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kristlewrites · 1 year ago

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“Baby I’m ready for take off”

CW: Cock Warming ,Chest Riding, Fluff(?), Poorly written smut, comfort(?) nicknames ( ma, mamas, papa, and baby)

PAIRING: Connie x Black!FemReader

WC: 0.9k

🫧🗯️: Test run post! Don’t judge🤒 ALSO! first time writing smut so if it’s bad i’m sorry, it’ll probably remain like that for a minute…(title is from a wayv song.. doesn’t have to do anything with the fic🪦🪦)

MINORS DNI

(take off!)

It's been a long day, long week even. School has been beating your ass with essays and finals..this was your only chance to relax. You enter connie's apartment around 6 pm, he wasn't there because he's also been busy but not with school. The team made it to regionals and the coach has been working the team the bone with drills everyday.

You use your key that he lent to you and make yourself at home, he lived off campus. You make your way into the shower and clean yourself up real quick and change into his pajamas, although a lot of your clothes is in his room, hell ! you even have your own drawer! But you love the way his clothes feels on you and his scent makes you feel safe. You were absolutely starving by the time you got dressed and decided to go order some food, wing-stop you finally decide you got yourself a 12 pc hot and lemon pepper with a side of fries and A sprite. When the food came around it was almost eight and Connie should be on his way home.

After you finished eating you cleaned up super quick and went to bed, connie showed up about an hour later. He knew you were here but seeing you in his sheets and pjs made his heart falter. He went in the shower quickly and joined you in bed. He tried his best not to make any noise but regardless you still woke up

"Sorry ma, didn't mean to wake you up"

he said so gentle,

"how are you? I'm sorry I came home late.. i didn't expect coach to keep us so long"

he caressed your cheeks trying to get you back to sleep. You looked up at his beautiful freckled face, you missed him so much you guys havent been able to see each other at all this week with being so occupied with your own personal activities and affairs. Small tears stream from your eyes, he wipes them away with such care and delicacy.

"I know, I know ive missed you too, baby"

You turn towards to him and indulge into his chest , he's not wearing a shirt which is normal since he gets really sweaty at night (😭😭🪦🪦🪦) you start talking about the events that happened that week, how your essay went, how you absolutely failed your stats test, new books you bought, girl drama, and how stressful it's been for you. He nods occasionally and throws in a couple of "mhms" to let yk that he's still listening. This goes on for about an hour and at this point you're just rambling, but connie understands how much you love to talk and let's you continue without complaint, that is until you ask him about his week and what he's done.

At this point he's practically knocked out.

"Hah, What was that baby what did you say??" he said a little bit groggy

You repeat your question, but while you do you see that he's HARD??? No way this man was hard from just hearing you talk.But then he must've been backed up from this whole week because of how rarely he saw you or had anytime for himself. When you think about it has been a while since y'all had sex, because of how seldom it's been to even talk to him on the phone

"Hey con.. You're hard, how long has it been?" you ask while playing with his nipples. (🪦🪦🪦)

"Baby you don't even understand how much i've missed you..c'mere" He pulls you closer to his penis.

Slowly he removes his pants and boxers, revealing his hard leaking cock.. good lord it was so much prettier than you remember. You slowly enter his dick into your hole, surprised by how wet you were.

"Be careful mamas I could jizz into you at any point" you laughed at his choice of words, it was clear that he hasn't been relived in awhile..and while you were also tired doesn't mean you could at least help him out!!?? and you were on the pill so that should count for something..right??? Continuing you grab ahold of his tip and insert it, until fully seethed into your pussy. It felt so good, you grabbed his hand and placed it on your stomach showing him where his dick is. That really pushed him over and sprayed your pussy through and through. your poor baby he was so sensitive. You guys stayed like that until morning.

Waking up, you find yourself looking at connie sleeping so soundly and peacefully. You reach for your phone but feel restricted once you've realized the man got a whole ass dick in you. omggg

"Baby wake up" you whisper yell, tapping his chest. you roam your fingers on along his abs, a few seconds later connie shifts a little bit to remove his cock from you and lifts you up and places you down on his chest. This all happens so quick that u immediately shiver, with your wet slicky pussy on top of his chest he begins move you up and down while his dick teases at your ass crack. Your nails dig into his abdomen while you grind your silky pussy over his abs. Connie's hands take pleasure in your tits while they bounce up and down, twisting and turning you nipples putting you into over drive. Your cum glazes over his abs, you panting hard. First thing in the morning... You rest your head on his chest finding his heart beat while he rubs your head calming you down.

