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daisychainsandbowties · 4 months ago

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Is there anything more beautiful and tragic than Lilith’s self-destructive longing to be loved?

i wrote a little something for this. a little bit of davy jones au

/// lullabies in salt

Lilith sings to her, sometimes, when the ship becomes a ghost and all of her crew are just specks of watery light. They move through the rigging, each one turning into what they really are.

Or what they long to be – Lilith has never been certain of this as she stands alone among them all, watching as eels curl around ropes dangling unattended, as crabs wander the deck with their claws scraping softly on soft wood.

Jellyfish strung like floating lanterns up above as thought trying to replace the night sky.

Her crew, to whom she is not gentle, and yet here they are in their simplest form; their wishful thinking that endures to this depth and makes light for her where there should be none. She has watched their bodies change, like hers, over the years.

(there is no need to admit to herself that she has lost count of them)

They are always so astonishingly alive in the beginning, and of course Lilith is just a ghoul to them. She has to be. Pacing by day in her coat that always drips cold water, her swords lending weight to her hips where flesh and fat and all her girlish ends of her have faded away.

She’s seen how they look at her – eyes bloodshot, gleaming in the candles her crew carry with them onto the wreckage of ships. Lilith wonders each time if this makes for a better ending, as she paces in front of the survivors where they kneel in their shallow saltwater graves, variously bloodied and always on the edge of death.

Her crew, who have all made the same poor choices, whisper that it is. Better.

“Why?” she asks them, her voice moving like water over sand.

Her crew, who she thinks of as beautiful because what else to think or to feel about them? Their faces cracked open by barnacles and occupied by every crawling thing that lives inside the ocean. A girl of seventeen (dead) who did not endure the crossing from England; her eyes replaced by the broad caps of jellyfish, who looked up from her whalebone dice and said, “It’s better to have a choice, I think.”

Even now, she is shy, though the sea has reclaimed all of her girlishness. Her forearms are chitin and her teeth are coral, and even as Lilith stood by, waiting for her to summon her voice again, a tiny krill crawled out of her left ear and settled on the lobe like an earring.

The girl touched it, smiling, as though a pretty boy (or another pretty girl, Lilith supposes) had set it there with bare hands. “I wasn’t ready to be dead,” she told Lilith, quiet but fierce, “And I don’t regret this.”

“You will.”

As the ship falls, passing out of sight of sunlight, Lilith searches for the marshlight of that girl in the strung-shadows, in the ghosts. There are a few she suspects.

One, a dolphin turning loops around the mainmast. It is the pink kind that live out somewhere on the continent west of Europe – oh, Lilith can’t remember the names they put on maps. What she remembers, from the queer knowing of things that is her deathbed companion, is that this creature is a freshwater thing and does not belong here.

Its shape climbs and climbs, into the crow’s nest, and then the ship shudders. They are done descending.

The light vanishes.

Lilith steps away from the wheel, fingers unsticking reluctantly from the barnacle-choked wood. Maybe there is no wood left at all, she realises, taking in the twitching mass of creatures that have consumed every inch of what was once a clean and solid shape.

(what has she done to them?)

Her memory is cloth eaten by moths, and all of this is probably her fault, but she cannot remember why.

Sometimes, when she falls asleep (at last. Always at last) with the ship’s organ falling silent around her, she dreams of a rainswept shore. Scrawny palm trees and dried seaweed strewn along the sand.

Kneeling there like one of the flotsam she fetches out of the sea, face uptilted to taste the rain, to feel it run between her teeth. One last taste before her trembling hand raises something that makes her fist ache. She is shirtless in her dream, lurid in the shine off of drenched skin. Her scars all laid bare for that ruined island to see.

(did she burn them out of their little church on the hillside. did she paint the parish bell with blood and turn the neat little houses to cinders. did she-)

Perhaps the island was deserted when she came, rowing away from the Dutchman in the longboat with her crew watching in their silent way. Arms flung over the railings, hands fiddling with bits of wood or scraps of leather.

She went to where they could not witness her and stripped down. Laying her coat over a fallen tree and leaving her shirt as a smear of white on the sand, weighted by rain. She kept her pants (she has others) and knelt, placing every last letter into the box. A handful of flowers long turned dry and delicate as she shielded them from the rain, snapping the lid shut to protect them.

Turning instead to a smaller chest, all filigreed in the shape of sea creatures. Lilith didn’t make it herself. In the way of things, the ocean brought it to her in the ruins of a dying ship. It knows her mind and what she intends, and there is only a little mockery in the gifting of a chest.

