#fat john silver

[buttercupchub]

So I wanted to practice John Silver before I start to draw him together with Captain Winfield and DAMN 💀 my fat man looks not baaad

But I'm gonna hate drawing his cybernetic arm and his hat a lot. And I mean A LOT.

[verrixstudios]

Teehee lineart of the big’un

[ID: Dark reddish grey background to make the red sketch lines appear light pink, and black lineart over both. Beside the Wings of Fire dragon is a reference picture of a movie character from Treasure Planet.

The dragon is a heavy set MudWing based on John Silver. His right legs and wing are mechanical, heavily based on the cyborg parts of the movie character. His wings are semi spread, held above him but curved so that they aren’t fully spread. He wears a captains hat that looks small on his head and has a large tail that has a scarred end, as if it were cut off at the very end. A small hoop earring is on his short ear, and his horns seem to have been sawed off halfway, given a flat cap over the end of them. :END ID]

[bawcothebadartist]

Excuse me cause I'm going to go on a wee rant, but it really REALLY annoys me when people complain about Silver's design. The amount of people who have a problem with him being fat is just... astounding. Not naming names but I even heard someone call him 'grotesque'.

Like oh no... does the fictional cartoon old disabled person who works with food not fit your beauty standards... That's so sad... /s

[soartfullydone]

You and big fat papa Argenti, then. Delethil and Cobalt. And I want to hear about the new pirate ot3 you've joined unwillingly, if possible

grumble grumble grumble

(I've been batting around creating a more Sharte-sounding name, so let's test run an idea.)

Bastion is the one that introduces Arsynic to William Argenti, Sr. The meeting was more happenstance than planned, a touchpoint about any potentially interesting rumors in Durlyne. It wasn't supposed to mean anything or become anything. Bastion wanted to get this Sharte-disguised-as-a-Jet away from intent scrutiny as quickly as possible.

But Arsynic likes the look of this distinguished lord, with his brown skin, long silver hair, and striking blue eyes. She likes how he holds himself with a cane, refusing to bow even with age and gravity itself exerting their forces onto him. Most of all, she likes how rich he looks, like he's a man who still has plenty to lose.

Since Bastion prefers to travel via Offsetting, he leaves Syn behind more often than not, and it's not like she's going to stay put. After probing Bastion for information and poking around, Syn finds the Argenti manor. She scopes it out, learns the routine of the staff, notes Argenti’s comings and goings, notices the unhappy blond soldier who visits every now and then. She sees the gentleman Argenti’s wife entertains in his absence.

So she thinks she’s armed with plenty of blackmail by the time she steals inside. Bastion believes she’s been chasing down leads on Beadman’s shipment of first silver the pair of them lost, and sure, she’ll get to that. But this country moves so slow compared to Sharteshane. What’s a little detour?

It’s likely only her pymary knowledge and new face that saves her. Argenti, Sr. is a career soldier and politician. He knows the limitations posed by his aging body and doesn’t hesitate to take her down. He won’t be blackmailed (and nothing she has on him is unknown to him or a threat).

As an assassin, Syn is competent in Sharteshane but abysmal compared to those trained in Alderode. Her pymaric signature isn’t even masked, as it’s a process she hasn’t been able to afford. Argenti knew she wasn’t a Jet when they met, but whether she was a Gold or something else, he wasn’t certain until he heard her speak.

Which means she’s utterly expendable. The only protection she had was being at Bastion’s side. Without it, she spills why Bastion is traveling with a Sharte to begin with, and Argenti sees opportunity.

He wants a reason to remain politically relevant in Alderode. He wants to rage at how much is left for him to accomplish and how little time he has left. Bastion would no doubt use Beadman’s silver for frivolous ends, but Argenti could use it to topple his enemies, to be the savior the Ssaelit need.

Argenti blackmails Syn. Every lead she has on the silver in exchange for her life. Misleading Bastion on any new findings in exchange for not torturing her in the town square. He could call the Lions down on her at any time. He could make it impossible for her to survive in Alderode, which was already a tall order. There’s no choice but to accept.

But Argenti doesn’t miss the way Syn looks at him. The appreciative interest, which only grows sharper as he bests her. It disgusts him, at first. Shartes are filthy creatures, and women who can lethally cast and stab others are worse than shameful. But Syn looks fetching as a Jet. She is young and supple and near hanging on his every word with fascinated intent. Argenti craves regard, craves relevance, craves the due respect he deserves. So what if his wife defiles their marriage and spreads her legs for a parade of men? He takes a Sharte murderess to his bed even once, and it proves what he’s known all along, that his whore wife is worth less than salt air and sea brine.

After all, there’s nothing more alluring than the forbidden.

———

Delethil and Cobalt, oh boy.

Two men approaching their immortal lives very differently. Aside from the use of tools and thralls, Cobalt works alone, without camaraderie or confidant. He's seeking to end the world and enjoy himself thoroughly along the way.

Delethil, meanwhile, forges relationships with enough of his fellow wood elves that last decades, commiserating often with them over a bottle of ale. He has to, to get this revolution to truly work. Even if his men only know him on the surface level, he's learned much of their private lives. He knows what drives them and what will motivate them to act when the time comes. Throughout it all, he still has Eravin.

Cobalt has seen would-be revolutionaries before. He's seen idealists before. He's seen endless self-serving politicians. But it's kind of funny, to see all of those traits tangled up inside a fellow smirking, conniving immortal. He knows the bargain the Minister of Engineering extended to the moon elves (after all, it was his idea) and is delighted when Delethil secures the weapons for his side instead. Cobalt wanted to distract Aeranth with oppression, with keeping a tight grip on itself. Now, he gets a potential civil war and an untested new government? My, my, you shouldn't have~

The vampire lord was already going to interfere. Delethil's takeover shouldn't be too easy (and it won't matter in the end, anyway). But Cobalt is impressed, learning Delethil manipulated a member of his favorite adventuring party to see it done. The rose-haired elf can't quite disguise the turmoil of her thoughts, how much Delethil's lies have shaken her faith in him and broken her heart, how worried she is for her home. Cobalt still sends Zaresh to assassinate the remaining Circle members, but he starts making thralls of Del's people, too. A web of betrayal to make Delethil increasingly paranoid and unable to trust those he thought he could.

Of course, Cobalt appears in Lunhaven to congratulate Delethil for his success. He's a man who enjoys seeing what his investment has secured, after all, and he respects the appetites of a hungry man. Del wasn't born yesterday, however; he knows a snake when he sees one and Cobalt doesn't do much to hide what he is. Fortunately, Cobalt makes the right play to put a chink in Del's armor. He mentions how Riven took the truth behind the trade for Aya's Touch.

And Del's expression turns starved. Because he knows from her letter how she reacted and has heard nothing since. She hasn't come home. She's seemed to have forgotten him entirely. And it pisses him off. He's plagued with thoughts about Riven and Eravin conspiring against him. He wants to see her. He wants all of this to work the way it was supposed to.

So, wondering if he can drive Del mad with it, Cobalt offers a temporary panacea: all the memories and insights he has on that cheeky rosé elf. All Delethil has to do to see what Cobalt has is to let Cobalt drink from him.

And let me tell you, that's the only way outside of a fight that a lvl 6 Delethil willingly allows a ??? lvl vampire lord to bite him.

Also something something Circle members start being murdered something something one of Del's own tries to assassinate him something something Del pushes Eravin away despite how worried the latter is because Del's suspicion is growing worse by the day something something Cobalt offering the only reprieve Del wants with visions of Riven that are increasingly fabricated

———

Unless I can come up with some plausible AU that is pre-Treasure Island, then we're assuming that all that happened, plus Mel being delivered back to her father, plus the wedding that Silver crashed, stealing the bride-to-be.

For a time, Mel is content sailing with Silver aboard his ship. Silver doesn't give her the position of first mate, and she doesn't ask for it. She learns the difference between manning a ship like a navy sailor and manning it as a pirate, much of it a difference of social etiquette.

But eventually, despite all she learns about sailing and herself at his side, despite their mutual attraction, it's not enough. Mel's ambition is to be her own captain, commanding her own crew, sailing where she wishes at the whim of no one else. One day, they dock at the Republic of Pirates, and she never comes back.

Silver waits, but only as a courtesy before setting sail without her. It cuts, but he knows her restless heart, knows she won't truly be satisfied until she tests her ambitions, and even then, satisfaction will be fleeting. In that way, they are far too similar.

It's in her absence that Silver meets Izzy, that he actively seduces him away from Blackbeard to serve as his first mate. It's a hard-won fight because Izzy is so singularly loyal. Silver basks in the victory, as confident in it as he is that Izzy's newfound loyalty in him is genuine. Amazing, what genuine praise can do for a man. A shame it hadn't been enough to keep Mel; together, the three of them could've been unstoppable.

Izzy, of course, isn't blind to the ambition in Silver. He knows he sails with a shark out of water. But Silver leads his crew with the confidence, discipline, and sense of adventure that had slowly leeched away from Blackbeard's ship. Silver is a man to follow, with a vision that instills belief in the crew and a genuine love for pirating. If he should sell any of them out, well, Izzy can deal with that, so long as he remains invaluable to the wily cook.

So Izzy understandably hates it when Silver commands their ship to interfere with a British man-of-war attacking another pirate vessel, but he follows orders. He doesn't question Silver in front of the crew when they fish a raging, spitting, injured hellcat out of the water, not when they need to make their own escape.

But he does ask, later and point-blank, what they're doing with a navy brat on board the ship if not to ransom her. Is consternated when Silver only laughs and admits he's tried that already and paid for it. Is confused when the woman hops to the schedule of the ship like she's familiar with it and is every inch the biting bastard when she ignores his orders as first mate and only seems to answer to Silver.