"I love you ma" he whispers, he feels your smile into his chest and laughs a bit. He raises your head, "did you hear what I said?" He leans in for a kiss and you return it. "I love you too papa"

(Think of this as a soft launch ijbol)🫧🗯️

#Kristlewrites🫧🗯️#black reader smut #connie springer x black reader #aot x black reader #connie springer x black reader smut #connie springer smut #connie x black reader smut #aot connie #smut #aot fanfiction #fanfic #fluff #black writers

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wyvernest · 7 months ago

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important update !!!!!

hello guys, (no i didn't die) just a quick update bc it's been long since i have last posted.

ill cut to the chase bc yes ive been enormously busy and suffering from chronic loss of inspiration , but that's obvious & not quite the main reason ive stopped writing.

my hyperfixations are all over the place right now and until i find more good characters to continue writing for, i will be on hiatus. (obviously but this is a heads up that i havent abandoned the blog, im still here, just reading)

i am extremely grateful for all of you that have read and appreciated my miguel stories, and i am still very open and willing to write again for him in the future.

its still going to be me with the same style and all, just a bit more diverse. and honestly i do hope to find a new character that my miguel followers will at least find appealing.

right now im leaning towards something similar to my last fic, the fandoms im probably going to be looking into are

tolkien - asoiaf - the witcher, but i could just as easily still be in the mood to write for miguel or ghost from call of duty (as i already have on ao3)

let me know if these are things that would appeal to you, or even suggest characters in these fandoms that youd like me to write about 🤍

(because marvel/spiderman fans are not usually the same fans of lord of the rings and so) but im hopeful its alright<3

love you all and see you after my exam session most likely

#wyvernest

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arthursgun · 3 days ago

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Son of A Gun, Chapter One (RDR2, Arthur Morgan x OC)

❝ 𝙃𝙚 𝙨𝙖𝙬 𝙖 𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙮 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙜 𝙜𝙞𝙧𝙡 𝙬𝙝𝙤 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙮 ��𝙤 𝙧𝙪𝙣 𝘼𝙣𝙙 𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙖𝙬 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙚 𝙨𝙝𝙚'𝙙 𝙗𝙚𝙚𝙣 𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙛𝙤𝙧 ❞

Blurb: Maeve O'Connor had had enough. She worked tirelessly for her father on his ranch for her only thanks to be the 'opportunity' to marry a man she does not love. But everyone knows women can't find respectable work, so Maeve gives up on her dream of freedom until her wedding night, when a curious acquaintence man gives her the real opportunity she needs.

Author's Note: Hey gang. This is my first post EVER on Tumblr so please be nice. I started this piece on Wattpad like three months ago and havent finished it. It's based off "Son of a Gun" by Lord Huron and will most likely have short enough chapters and will be short enough in the long run. Also, English is not really my strong suit so there are going to be many mistakes.

Maeve is twenty, and Arthur is twenty-five. Based long before the events of Red Dead Redemption 2.

If you come across this please support your local lil writer!

EDIT: decided to proof read. don't think i mentioned it but maeve and her father are irish immigrants. lowkey left out vital info there

Tags: Arthur Morgan x OC, Rancher!OC, slow burn, strangers to lovers, i just wanna be a cowboy so bad, mentions of violence, cursing, NOT PROOF READ

SON OF A GUN

Word Count: 4367

Stars. You couldn't quite see them anywhere else like you could on the ranch, Maeve remarked to herself as she gazed at them. The sky was so dark the stars became almost blindingly bright and clear at night. During those few years Maeve had spent in cities, the smoke from factories and lights on the street obstructed her view of them, and it wasn't until her father purchased the ranch had she got a real good look at them. Every night, she clambered on the roof of the barn, the cattle sound asleep under her as she gazed at them. She drew constellations in her sketchbook and noted how they changed through the year, and when she spied a meteor, she'd make a wish. A wish to leave her mundane life, a wish for excitement. For something to happen in her life that wasn't cleaning out stables or moving cattle or ploughing fields. She longed for excitement.

And while granted, ranching life came with it's own twists and turns, they were nothing compared to the stories she'd read about, great warriors saving princesses or gunslingers out west drawing their arms on each other over a spilled drink. Maeve took the time on the barn roof to make her own stories, too, scribbling her ideas down in a hopes that could be her ticket out of her home. A career for herself. But she knew her fate had already been written out by her father, he was very clear on that. She would stay on the ranch, farming, until whenever a suitable bachelor showed up. Then she'd be tied to him in a loveless marriage and made work on his farm instead until she was too old and weak to work or carry more children for her husband. She loathed the word husband, the very idea of one, even more than the idea of being a wife. Despite the endless lectures from her step-mother, who delivered said speeches to both Maeve and her two younger half-sisters, Maeve never took to the idea of belonging to somebody else. The very thought made her shiver and her jaw clench in anger, for that was all she was raised to be since money got to her father's head. Thought himself an aristocrat or something now - a man of great honour, he'd say. Maeve could hear his voice echoing in her head almost constantly; he needed his grandchildren to be of noble blood like he was.

Pity his grandchildren would never see the state of the country Maeve was born in.

She stretched, feeling exhaustion pulling on her eyelids. The night was just like any other, a soft autumn breeze nipped at her rosy cheeks, the same breeze which dragged along the wispy clouds above her head. She knew there was no promise of rain tomorrow by the looks of the clouds, which warmed her heart. Tomorrow she was taking out a young mare she'd been training, Cara, this time planning to go as far as Rhodes, which would take nearly the whole day. The ranch was situated in the northern heartlands of New Hanover, near Twin Stick Pass, from which it got it's name. Twin Stick Ranch. It wasn't the biggest ranch even in the 5 states, granted, but the O'Connors overlooked four open livestock fields and two fields for crops, as well as their own stable company, seven cabins, three barns, sty, coop and house. It was a lot to maintain with only nine able-bodied workers, but they kept on their feet. Maeve overlooked the horses, hence why she was given the job of training the mare. Or rather, she gave the job to herself to gain some small snippets of freedom every now and again.