(a locker)

Sailors, among all types of men, are good at poetry because they see so little of it.

And so much.

Lilith has seen so much and she remembers certain things with clarity like crystal – warped, but unashamed. Carrying light somewhere, if not where it needs to go, if not exactly all the way to the eye of the beholder.

She remembers kneeling, naked, and something in her hand (terrible) and tears tracking toward her mouth to make the freshwater taste of rain vanish. It was a knife, she thinks, that left hard welts in the flesh of her hand and made her bruise for days.

Her palm a cup of bluegrey turning green, turning yellow, turning on her as she walked unsteadily through the ship.

(and lilith is no fool)

She knows what she’s missing, and few besides her know that it is difficult to walk without a heartbeat – that there’s a rhythm to it. Stumbling like a drunk for days with the ship all run dry of rum.

“When do we make port?”

Her crew, as things crawled up on the deck.

They were afraid at first to become more like the sea, lashing out so she tipped more than one eviscerated body over the railing in that first week. Bodies weighted like anchors to their doom, since they could not sleep without serving her.

(she came back, later, and found them in their shallow graves alongside hidden reefs or close to islands they used to visit in passing, just to lay on the beaches and drink)

“Sorry captain.” Voices almost vanished into seawater and the soft rolling of waves across the ocean floor. “Glad you came back for me.”

(what else could she do? this is all her fault)

It was cheating, but Lilith made deals and traded favours with other ships to get them supplies. “I’m a ghost, if anyone asks,” she’d tell their captains, who were always variously afraid of her. “Speak of this at all of your own volition and I will send her to find you.”

“Who?”

Only the daring ones asked, and sadly Lilith liked the daring ones. Their smiles and how their fingers lingered on her cold wet hands, fascinated instead of repulsed – give it time.

A hunger to them as they stepped a little closer – they met on her ship, and in their eyes it was because she preferred it this way, and not because her ship would not allow her to leave. “Who will you send?”

She’d smile, like a girl who did not need to keep secrets, “The sea.”

It was close enough to the truth. Lilith does not remember anything of how it came to this, but she sourced paint, canvas, charcoals and paper and anything her crew might need to remember for her. All of her kindest acts have been out of fear.

In their stumbling and then better and then beautiful attempts at painting, or sketching, Lilith has seen the bottom of the ocean as it changes over years. The crawl of objects along the ocean floor as the waves return. They are more loyal than the rest of the world together.

Sometimes she would be stupid and end up in her cabin with one of these odd little artists – her crew which is a collective and also individual. Individuals.

They were like anyone else to fuck – messy, and good, and quiet afterwards, tracing the mark of her own sword on some crewmember’s stomach.

Of course she is not so much of a fool as to say, “Who did this to you?” even in jest, but she wonders.

Who did this?

It doesn’t feel like her, but she remembers and it was and she left markings on her map at each place where she sent a panicked body over the railing.

All of them were right as they came at her with cutlass, saber, chunks of rotting wood.

“You did this to us.”

(and she did. she did)

It is not punishment enough, she knows, to have watched them change, one by one. Bodies she knew – fucked, cooked for, defended with her own – turned to bodies she only recognises because she never looked away. Afraid to blink, sometimes.

She gave them paper and paint so that they could remember, and there is a little booklet in the dry-store of her crew before, or halfway through. Her crew slowly undone as the Dutchman turns and turns around the ocean like a tiger in a cage.

And she is not brave enough to remember why she did it to them.

Lilith has no interest in drawing things, or putting smears of colour down to try, try, try and represent what happened to her. Lilith is a liar, and that should make her an artist too, but she takes what she has and puts it onto piano keys.

Happy, in the end, to remember little beyond her own naked chest. Nothing but a beach, a knife, a bloody shape in her hand.

(still beating)

It has been like this forever. Lilith with lichen growing out of her hairline and glassy teeth growing under the veins in her wrists. As a child she read about Moray eels and their teeth, and as usual her dreams have come back to infect her.

She is sick with longing, disfigured by it, and sometimes she wakes up with her arms bloody and soaking her bedsheets. Prongs of a glasslike substance sticking out of her wrists – and it is terrifying, but Lilith cannot die.

(and ‘cannot’ is a terrible thing, even when it is about death)

Tonight the ocean is calm and nothing has died, so Lilith moved through her crew. Oh, they are quiet sometimes especially when the stars come out. Night so clear you can feel it reaching for you.