Mel, much the same way, is wondering who the hell Izzy is and what he's doing here. How is a man so short getting by with so much authority?

It becomes a game of competency. Who can anticipate Silver's, I mean, the ship's needs the most? Who can complete their tasks better and quicker than the other? Who can garner the most favor with the crew? Who does Silver appreciate more?

Meanwhile, Silver attempts to woo Mel back permanently. She's just lost her ship and her crew. She has nothing left but disgrace. And maybe it's partly a trap. Maybe he's bitter and jealous that she found something seemingly better than what he had offered her and wants to demonstrate how wrong she was. If he found what could tempt Izzy Hands to his side, he could do the same here.

Izzy could bite through a plank when Silver tempts her with co-captainship. This little strumpet isn't his captain, and doesn't get to strut around pretending anymore than she already does. And sure, Mel considers it, but she wisely asks, "And if we should give contradicting orders? Won't the ones Mr. Hand's and the crew follow prove who the real captain is?"

As amused as Silver is by the whole thing, there's clear distrust and tension between Mel and Izzy for a long time. Neither of them appreciates Silver's "bonding" methods with the pair of them. They both dislike yet begrudgingly respect how competent the other is, but Mel often feels disadvantaged compared to Izzy's experience. It's both grating and alluring how commanding he is, so of course, she tests his patience whenever she can. Meanwhile, Izzy is aware that he is a surly ball of piss shaped like a man and Mel might as well be a bloody siren, the way Silver fawns over her. What are they?

It's Silver who learns that Mel's father is the one who obliterated her ship and her crew. Her father, who Mel managed to get right where she wanted yet couldn't find the will to kill him, despite her hatred, despite her anger. All she had was a moment, and she lost it to hesitation, a weakness her father didn't have when he stabbed her. All she can take solace in is what he lost due to Silver's attack. She tells him she hopes he left a mark on her father the way Blackbeard once did, the scar still so prominent it had almost been a deathblow. She hopes she runs into Blackbeard again, to thank him, to perhaps learn something from another pirate legend she admires.

Silver casually asks Izzy later about Blackbeard's encounter with a certain English admiral. "Where the fook did ya hear that?" Izzy says. "Ed was doin' fuck-all belowdeck. That was me."

[rosiereveries]

TW: age gap (John is in his late 40s and reader is in her early 20s), cheating, unprotected sex, slight breeding, reader cheating on her boyfriend with his dad

Imagine that you are dating a CEO!John son. He is an awful boyfriend who doesn’t take care of you, but he sometimes buys you gifts, and he pays every time you go out. He has his dad's money, and you are comfortable in that relationship. You don’t love him, but you're bored so you date him anyway.

When he invites you to his parent’s place for a party his mother is organizing you agree. You never met his parents, but you googled his father when you started dating. You saw the pictures of John in his expensive black suits looking like a god of sex. He is so attractive with his piercing blue eyes and silver in his hair and the body. He is built like a bear, with broad shoulders and muscles with a little layer of fat.

When you arrive John's wife greets you, and you start to see that your boyfriend is the exact version of his mom. She is the typical neurotic mother who is obsessed with her baby boy, who has everything in life but still shoplifts underwear and cheats on her husband with some Pilates instructor (because he reminds her of her son). It is very clear that your boyfriend's parents don’t love each other, and they stay together just because they don’t have time for a divorce.

Your boyfriend leaves you at the bar. He orders you a drink and tells you to stay here and wait for him. He must go speak with his boys, and he doesn’t want you to ruin their vibe. You know they need some bro time. You stay at the bar texting your friends, promising that you will break up with him the moment he comes back because you just got the biggest ick from his bro time.

That’s how John finds you, Alone, sipping on your sweet drink and paying no attention to the party. He sits next to you, and when he asks you if you are one of his wife's friends from the yoga group you tell him no. He is relieved because you look like a sweet girl. Then you tell him that you date his son, and he thinks that his luck just run out. What he doesn’t know is that it is your 3rd drink of the night, you’ve been waiting for your boyfriend for more than 40 minutes and you are so over him. So you start to complain, you say that he doesn’t spend time with you, he only wants to have sex and when you finally agree, he can't get his dick hard because he is drunk or high. You also think that he is cheating on you and you couldn’t care less about him.

When John asks you why you are still with him you simply tell him that you enjoy his money. John orders you a glass of water and makes you drink it, then another and another. He has plans with you and he needs you sober. He moves his chair, so he sits closer to you, and he starts to tell you that if you want man's money you should find someone who will treat you well. Not only on the financial side but on the emotional as well. He slowly starts to touch your hand, and he leans so close you can smell his cologne. You are intoxicated by his smell, the closeness, and the alcohol you drank. When you realize that your boyfriend's father is in fact flirting with you start to flirt with him too.

You ask him if he knows how to take care of women. He plays your game, and he tells you that if you want to know you have to find out by yourself. You sit at the bar for another half an hour, you’re not allowed to have any more drinks only water, but when you beg John for a sip of his whiskey he gives in. He finds in very sensual how you drink from his glass, your lipstick leaving a mark on the glass and he wonders how your lipstick would look on his dick.

When you see your boyfriend talking and flirting with some other woman you have enough. You get up from your chair and you stand between John’s spread tights. He puts his hand on your lower back and starts to gently touch you. When you get close to him, he thinks that you are trying to kiss him but you only whisper asking if you’ve been good girl and if he will finally take care of you.

He walks you to some bedroom on the upper floor when the guests are not allowed, and the moment he closes the door behind you, he pines you to the wall. He kisses you like a hungry man, he’s tongue is immediately in your mouth, and he lifts you, so your legs are around his waist. He gropes your ass, squeezing and slapping and you’re getting so wet. You start to grind on him, feeling his bulge through his pants. You can feel how hard he is getting and how big he is. After he is done kissing you, he moves to your neck. He leaves there so many hickeys and little bruises from biting, and you know that he is marking what is his.

John gently places you on the bed and he starts to work on undressing you. When you are only in bra and panties, he takes a second, like he is enjoying the view, imagining what will happen next. You beg his to not tease you, to already do something, and when he finally takes your underwear off he spreads you legs and looks at your pussy. He asks you if his son ever eaten you out, and when you tell him no, you hear him say that he will make it up to you.

You hear him say how nice and wet you are for him, and he starts to gently bite your inner thighs. He slowly works his way to your centre and when he licks your clit you know you wont last long. John sucks and licks and when he adds his finger, slowly pushing in you, you start to feel your orgasm approaching. He fingers you with one hand, adding another finger, stretching you and with the other one he starts to massage your tits and when he pinches your nipple you come.

After that he slowly unbuttons his shirt, he unzips his pants, and he takes his boxers off. He grabs your ankles, and he pulls you to the side of the bed. John touches your nipples between his fingers, pinching them hard, and when you gasp you hear him laugh and say “So fucking sensitive for me.” His hands then slips under your legs and he spreads you wider for him.

He wants to fuck you raw, he doesn’t care if you are on birth control or not, he needs to feel your wet pussy around his cock. He starts to slide his tip between your fold teasing you. Then slowly he pushes in. You feel the stretch and you are very glad that he took his time preparing you for this. You feel so full of him as he pushes his way deeper and deeper. Once he is settled all the way in, he starts to pull out. His trusts are slow but rough,

John puts almost all his way on you as he starts to kiss you again. His hands are holding your legs as he fucks you. He puts your nipple in his mouth gently sucking and biting while his cock is pounding at your cervix. You fell him so deep, and you know that he is ruining you for any other man. The sex with his son couldn’t compared to this.

It doesn’t take long for you to be approaching your orgasm again. His hands are on your hips holding you still while he fastens the tempo, and you can feel, that he is close too. “That’s it come for me, be a good girl” you hear him say as he starts to rub your clit again. That’s when you come again, spasming on his cock milking him dry.

He cum inside of you, you can feel him throbbing as he spills his load inside. He doesn’t pull out, he just shifts your position so now he is laying on the bed and you are on his chest his dick still inside of you. When you try to get off him, he grips you harder and you can’t move. “I may not be 25 anymore but I still can give you another round” you hear him say. You can feel him getting harder in you again and you know, that you will be here for quite some time. “Now be a good girl and show me how can you ride my cock”

You just hope that your boyfriend won’t come looking for you.

Part two Masterlist

[thenightling]

I am very disappointed in the people praising the censoring / editing of Roald Dahl's books.   Let me tell you a little story.   About five years ago I decided to re-visit Treasure Island.  I found an unabridged version.   I was surprised to discover that Long John Silver had a black lover.   Because the book used the term "n--ress" the mention of her was removed from many American editions of the book when I grew up.

Note: I am not saying they removed the N word.  I am saying they removed her *all together.* I didn't know Long John Silver had a love interest until I was in my thirties and read an unabridged version of the novel. It revealed so much about the story that I hadn't noticed before. 1.  That Long John Silver believed in love despite what was considered a cultural norm of the time.  He didn't care about what others considered proper and he was in love. 2.   It shows that even Robert Louis Stevenson acknowledged the existence of interracial couples and yet no movie version I can think of addressed this until the TV series Black Sails. 3. It helped remind me of the culture of the era in which Treasure Island takes place and when it was written, the stigma against interracial relationships that existed in America right into the twentieth century and in some places is still a thing. Sometimes books tell us more than just a story.   They show us how a world was once viewed.   I felt like this was an important discovery, that Long John Silver had a black lover (or wife).   And I was even a little angry that I had been robbed of this in previous readings of the book.   I think the removal of words like "Fat" and "ugly" from Roald Dahl's books does us a disservice.   It "cleans up" the past and denies a chance for us to learn some of the less pleasant aspects of the past and how and why language has changed since then.    What should be a teaching point and experience is lost in the name of sensitivity.   I felt cheated and it even felt a little racist that Long John Silver's love interest isn't mentioned in many editions of Treasure Island.  And I feel that one day there may be similar feelings if people discover they aren't reading the original versions of Dahl's books. Try to remember the original reason Ray Bradbury wrote Fahrenheit  451.  It wasn't about an evil government taking away people's blooks. It was about this group and that group getting offended at various titles until they just banned everything to try to make everyone happy.    