Maeve begun her descent through a trapdoor which opened on the roof with a ladder down to the loft. The loft was where they kept the feeds for the livestock and a stock of crops they used to feed themselves, which was now becoming quite a hefty amount now that winter was imminent. She was still in her work clothes - boots, jeans and all - as her step-mother was adamant she couldn't set foot in the barn with her white nightdress on. This actually suited Maeve down to the ground as it gave her an excuse to not return to the homestead after working and wander out to the barn instead. She tread carefully over through the barn as to not wake the livestock once she'd descended from the loft and headed outside, striding back towards the house. Judging by the moon, it must have been past midnight, but there was lights and laughter erupting from one of the ranch hand's cabins. Maeve smiled as she walked past, hearing the men taunt each other over what must have been a game of cards. She used to enjoy nights like that months prior before an engagement with one of the ranch hands ruined it all. It was just a stupid crush really, one amazing night spent with him, but whatever freedom she'd had to mingle with the ranch hands was erased the second her father found out. The ranch hand, merely five years her senior, was fired. He promised Maeve the world, but she knew that was all a lie to get her to do his bidding. She only looked on that time with fondness, though, as it was a hell of a lot more enjoyable than whatever life she was living now.

As she strolled back towards her own house, there were no lights, there never was. Though eight people resided in the home - Maeve, her father, step-mother, and her four half-siblings - there was seldom hearty laughter like what the ranch hands enjoyed. Her family looked on the house as a place of function, to eat and sleep in, but not as a home. She could remember a time when she lived in a house full of love and laughter, a home, back before she arrived in America. The memories swept through her mind every time she saw the house with no lights or no sign of life, and it only emphasised her loneliness. Once she reached the porch and skipped over the step which always obnoxiously creaked, she opened the door to the living room, feet falling on the bearskin rug which lay across the floorboards in front of the entrance. She shut the door without a sound, rounded the sofas and past the dining table, but didn't go as far as the kitchen. She turned to her left, now in a small hallway. The pantry and bathroom doors were down this hallway, as well as the stairs, which she tiptoed up, ignoring the photographs of their family her step-mother forced them to take every time she birthed another one of those devilish children. She found herself on the landing, and crept towards her bedroom door, which was the first on the left. Luckily for her, she had her own bedroom, something she had been able to argue for. Her two half brothers had to share, as did her two half sisters. The room was the smallest in the house. Her bed lay under the window against the wall opposite the door, an armoire beside the door and a vanity against the wall to the left. She also had a bookshelf filled to the brim, which neared the ceiling. That bookshelf was her prized possession and the only thing she would take with her from the house when she was married off. She begged her father for one for her twelfth birthday, and had sat there for over a decade, gathering all the books she read until she could fit no more.

Morning came quickly once Maeve had shut her eyes, and before long, her father was trundling about the house. The clock on the wall told her it was 6am, which was their usual time to start the day. She busied herself getting dressed into her work jeans and plaid shirt and tying her jet black hair in a low plait behind her head before her step-mother could barge in and yell about how lazy Maeve was and how she needed to be up at once. She could already smell the porridge by the time she was ready, and carried her boots downstairs with her so she didn't 'damage' the rugs. Her half brothers, George and Scott, were at the dining table, not speaking a word to each other. The house was almost eerily quiet, although the people in it were busy getting ready for the day. Her half brothers were of working age at fourteen and twelve, but her stepmother was adamant they were her babies, so they couldnt work and must be educated instead. The idea made Maeve resent them, how she was denied schooling but was made to work, but they got off scot-free. She sat at the end of the table away from them, not exchanging pleasantries with anyone as she spooned the lumpy porridge in her mouth and forced herself to swallow it.

Her thoughts of resentment and daydreams of another life were interrupted by her father erupting into the room, frantically pulling on his suit blazer despite the fact his vest wasn't even buttoned and his gold pocket watch was halfway out of his pocket.

"I am going to town," he announced, although nobody was really listening. He still held himself high and proud, smoothing the ends of his moustache in the mirror and running a hand over his pomade-covered salt and pepper hair, of which he didn't have much. "I'll be gone for most of the day. Young man," he placed his hands roughly on George's shoulders - "You are the man of the house until I return."

George didn't offer a smile or even looked at him, rather focused on a knot in the oak table and muttered a "Yes, sir."

Daniel didn't even eat of a bite of breakfast, only quickly offered his wife a peck on the cheek and rushed out the door. Only then did Maeve's stepsisters arrive in the kitchen, still in their nightgowns and hair unbrushed.

"Mother," one piped up as she slipped into a chair, waiting for her mother to serve a bowl to her.

"Yes?"

"What does father do in town?"

Maeve watched as her step-mother turned away from the cooker to look at her step sister. She watched as her features twitched, and a rage erupted behind her eyes. She took a laboured breath as she eyed the girl.

"Business, Bella," she answered, in a much calmer tone than what Maeve was expecting. "He attends to his business."