Their voices all around her and their hands reaching out, sliding off her slick skin. Lilith, their fresh-drowned corpse, with new shapes sprouting now from her jawline. Following it all the way home into her mouth.

She loves their hands. She loves them.

The new ones as yet unbroken by the slow crawl of time, with their human faces. Almost, now, she finds their eyes unnerving – all simple shades of brown or blue or black or hazel or grey. There is so much weather in these living-dead things. So much of land.

As the sun fell she moved through them, listening, composing something in her head that sounded already as though it would be a sad song. She is good with only two emotions in music.

Anger, and this strange melancholy that falls over her crew when there are no bodies to collect. No limbs floating in the water and no blood in the seafoam.

No sharks.

“Let’s go down”

“Lilith”

“Captain”

“Let’s go down”

Lilith has seen more of the ocean than anyone alive. Her body is spyglass, map, compass, and complicated in all the ways that saltwater is. There are no clean deaths out here.

Only drownings.

She took them down, waves rushing up the length of the ship to swallow their bodies one by one and how they floated for a while as the crushing took hold. Their bodies ignored it, and Lilith felt only the familiar ache in her wrists.

Here, at least, she cannot drip water onto the deck beneath her like a poor excuse for a heartbeat. Her crew were, at first, themselves.

She hates to find them beautiful, but there’s a helplessness to it; to Lilith and her long acquaintance with the sea.

I miss you.

The thought stepped out like a ghost to frighten her, and Lilith flinched against the wheel, but she did not let it go. Beach, knife, rainwater, and a bead of sharp pain somewhere on her chest.

Sand, blood, and the water catching up to catch her, and drinking it down.

“Are you thirsty, Lil?” (a voice she does not know)

Her crew are beautiful. They are the ocean and they are her and they float so perfectly as the ship descends, dragging their shapes out of sight. Light-swallowed and turning into light as they unravel.

(she will not describe them)

Only their ghosts, strung up into blurry wavelengths as the depths settle like an absent heartbeat around her. Quiet as her grave.

Lilith waits.

Her ship is lost now, barnacles loose in the water around her as they try to flee. (where? there is nowhere to go)

Catching one, she turns it over, watching as featherlike cirri tease from its tip, combing the water even now for food. It is not afraid of her, or it would have retreated into its shell, and Lilith lets its tiny appendages tease over her fingertips. There is plenty to eat on her skin.

She sets it on her forearm, feeling it secrete onto her skin, burrowing down among fine hairs and into flesh. There is a momentary bloom of blood in the water and then Lilith turns her attention out toward the ocean, to where a shape lurks now on the edge of seeing.

“Hello darling,” Lilith whispers, and a kraken’s arm punctures out of absolute darkness, easing toward her like a tongue parting lips, parting water. Easy as a knife parting flesh, carving out space for a ghost.

It moves through her crew, who scatter like wavelengths of light (that is all they are for now) from its path. The barnacle, newly apart of Lilith, quivers against her bones.

The arm stops, extended, a few inches from Lilith where she stands just shy of the ship’s wheel. It is cold at this depth, but Lilith cannot feel that any more than she can feel sunlight on her skin or the taste of food in her mouth.

She reaches out with her left hand so as not to scare the barnacle (who knows its place in the grand scheme even if Lilith does not) and lets the very tip of that unfathomable arm reach forward, curling all around her.

Her kraken hums and Lilith feels the reverberation of it mostly in her chest where there is plenty of room. She steps forward and the arms curls and curls – and Lilith is always dripping water but this creature is wet and she can feel it for once.

Lilith closes her eyes, feels her feet lift away from the deck and she is free, finally, of all that wood and tar, of a million nails and a thousand tiny chips in once-beautiful wood. She feels her barnacle rush toward the inside of her elbow where it burrows into the vein, opening her wide.

A blood trail follows them through the water as the kraken brings her close, away until the ship is just a mirage. Its mouth opens to show her rows of pretty teeth. Lilith has one on a leather cord around her neck, gifted accidentally by a shipwreck she visited one.

“Liar. A shipwreck you made.” (says a voice she does not know)

Its breath is only warmth here as the kraken lazes at this depth, letting faint currents shift her from side to side. They are still far from the bottom of the ocean, but this dark is preternatural anyway. This place hardly even exists.

Lilith, who has been granted space to move in the safety of the kraken’s grip, runs her hand over the suckers on its arm. It tastes her blood.