[dmitriene]

cw: catholic guilt, catholicism, possibly wrong description of environment.

priest john price, a man you believe naively and unquestioningly, each time you meet him, visit the church mass, and it's all out of a secret, devouring desire to hear his hoarse, smoky voice, to feel his fleeting touch when he gently blesses you as soon as people disperse, the delicate whisper when he praises you for your regular church attendance.

he calls you a good girl like it's your name, and you think it's something normal, a thing he calls every other girl that attends the church the way you do, that he touches every other the same way, you don't know that john sees it in you, the subtle shift of your body when you stand beneath his gaze, blue eyes crinkled, a deep cerulean, as he croons huskily when you tell him there's something strange going with you.

you don't notice that john touches you like everything he asked god for, like you're a gift yourself from the sky above, fallen into his beefy arms like you should, a place he kept reserved especially for you, under a silver glint of his crucifix, dangling down above your head, letting him be the one to forget your sins, because he's your epitome of holy.

he marks your delicate skin with burning, stinging patches from his beard, grayish, rough when it rubs against your body, anchoring you in the moment, in the things you feel, the desperate, wet kisses he smudges all over the curve of your frail neck, over the gold chain that holds your own cross, scorching you from where it's presses against your flesh, but you're lost in the feel of john's thick fingers fiddling with the edges of your panties.

john whispers that no one would see you there, the chapel closed, it's only the two of you among the blessed room, your body perched on the one of the wooden benches, a big cross behind his back makes you feel quilty, it's a place made for the people to clean their souls and forget about their sins, he's a man too sweet to fall under the temptation, but when you feel the heaviness of his cock slapping against your drippy, twitching folds, your brain sizzles shut with a pitchy moan.

there's no place for a guilt when you're in his adoring hands, holding onto your soft sides, so diabolically angelic looking, your long skirt hiding the lewd sight of his meaty girth rubbing against the slick of your fluttering folds, twitching under the small, squelchy slaps that make you shift, skin blazing hot, sweating, as john grips at your hip.

you forget all about holy when he kisses you, his plump lips enveloping yours carefully, with tender affection, the thick, weeping tip nudging against your slit, stretching your thin walls inch by careful inch, the wet glide making the sting easier, as you move your hands to cradle them in the hair on his nape, digging into his neck, as john groans, crooning into your temple at how good you're doing.

letting him take your virginity away, being the religion that fills your whole body, his cock swelled fat, spasming in the tight clutches of your gooey, rippling walls, a small, wet pussy he pummels into, watching your face to any response of pain, but you gush so much slick and keen prettily against his ear, chanting his name in a broken, praying melody, your hips meeting his with obscene plaps.

john makes sure you have a feel of a good orgasm first, holds himself down when your pussy starts to spasm rapidly, your spread legs shaking, frissoning from the weight of the heat that knots in your lower belly, tight, tight, until it's snaps like a thin string, your toes curling, cramping, as you clamp down around his throbbing cock, feeling every thick vein, shattering down, each shallow spasm of your pussy followed by the rush of creamy cum.

he fills you with his viscous seed, so warm and heavy inside of you, splashing against your gooey insides, oozing to leak out of your swollen, aching pussy, as john coats your face in tender kisses, lips spit soaked from how much he licked them, forehead sweating with unruly strands of his grayish hair sticking to the skin, as you cling to him, letting him hold you close while you float in this cloudy high.

it's just a matter of time when he will will offer you to become his on the engagement ring, he has a good, large home in the area, a generous amount of money too, enough to make you live a happy, serene life, and it's only normal to suggest you become his wife after you two been so close, by god's will, and if john says so, you can't refuse such a gesture.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[dcartcorner]

Commission for @morning-softness! Thank you for the support!

[Image description: John, Tim, Martin, and Sasha from The Magnus Archives. The four of them are sitting around a table in Jon's flat, playing a board game. Jon is staring intently at the board, thinking about where to place his tile. Tim is smiling and leaning over to give Jon advice. Across from Jon, Martin is covering his mouth and laughing, happy to be there with the others. Sasha is holding a drink, and giving Martin a knowing look from across the table. Jon is a fat British-Indian man with medium brown skin, shoulder-length black hair streaked with grey, and glasses. He is wearing a white dress shirt, a sweater vest, and an ace ring. There are small silver studs in his earlobes. His sleeves are rolled up and his hair is slightly rumpled from where he has been running his hands through it. Tim is a thickset man with tan skin, brown eyes, greying brown hair in an undercut, and a short beard. He has gauged ears, and wears a fidget bracelet on one wrist. He is wearing a brightly colored button-down shirt, with the collar unbuttoned. Sasha is a thin Black British woman with long type 3b hair, wearing a turtleneck shirt and glasses with a chain. Martin is a fat Vietnamese-Polish man with short, dark brown hair and light, freckled skin. He has gauged ears, and stubble on his chin and neck. He is wearing a jumper and thick glasses. End image description.]

[alastor-simp]

Hugging Them Out Of Nowhere - Hazbin Hotel Gang x Female Reader

Charlie🌈 -

🌈EEEE! HUGSSS! Charlie doesn’t even question why you are hugging her right now. She will instantly hug you back.

🌈She had just gotten back from a failed attempt at getting some patrons to come to the hotel. Feeling upset, she was sitting on the couch in the lobby by herself. The thundering of footsteps alerted her, and soon enough a pair of arms had wrapped around her body.

🌈She was expecting it to be Vaggie, but she noticed the lack of silver hair and bow. Realizing it was you, she questioned why the sudden hug before she shrugged her shoulders and squeezed back tightly, smile on her face.

🌈Letting go, you gazed straight into her eyes, shy expression on your face. “Sorry for the sudden hug. You seemed sad so I figured a hug would make you feel better. Did it?” Oh Charlie’s heart was squealing at the cuteness. She didn’t even answer your question, as she hugged you even tighter, yelling out so many thank you’s

Vaggie🎀-

🎀This one almost got you a spear in the gut. Vaggie wasn’t use to affection from anyone but Charlie, so don’t blame her for nearly killing you. She would calm down knowing it was you, but wouldn’t hug back until she knew the reason why.

🎀It wasn’t her day today. Alastor was bugging the hell out her with his numerous dad jokes. Niffty nearly speared her with the needle, chasing after a cockroach, and Husk had passed out drunk at the bar, leaving him not doing his duties as the hotel bartender.

🎀It left her fuming, but she didn’t want to instigate it more and end up using her spear, so she walked outside to the hotel rooftop to get some air. After a few minutes and taking some calming breaths, she heard the sound of the roof top door opening. She turned expecting Charlie, but she was then pulled into a hug.

🎀 “Que carajo!!” She was about the grab her spear, until she recognized it was. She stood confused as you were still hugging her. “Umm Y/N? Why are you hugging me?”

🎀Removing your arms from her, you stepped back and looked at her. Rubbing the back of your neck, you turned away shyly. “Sorry! You looked upset about something and hugs always make me feel better so I figured you needed one. Sorry if I overstepped, I know you don’t like being touched by anyone other than Charlie so….”

🎀Vaggie’s sharp gaze softened at your reasoning. She’s been in hell for a long time, and she has grown to distrust a lot of them, except Charlie and Angel Dust, a bit. She realized that you were much different. You cared about others and your friends, and you were kind and supportive.

🎀Looking back at Vaggie, you realized she was smiling at you softly, which is what you didn’t suspect. She got closer to you and gave you a slight shoulder hug. “Thanks Y/N. You’re a good amiga.”

Angel Dust🕷️-

🕷️ “Heh toots, if you wanted to jump me, all you had to do was ask~” His first reaction would be to flirt with you. Figures, but he was a porn star so he was used to stuff like this, yet more aggressively.

🕷️He entered through the hotel doors, muttering a groan. His body was aching from the amount of times he was doing it with some random john’s in Valentinos new porn video. Not only that, he had to suffer through the abuse that his boss gave him after he told him if he could stop since it was starting to hurt, but that earned him a slap on the face and cut lip.

🕷️Bypassing everyone in the lobby, he made his way upstairs and headed towards his room. Once he entered, he picked up Fat Nuggets from the floor and laid on the bed, with his pet pig lying in his chest fluff. He was given a bit of peace, until it was interrupted by a knock at the door.

🕷️ “Who is it?” Angel leaned his head up to stare at the door. He heard from the other side that it was you. Heaving a sigh, he placed Fat Nuggets on the bed, and made his way towards the door. Opening it, he saw you standing there. Crossing his arms, he leaned against the door frame. “Whatcha want toots?”

🕷️Suddenly, he was pushed back inside of his room. You flung yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his back, face placed into his fluff. Dumbfounded, he stood frozen, wondering what the hell was happening. After a while, a smirk appeared on his face, and he wrapped two of his hands around you while using the other two to tilt your head up at him.

🕷️ “Well well, you wanted to cop a feel that badly~.” He pulled you further inside the room, using his long legs to close his door. Shaking your head, you told him that’s not what you were trying to do. Confused, he let you go, giving you time to step back and stand in front of him. Raising his eyebrow, he asked what you just jumped at him like that.