"Since father said I'm man of the house today, do I have business to attend to?" George asked, although he wasn't graced with an answer. Their mother simply turned around to pluck the porridge pot from the stove, before turning and spooning some into the girls' bowls. Maeve had long since finished her portion, but remained seated. She always enjoyed the entertainment from her family, it was like a drama show at the theatre, and she was always just another audience member, not even acknowledged by the actors even though she was on the stage. That was, unless, the actors finally had enough of working around her.

"Maeve!" her step-mother snapped, causing Maeve to take her attention from the little play unfolding before her and to look her step-mother in the eyes. "Do you not have somewhere to be?"

"That I do," Maeve responded, sending a small, sly smile toward her step-mother. "I would much rather be out there than in here, anyway."

She got up before her step-mother could utter a response, not that she would. Maeve's hat was hung up on the wall beside the door with all the coats. It was a diamond shape, pale brown, with a worn sage plaited rope around the brim to tell everyone it was hers. It was a gift from an old ranch hand, Randy, one of their first, who she knew when she was very young. He gave it to her on his last day, although she was never really sure why he left, he seemed so happy. As Maeve matured, though, she figured it was her father's doing, laying him off because of his age. He must've been dead, but sometimes she held out hope she'd see him again. Maeve descended the porch stairs, not bothering to skip the creaky step this time. Although it was still early in the morning, the heat from the sun was already sweltering, possibly the warmest morning they'd had all summer. She made her way to the stables, nodding hello to passing ranch hands who tipped their hats to her. She spied one of the younger ranch hands mounting a horse in the pen, her mare, the one she was taking out.

"You goin' somewhere?" Maeve inquired, and the ranch hand almost jumped out of his skin. He turned the horse around, met with the view of Maeve leaning against the fence with her elbows, quizzical look on her face.

"N-no, ma'am," he stuttered, eyes flitting to the grassy pasture beneath him. "Your father, he uh-"

"My father told you to get on my horse?" Maeve asked as she tilted her head to the side. She surveyed the mare, whose head was bowed, munching on grass. She was a calm one, and that was why Maeve took such a liking to her. She enjoyed lying out under the sun with her, watching her grazing on pasture while they took a break from her training.

"Sorry, ma'am," the ranch hand mumbled, swinging a leg off the horse and landing on the dusty ground with a thud.

"That's better, Harvey," Maeve smiled, patting the mare's neck. "I'm sure there's other horses 'round here that need a tending to, isn't there?"

Harvey swallowed, his gaze fixed on the ground so Maeve could only make out his chin under the brim of his hat. "S'pose."

Maeve watched as Harvey spun on his heel and walked away before turning back to the mare, a hand under her chin. "Let's get outta here, girl."

Maeve mounted up, half thankful Harvey had tacked her up already, before kicking off down the dirt path towards the gate and out further into the wilderness, galloping onto the horizon.

The leaves had begun to change from their deep green to sunset orange and reds, and once Cara had galloped to Dewberry Creek, Maeve slowed her to a walk to admire the lush landscape and changing trees. She felt so free, out here, and no longer looked at the birds with envy as they flew by, because now she felt she could fly too. The air was almost cleaner, untouched by noise or cattle or straw. She never truly noticed how the farm had a scent until she left it. Maeve often thought of the farm as a whole other world from earth.

She passed a man on his horse, who tipped his hat to the floor, not in greeting, but so she could not see his face. Maeve knew what he was instantly - an outlaw. They got many of his type in the countryside, near the farm. There were little to no lawmen out there, which half suited her father. Maeve was aware of the dealings going on at the farm, she'd overhear her father talking about shady business a fair deal. Maeve had to restrain herself from peering too much at the man as he went on by. From what she could make out, he donned a black denim sleeveless jacket, his black hat worn from years of use, jet black hair revealing itself as it burst from beneath the hat. The only colour on him was his shirt, which lay beneath his jacket in a stark contrast of baby blue and black. Maeve spied three guns on him, two pistols and a long arm slung over his shoulder, most likely a repeater by the looks of what she could see. She knew he had others hidden away though. He passed, and Maeve stole a glance his way - meeting his eye in a flitting moment. He'd been looking at her the whole time, or more likely her pistol, which sat snug in the black leather holster on her hips. That was her only weapon, though. He looked at her with more confidence than she looked at him with, his gaze lasting longer.

Maeve felt no fear as they crossed ways. In fact she was in awe. How could someone so unlawful just be out here without fear? Was he not worried he'd be caught? Then again, Maeve knew he was probably used to this, and had probably been on the run for a long time. That's what happened when you joined gangs, you never left them. Maeve's stomach burned in jealousy, though she did not know why. She was safe on the farm, she was more sensible than to be jealous of the outlaw lifestyle. Maeve felt the outlaw's presence fade, although her thoughts remained of him. She wondered where he was going, where he came from. How many people he'd killed and his horse's name, if it had one and wasn't just one that was stolen. She was almost obsessive of him, or his life. He'd the muse in her next story.