“Have you been well, dear one?” She asks this through the murk so her voice does not really travel, but the kraken hears her. She feels it twirling her lightly in place, humming more serenely as they dance farther from the ship, together.

Lilith kisses its wet flesh and looks toward her creature, her kraken, her ocean. “It is all I have, to hear that.”

It sends a small shockwave through the water in response – enough to make the barnacle shiver where it sits sipping at Lilith’s blood.

“Do you want me to sing for you?” Lilith spreads her palm over what passes for a kraken’s hand, sliding her fingers fully around the thinnest part, the very tip of its arm.

There’s a plea in its voiceless rhythm as the kraken twists in the water. There is so much of it that Lilith cannot follow every arm to its ending. Her creature is vast and it swallows the ocean around them. Everything, instead, is her.

(they are the same thing)

(ocean and kraken. ocean and girl)

Lilith sings.

#davy jones au #warrior nun #lilith villaumbrosia #the kraken uses it/her pronouns btw. she is everything to me (and to lilith) (she has to be)#this is camilith because cam gets to be a god trapped inside a girl. as a treat ^_^#anyway yes lilith + love + hunger thesis statement #casper writes

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world-of-aus · 1 year ago

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Live Now

Pairing: Camboy!Bucky x Camgirl!Reader

Warnings: NONE.

Authors Note: Here is Part 2 to our cammers, this is just to build story up I promise the other installments will have all the smut. Enjoy Buns and Happy Readings!

Bucky stares at the message, a chuckle building in his chest as he rereads it. The cursor blinks back at him, waiting for a one-time quick wit response from him.

His fingers hover over the keys, he types.

I‘After that live, well I guess you could say I’m a fan in the making, had your name being dropped in my lives every other day, had to come see for myself what all the fuss was about, you don’t disappoint do you siren?’

Bucky plans to leave you with that, but when he moves the cursor back over the ‘x’ to close the tab your reply is coming through.

‘Looks like I’m going to owe your following a thank you, perhaps on my next live. I’m not too keen on disappointing, I like being a good girl.’

Bucky feels his cock stir as he reads, then rereads your message, his fingers move over the keys.

‘I’ll make sure to let them know to swing on by for that thank you. Is that so, well something tells me you’re not always a good girl siren, you look like you need a good knee to be tossed over occasionally.’

His cock hardens in his grey joggers at your response.

‘Are you offering, because I wouldn’t decline, I could be so good for you.’

Any other time and Bucky would have jumped at the opportunity, but he already had someone scheduled to join his live this week, and while he would have loved to get out of his predicament, he had numbers to build, and he knew dropping one of the highest rated female cammers could have his numbers dropping within minutes if word got out.

‘Not sure you can handle me siren.’

Is what he offers instead, it’s not a ‘no’ but it’s not a ‘yes’ either - yet. Your response comes in seconds later.

‘A shame, well I hope to one day get the chance to prove you wrong, till next time xoxo.’

Bucky smiles at that, his fingers clicking the tab closed, and opening another shortly after, and while his work email loads, he has no doubt that you’ll get that chance, he just had a loose end to tie.

The loose end shows up as an unread response. Vixen.

‘Buckmeup I look forward to our live tomorrow, let me know whether you prefer my place or yours.. Can’t wait to meet you.. Xx – Vixen.’

Bucky types up his reply, inputting his address before shooting the message back. When performing a live with another cammer he preferred his space, it made sure he was in control of the situation at all times, and he liked being in control, and inviting Vixen over ensured that. He had a good amount of time to prepare before tomorrow.

You were on cloud nine; it had been a day and you couldn’t rid yourself of the feeling, giddiness washing over you in waves as you reread the messages between you and buckmeup for your friend. “I can’t believe it Tasha,” you breathed into the line, “buckmeup, thee buckmeup watched my live, he’s the hottest, highest rating male cammer right now!”

The redhead laughs over the line, “and he’s also your only favorite male cammer right now,” she teases. “You still looking around for that replica dildo of his junk?”

“Natasha,” you whine, “you think I have a chance though?” you question after a brief pause.

“Y/n that man would have to be seriously stupid for him to pass a chance up with you, if anyone should be worried it should be him not being able to handle you, not the other way around. You’ve built yourself up, you don’t need a man to help with that.”

