save her. If he learned the full truth now: He would not bring himself to do it, he would die and we will be trapped, and she would continue going further of this torture of what that THING has done to her.

:0

[spookyspaghettisundae]

The Most Beautiful Thing

The hiking trail snaked its way through dense pine woods.

Light faded fast that wintry day, allowing fog and gray clouds to swallow crystal blue skies while sunset neared. After a week of amazing weather, it all changed, and threatened to turn beautiful vistas into a dreary landscape.

None of this put a damper on their vacation. Both halves of the happy couple were enjoying their hike. Their activity in the great outdoors and its fresh air helped strip away a lot of baggage that had been piling up over the course of a stressful year.

Snow and dirt crunched underneath the spikes on their shoes. Despite the weather, the trickle of water in a nearby creek and the mist rising from it all lent the bleak colors of a late overcast afternoon an almost magical atmosphere.

Cold and crisp air had turned cheeks rosy, matching the sunny disposition on both their lips. Lips that connected for a romantic kiss when they paused, here and there, enjoying this getaway from their otherwise busy lives.

They paused to snap photos here and there, allowing picturesque portrayals of nature to dwarf them in idyllic images. Lush green trees and uncut stones rose from pure white grounds. Artists could only envy nature for painting such beautiful pictures onto the canvas of the couple’s shared experience.

They laughed. They had almost slipped while taking a selfie, standing upon a ledge over the creek, catching each other and preventing a cold and wet crash.

When they huddled over the phone to view this most recent shot, their laughter died. The smiles on their faces froze.

Captured on the photo, they both glimpsed a shaggy silhouette in the back of the image between their heads. A humanoid figure, almost hidden by the shadows of trees.

Right behind them.

When they turned, that figure was gone.

Only the snap and crack of wood, and darkness between the trees where such a figure may have been lurking.

Their hearts pounded at an accelerating pace.

“What the fuck?” she asked as both their heads swiveled, searching their environs in a growing panic.

He glanced down at the phone’s screen again, as if a second take would make the frightening apparition disappear from the digital image.

Yet there it was, still. Staring back at him from the frozen picture. Their previously smiling faces framed a shadowy figure. Judging by the spot it was now missing from in nature, the figure must have measured several heads taller than them. Only separated by the distance of rocks on both sides of the creek.

“Holy shit,” he said. Tremors shook his voice. “Did—did we just… catch Bigfoot on camera?”

The fear stayed, yet it shared its spot in his beating heart with sheer excitement.

Another crack of a branch somewhere, too far away to be within sight, but close enough to slice through the quiet of the forest’s hiking trail.

Her head snapped one way, then the other, in panicked search of the source of that sound.

“Holy shit, Gabs,” he said, the excitement growing with every word. He shook her arm in one gloved hand, gripping the phone in the other. “Do you think we could prove Bigfoot is real?”

“No,” Gabriella muttered. Then her words cascaded out in angry fear. “Theo, we need to get the hell out of here. We—”

“Have no reception, I know! Come on, think! What if we could find, like, actual proof of Bigfoot?”

No other branches snapped. The woods had fallen deathly silent.

Instead, Gabriella’s head snapped around and she glared at Theo. Terror burned in the fire behind her eyes, consuming the fuel of ire at her boyfriend. Now, she shook his arm, a tug to go with every syllable of imploring him.

“Don’t be stupid! Everybody thinks these pictures are fake! We need to get the hell out of here!”

Theo’s face fell, and the excitement in him shrank with any shred of courage he may have fooled himself into thinking he had. His head swiveled again as he looked for any clues.

The shaggy silhouette only appeared on the photo. Only trees and snow and stone and creek made up their surroundings.

Fear fed paranoia, and the couple started to feel watched.

Gaby tugged at Theo’s arm. He needed no further motivation because that paranoia was tugging even harder at him.

They resumed their hike downhill, down the hiking trail, on their way back to the parking lot and inn.

No longer did the couple enjoy their vacation. All thoughts of it had been erased, replaced by a fear of being followed.

Of being watched.

By a shaggy figure.

The woods around them remained silent, only casting back echoes of every sound they made. Snow crunched twice as often, twice as fast, conveying a sense of hectic. Their pace had doubled. Tripled. Any faster, and they would be jogging.