🕷️Blushing a bit, you looked away at the ground. “ I noticed that you looked very upset when you passed the lobby. I figured something must of happened at your job, given the slight cut on your lip. I wanted to cheer you up so I thought a hug might help.” His eyes widen at your reasoning. Mushy gooey stuff like this always annoyed him, he rather just get down to the business. But, you were changing how he felt about it.

🕷️Looking up at Angel, you gaped a bit. He was wearing a sad smile on his face, eyes a bit watery. “Angel are you ok-” Your words were cut off as Angel grabbed you again, hugging you tightly to himself. He motioned himself back to his bed and sat down, positioning you to sit on his lap. “Thanks toots” You hummed a response and hugged him back.

Niffty🪡

🪡Niffty would be ecstatic when you hugged her. Despite how scary she could be at times, she was an affectionate demon.

🪡She always was beaming with energy, smiling wildly with her large eye beaming. Today was an off day for her. She was in a cheery mood, but less than usual. The pesky cockroaches kept escaping her and not only that Husk accidentally vomited on her, ruining her favorite dress. She was lucky Husk was her friend or she would have mutilated with the kitchen knife.

🪡She was in the hotel laundry room, washing her dirty dress, and wearing a different one. She heard the sound of the door opening and saw you walking in. Excited she greeted you, “Hi Y/N!!” She waved her hand, and zipped up next to you. She saw you bend down to your knees, which confused her until she felt you lift her up and gave her a hug.

🪡Niffty was still for a second until she hugged back, giggling. The both of you stayed like that for a bit until you set her back down. “Sorry for hugging you out of nowhere Niffty. You liked slightly upset even though you are still beaming with excitement so I thought a hug would help.”

🪡The smile on Niffty face got almost as big as Al’s. She jumped up and hugged you again, repeating how cute you were.

Husk🍺-

🍺 "Hey kid, what the hell you doing?" Husk would react a bit rudely at first. Don't blame him, he lost his ability to love years ago, so stuff like that threw him off a bit.

🍺Grumbling to himself, Husk was wiping the bar stand aggressively. He had to deal with Al telling his annoying dad jokes for 3 hours, and not only that Angel had come after that and constantly flirted with him. He was able to tell Angel to f✪✪✪ off for the 40th time, to which Angel did leave. He was getting to old for this sh✪✪.

🍺Grabbing a bottle of cheap booze, he started to guzzle it down. His ears perked up at the sounds of feet tapping behind him. Turning around he saw you walking towards him. Confused he questioned you, before he was pushed back a bit by you hugging him

🍺The bottle he was holding nearly fell from his hand, but he was able to hold on to it. He was standing there dumbfounded, wondering what the hell was happening. "Oy kid, the hell are you doing? Ya better not be two sheets to the wind." he heard you chuckled against him, before letting him go. "Sorry Husk, you looked a little more grumpy then usual so I figured a hug might help out a bit."

🍺Well that made his heart ache a bit. Stuff like affection he's pushed away for a long time and numbed it with alcohol, but the act that you did was making him feel those again. Feeling that you made him angry, you apologize and went to leave, before your were pulled back into another hug by him, wings wrapping around your back. "Heh thanks kid. You're a good one."

Alastor🦌

🦌Yeah this one was gonna be very difficult. Alastor detested being touch, and he rather prefer if he was the one initiating the contact. Anyone who would even think of touching him would be sucked up into his microphone, never to be seen again

🦌Alastor was pacing back and forth in his studio. His smile was still on his face, but it was more strained then usual. Some wayward soul had tried to rob rim, resulting in his favorite coat being ripped slightly. Well that sinner was taken care of, but he had ruined Al's good day. The icing on the cake was hearing the piece-of-sh✪✪ television, running his mouth and calling him a coward. Alastor knew better then to pick a fight with an egotistical overlord, that wasn't worth his time, but the insults only fueled his rage more.

🦌His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on his door. Ears perking at that, he walked over and opened the door, seeing you standing there with a smile. "Well hello my dear! Is there something you needed to discuss with me about?" His smile widen as his crimson eyes glowed down at you. Nodding, you asked if it was alright to come in. Alastor moved back, letting you walk inside his private studio. Having close the door, Alastor walked past you and sat on his chair, crossing his legs to gaze at you. "Now then! What would you like to chat about? Possibly a deal perhaps?" The air grew a bit tense at the mention of a deal, but you shook your head no. "No I'm not here for a deal. I'm just wondering if i could....um..." Trailing off, you looked to the side, feeling nervous.

🦌Tilting his head at you, he wonder what exactly you were here for. Looking back at him, you gave him a look of confidence. "May I have permission to do something to you for five seconds?" Arching his eyebrow at that, he wondered what you meant by that. Standing up from his chair, he walked closer to you, peering down at you. His smile looked fairly ominous, and some demonic symbols were appearing from behind him. "Do what exactly?" You felt that you overstepped and wanted to leave, but you stood your ground. "I-its nothing inappropriate I swear! If you don't like it, you can push me back." His eyes gazed down at you, searching for any signs of deceit. He found none, so he relaxed a bit and his powers toned down.

🦌"Alright my dear! You have permission for five seconds!" Alastor stood smiling, hands behind his back. Heaving a sigh of relief, you were happy that Al allowed you to do something. "Ok...um." Moving slowly, you walked closer, wrapping you arms around him. Radio screech, Al was left befuddled by your actions, his arms raised up a bit. Quickly you pulled back. "Okay! All done!" Smiling up at him, you stood back and stared up at him. Alastor couldn't figure out what on earth just happened. You just wanted to hug him? "My dear. May I ask why the sudden act of affection?" His eyes were glazed with curiosity, better then them being glazed with fury.

🦌Flushing a bit, you started to twiddle your fingers. "I noticed you seemed a bit off today. Yes you are always smiling, but it seemed a bit strained. Something had to have bothered you or make you upset, so I thought maybe hugging you would cheer you up. I know you don't like others touching you, so I wasn't going to do it without your permission. Sorry if I had made you uncomfortable with my actions" Al heard you explain all of this to him, eyes gazing down at the floor.

🦌Oh what an adorable creature you were! Alastor found your actions to be quite sweet. He will admit that he was harden by being in hell for so long, and the only time he remembers any ounce of kindness and warmth being given to him was by his own mother. The annoying feelings of anger and fury had melted away instantly at your little action. The silence in the room was killing you. You were afraid to look at Al, expecting to see radio dials flashing on his face. Suddenly arms had wrapped around you back, lifting you up of the ground. "You are such a delight, darling!" He had spun you around, causing you to laugh. Finally he stopped and had set you down, gazing at you with soft eyes. "There were a few inconveniences today that left me in a foul mood. But! I'm feeling right as rain right now! Thank you, my dear!" He had placed a hand on your head, ruffling you hair a bit.

🦌Happy that he was feeling better you smiled at him. Alastor's ears perked at bit, having come up with an idea. "Since you went out of you way to appease my mood, I can offer you a simple wish. No deal attached!" He was leaning down, face moving closer to yours, waiting for your response. You didn't really want anything, as you only wanted to make Al feel better. After giving it some thought, you came up with your answer. "Could I stay and listen to your broadcast please?" Alastor nearly jumped with excitement at your answer. Snapping his fingers, another chair had appeared next to his desk, along with a cup of coffee and some of your favorite snacks. Wrapping an arm around you, he pulled you closer, "Come along my dear! Its showtime!"

Sir Pentious🐍

🐍"MADAM, WHAT ISSSSS THE MEANING OF THISSSSSS?!?!?!?" Pentious was not use to any actions that involved affection. Don't blame the guy, he lived during the era where actions like that were very sacred.

🐍He was inside his blimp that was attached to the hotel. He was sobbing due to his egg minions being taken away by Vaggie and given to Alastor. He loved his minions like they were his kids, and the thought of them being taken away made his heart break.

🐍He shot up in shock when he heard the sound of the door slide open. Turning around he saw you entering inside the room, walking closer to him. "Ahh misssssss Y/N, how may I assist you?" He tried to play it off that he was ok, wiping the tears that were on his face. He wondered why you gave no response back to him, and continued to walk closer to him. He jumped a shock and let out a girly shriek when he felt you wrap your arms around him. He and his hat looked at you in shock, bewildered by what you were doing.

🐍MISSSSSS Y/N????? WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" Pentious was literally shaking, emotions running high that you were hugging him. Pulling away, you stepped back, and watch Pentious place a hand on his chest, trying to calm down. "Sorry Pentious. I knew you were upset about losing your minions, so I wanted to cheer you up."

🐍His dark face began to become a pure red, and if he had ears they would be steaming. What a thoughtful person you were. Coming all the way here just to make him feel better? His heart was going a mile a minute. "Oh I see.....Thank you y/n." He smiled at you including his hat that appeared to have a heart symbol in its iris. "W-ould you care to have s-some tea with me?" his nerves were back again, as he was fumbling with words. You agreed and the both of you had tea together.

🐍Luckily for him, Vaggie allowed him to have his egg bois back, leading to him pulling them into a hug, including you, before he let you go quickly, letting out an embarrassed cough before slithering away to his room

Tagging:

@pepperycookie , @yourdoorisunlocked, @ghostdoodlen, @aceofcards0-0, @jyoongim, @saturnhas82moons, @unholycheesesnack , @luujjvi, @forbidden-sunlight, @pinkcrystal44 , @veethewriter , @rains-sleeping @danveration , @demoarah, @cookiekyo , @iiotic, @delectableworm , @91062854-ka , @alastorsgoldie , @lokis-imaginary-friend , @themysteriousslenderman

[sterifels-blog]

All the Pretty Little Things

John is a man of quiet convictions. His truths settle deep in his bones, tucked between sinew and marrow, built from years of ironclad certainty. He believes in hard work. He believes in duty. He believes in you.