Your teeth find your lower lip as you look at the messages screen, your friend was right. “I can hear you overthinking, stop it.” Your fingers close the tab, “I’m sorry,” you whine, “but the man who fuels my fantasies said I looked like I needed to be tossed over a knee, I think I'm allowed this moment, this has never happened before!”

Natasha’s laughing, “what am I going to do with you?”

“Help me get to the top,” you offer “take vixen’s number one spot away?”

“If you keep following my advice, I have no doubt that you’ll reach the top soon, I mean look, your favorite cammer messaged you I’d say you’re at the halfway mark babe.”

The giddiness returns, “he did, didn’t he.” The two of you laugh, “you sure you don’t want to come out with Clint and I tonight, it’ll be fun, you can tell me more about your interaction too.”

“Tasha I refuse to intrude on date night, Clint may have been oblivious to the first time where I seemingly just happened to show up by myself at the same bar and grill as you two, but he’s going to know somethings up the second time around.”

“Boo you whore.”

“Hey,” you laugh, “I have uploading to do anyway, I finally finished editing those shots you took of me the other day.”

“Uhuh, are you sure you won’t be viewing someone’s live tonight instead of uploading those edits?”

“Natasha,” you laugh those it does little to hide your true intentions, “I do have to upload – and maybe take a small peek at buckmeups live – he said he was going to tell his viewers to come get their thank you from me, I have to see if it’s true!”

The two of you laugh, Clint voice cutting through in the background, your friend sighs, “listen I’ve got to go, but I’m dropping by tomorrow, there’s a set I want you to try on.”

“Is it more revealing then the first?”

You can see her smirk through the phone, “you bet, see you tomorrow lover!

“See you tomorrow, tell Clint I said hi and that we should get together soon!”

The call ends with a click, your phone being tossed off to the side as you settle into bed. The photo editor goes ignored as you open a new tab, typing in the website you settle further into your sheets as it loads.

You don’t have to go any farther than the first page, his profile one of the first ones to choose from. His live now notification blinks before you, welcoming, inviting. You click on it instantly, your screen going black before his figure comes onto the screen, but he’s not alone. A brunette lays spread naked on his sheets, her fingers dancing along her body as she waits for him. You don’t have to wait long to find out who she is, vixen.

Of course it was vixen.

A part of your mind screams at you to close the page, but the bigger part of you screams to stay, to sit and watch what she brings to the table and see the ways you could do better.

You find it's almost painful to sit through this live, your fingers not having drifted south once since it started. You’ve almost closed the tab three times with how hard Vixen was laying it down, but you were determined to see it through to the end.

You nearly breathed a sigh of relief when Buckmeup’s orgasm finally hits, you’d say that was the best part of this live, and with the way the coins were hitting his account you’d say his viewers thought the same as well. You should have exited at this point, but you waited, watching as Buckmeup thanked his viewers for being so good for them, that he couldn’t wait to see them next time.

Your screen goes blank after ‘buckmeups live has now ended’ appearing on the screen before you. You’re not sure what you feel in that moment, can’t quite decipher the feeling as you exit the screen. As you open a new tab, fingers taking you to your website of work you think the feeling may be a lit fire as you upload your newest edits.

‘To buckmeup’s fans, thank you, come join me tomorrow live, for a good time.. Xoxo – Siren’

#camboy!bucky #cam girl!au #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes au

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lexa-griffins · 17 days ago

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which Lexa would wear that short leather skirt, top, and collar that Alycia had on

I mean. I feel like cam girls Lexa is probably the most obvious choice 🤭

This look featuring a Clarke with her leather jacket and nothing underneath and leather pants for a particular show dedicated to bondage and leather 🤭

Clarke can just lift that skirt soooo easily while pulling Lexa by her colar, choking her just enough to make Lexa moan.... 🫦

#letter opened #au: cam girls #hold up i had not realized how well the lighting matches HOLD UP

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hypocriticaltypwriter · 11 months ago

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Question of the day: if one of the Baby Bats came up to their daddy and asked, "Where do babies come from?" How would one of the boys react and / or answer them?

#Is this a topic they cam handle well #Or is this a Bluey and Bandit situation #cherry rambles #the lost boys #tlb #the lost boys 1987 #tlb 1997 #fruitbats🦇🍒#tlg au #the lost girls #the lost girls au

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rabbithaver · 29 days ago

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HOLY SHIT THESE ARE BOTH EXCELLENT THANK YOU KYLE

#ive never seen the second one before omg #saving it for my ownpurposes #also i LOVE the first one #i am so sad every day that M&S2020 never got a PC port bc i would kill for a free cam mod. i wanna see silver on a horse from every angle #it's for research. for my au. where he gets 2 gay dads and a pony of his own. he gets to be a horse girl #rabbit.asks #silver the hedgehog

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strscrossed · 3 months ago

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I'd imagine the longer Eren is "helping behind the scenes" the more touchy he gets with her.