No longer did the couple exchange words, no longer did smiles grace their lips. No longer did they pause to take pictures, or breathe in the scenery, or even appreciate each other’s company.

They both just wanted to get the hell out of these woods. Off this mountain. Hell, out of the entire state.

At the very least, the terror of seeing that figure on the photo subsided into a simmering fear after minutes of hurrying back down the trail. Soon, the fear had folded into a lurking dread, the possibility that they would wind back up in the cozy inn, where a cozy fire warmed the lobby, and they could laugh over their fright and how ridiculous it all was.

Like, Bigfoot? Really?

Snap, crack.

The couple froze.

Straight ahead of them, the shaggy figure emerged from behind a boulder and trees.

In plain sight, it looked even more terrifying than the still image captured on Theo’s phone.

At first, it crouched, then it rose to full height. Bigger than any man. In a huge hand, shrouded by dark and shaggy fur, the figure gripped a club—a huge bone?

And those eyes, so yellow, they stared at the couple, unblinking. The figure gauged their reaction, then a big foot descended into the snow, making almost no sound whatsoever, and betraying its sheer size and the weight it had to bear.

Theo yelped in fear and turned, yanking at Gaby’s arm, and almost tearing her down as he threatened to drag her with him when he made to run.

She shrieked when they stared at another shaggy figure.

Behind them. The second figure stared back from the shadows between the trees, a silhouette identical to the one on the photo, more slender than the one with the bone club. This figure, too, crouched over snow.

As the couple froze and gasped, the slender one rose to full height, its shoulders stayed hunched, and long fingers curled—poised to grab, and rip, and tear. The silhouette was poised to lunge

To charge. To charge at them.

Crunch, snap, crack.

The heavier one advanced, then the slender giant mirrored its motion behind them. Closing in on the couple.

Instead of shouting at Gaby to run, Theo only emitted a croak. These shaggy giants had robbed him of any speech. He slipped away from Gaby and ran without warning. She immediately followed.

And the shaggy figures gave chase.

No longer silent in their footfalls, snow crunched from four figures. The two giants pursued the fleeing couple. Thudding, thundering, big feet pounded the ground behind them.

The spikes attached to the couple’s hiking boots helped them keep their footing in the snow, preventing them from ever tripping or falling.

But it didn’t help their speed.

The shaggy giants gained ground, catching up to them. Ragged breathing, a gruff grunt, a feral growl—

A roar.

Theo yelled for help.

Gaby screamed.

No longer holding onto each other, they ran. They fled. Headless in their flight, they stumbled and lurched and leapt to gain grounds, but the two hairy giants came closer. Ever closer, each leap and bound shrinking the distance between them.

A glance shot back over a shoulder only served to amplify the terror.

Mere steps behind them.

Gaby shoved a branch and dove under it, letting it smack one of their pursuers in the face. CRACK! The branch broke.

CRUNCH, a swing of the bone club crushed her skull.

Theo screamed as he saw the blood splatter. Steaming hot drops of crimson sprayed onto his cheek.

Gaby’s gaze went blank as she fell into the snow, limbs resting at unnatural angles, all crumpled like a lifeless doll, with more blood gushing out from her head, and staining the forest grounds bright red.

CRACK, CRUNCH, CRACK, the bone club absorbed some crimson of its own, spraying bits and blood all over as it crashed down on Gaby’s skull repeatedly.

Theo imagined this more than he witnessed because he ran. Courage was not among the commodities he could afford now, as terror gripped him, and adrenaline pumped through his body, speeding him up, driving him to run for his own life. For while the giant with the bone club continued to bludgeon Gaby, the other continued to chase after Theo.

Not even afforded space to wonder if she could be saved, he only tried to save his own hide. Another feral growl drove him to duck, just dodging as a huge hand swiped at him and missed. The shaggy giant tripped and lost grounds, giving Theo a chance at escaping by a few steps.

The banker burst out into a crazed, maniacal laugh. Then he tripped, which cut that burst of laughter short, and he fell. The world spun around him as he tumbled downhill, hitting every tree on the way down. Snow crunched and scraped his cheek, branches cracked, and a bone snapped along the way.