The plot of the mysterious cowboy's life unfolded until Maeve rode into Rhodes, making mental notes. She hitched Cara outside the General Store, and bid her goodbye with a pat on her neck. Maeve internally scolded herself at her forgetting her sugar cubes in her satchel in the stable. She stepped up onto the porch in front of the store, ignoring the peers she received from the old man on the bench. People never kept their eyes and judging looks to themselves, but she had grown used to it. She pushed open the door, meeting the eye of the shopkeeper, who leaned on the counter with an elbow and watched as she approached him.

"Can I help you?" he inquired through a slow southern drawl. Maeve loathed him. She barely saw him once a month, whenever she was able to get down to Rhodes, but he gave off a feeling, he had an aura about him. The way he looked at her enfuriated her. She didn't bother smiling, just spoke.

"Horse medicine."

The man nodded towards the wall behind her. She turned her head to look around, eyes falling on the bottles. It wasn't there last time she'd been in the store, and she suddenly felt incredibly stupid. Her eyes scanned the shelf, a dozen yellow and green labelled bottles stared back. She tried to not let her expression falter as she stepped towards the shelf and reached for the bottle, fingers closing around the neck of the brand her father swore he'd never use.

"Your father's tab?"

Maeve closed her eyes and drew a breath. She hated the idea that people knew who she was. She often wondered how, as there weren't many photographs of her lying about and she barely went to town with her father. Once her lungs were empty, her irritation subsided, and she turned to face him with a simple nod and a "Yeah." Her father wouldn't approve, but she took care of her horses. None of the cheap stuff.

She practically skipped out of the store.

She turned away from Cara, who was too busy staring at passers-by to notice Maeve at all, and strolled down the main street, or really the only street in the town. She knew exactly where she was going, and stopped just outside the sheriff's office. The bounty posters had changed since she'd last checked them. Maeve hurried to the board, studying the posters with great curiosity. Black Belle was there again, and a new name with a strange face, Marvin Kent. He didn't look like a Marvin Kent. He had a scratchy looking beard and a mean, sly smile, composed of hardly any healthy looking teeth. He was just generally unkept looking. Maeve brushed the poster aside, revealing another beneath, and her breath hitched. John Marston. The outlaw she'd passed on the way to Rhodes. She recognised the look in his face, his sharp jaw and young eyes. The bushy black hair which fell above his shoulders was just as thick and dark under the hat. She scanned the poster, he was only wanted alive. There was not a substantial bounty, and he had only committed theft. His fictional life seemed so much more interesting.

Maeve never actually went after these bounties, obviously, but liked looking at the photographs. They were different faces from the ones she saw every day in her family and the ranch hands. It let her have faces to imagine in her stories, too. Stories she intended to publish. To sell. To make enough money off of to live a comfortable life, far away from her 'family'. Her own life.

The door to the Sheriff's office swung open and a tall, burly, serious-looking man with a serious-looking moustache sauntered out. Smoke billowed from his pipe, and he let out a small cough from his smoke-filled lungs. Maeve felt like scrunching her face in disgust at the smell, but decided against being rude. He was the sheriff, after all, and himself and her father were on good terms. Keep your friends close, but enemies closer. That seemed to be her father's thing. Maeve looked away, opting to peer at Mr Marston again, but aware she couldn't overstay her welcome.

"Uh, missy?"

"Yes, sheriff?" she responded, not looking at him. "Just looking."

"Your father know you're out here? All alone?"

Maeve nodded. "'Course he does."

"Come into the station, missy, I'll take care o' ya."

Maeve turned on her heel and walked the opposite direction without another word. She heard him grumble to himself as she walked away, eyes on the road in front of her, not passing any heed on the six or so men who strode by on horseback, nor the fact their faces were covered by handkerchiefs, nor the fact they drew their guns right in front of the bank. She only really paid attention to them when they began yelling and burst through the bank door, causing a commotion among the dozen of citizens lounging about outside the General Store. Men and women ran out, down the stairs, hysterical. Maeve was barely a few meters away from Cara, who was beginning to feel distressed at the ruckus, but Maeve found herself drawn to the carnage. The men were huge with huge guns, the barrels of which were being brandished at everything that moved in the bank. Through the window panes, she spotted the men counting money, yelling, laughing. It was the thrill Maeve sought, not the money. Her feet were moving, and she was at the first step of the bank, much to the protests of the civilians and lawmen around her. Their pleas fell on deaf ears. She was perplexed.

Just as the sole of her boot met the wood of the step, the door burst open, and the men rushed out, their guns ablaze. Maeve didn't have time to react, and was grabbed harshly by a huge hand which was attached to a huge man. The deafening gunshots and screams ended simultaneously once she was grabbed. Maeve opened her eyes, which she'd shut out of fear, to find herself facing the lawmen and cowering citizens from the porch of the bank. She couldn't move. Maeve peered at the arm which held her. The forearm alone spanned shoulder to shoulder. To her right she could see her kidnapper's outstretched arm, clothed by a thick coat, a simple cattleman's revolver clutched in his fist. She could hear his breath and feel his heartbeat he was so close, pressed against her back. She was a hostage.

"Gentlemen, we appear to be stuck," a man's voice bellowed over the silence. It came from Maeve and the gang's side, but she didn't dare to move. Who knew what they wanted with her?

"Let her go," the sheriff shouted, his rifle aimed in her general direction.

The man chuckled. "Now why would we do that?"

"We will open fire."