That last one— God, that last one— sits in his chest heavier than anything else.

You, his Little Lady. His Dove. The sweetest thing the military has ever pressed into his hands, so soft and golden-lit that sometimes he wonders if he ought to feel guilty for keeping you. You, with your gentle hands and even gentler voice, tending to his men like they were yours, murmuring sweet nothings as you pressed careful fingers into aching muscles and rubbed circles into scarred skin. You, laughing— soft and bell-bright— when they pouted through the pain, shaking your head like you weren’t indulging them, when you so obviously were.

He knew, from the moment he met you, that you were good. Too good. One of those rare, untouchable things that men like him weren’t supposed to have. And yet, somehow—miraculously— you were his. Had been for years now, steady at his side, all soft smiles and sweetness, something sacred in the way you looked at him.

That much hadn’t changed.

What had changed, was the way he looked at you.

Not in love—no, no, he’s loved you since the first time you kissed his bruised knuckles, tutted at him for not taking care of himself. Loved you since you let him press his forehead against yours in the quiet of your office, the scent of antiseptic giving way to the perfume on your skin. No, that part is the same. What’s different is how the idea of you is shifting—growing. Solidifying.

And it’s all your fault.

You’re too damn soft with babies. That’s the problem.

It started small, at first. A brush of fingertips against a stroller when you passed one on the street- you and the mum sharing wide grins at the little bundle of life. A coo under your breath at some little cherub-faced thing in a shopping cart, pink cheeked and drooling, big baby eyes locked on you like they knew how much you adored them. You never stopped. Not once. Always lingering—hands clasped, eyes bright, lips parted with something breathless and wistful.

And John… John noticed.

He noticed when you stopped in front of the boutique in town, the one with the pale blue awning, the little silver bell that jingled when you passed. He noticed the way your gaze caught on the baby clothes in the window display—tiny knits and soft cotton, lace trim and pastels. Your fingers curled against the glass, like you were holding yourself back. You didn’t say anything, just let out a dreamy little sigh before walking on, but— fuck.

John hadn’t thought about kids in years. Not properly, at least. It wasn’t something a man like him was supposed to have, not with the kind of life he led. The idea of coming home to something small, something fragile and pink with life, was too far removed from what he knew.

But you—you—were ruining him.

It was getting worse.

The universe loathed him, dangled the idea in front of his face, and dared him not to bite.

His mate had a kid recently— a baby girl, fat-cheeked and sweet, cooing up at the world with dark lashes fluttering against rosebud skin. And God, if John thought you were bad before, watching you with her was something else entirely.

You held her close, arms cradled like she was something precious, something made just for you. And she— the little thing— she knew. Giggled up at you like she’d been waiting to see you her whole life, tiny fingers flexing against the air until you let her wrap them around one of yours.

“You’re so beautiful, little love,” you whispered, brushing a featherlight kiss against her forehead, voice full of something deep and aching.

John had to excuse himself.

Had to sit on the edge of the bathroom sink and breathe through the way his chest felt tight, his stomach hot, his slacks suddenly far too restrictive.

He could barely look at you the rest of the night.

Because the thought—the one he hadn’t let himself have before— had finally settled in, took root.

You’d look good carrying his baby. Fuck.

You, all soft curves and flushed skin, with his child tucked safe in your belly, growing under his touch. You, walking into his office one day, belly round and full, glowing from head to toe, pressing his hand to the curve of you like it belonged there. You, giving him something his, something yours.

His stomach clenched. His jaw tightened.

And that was when it started.

The taunting.

Baby advertisements showing up in his emails. Algorithm somehow deciding he needed to see prams, cribs, bassinets. He scoffed, rolled his eyes, but couldn’t stop himself from clicking. Thought about the nursery. Thought about putting it together himself, hands deep in sandpaper and wood glue, smoothing varnish into something he made for you.

He tried not to let it sink in. Tried.

But then he caught you in the mirror one morning—fresh from the shower, towel slung low on your hips, rubbing lotion over your stomach with slow, absentminded strokes.

And John—John was gone.

Something deep inside him cracked, fissured open, let something dark and desperate spill through.

He wanted it.

Wanted you—soft and round, belly full with something his. Wanted to press his palm against the stretch of you and murmur, 'hello, little one', and watch you melt into him like you always did. Wanted to carry you to bed and take you slow, so slow, hands firm on your hips as he pressed the idea into you, again and again, until it wasn’t just a thought.

And you—God, you. You must’ve known.

Because when he finally looked at you—when he finally let himself—you smiled, soft and sweet; but secretive.

“Something on your mind, Captain?”

And John— John just groaned, pulled you into him, and let himself sink.

[buttercupchub]

Not me making a Treasure Planet sona with an almost full backstory and all just to make art of her and John Silver here I’m actually crazy ya’all.

Anyway art comes soon ❤️

[zewik7]

Well, I think we gotta know then. What happened that made you two realize you were both into feederism?

Well, for her it was obvious i was into it since the start.

But i was a bit slow with realizing she was as well: i suspected she liked bigger bodies only because most of her fave characters or even fictional crushes were fat and big-bellied people (like the sheriff from Disney’s Robin Hood, or Disney’s Treasure Planet Long John Silver), but coming to the conclusion she also was in the feederism was a bit of a stretch, right?

Well, she always brought me little food gifts and when i - pretending - lamented i gained weight she was always like “are you sad about it? You know that I don’t mind, right? You could be double your current size and I’d just like you even more than now… You don’t have to worry about dieting or exercising for me!”

So I kinda started conducting experiments, like acting surprised and reading out loud to her some random article on the most widespread fetishes and citing feederism between them, or acting shy and telling her something like “lately i find myself liking a bit more what i see in the mirror… seems that gaining a bit of weight benefited my mental health?”

At some point we quitted with pretending we didn’t know what feederism was and confessed to each other around 2019 😂

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

"Save a horse, ride a cowboy" - Tex "Oatmeal" Johnson asking for his.. "breakfast" and some exercise to wake them both up 😌

Spooky, here’s your breakfast. Tex Johnson x Fem Reader. Gif by @cristinaricci. TW: somnophilia, dub-con, Tex, spanking, anal play, really nsfw

You should really know better by now; sleeping in Tex’s big flannel and that little thong (or, as he likes to muse, a scrap of cotton on elastic) he loves… just to get him riled up? Tsk.

That’s how you end up with him kissing and nibbling your cheeks while he knuckles over your pussy.

You’re all weak and jello, unable to protest properly when he slaps the band of stinging elastic against you, pulls it aside and flicks your little asshole with his tongue.

“Nah, nuh-uh,” you growl, hands going back to stop him, but not before he catches your wrists and holds them flat against your back with one unfairly big grip—your own personal pair of handcuffs.

“You don’t like that?” He asks, grinning a kiss into your plump left cheek, only letting his teeth graze just a little bit. 

You giggle, and it’s stupid that you honestly think you can get out of this by saying, “go away.”

“Oh yeah?” He muses, nuzzling his beard into your pussy lips, sucking and slobbering. The underwear does little to deter his sneaking, slippery, silver tongue.

You try a different bargain. “Tex, I can’t -“ 

He gives your butt a wicked little slap. “You’re gonna.” 

You groan and bury your face into the pillow while he eats the cum out of you. 

“Fuckin sleeping in these cute little panties to get me hard first thing in the damn morning. You just wanted to tease me, huh, little girl?” 

The generous bastard gifts you two thick fingers curled perfectly.

“Answer me or I’m gonna edge ya til you cry.”

“No no no please. Okay okay yeah. Nah ah ahn oh fu-uh-uck.”

You clench on three fingers without warning, soaking right through those aforementioned cute panties. Fuck, you really liked those.

“Already?” He asks, shaking his head. “Talk about jumpin the gun.”

“Shut uppp Texx—“

“Tell me what I wanna hear.”

“Mmm.”

“Oh, you better fuckin do it.”

“M’ your pretty girl.”

“What honey?” He purposefully ups the force of his fingers to get you louder: “m-mmmmah yuh-ur pretty girlll.”

This is what you get for insulting yourself in front of him that one goddamn time. He had grabbed your cheeks, smushing them between his fingers. “What was that?”

“What?” You challenged, defiance ruined by the comical distortion of your voice.

“Naw, you know exactly watcha said, and if you ever talk like that about my pretty little honey again, you ain’t gonna like me very much.”

You rolled your eyes and batted him away, but he threaded his fingers through your belt loops before you could run. “You hearing me? Only person that gets to be mean to you is me and my cock. Are we clear, pumpkin?” He tugged you chest to chest, usual playful smile turned down into something stern and menacing.

“Crystal.”

And, ever since that moment, he has been making you say it—that you’re his pretty girl. Even in public, around people you know, if he asks, you supply with a bright blush and eyes downcast and pussy clenching.

As he’s stated before, he really likes making you gush around his fingers and then licking it up with his tongue—overstimulate your “poor little kitty kat”. Loves it when you’re swollen and spent, cum dribbling from both holes when he and John decide to make a sandwich out of you. Sure, he can threaten all he wants with edging games, but you know that, if you play cards with this wicked devil just right, he’s going to make you cum many times over, until it fucking hurts—leaves you screaming and crying and kicking your feet, actually missing Wick’s week long edging sessions…as awful as they are.

You’re already sore when he makes you sit on his cock.

“I’m tired,” you whine, draped over his torso so his fat tip isn’t bruising your cervix quite so much.

“Baby,” he murmurs, kissing your hair. “You’re always tired. Nappin like an house cat every time I see you.”