Once the world stopped spinning and his fall had been broken by a dozen trees and the bitter cold of the creek’s water, he groaned.

He crawled.

He crawled into the shadows. His leg no longer obeyed, but when it did, it silently screamed at him with excruciating pain. A jagged bone edge stuck out of the fabric of his pants.

So, he crawled. Dragged himself through the dirt, towards the welcome embrace darkness, now his only hope of escaping his pursuer—escaping by hiding. Blood and pain clouded his vision as he followed only instinct, crawling into a cavernous spot, away from that biting cold water that had seeped into fabric underneath his top layers.

Theo crawled, deeper, ever deeper into a hole.

Snap, crack, CRUNCH.

The pursuer caught up, stopping on the ledge above the creek.

Theo held his breath. His heart pounded. His broken bone throbbed.

After moments that felt like an eternity, the pursuer turned and left.

CRACK, snap, crunch.

Still, Theo held his breath. Screwed his eyes shut, only to see the horror the bone club crashing down on Gaby before his inner eyes.

He waited even longer, lying to himself that she could be saved from these monsters.

The only sound that reached him was the trickle of water from the creek.

Out of sight, out of mind? Or had the shaggy figure given up for some other reason?

Theo gasped for air. His lungs were on fire as he caught his breath.

He had already crawled into a narrow spot, vanished into the dark, without leaving a trail that could easily be pursued, towards—

A light?

There was light down there, in the depths beyond a winding, natural corridor of this cave. It took all of Theo’s fortitude not to scream; to not scream from the pain in his throbbing leg, nor the horrific vision of reliving Gaby’s skull caving in from heavy blows, and—

Light. Scintillating, shifting, glittering, like he was nearing a disco ball.

Was he losing his mind? Was he delirious from the agony of his injury?

He crawled towards the light. Perhaps there was a person down here who could help!

He crawled towards the light, to peel away the illusions, in a desperate attempt to hold onto anything that may have resembled hope.

Theo reached the light. It was the most amazing thing he had ever seen.

Beautiful.

It was breathtaking. The most beautiful thing he had ever beheld. For a split second, all pain and horror was wiped away at the sight of this light.

An brightly glowing orb hovered above the ground. The apparition looked like thousands of shattered shards from a broken mirror, each of them combined into a warm glow that illuminated the cold dark of this cave.

Theo grappled with raw emotions, enthralled by the vision, desperate to find help, and driven to survive somehow. Was this real?

It felt real. It looked real.

A trembling, gloved hand of his reached out, extending as temptation eclipsed all other emotions and imperatives. Temptation to touch that light. Reality threatened to peel away before Theo, yet he snapped back into the horror of his predicament.

His leg still throbbed and he gritted his teeth as to not shout in pain again. His shin had fractured in a way he needed to set; he knew that much with certainty.

Rolled onto his back, and quaking to his very core, he bristled at the thought of needing to set his bone, of needing to bandage himself. Of possible infections.

He needed to avoid those things, those damned Bigfoots or whatever those human-shaped monsters were, and limp his way back down to the town to get help.

Horrors now bloomed in his mind.

Gaby… oh, no, Gaby…

He relived her death again. That vision of the bone club turned red, crushing her skull more with every successive blow.

Another growl tore him from that living nightmare.

This growl filled the cave around him, and shook him to his core. Deeper, and more severe, this growl did not match that of the shaggy giant’s.

It was the growl of a dragon. A demon. The growl petered out, pregnant with bestial hunger.

Theo stared into reptilian eyes. Their surfaces reflected the glowing orb behind him, and mirrored his own face—again a mask of terror and despair, slack-jawed, and helpless where he lay on the ground of the cave.

Was it a crocodile? No, its head was far too wide, and large. It reminded him of a hippo in size, lined with many sharp teeth. It filled the entire corridor he had crawled through to reach the light.

The creature’s maw widened, and a new growl erupted from the creature’s throat. This curdled Theo’s blood and instilled him with the certainty of death.

The Purrusaurus lunged forward and when its jaws clamped down, they broke most bones in Theo’s body.

He almost screamed at the top of his lungs. Almost.

Teeth and tongue pulled him in.

Another CRUNCH, and that maw snapped shut a second time, swallowing any scream before it could happen, and chewing on the little human.