Another chuckle. Maeve's heartbeat was so strong she almost couldn't hear the conversation over the blood rushing through her veins. If they opened fire, she'd surely be dead.

"You see, if you open fire..." a pause. Silence. "My good man here will also open fire."

The gun to the right of Maeve, which was clutched in her kidnapper's hand, slowly turned so the barrel was aimed at her temple. She didn't dare look, but could feel the cold iron ring against her skin. Suddenly, it all felt very real. This wasn't a story anymore.

"To hell with this!"

Gunfire. Maeve was thrown from the arms which had once captured her, now she was sprawling on the wooden floor. Her head hit the porch first, then her shoulder, with a sickening thud. All she could hear was a ringing, a high-pitched drone, and could barely make out whose legs who stood over her belonged to who. She was grabbed again, and dragged roughly to her feet.

"Grab her again! We need leverage!"

Thrown again, she was in cover now behind cover, her 'saviour' hunched down beside her, cowering behind the box, too.

"Dutch! This isn't how we do things," he pleaded, the youthfulness in his voice sounding very out of place in amongst the hustle of men. He turned to Maeve, he was speaking, yet she couldn't hear. All she could see were blue eyes peering at her over a black handkerchief which selfishly covered the lower half of his face. He yelled again, and she heard this time, behind all the profanities and gunfire.

"Run! Run, goddamnit, run!"

Maeve's legs moved before she knew what was happening. She turned and fled, lungs burning, tears welling in her eyes, a pain in her head, the ringing in her ears, the name. Dutch. Dutch, this isn't how we do things.

#arthur morgan #rdr2 #arthur morgan x oc #red dead #red dead redemption fanfic #fanfic #writing

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absoluteocellibehavior · 5 months ago

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i was actually gonna send you a message about further arcana alignments bc i loved the initial post - potato-lord-but-not seems to have already gotten most of what i was gonna suggest, was initially gonna put faroe as death but the world does work much better. yknow who would work Better as death though? parker. both i guess in the literal sense and in the sense that parker has been the herald of major change in arthur's life? ie death-as-metamorphosis. the death arcana is generally misunderstood as physical death but the emphasis in meaning is actually on cycles and change, specifically death/rebirth. like. i can't be the only one who sees the parallels with the guy that singlehandedly Started the narrative the guys are on through his death (and also his entry in arthur's life). idk i havent really done this before but i am a little Obsessed with this concept feel free to fact check me on that

YES!! SOMEONE ELSE GETS IT!! (and awe thank you <3) Death is one of my favorite cards. Like The Devil, it's generally misunderstood what it actually means (guilty as charged. The Catholic side of myself took a minute to separate the meanings when I was first getting into it). Death is SUCH a beautiful card and you nailed it with the "metamorphosis" description. Parker is a wonderful pairing with Death. On the surface level, yes, Parker died but his death means so much more than that. Like Faroe's death being an end to Arthur's somewhat normalcy, Parker's death signaled the end of that cycle of Arthur's life. He was irrevocably changed the moment he opened that book. That's a key aspect to Death as a card. It is inevitable and resisting the change only leads to more pain. It is the acceptance of it and moving along with it that allows for it to bear fruit. Death as a card is good. It is very much a light at the end of the tunnel sort of thing. Arthur lost his partner, but he eventually gained an even deeper love and connection with John. And THAT is beautiful. This a very long-winded way of saying absolutely Parker is Death.

#malevolent #malevolent podcast #parker malevolent #parker yang #ocelli asks

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clock-onyx · 10 months ago

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New arrival

NOTE: Lore drawings are NOT in order and may be far or close in timeline with other drawings when I post them, probably after i very very slowly reveal everything, ill make a list or somethin for each scene in order from start to finish!!!

"Good lords! What is it you're doing at such a late hour, at such troubling weather? I can barley even see you with all this rain!"

"I-I just- I was just- M-My names O-Odin I've uhm... I-I've been living in the ruins of erh.. the eye..? It- It burned down. It's t-truly a ruin by now, my apologies for knocking at your h-house I really REALLY n-need your help, anythi-"

"I-I'm sorry, the 'ruins of the eye'?"

"Y-Yes- I'm sure you've heard that name before, it's q-quite known in places such as this, isnt it?"

"Get inside. I'll get you warmed up"

"R...Really?"

"Yes. I don't need you talking in the rain like this, I'll ask about it later once you're fed some food. How long has it been since you last ate properly?"

"4, almost 5 days, I think."

"Alright, come on now. Let's get you warmed up."

Mwaahhahahahahaaaa okaaayyy lore time, I APOLOGISE FOR HOW WONKY THE DIALOUGE IS!!! I've never been an expert at dialouges between characters, esspecially longer interactions... I DID have a bigger idea on the whole dialouge but I tried to keep it short to atleast feed the people bits of information ykyk... and with visiual stuff too I hope people notice...