“I’m sleepy,” you protest, huffing into his chest. And it’s probably because we fuck like rabbits every six or seven minutes, you think to yourself.

“Aw, poor sleepin beauty.” He gives your ass a sharp smack. “You better start workin on this cock before I do it for you.”

[hand-written-dreams]

CRIMSON SHADE

Chapter 13

Dancing With The Devil

We're goin' down

And you know that we're doomed

My dear, we're slow dancing

In a burning room.

- ( the song of the chapter is 'Slow dancing in the burning room' by John Mayer.)

The majority of the next day is spent ransacking the entire room she’s been staying in at the Oberois. She’s lost something incredibly valuable, something given to her out of pure love, a gift from the heart. And now, losing it feels like proof that maybe, deep down, she doesn’t deserve love. She can’t hold on to it.

It’s a bracelet, an antique piece made of silver that Buaji’s late husband gifted her on their wedding night.

Buaji has no blood ties with the Guptas.  Her husband had been a soldier of the Serpents. Buaji never had children. Before she could have one, her husband was killed in a police crossfire during an illegal shipment. Since his death, Buaji has stayed with the Gupta family as Khushi's Nanny/caretaker.

Just a few weeks ago, on Khushi’s graduation day, Buaji had given her this bracelet as a graduation gift, the only gift Khushi received that day. The only one that showed she mattered. And now she’s lost it. She feels despicable.

“I’m so sorry, Buaji,” she says, her voice strained. She's sent Mohan to search the lawn and the garden around the pool. She hopes he’ll find it.

All of this is the fault of that Rakshas, Arnav Singh Raizada.

He is a demon’s spawn.

He is cursed.

Wherever they cross paths, something bad happens.

She hates that disaster of a man. She curses him in her mind.

“It’s okay, bitiya. It was just a bracelet, Nandkishore. No big deal.” Buaji responds, caressing Khushi's hair.

“It's a big deal to me.” Tears start streaming down her cheeks, big, fat drops she can’t hold back.

"Hey, bitiya, don’t be sad. Everything that comes to us, whether a person or a simple thing....has its own season, its own purpose. That bracelet was with us when it was meant to be. It is gone now so that it can make space for new blessings in your life....Don't cry....I'll get you another one."

“It won’t be the same,” she sniffles.

“I’ll go to the jeweller and have him make the exact one. Okay? Now stop.” Buaji gently wipes Khushi’s tears and pulls her into a warm embrace. “Now, you don’t want puffy eyes for the reception party, do you?"

With that, Buaji snaps back into action, rummaging through Khushi's clothes with newfound determination. “Which dress do you think you should wear, hmm?” she asks, holding up a vibrant red cocktail dress, then discarding it in favour of a black one, her brows furrowing in concentration.

“The green one,” Khushi replies brushing away the remaining tears from her face.

“Of course...it’s your favourite colour.”

Buaji pulls out the green dress from its cloth bag, and the stunning emerald colour catches the light. It’s from a renowned designer, a rare indulgence Khushi allowed herself solely because of the colour.

The dress’s cut reminds her of the one Keira Knightley wore in the movie 'Atonement', though this gown is even more intricate, with delicate embroidery and stonework that glimmers subtly.

With the help of Buaji, she carefully slides into the dress. The silky fabric clings to her form, designed with a bias cut that settles gracefully, accentuating her curves with an effortless elegance. Its plunging neckline is framed by thin, delicate straps that cross and drape over her shoulders, creating an elegant, backless design.

The gown hugs her waist before cascading into a long, flowing skirt, subtle pleats adding dimension and a hint of drama, trailing gracefully with each step, a gentle wave in her wake.

She has initially hesitated to wear it, feeling self-conscious about the backless design, but now, a boldness surges within her. She’s ready to wear this dress and own it.

Backless or not.

.

.

.

After hours of enduring the poking and prodding of the makeup artist, she finally breathes a sigh of relief as she hears the words, “All done.” The tension in her shoulders eases, and she turns to face the full-length mirror.

She takes a moment to admire her reflection. She can’t help but appreciate the artistry of the makeup artist’s work. The soft, natural makeup is accentuated by the messy updo with delicate side braids and a stunning emerald hairpiece nestled among the strands.

Her ears still throb from the heavy earrings she wore yesterday, but she breathes a sigh of relief seeing the complimentary jewellery offered by The designer house that provided her dress. Lightweight and absolutely fabulous. Inspired by Greek designs, the pieces are simple yet intricate, allowing her to forgo traditional ear piercings. The earrings can be adjusted to fit comfortably in her earshell with just a slight tweak, making them the perfect choice for the evening. A matching bracelet perched on her wrist, she is ready, leaving her neck bare.

She takes a deep breath and runs her eyes through the girl in the mirror Infront of her one last time.

She feels as though she’s someone who stepped out of Greek mythology.

Almost otherworldly.

.

.

.

Mr.Jha arrives to escort her. As his

eyes roam over her body, Khushi inwardly shrinks.

Will the gaze of caramel-brown eyes have the same effect on her?

She shuts her eyes, shaking her head as if she could physically dispel the thought of those deep, piercing eyes from her mind.

He has a stunning date with him anyway. Why would he even look at her?

Does she even want him to look at her?

That thought scares her and, at the same time, fills her blood with excitement. She is lost in her mind when, without warning, she feels a hand, unwelcome and intrusive, pressing against the bare skin of her back, sliding lower than it should be. The weight of Mr.Jha's fingers makes her skin crawl, in a way that makes her instinctively want to step away.

With each passing second with Mr.Jha's hand pressed into her back as he guides her toward the main hall, she feels a growing regret for choosing this dress, the once-liberating backless design now a vulnerability exposed, an invitation she wishes she hadn’t offered.

Summoning her composure, she peels his hand from her back, letting it drop with a subtle, firm grace. Her eyes meet his, a quiet warning sparkling in her gaze and she walks past him.

Soon, Mr.Jha catches up to her and offers her his arm but she refuses to take it, pulling away slightly.

“Oh, come now, Khushi. Don’t create a scene. It’s just a little arm for support,” Mr.Jha says, spitting the words.

“I really don’t need your support. I’d prefer to walk on my own,” she answers firmly.

“You wouldn’t want me to tell your father, would you? Imagine how he’d react if he saw you refusing to walk with me,” Mr Jha murmurs as he walks side by side with him in the corridor leading to the main hall.

“You wouldn’t dare. I’m not afraid of your threats.”

Mr.Jha leans in slightly, his tone menacing, “Just remember, Khushi, I have ways of making sure you regret crossing me. It’s in your best interest to cooperate.”

This time when he extends his arm again for her, she takes it silently and enters the main hall together.

.

.

.

Coming to this party, Khushi hoped to be in her own element while the men engaged in their usual banter. Or, maybe she would get a chance to chat with Lavanya and Payal, and share a laugh or two. But instead, here she is as she finds herself trapped in endless discussions about politics, forced to wear a mask of polite smiles.

At this point, she would gladly welcome Mrs.Rastogi’s patronizing questions over this tiresome charade. Boredom settles in, heavy and stifling, making her restless.

Her eyes unconsciously search for those caramel-brown ones, but they’re nowhere to be found.

Of course, the Bollywood heroine needs more time to get ready. Not that she cares.

She quietly sips her non-alcoholic drink when she notices the air around her thickens, and a slight breeze brushes along the back of her neck. Her pulse quickens in response and she draws a sharp breath. It's like every molecule in the room has shifted to announce his presence.

She knows the exact moment his eyes find her in the crowd.

To be more specific, her back. 

But she knows he knows that it belongs to her.

His gaze is a caress. 

A caress that never quite touches her skin, sweeping slowly, deliberately, over every curve, claiming each inch of her. 

It travels over the bare curve of her shoulders, sliding down the delicate straps that barely tether her dress in place. She feels him lingering at her exposed back, undressing her with his caramel-browns, one thread at a time. The corner of her lips quirks up. 

Involuntarily, without any effort.

She looks over her shoulder, turning slightly toward the irresistible pull she feels, and there he is, in an impeccable attire with a stunning beauty in red hanging on his arm.

Now, ask her if she cares. 

She doesn’t. 

It seems like he doesn’t either.

His gaze touches her collarbone, skimming down the plunge of her neckline, ghosting over the emerald silk, setting fire to the fabric that clings to her figure.

And he is done. 

He has rendered her breathless and bare. She’s standing before him with no barriers, no silk, just his caramel-browns wrapped around her like a second skin.

The booming laughter of the man beside her startles her, making her look away.

"Looks like Helena Khan is here," the man with a sky-blue tie says, grinning mischievously and signaling toward Miss Khan with his eyebrows. "So, Jha, feeling up for a little challenge tonight?"

"Depends. What's the game?" Mr.Jha replies, lowering his voice.

"How about stealing Raizada’s date and taking her for a spin? Two birds in one stone. You need to get back at him for all those digs he's thrown at you yesterday," the sky-blue-tie suggests.

"Think you can manage that?" another man with a bald head taunts Mr.Jha. "Come on, it's just one dance. Miss Gupta here won't mind. Will you Miss Gupta?"

She puts on a smile as she quietly shakes her head.

"See, I told you," the bald man continues. "Show us those legendary charms of yours. Let’s see if they hold up against the great Arnav Singh Raizada."

"Don't underestimate me, guys."

"Go on, then. If you’re as smooth as you say, it shouldn’t be a problem," another man with a baby-pink shirt underneath his grey suit joins the conversation.

Mr.Jha smiles confidently, "Watch and learn, gentlemen. I’ll have her on that dance floor before Raizada even realizes she's gone." With that, he strides into the wave of guests toward the destined couple.