The glowing orb of light glistened in the Purrusaurus’ reptilian eyes.

[830poll]

93. Wait, just checking - you know which one’s Ty and which one’s Gab, right? (irrelevant. look at my cryptids - 55.6%)

No, thank you. I've seen them and I'm not impressed.

Gab and Ty don't seem too enthused either. One mutters something about not being on duty, the other says they're not wanting to publish candid footage of geography teachers without a reason.

Both are clearly trying to escape the conversation, but Albin seems desperate.

The camera duo share a glance.

The person who is either Ty or Gab nods, while the girl who is either Gab or Ty jabs a thumb towards a door in the back. (No, I'm not telling you which is which now. Good luck.) These intrepid reporters are prepared to hear you out - but don't want to stir up any more panic than you already have.

[fatgumsurpremacy-remastered]

I just love Maddox! He is so awesome and robot arms!!?

can I request reader play fighting Maddox and snuggling afterwards? (Like still covered in dust and dirt etc)

TY I LOVED making him. And his arms are so versatile since he and his family constantly make new ones. It’s Franks fav pastime.

The sun was setting over the horizon, casting an orange glow on all that lay below it. Beads of sweat hit the ground as the rays kept beating down, heat not swaying just yet, still resting in the ground. Had it been any hotter that day that little drop of sweat would’ve fizzled out of existence.

The hunched figure of a man sat up now, taking look over the work he’d done to the perimeter of the base.

A docile grin crept upon his face as he took a liking to the landscaping done.

The darker bushes and pebbles would catch the sun here, hopefully providing a good lounging area.

The man found himself smiling for another reason though-

Behind him a shadow stretched, brown with the light hitting it just right. The creeping, puppet-like silhouette easing in on him.

As he felt the shifting behind him he kicked his foot out in a sweeping motion.

The sound his offender made was one of pure shock, and defeat.

He crawled above his pursuer and attempted to wrestle their hands to the ground. Not wanting to put too much weight into their body he flipped them over so they were above him.

And now they were the one in charge.

A roguish, taunting smile dawned as they made themselves a target. With a confident bout of laughter they lightly mocked them.

“Why give in cowboy, don’t think you can best me from above?”

Maddox rolled his eyes as his partner attempted to roll him back. He sat forward instead.

“I wouldn’t say that just yet dear.”

Confusion wrought their smug façade, and the next look brought pure gold to Maddoxes eyes. With a small thrum of sound vibrating the inside of his arm it extended, twisting around his partners arm till it met their neck.

“Upsie Daisy!” With a flick of his other hand they were upturned. Their shock didn’t allude the metal man as a swift motion pulled them up and away from him.

When the world stopped spinning they caught Maddox about three feet away. Charming smile dancing on his features as he gestured to the new ground he’d planed that day.

“Like the new look rookie?” He spun himself around in a show of emotional dominance. “Or are you trying to get yours evened out?” He teased lightly, though the mocking tone left bristles on his opponents neck.

“Better watch yourself Doxen, you didn’t beat me last time.”

“Arms were in the shop sugar, let’s boogie.” He cracked his neck, sharply, to the left leaving a refrain from the wide area around him. More cracks followed as he swung his head wildly back and to the right.

His feet stood shoulder length apart and one turned out to the right. Taking a front stance. His fists balled in ready position right infront of the left.

They took on a different stance, a counter to his, before they slowly rounded a circle with their feet.

“What’s wrong happy foot? Too anxious to make a move?” They gabbed humouresly.

Maddox tilted his head upwards, letting strands of hair fall down his neck.

“Not really, more anxious to see how you’ll react. See if you’ll cry uncle when I get to ya’.”

They scoffed before moving in, intentionally missing his head as Maddox moved exaggeratedly too slow. They did the same moving fast backward then slowly pretending to kick sand at him.

He went faster this time, coming around like a ballerina before taking his handkerchief from his left side and slapping their side.

A yip escaped them as they attempted to slap him.

“SIR!”

“Oh! Oh! You can’t handle me, face it!” He pranced around like a goofy, pompous chicken. Stopping only momentarily to make a face of sarcastic shock, morphing into a battle cry as he checked his muscles.