Neither the name of the ruin or Chester's fish man's design is 100% official, it's still a work in progress im just making my characters interact so i wouldnt get mad later that i havent drawn anything intresting LMFAO

#till death do us part #oc lore art #oc lore #oc lore drawing #lore art #demon oc #fish oc #aquatic oc #illustration #oc artwork #art oc #artwork #ibispaintx #ibispaint art #digital drawing #art #Honestly dude has massive will power opening a door to a random stranger with a very strange looking robe and markings #He doomed himself congrats dude!!!#wowwww so cute theyre so cute hope nothing bad happens

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nightfuryblue19 · 5 days ago

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hello . sorry if this is a strange question but we actually really love how you draw furies and were wonderinf if you have any tips on their mouths??? their weird little mouths. sincerely, an alter who Just realised theyre nightfury and knows nothign else about themself /silly - ❓ // ???

ohhh myyy godddddddd HI NIGHTFURY!!!!!!!!!! HELLO!!!! fellow nigihtfury oohohhoooh SORRY thats excitienG NIGHT FUURRYYYYYYY

anyway uh. THANK YOU????????? i feel like im still learning alot with how i draw furies and its soooo hard why do they have to be soooo hard to draw. SO it means a lot to me that you guys love how i draw them!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! anyway. the mouths are one of the hardest parts to me especially as a guy who draws pretty stylized mouths.. AAAAUGH

i cant find any good pictures so this gif i posted earlier will have to do

you can clearly see im still getting the hang of drawing them 😭 but theres kind of like a dip???? i try my hardest to put that in my drawings of them but Oh lord its hard. so ignore every time i havent done that okay..... the mouth also goes further past their eyes and teh eyes r very close to the end of the head which is what threw me off for so long. WHY are their heads so weird omg

um. htats probably terrible of a description bc thats very easy to just see with your own eyes.. i just kind of guess everytime i draw the mouths ????!??

i just kind of stylize it a bit i guess??..i just makei t longer than usual. because it goes across their entire face of course. can you tell i dont knwo what im talking aobut LOL i just look at a lot of references and then try my best to replicate it ? if you wanted tips on how to draw their OPEN mouths you can just kill me becaues that im still figuring out LOLLL

i literally break so many nf design rules wen i draw them so. be free i guess. if you want me to elaborate on anything i totally will i hope this helped im some way though??????????

also you literally just sent me this ask while i was drawing myself and struggling on the mouth too i forgot to mention LMAO

#apologies to everyone who has asked me for art advice and i kind of just scaredly pooped everywhere and ran away #im terrible at this stuff #night fury gives night fury art advice to another night fury the world is BEAUTIFUL!!#thunder roars #quastion for the beast

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martellspear · 11 months ago

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I havent seen you post much about arianne but since you seem to be positive to all martells im asking you since I havent seen much about it elsewere either. I absolutely love arianne and daemons relationship especially the twow prewiew scene where he asks her not to go to storms end, do you have thoughts about it or can i talk about it in your asks because I have no one to talk to about this and im loosing my mind over it.

Hi, anon! You’re more than welcome to talk about them in my asks and I’d be more than happy to read your thoughts. Also, with the Martells, I’m on the “everything they’ve done wrong was trying to do something right” spectrum 😁.

Anyway, let’s talk about Arianne “I always loved his smile” Martell and Daemon “My face is yours. Do what you will” Sand.

Warning: it’s a long post.

I seem to enjoy relationships that we know little about, so they caught my attention immediately. They have #history and I don’t believe that what happened is buried lifeless, quite the opposite. Arianne is constantly thinking of their past and how much it still lingers within her, with them. I see “what if?” and “in another life” as a big part of their dynamic and it drives me insane!! They’d be great together and yet Daemon can’t be more than a paramour.

“The rest of the party kept a more sedate pace. The princess found herself riding beside Ser Daemon, remembering other rides when they were younger, rides that often ended in embraces. When she found herself stealing glances at him, tall and gallant in the saddle, Arianne reminded herself that she was heir to Dorne, and him no more than her shield.

The thing is: Daemon still has feelings for her, feelings that have been there for quite some time. She’s the firstborn daughter and heir to Dorne and he, a bastard, asked for her hand for marriage. He’s either insane – which we know is not the case – or he truly thought it was worth the risk; it’s Westeros, Doran could be less tolerant of that as some other lords might have been. We see that the offer to share a bed with her causes a different reaction from what I believe she was expecting; I think he knew that laying with her again would bring to the surface the same feelings he was trying to make go away.

Arianne gave him her most seductive smile. “We might share a bed together.” Ser Daemon’s face was stone. “Have you forgotten, princess? I am bastard born.” He took her hand in his. “If I am unworthy of this hand, how can I be worthy of your cunt?”

AND THEN we have one of the scenes that get me giggling kicking my feet twirling my hair squealing:

She snatched her hand away. “You deserve a slap for that.” “My face is yours. Do what you will.”

Another thing we know about them is that, regardless of the damage their relationship suffered in the past, they still care for each other. Daemon is honest with her in a way one wouldn’t be unless there’s some level of trust; she’s a royal, she’s the woman he can’t have. He must protect her, it's literally the reason he’s there, he could simply agree and oblige to what she says, but he doesn’t. Instead, he helps her see things as they are without undermining her. And Arianne is aware of that, she seeks his opinions.

Her father had confided in Ser Daemon when he chose him as his daughter’s shield; with him at least she could speak freely.

I would also like to mention how they, apparently, seek each other, that old familiar pilar, crafted together, that one leans on.