First he starts off just watching

Next he is telling her what to do

Then it's his hands doing the touching

On special occasions they will show her ridding his dick as he is fondling her tits

the more he helps the more involved he gets. and he becomes a regular on the channel. but who is he??? that is the question

#answered #college cam girl au

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dayurno · 8 months ago

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we need to put jean moreau in a room alone with kevin, renee, and jeremy and just see what happens. i think it would be uh. im blacking ojt and nauseous and my nose is bleeding i shant say

i wish this would lead into sex i think if kevin jeremy and renee were in the same room with jean it would probably be to make an intervention of sorts........... like a parent teacher meeting because jean is on the brink of drinking dish washer again. :(

#jeremy calling on kevin and renee exactly like when ur teacher called ur parents is so fucking funny to me #i dont think he would i think he had tact and understanding and probably kept his conversations w kevin under wrap #BUT ISNT THAT HILARIOUS TO YOU.#oh jean you have so many angels looking out for you! theyre trying their best #with the tools at hand #but you are indeed the luckiest girl in the world #actually this is making me think of a nona the ninth au where jean is nona and his bob the builder brigade are cam pal and phyrra #asks #jean #renee #kevin #jeremy

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havinganidentitycrisis · 12 days ago

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[GORE / BODY HORROR / ANIMAL DEATH]

🥀🥩 Goretober Week 6: TRAIL CAM x ROADKILL 🥩🥀

(character name/pronouns: Rosette, she/her)

☆ this week's artwork features my oc Rosette, infected by the insectoid sin of Lust. usually the sweet, hopeless romantic of her friend group, this particular parasitic infection fed on and twisted her desire and attraction; morphing it into carnal obsession while physically transforming her into a praying mantis - a predator known for decapitating and eating their mates.

☆ the idea i had for this piece was a pretty visually distinct departure from my other goretober artworks, but i had such a strong visual in mind of Rosette, deep into this horrifyingly alien/bug-like transformation, having just been discovered in the middle of a dark empty highway, covered in blood and sinue as she's just teared into this full adult deer carcass. like you've been driving alone at night for hours, and suddenly you spot what initially appears to be this girl in the middle of the road, and you step out, only to find her in this truly unnerving feral state.

☆ and she stares back at you, not looking particularily bothered or afraid- but very hungry still.

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evileyeaisling · 1 year ago

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Aisling stood quickly, stumbling for a moment before catching herself and offering her gloved hand to him. “You can call me Dottie,” she replied, giving his hand a firm shake. “Shall we head up to the room to discuss privately?”

She led him to the elevators, taking him up to her room. “Feel free to help yourself to the mini fridge if you’d like. I’ll understand if you need a drink to relax,” she said, gesturing to the small fridge before sitting in one of the armchairs and crossing her legs at the knee.

“Thank you for joining me, Jon, and congrats again on winning the raffle.” She folded her hands in her lap, “So, I think we should start with our test results, move on to discussing protection, and then we can talk about kinks, fetishes, and hard limits. As you will see,” she said as she slid an unopened envelope from a clinic, “I’m without any diseases.”

Through the Eyes of Another || Jon/Ais AU

“Drum roll please,” Dorothy ‘Dottie’ Davis smiled into the camera, clasping her hands together excitedly. The on screen chat log filled up with drum emojis, making her giggle. She sat on her bed wearing her usual carefully tailored retro style outfit, camera framing her from the skirt up. Her gimmick as a cam girl was that she pretended to be a fifties housewife blowing off steam while her stern husband was away at work. She wiggled her fingers as if she was drumming, making a drumroll sound with her mouth before finally saying “JumpRightJon! Congratulations on winning, I’ve already sent you a direct message to arrange for a video call to discuss next steps. Everyone else, thank you for participating. Have a great night, loves, and remember; Dottie does it!”

A few weeks later Aisling sat in the lobby of a hotel, waiting patiently for the man who had won the auction, Jon. She had insisted on flying to meet him in Canada, rather than have him fly to America. It was safer for her that a stranger not know where she lived. Mostly they’d discussed what was and wasn’t allowed, including what he could and couldn’t discuss with others after the experience. She shifted, rubbing her leg through her stocking before tugging her skirt down with a brief grimace.