“LETS DO IT!” They threw a stone at him the rock only lightly tapping his shoulder as he fakely started making weird chimp sounds before falling ‘dead’ to the ground.

His opponent ran to his side, covering his face from the last rays of sun.

They grabbed his face so hard it smushed his cheeks in, puckering his lips as he squinted up at them.

“Speak to me man, speak to me!” He grabbed the collar of their shirt before making an odd squawking noise. They let go of his cheeks barely keeping their composure.

“Tell my wife… that I farted.” His head lolled limply to the side, and his tongue stuck out as his partner dramatically shook their fists at the sky before slamming them down on his chest.

“OUGHN!” He gasped, lurching up from the impact. His shocked brown eyes zeroed in on them as they snorted to hold back the tears they had in them. He covered his eyes and started keeling over with laughter.

They did the same leaning forward and clutching desperately onto his tank for repreive.

“PLEASE.”

“God-! Gughhhg that hurts. WOOF.” He’d lain back chucking as they rested beside them. Hands still grasping his shirt. He layed his arm out so they could rest on it.

They scooted closer as a cold chill fanned across the sand, blowing some across the pairs legs. He turned his head to stare at them. Soft oranges blending into his eyes as he did.

“I needed that after a long day ‘a work.” He proclaimed meekly, rubbing his neck as he typically did. They were still coming down from their dopamine high as they pat his chest.

“Shit, i needed that too. You cannot believe the day I had.”

“Oh yeah?” He asked, crooking a dirt plastered eyebrow up.

“Yeah.” They responded confidently.

“Why don’ you tell me about it?”

The sun finally set as they began their story. As they looked up into the sky, Maddox closed his eyes and listened to their voice as he relaxed his aching muscles.

Night had fallen on the base, and all was peaceful, just the musings of two partners, and the gentle breeze of New Mexico.

[girlwithakiwi]

20 Questions Writer Meme

I wasn't tagged but I did steal this from @skywalking-through-life because it looked fun.

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

31. 11 are public and are from my current fandom while 20 are user-locked and are from previous fandoms.

2. What's your total ao3 word count?

1,140,336. About 900k of that is from my current fandom. :P

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Currently, I write for A Song of Ice and Fire/Game of Thrones

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Probably everything in my current fandom lol

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I do! I know it is a common complaint in the writing fandom space how fandom community has been replaced by content creation and consumption, and I figure that one of the ways to fight back against that is to have a two-way chat in the comment section. I also figure that both me and the reader are in this fandom for a reason and I also like chatting about the thought process behind my stories so I enjoy the thread gabs!

6. What's the fic you wrote that has the angstiest ending?

Me, who kills Jon off as a hobby: *laughs nervously*

7. What's the fic you wrote that has the happiest ending?

Think I'll stick to current fandom for these questions but probably interlude: la danse d'hiver, the only time I will likely ever write a Babies Ever After/Targaryen Restoration ending. It maybe ties with the silhouette of a single memory, but the caveat with the latter is that everything in canon still took place so maybe it's more on the sweet side of bittersweet.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not really? I've had a handful of stray comments that probably didn't need to be written but to be honest, I'm roasted on the reg by a pair of 6-year-olds. No one can hurt your feelings like a child with no tact so I usually shake my head and laugh at the rare bits of negativity.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I do love to see an aunt bang her nephew. So yes. Very much so lmao

10. Do you write crossovers?

Fusion, sure. But I haven't really written a crossover since my days writing for The Dresden Files/Sherlock and that was entirely due to a whole OC storyline I created with my partner-in-crime

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of. Hopefully not.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Someone translated the gather, the bend, the bringing forth into Russian. Kudos to them because even my eyes go crossed when I work up the gumption to reread that monstrosity.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

In the past, yes! Not anymore though because my writing schedule is absolutely shit-faced.

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

I've had a lot of OTPs. Clearly, I'm sailing on the Jonerys ship currently but I've had at least one or two for each fandom I've written for.