Khushi watches, unable to tear her gaze away, as Mr.Jha approaches Miss Khan directly. Miss Khan squirms uneasily, glancing at Mr.Raizada for directions. Mr.Raizada’s expression remains unreadable while he watches Mr.Jha intently. And, then his lips curve into a lopsided smirk as he looks directly at her and her breath hitches. That look screams danger.

He says something to Mr.Jha as Mr.Jha looks at her as well, but Mr.Jha looks kind of pissed. Then contemplating something, Mr.Jha beckons her closer. Not wanting to seem rude, she inches forward, feeling the redness of humiliation creeping up her neck and cheeks. She has a nagging sense of what’s happening. She’s being traded, like currency.

"Khushi, dear, why don't you share the next dance with Mr.Raizada while I take Miss Khan for a spin? It's just for one dance. You wouldn’t mind, would you?"

She simply shakes her head, pursing her lips. Her gaze is fixed on Mr.Jha's face but her eyes are unfocused. Mr.Jha takes Miss Khan’s hand, guiding her into the swirling crowd of dancing couples.

"Shall we?" the voice of sin graces her ear for the first time this evening as he offers her his hand, but the owner of those words meets with a glare from her.

"What? No hellos, no ‘how are yous’? Is this how you greet an old friend?" he adds in response to her glare.

"Are we friends now?" she responds, eyeing his massive hands as her tiny one slides on his palm, ignoring the tingling that blossoms beneath her skin. The skin of his palm is weathered, etched with slightly puckered scars and callouses. She can feel the grit beneath her fingers, textured, rough and raw like worn leather. Her eyes meet his with questions, 'what happened?'

He chuckles, unfazed, not addressing her silent question, answering her spoken one. "Aren't we?"

"What did you tell him?" The words come out clipped as his fingers curl around hers. Her delicate hand's swallowed by his, a fragile bird resting in the grip of a giant.

He shrugs, guiding her into position. "I just told him I didn’t want to be alone and that he could dance with my date if I could dance with his."

She bites the underside of her lip. She can feel the pulse of her heart thrumming beneath her skin, wild and urgent, matching the cadence of her breathing as his hand glides to her lower back, fingers brushing the curve of her bare waist, igniting a fire that dances beneath her flesh. His palm glides over her skin like fine sandpaper.

The roughness, the callouses—she noticed them before, back in the elevator, when his hand found her neck. Every ridge, every line on his skin seemed to hold a story, a history carved into flesh.

Her hand hesitantly finds its place on his shoulder, fingertips brushing against the fabric of his jacket, feeling the taut muscle beneath. Her breath shatters as he draws her closer. Crimson blooms on her cheeks, feeling the raw strength of his arms pulsating around her. With each step, her heartbeat echoes like a whispered secret. Every nerve in her body zeroes in on the small place in her lower back, where his palm touches her skin.

Their breaths sync, shallow yet quickened, as they sway together. His eyes are constant on her face as he pulls her even closer. His hand trails further down her hips. The silky fabric slides beneath his fingertips, creating a tiny furnace in each meeting point. Her body instinctively arches toward him seeking the whispers of desires long buried, waiting to be unleashed.

Her awareness of their every point of contact is so acute that she feels frozen in his arms, like a board, torn between the desire to melt into him and the instinct to pull away.

"Relax, Bitterheart. I don’t bite," he murmurs near her temple, his voice low, teasing. "Unless you want me to."

A scowl twists her lips, resisting the urge to let his scent--the dark, addictive cologne--pull her in. "Don’t try anything funny today, Mr.Raizada. You won’t like where it leads."

"Okay." He drawls out arching a brow, amused, as if this exchange is a private joke. "Got any knives strapped to those thighs today?" A flicker of a smile tugs at her lips, betraying her despite herself.

With practised ease, his hand remains steady on her waist as they move in unison. His steps are deliberate, his timing perfect, revealing a confidence he wears as easily as his suit.

Talking about his suit, it a dark black velvet tuxedo. The fabric absorbs light, giving it a depth that seems almost liquid under the chandeliers’ glow and oh, so soft under her skin. Beneath the jacket, a black waistcoat hugs his frame, contrasting against the crisp white of his tailored dress shirt, with only the slightest glimpse of an intricate black onyx cufflink glinting at his wrist. A sleek black tie sits neatly at his collar, perfectly tied, tempting her to wrap her fingers around it and yank him closer.

Her mind is going into dangerous territory. She needs to stop. She tilts her head to look at him, a taunting smile spreading on her lips as she realises something. "So, your Helen has been stolen by a Paris, huh?"

A spark flashes in his eyes. “Aren’t you so full of surprises? A girl with a taste for Greek mythology...tsk, interesting."

She shrugs. "What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing," he says, his voice dips lower. "So, who do you see yourself as?"

A faint smirk plays at her lips as she tilts her chin haughtily. "Oh, You’ll like it.... Nemesis." she begins, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "She lured Narcissus to a still pool, where he fell in love with his own reflection. And then, he was consumed by the very beauty of his own that led to his ruin.'' She leans in closer and whispers, "Pride is a dangerous illness, Mr.Raizada, which has no cure except death."

"Some of us could use catching it....too bad not everyone can afford it."

She rolls her eyes at his reply but continues after a pause, "But most Gods didn’t like Nemesis because she had a backbone."

He leans in, his voice just a murmur. "Do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Have a backbone "

Her gaze doesn’t waver. "Of course I do."

He tilts his head. "Then prove it..... Show up this Monday at Paragon Tech." His eyes glint, gazing at her reaction. "What’s happened? Did you get scared?"

"Not at all." She meets his gaze head-on, "But, first, tell me, Mr.Raizada, what do you have up your sleeves?"

"Nothing.....except my arms."

'Yes, I've noticed. Thank you very much. They are very muscular'. She mutters in her head. But on the outside, she says, "Liar." Her fingers curl a little tighter on his shoulder.

"Yes, most of the time," he murmurs, his voice laced with an amusement that only she can catch. "So are you?"

"I am not."

He studies her, the teasing mask dropping just for a second. "You’re a bird inside, trapped in a nest of snakes, aren't you? That’s why you named your hacking handle after the name of a bird. You crave freedom, but you have shackles in your feet, playing the role of a dutiful daughter and fiancé."

Suddenly her ears feel very hot as she has a strong urge to hide, but she tamps it down. "You don't know anything about me"

"And yet you claim to know me so well." His tone turns into a dark shadow that sends chills down her spine. "At least I’m honest."

"You just admitted you’re a liar."

"I’m honest about being a liar." His smirk is dangerous, intoxicating. He leans in to whisper in her ear. His voice is vintage wine and she is drunk. "But that’s not the point. The point is, you want to fly in the open sky, high and free......don't you, little bird?.... I can give you the wings you want so much........just say....‘yes.’"

His words envelope her. Every syllable he utters wraps around her like a silken thread, pulling her closer, compelling her to bow down and surrender to their master.

"Yes."

The word is barely audible as it slips out of her lips. At this point, she's not sure what is she saying "yes" to.

Like a moth drawn to the flame of his proximity, her thoughts dissolve. A soft fog blankets her mind and her heart flutters like petals caught in a fleeting breeze. But she straightens her spine, shaking off the spell and looks at his eyes. His lips are set in the infuriating smirk he wears so often, that she begins to sort of admire.

She returns his smirk with one of her own and adds, "I always believe in the saying, 'In the midst of chaos, there is also opportunity.'"

A brow rises. "Quoting The Art of War now?"

As soon as her brain registers that he knows about the 'Art of War' written by Sun Tzu, an ancient Chinese military strategist, her brain cells go gaga over him. They have a leather-bound copy of this book in their library, a prized possession of her father, given to him in a ceremony. As a child, she liked reading this book, imagining herself as an ancient warrior princess.

She curses all of her brain cells for their lack of control over themselves. But that's the danger with Mr.Raizada. He isn't your typical, college drop-out, harebrained, obnoxious rich fuckboy. He is arrogant and egoistical, sure, but he's also someone who has graduated from one of the most prestigious universities in the world. Of course, he has substances up there.

And that's dangerous.

For her mind.

For her heart

For her panties.

Setting her brain cells even more overboard than they previously have been, he whispers, "You wanna know what my favourite is...Let your plans be dark and impenetrable as night, and when you move, fall like a thunderbolt."

"Why am I not surprised?" she responds, holding his gaze. "But before anything else, I have some conditions of my own."

He narrows his brow, nevertheless, she continues, "I want answers, and I want you to be honest to me for a little bit...like, say, 10 minutes."

He chuckles, shaking his head. "Ten minutes of truth? What are you, my therapist?"

She fixes him with a withering look. He is so condescending sometimes that it is like he has breathed fire into her soul. And now she wants to breathe fire, too, burning him down. "Have you ever attended one? I heard they do wonders for assholes."

"Tsk, tsk, tsk, Feisty today, aren’t you?" His smirk deepens as his caramel-browns dance in between her hazels. Then, after a pause, he adds, "What do you want to know?"

Everything.

But she has to be careful about what she asks. She needs to be under the shield to defeat the devil. One wrong question and his defences will rise like a wall. He won't tell her anything. She starts with something small, testing the boundaries, to see how much he will share.

 

"Why don't you drink?"

"Stop playing hard to get, little bird....I know what you're doing...that's not what you really wanna know." 

She doesn't let herself be disarmed by his teasing. "Just humour me."

"I am allergic to it," he shrugs.

She rolls her eyes, unconvinced "Go figure. Of all the things in this world, Arnav Singh Raizada is afraid of alcohol...can I kill you with it?"