#tteoa au #jonvandernoorde #cam girl au #fridge o mancer #fridgeomancer

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writingsofwesteros · 2 years ago

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Camgirl!Reader 's grades slip and she is beside herself. How can one part of her life be going so well (camming) and the rest of her life go to shit? She starts to vent to her client, though she knows she shouldn't. He is so sympathetic and he encourages her to just charm him. Wear a pretty dress, bat some eyelashes, touch his hand. Just flirt a bit and see what he says... what could go wrong?

!!!!!

Oh this !! He's so manipulative and I'm here for it !! Of course she doesn't want to blur her lives..but then, what is the harm?

Her prettiest dress is on her the next day; her sweet, ample breasts on display as she so prettily asked to speak to him after class

#au #cam girl!reader

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daisychainsandbowties · 1 year ago

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thinking a normal amount about a treasure planet au. Beatrice on her solar kiteboard, doing the daredevil flip sequence framed against the setting sun and then getting hauled kicking and screaming back to her parents’ house in manacles with a defiant expression on her perpetually dirt-smudged face.

climbing out the window at the first opportunity to go down to the dockside inn, making nebulous plans to steal her kiteboard back but ending up down at the edge of the dock staring past her boots and into the mists. gripping tight to the wood beneath her as she looks up at the sky and dreams of anywhere but here, of stealing a skiff to get off this planet. a reluctant twinge at the thought of going alone.

Bea with all her star maps and her intricate knowledge of spaceships and their solar sails and how to navigate out there where the artigrav net is all that stands between you and floating through nothing, forever.

startling when she hears the familiar sound of someone booking it down the pier on wooden crutches. night has already started to speckle the sky above, and as she listens to the thunk of the crutches on the pier, Bea thinks of the complicated metallic lattice she has on her desk at home, partly disassembled because she’s still trying to work out parts of the engineering. Ava’s birthday is in a month.

she has to stay that long, and then she’ll leave. she will.

turning to watch as Ava races towards her with soup stains on her shirt and messy hair jammed flat beneath a ‘pirate’ hat she bought off of a traveling salesman last year. the tricorn wobbles precariously on her head as she moves. Beatrice just waits, a slight smile on her face.

there are bruises high on each of her arms, from the pincer-like grip of the police bots, manhandling her away from her kiteboard to snap manacles around each wrist.

she rubs at the skin there, but ignores the bruises.

when Ava arrives, a little out of breath, Beatrice holds up a hand so she can help herself down onto the pier. there’s no water beneath them, only a few hundred meters of empty air and curling mist.

Ava keeps one hand on Bea’s and the other on her shoulder, letting the crutches clatter down between them as she sits.

“Mom says you got arrested again,” Ava says cheerfully. “She says they’re threatening to send you to prison.”

Beatrice shrugs, “I wouldn’t mind it, so long as my parents did not visit.”

Ava’s fingers are covered in bright red band-aids, from chopping vegetables all day with her poor hand dexterity. Beatrice watches the colours blur as Ava punches her in the arm, right on the bruises. “Liar, I know you’d miss me.”

her arm throbs painfully, but Beatrice’s expression is carefully neutral as she responds.

“I might.”

she stays with Ava that night, both of them reading her old book with its floating images of ships and canons and pirates leaping from vessel to vessel. Captain Flint, materialising out of empty space to steal away gems and gold, “the loot of a thousand worlds.” Ava traces the projected lines of the solar sails with her fingers as they flicker into being.

Beatrice has repaired the book over and over, making the colours brighter and sharper. the tiny shapes of pirates all made up of light. Ava has the book open on Bea’s chest as she lies next to her, legs all entangled in the sheets they’ve kicked off because the night is so warm.

she seems oblivious to how Beatrice’s breath hitches at almost every touch.

they’re almost asleep when they hear the explosion, a ship crashing into the cliff-side, tumbling over and over before they hear the pop and hiss of heated metal. a bloom of smoke outside the window.