Arianne exchanged a look with Daemon Sand.

They are comfortable with each other; Daemon wouldn’t say half the things he does otherwise.

“Be gentle with her, my lady,” Arianne said. “I remember when I was her age. My father despaired of me, I’m sure.” “I can attest to that.” Ser Daemon took a sip of wine and said.

“I never knew how wild she was till now,” Arianne complained to Daemon Sand, afterward. “Why would my father inflict her on me?” “Vengeance?” the knight suggested, with a smile.

If the gods were good, by now Obara Sand had treed him in his mountain fastness and put an end to him. She said as much to Daemon Sand that first night, as they made camp. "Be careful what you pray for, princess," he replied. "Darkstar could put an end to Lady Obara just as easily."

”I would sooner it were Quentyn who’d returned”. “Or so you say,” said Daemon Sand.

This last one specifically didn’t mean much to mean until I reread it: he understands the Quentyn situation in a way most don’t or can’t. They grew closer during the time Arianne found out about the letter, Daemon probably became some sort of confident to her. They were close friends, there’s no soil more perfect for love to grow, and so he goes and asks to marry her. Which obviously he can’t and that leads to a permanent mark on their relationship and that “I hate loving you but without that I wouldn’t be me” atmosphere they have.

I love how she ricochets between “Thankfully, Daemon is here <3” to “I want him gone!!” (and it’s in that “I cannot look at you any longer, there’s too much – too much history, too much of you in me; my heart is betraying my gracelessly betraying my heart” way).

“I like the dragon.” She wanted to slap the smile off his face. Or kiss it off, perhaps. The man was as smug as he was comely. Of all the knights in Dorne, why did my father chose this one to be my shield? He knows our history.

Her father had confided in Ser Daemon when he chose him as his daughter’s shield; with him at least she could speak freely.

Furthermore, let’s talk about how Daemon was DEMANDING the Sand Snakes to be released, imagine: a bastard demanding something of the ruling prince. He isn’t one to conceal his thoughts – see that he also doesn’t drink to Tommen. There’s more than duty to Arianne as a princess; he’s his own person and I adore this dynamic, Arianne does drink to Tommen, he could have done the same just to please her. He’s her sworn sword, he’ll die for her if needed, but he is not following her blindly, despite his feelings, we see that in the TWOW chapters. He chooses her. Daemon respects her as a person and this is one of the very few relationships in which we see that happening in ASOIAF.

Arianne is idealistic, she has her own beliefs and is still learning that they aren’t the standard – and to cope with that -, she believed she could defy social structures directly and one of the reasons I love her character is her development, she is learning and she’s aware of that. Daemon beckons her to look at other angles. It comes from a place of support and admiration; he knows what Arianne is capable of achieving. Arianne is in the process of learning how to measure her decisions, to think harder, and analyze the situation she’s in; she’s the spectrum between Doran and Oberyn.

“Who will defend Ghost Hill if these strangers land upon our shores? Should I call my men home?" "Your men are needed where they are, my lady," Daemon Sand assured her. Arianne was quick to nod.

In the scene where they discuss Storm’s End, I couldn’t see just a sworn sword fulfilling his duty, he wants her safe. Arianne, not only the Prince of Dorne. That scene is so endearing to me, they’re talking as equals; it’s the situation I’ve talked about before of their balance: Arianne’s idealism paired up with the scars from the failed plan and its consequences and Daemon showing different angles. We also see the “at least she could speak freely” in practice.

That night when she told Ser Daemon what Chain had said, the Bastard of Godsgrace seemed as perplexed as she was. “Storm’s End was still held by men loyal to Lord Stannis when last I heard. You would think Connington might do better to make common cause with another rebel, rather than making war upon him too.”

“Stannis is too far away to be of help to him,” Arianne mused. “Capturing a few minor castles whilst their lords and garrisons are off at distant wars, that’s one thing, but if Lord Connington and his pet dragon can somehow take one of the great strongholds of the realm…” “…the realm would have to take them seriously,” Ser Daemon finished. “And some of those who do not love the Lannisters might well come flocking to their banners.

“And that is why you should not put yourself at risk.” Daemon Sand went to one knee. “Send me to Storm’s End in your stead. Then if the griffin’s plans should go awry and Mace Tyrell takes the castle back, I will be just another landless knight who swore his sword to this pretender in hopes of gain and glory.” […] “It is brave for you to seek to shield me, ser. I thank you for that.” She took his hands and drew him back to his feet. “But my father entrusted this task to me, not you. Come the morrow, I sail to beard the dragon in its den.”

I think he’ll end up going with her and I can’t wait to see more of their relationship. In the caves, he was the one that made her keep going. Daemon helps her find in herself to push limits and go further; Arianne gives him purpose in a way I don’t think he’s even aware of yet. They’re somewhat complicated, given the history and the social distance, but no one else could fill the space the other left. They don’t need each other, but it’s much better when they’re in each other’s lives; I believe they have a kind of bond you can’t break and pretend it never existed.

Thanks for asking my thoughts, it was fun rereading her chapters and going into deeper thought about their relationship <3

#asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #arianne martell #daemon sand #arianne x daemon #house martell #chatterbox nia

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