Amusement gleams in his brown orbs. "No, I just avoid it when I need to be alert.....like if someone tries to eavesdrop on me."

She narrows her gaze, catching the jab but letting it slide. "Did you date Miss Sheetal before she was with Mr.Rathore?"

A skeptical look flits across his face before his expression goes blank. "No. Why would you think that?"

"Is the child yours?"

"No."

"Who is the father?"

"A man."

"Obviously." She closes her eyes, exhaling slowly. Getting answers from him is like pulling teeth. "If the child isn’t yours, why do you care about him?"

A humourless chuckle escapes him, "Why can't I just care about anything out of the sheer goodness of my heart."

Her eyes glint with mirth, "You have a heart, Mr.Raizada?"

She enjoys the ‘caught off guard’ look in his eyes, impressed by how quickly he masks it. "Touche, Miss Gupta, you are right. Arnav Singh Raizada doesn't have a heart."

"Anyway, you want me to believe that anyone in our world does anything out of the goodness of their heart....without anything getting in return." She sighs, shaking her head.

He just shrugs, holding his unreadable mask in place.

"What's so special about him or do you spend time with lots of children?.... I don't think so. Then why?" she continues, trying to gauze his reaction.

A guarded look crosses over his eyes before he slips into his neutral mask. "What do you wanna hear...that the boy reminds me of myself when I was his age.....another lonely kid, starved for a father’s affection, barely acknowledged, barely even seen? Hate to disappoint There's no story behind it.....I was just bored, so I played with the boy. It's not a big deal."

"Then shipping Miss Sheetal out of the country…isn't a big deal either...after all, you are doing it out of the goodness of your heart, too." A taunting smirk plays at the corner of her lips as her hazels dare her caramel browns to defy her.

He glides her effortlessly, leading them toward the far end of the hall, out of earshot from the crowd.

Getting no response from him, she reminds him, "I still have 5 mins left, Mr.Raizada."

A ghost of a smirk brushes his lips like a secret. "I would have told you, but then I would have to kill you. And, you aren't ready to die yet, are you, little bird."

She fixes him with a hard gaze.

"Nobody can leave the mafia alive. If they wanna leave that would be inside a coffin. We don't hear words like break-ups and divorces in our world, do we?" He murmurs in her ears.

It's like a death sentence to break up with a mafia member. Because they've known too much and seen too much during the relationship. But there are exceptions.

"That's not entirely true...my father let my mother go..." The look on his face makes her stop mid-sentence. It's a fleeting, almost imperceptible emotion. But she catches it. "What?"

His brows draw together in a subtle crease. His jaw tightens for a moment, but his gaze remains steady, searching her face. What is she seeing in his eyes? Pity? For what? 

"You don't know?" he murmurs, almost to himself.

"What I don't know?" She becomes frustrated with every second, and then, like cold water being poured over her head, a nagging feeling crashes over her. Her mind screams 'Nooo...that can't be true.' Her thoughts scatter into silence, her mind refusing to let the truth in, to give it shape.

They stop moving, her hand coming to her mouth as the doubt settles in her stomach. He grabs her upper arm, guiding her toward the back door that opens into the garden.

As they step outside, her voice wavers, her gaze fixed on him. “What did you mean back there?” she asks, a thread of disbelief woven through her words. Her voice is barely a whisper, the urgency and dread constricting her throat.

He doesn’t meet her eyes, the weight of his silence pressing down like a stone in her chest.

“You’re telling me…” Her voice falters. “She didn’t leave, did she?...that..she… she’s...” The word won’t come, as if speaking it might shatter her entirely.

He finally looks at her, his face a mask of grim understanding. “I thought you knew,” his voice low, steady.

But, hers is glass, breaking into hundreds of pieces. “No. I didn’t…”

As she sinks onto the bench outside, she feels numb, detached as if she is watching everything from somewhere far away.

Her chest feels empty, an aching hollow she doesn’t know how to fill, and yet so heavy it’s pressing her down. She wants to scream, to tear at something, to rage, but no sound comes. Her body betrays her, locking her in this numbness, this sickening calm like her mind is too afraid to let her feel anything real.

Author's note:

That was a long chapter, wasn't it? Either way, I am super grateful that you are here with me, readers. Much more adventures to come.

Lots of love.

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@arshifiesta @featheredclover @phuljari @chutkiandchotte @jalebi-weds-bluetooth @msbhagirathi @titaliya @9artsdragon

[beansprean]

Queening the Pawn Act 3 Part 7

Back to Nandor… Crew cameo! Wives cameo!! Jahan cameo!!!

Acts 1-2

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13 - Part 14

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: 1a. Waist up of Nandor sitting on the couch in the library, continuing the talking head from part 1. The camera is now shooting from the side, and behind him you can see the right half of the bay window; a side table with a lit lamp, abandoned book, candle, butterfly display, and a small brass horse statue; a bucket of loose scrolls, and a wide gold mirror. The camera crew are reflected: a brown man with floppy bags and a sparse mustache is in the front, aiming the camera with one eye in the viewfinder; behind him is a large older Samoan man with a white beard ducking in front of a light reflector and pulling up cords; behind him is a white woman with long blonde hair in a ponytail, presumably the director, wearing a headset and holding up an iPad that she is writing on; behind her is a bored-looking Latine sound technician with long messy brown hair holding up the boom mic. Nandor is looking pensively away from the camera, brow furrowed and cheeks lightly flushed, fiddling his hands together in his lap. He says, “I was very confused by Guillermo’s conclusion. Which is obviously an unusual feeling for me, as he is normally so predictable.” 1b. Close up on Nandor at the same angle as he whips his head toward the camera, wide eyed and incredulous. He shouts, “Fuck that guy for making me feel confused!” 1c. Repeat. Nandor calms slightly and looks away again, flustered, hands curling into fists to press uncertainly against his chest. He spits sardonically, “Like I don’t know what love is supposed to feel like…”

2a. Flashback in sepa tones on a mottled brown background. Waist up shots of several of Nandor’s wives in a line, dressed in their 13th century finery and chatting happily together. One is clearly Marwa; there is also an older woman with short hair tucked beneath a scarf, a younger woman with freckles and long reddish hair, a fat man with a beard and long curly hair playing a barbat, a young person with a Roman nose, a man with a very fun handlebar mustache, and a person with long dark hair with their back to the viewer. Nandor’s dialogue continues from the present: “I loved many of my wives, but I did not want them around all the time. Or even most of the time. They were appealing primarily because they allowed me to do whatever I pleased and did not bother me unless I asked for them.” 2b. Zoom out to full body as the flashback continues. The group of wives, now including a young woman with a mole on her cheek and a young bearded man with three, are on the right, engaged with each other and mostly ignoring human Nandor and Jahan as they pass by. Human Nandor and Jahan are dressed respectively in the blue and silver armor and bejeweled tack they wear in their portrait together. Nandor has one hand on Jahan’s saddle and the other on his sword as they both trot excitedly across the frame, Nandor sporting a large open-mouthed smile and Jahan holding his tail high and ears pricked forward, uncaring of the wives left behind. The only wife to make a fuss is the younger woman with the mole, who has her skirts gathered up and is glaring at Nandor’s back as if readying herself to stomp after him. Marwa stops her with a hand on her arm, expression compassionate but sad. The older wives know better than to expect much attention from their husband. Present Nandor’s dialogue continues: “The one I preferred to spend all of my time with was my dear horse, John.” 2c. Shoulders up of present Nandor in front of the flashback in 2b. Pausing his narration, he looks down at his lap and bites lip softly, a contemplative line appearing between his brows. His speech bubble holds only an ellipses. /end ID

[lamaisongaga]

FASHION CREDITS: "FAT JUICY & WET" M/V

Bruno Mars and Sexyy Red team up with Lady Gaga and Rosé for their newest music video "Fat Juicy & Wet" where the quartet is seen popping champagne bottles. The music video was shot on December 18, 2024 in Los Angeles.

Gaga's styling was done by HARDSTYLE.

For her cameo, Lady Gaga commissioned emerging designer Luis de Javier to create an one-off creation based on his signature silhouette fur coats — a floor-length deep crimson faux fur coat with oversized, square-shaped shoulders, large lapels and a silk charmeuse lining.

Gaga, Bruno, Sexyy Red and Rosé all wore matching suits from Alexander McQueen's Resort 2025 collection. They went for the single-breasted jacket ($2,690) and straight trousers ($1,360) in black and burgundy pinstriped wool.

Shop:

Alexander McQueen Pinstripe Blazer ($2,690.00)

Alexander McQueen Pinstripe Pants ($1,360.00)

Berlin-based avant-garde eyewear label Kuboraum confirmed to me that Gaga is wearing a pair of their yet-to-be-released piercings-embellished Mask E21 Crossover sunglasses from their "Eyecouture and Precious Materials" collection!

ln terms of jewelry, LG styled her look with an iconic Dior by John Galliano Spring/Summer 1999 black beaded Masai choker with long strands.

Two of Gaga's interestingly coiled sterling silver rings were created by Freya Douglas Ferguson for emerging designer Christina Seewald's Spring/Summer 2023 collection!

Her other ring is her previously-appreciated DOSIS G6C The Host white-gold and diamond ring ($4,668).

Shop:

DOSIS G6C “The Host” Ring ($4,668.00)

Gaga is seen wearing two pair of shoes in the video. The first and most obvious choice are these black vinyl platform thong sandals with striking red sole. They're by an exotic footwear label titled VIP and were once sold via Etsy.

The other pair, she wears while strutting, is a pair of Le Silla's trending Colette pointed-toe leather booties with corset-inspired lace-up front ($1,315).

Shop:

Le Silla "Colette" Boots ($1,315.00)