Beatrice gives Ava a piggyback ride down the stairs just before Ava’s ‘mom’, Suzanne, emerges with her pulse-rifle primed, hair loose around her shoulders.

they stumble into the yard and discover a pirate, a robot, still bleeding from a wound in his abdomen, crawling from the wreck of his ship. Beatrice heaves a shard of twisted metal away from him and finds the surface slippery with blood.

behind her, Ava sways a little, shivers in the cold air, but she’s still standing when Beatrice turns back to her.

the dying pirate tells them almost nothing useful. he’s half-mad, cluching at Beatrice’s shirt until the seams tear at the collar, then turning to Ava. he fetches out a lockbox from his ship, blood spilling onto the ground at the movement. unlocks it and takes odd sphere from inside.

it drops into Ava’s palm as he rasps, “Whatever you do, don’t let them find it.”

then he wheezes, shudders, stills.

they stare at him, Ava’s free hand finding Bea’s, holding tight.

“Is he… dead?” Ava’s voice in the silence and the dark.

“I think so.”

then, in a burst of light and sound, in a shockwave of displaced air, a ship plummets down out of the clouds, pulling up an instant from the ground.

this second ship looms down out of the sky, pirates dropping from it and suddenly Suzanne is screaming at them to “GET INSIDE” from an upstairs window as she takes potshots at the misshapen shapes swarming down lines of hempen rope.

the air lights up with orange and yellow as explosions ripple down towards the crashed ship, towards the inn. Bea flings one of Ava’s arms around her neck and sprints for the door, Ava holding the sphere (or map?) tightly against her chest.

she sets Ava down gently onto one of the bar stools, runs back to barricade the door. her face is flushed, streaked somehow with engine grease and robot blood, which is black and slightly acidic.

they exchange a wide-eyed look, too much meaning in it to parse as explosions rock the floor. Ava has both hands clutched around the sphere.

they both almost scream as Suzanne runs down the stairs in a blur of dressing gown and gun. she has Ava’s crutches in one hand and her rifle in the other. she kisses Ava quickly on the forehead, “Thank the tides you’re safe.” leaves her with the crutches and then goes to fetch an ancient-looking blaster pistol out from behind the bar, presses it into Beatrice’s hands. “You know how to use this?”

“No!”

“Aim it away from your own face.”

and then there are pirates all around the house, glass breaking and fire crackling. Beatrice takes up the rear, pistol pointed at the front door as it bulges under the pressure of pirates flinging their bulk into it again and again.

they climb out of a window, Suzanne producing a kitchen knife and jamming it into the neck of a pirate loitering uncertainly outside the bolted shutters. there, covered by a tarp, is Suzanne’s old motorcycle with a sidecar attached. lantern-bugs scatter out from under it as Suzanne throws the old tarp away, gestures for Beatrice and Ava to climb in as she covers them with her rifle.

there’s a roar from somewhere in the dark and Suzanne fires a shot, hops onto the motorcycle and revs the engine. then they’re moving, pirates parting before them like the ocean neither of them have ever seen, the vast bodies of water that don’t even exist on this planet.

they seek refuge with Jillian, an archaeologist who frequents the old inn, claiming that she can’t make her coffee taste of anything but soap. she examines the orb, reluctantly passed into her hands by Ava, her and Bea wrapped in an old blanket, sitting by the fire in Jillian’s immense study.

Jillian fiddles with it for an age before sighing, looking almost angry with herself.

“I can’t… seem to make this work.”

Ava holds out her hand, silent. “let me try,” and Beatrice makes a face at Jillian when she hesitates.

the pirate gave the sphere to Ava; it’s hers.

it seems much larger in Ava’s small grip. she looks down at it for a while before her fingers start to move, slow but gathering momentum as she presses the little grooves and switches and indents on the sphere.

until it lights up, showing a map of the known universe, and parts of it that are unknown.

“Is that-” Beatrice feels her words drop away, like the ground beneath the pier where she has passed so many hours sitting with Ava’s hand in hers.

Ava turns to Beatrice, eyes bright as a pair of stars, “It’s treasure planet.”

#treasure planet au #warrior nun #avatrice #and yeah what about cyborg shannon & mary her first mate and their (pirate) spaceship/ literally just an 18th century frigate #thinking of shannon growing increasingly fond of beatrice who helps her with her star charts and the calculations for navigating space #both of them of course planning their betrayal but looking at these two girls slowly realising they're in love #furious conversations in the captain's cabin and lilith up in the crows nest half the time. cam pestering her with tea #🥹🥹 ava with morph the little pink blob who sure yeah belongs to shannon but hangs out 'spying' on mary in the kitchen #i just think ava and bea should run away and accidentally join a pirate crew together #it'll be fun (i say remembering the Black Hole Incident)#anyway maybe i will write this idk

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