15. What's a wip you want to finish, but don't think you ever will?

Arcana, mostly. I grew disillusioned with the canon source and its author so there's a good chance this one will never be finished.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I am my worst critic so I'll just say I'm good at typing a lot of words that sometimes are coherent and pretty.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Pacing, which is a real fucking problem since four of my multi-chapter fics over the past couple of years have been (or are going to be) well over 150k.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

There are usually snippets of High Valyrian in some of my ASOIAF/GOT fics but I'm not sure of that counts.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Sailor Moon! :D

20. Favorite fic you've written?

Oooh. That's a tough one. I like all of my fics for different reasons. They each speak to me in a different way. I may love the complexity of one, the writing style of another, the themes of a third, and the characterization of yet another.

I will say that the two fics of mine I reread most often are the silhouette of a single memory and where ruin also exists.

•

Tagging @sweetpeapod @aeide @ragingrainbow @mrpinniped @thebright1 @zavocado @arielchelby @jellybeanficwriter if you're interested!

[4godownunder]

Freitag, 4. August 2023

Knapp 700 Kilometer

Schon um 8.40 Uhr sind wir unterwegs, es soll knapp 700 Kilometer gen Süden gehen. Aber es dauert, bis wir Brisbane hinter uns gelassen haben. Im Radio dudelt ein deutscher Sender, gerade moderiert ein Holger und legt all' das auf, was er wohl damals mitgebracht hat, als er hier gestrandet war - darunter Frühwerke der Toten Hosen und Nena. Als wir kurz darauf in Kirra Beach zum ersten Kaffeestopp (und Frühstücksstopp für ein Familiemitglied) halten, weht uns das Kontrastprogramm fast um. Eben noch hatte Holger am Rande der Depression die nächste Scheibe angekündigt, schon steht eine australische Café-Wirtin vor uns. Wo kommt ihr denn her? Aus Deutschland? DEUTSCHLAND? Ja Wahnsinn. Team, kommt mal her, wir haben Gäste aus Deutschland! und wie lange und woher und warum und .... sie war doch erst in der Nähe von Adelaide in diesem deutschen Tal und da gab es Sauerkraut und ... wow. Auch nach drei Wochen fragen wir uns manchmal, ob nicht vielleicht doch was im australischen Trinkwasser ist ...

Nach einem sagenhaften Frühstück verlieren wir uns noch einen Moment am Sandstrand. In der Ferne schimmert die Silhouette von Gold Coast, lauter Hochhäuser. In dem Ort urlauben jährlich an die 10 Millionen Menschen, die Autobahn war von Freitzeitsparks gesäumt. Uns langt der Anblick übers Meer hinweg.

Nächste Pause: Nambucca Heads. Keine Massen. Dafür viel Meer, viel Welle, etwas See, eine lange Mole mit vielen verzierten Steinen. Wenn danach der Weg nicht zu weit wäre, könnten wir direkt schonmal hier bleiben. Australische Ostküste, wie sie schöner kaum sein kann. Nur das Schwimmen ist mal wieder verboten, diesmal sind es die Strömungen.

Der Sonnenuntergang ist farbenrpächtig, aber um 17.20 Uhr wie immer ziemlich früh. Bald danach wird es stockdunkel, als wir im Ferienhäuschen in Forster bei den Great Lakes ankommen, ist es zappenduster und kühl. Noch kurz zum Italiener, der natürlich nicht an den von Hervey Beach heranreicht - und ab ins Bett.

[mot-hesbian]

I'm watching Gab Smolders playing Killer Frequency rn, she's on like chapter(?) two rn so I don't know if we ever actually see her, but I have already decided what she looks like and what she will always look like in my head

She's talking about her family rn, if you wanna know how far in I am.

I decided back in chapter(?) one that she's black or at the very least has an ethnic background (whether she's a white Latina, biracial, light skinned, dark skinned, I don't care. She isn't Caucasian.)

That is a woman with the frizzy, curly, difficult hair, she's awesome and reminds me of Domino from marvel or Angel from Hunters on Amazon (which you should absolutely check out).

Please tell me if this is offensive or anything like that, I am very much an upper middle class (by Ohio standards), white girl. The closest I get to being ethnic is being about 1/8 to 1/16 Cherokee, so basically nothing.

(Also, I'm aware that gauging her hair type by a silhouette through a transparent, red window is not that reliable but is it just an ethnic or black trait. I also have hair like that and have had to use products for black women in the past to handle it. But I don't care about that rn).

Tell me what you think, especially poc because I would like feedback from people who actually know what they're talking about.