#this au is for a very niche audience

[wishmemellon]

I just think of Meg and Apollo whenever I see Joel and Ellie lmao.

I think the story mainly follows the one of the first game and at least up to tyrants tomb for this au.

Meg is Ellie and was taken by FEDRA (Triumvirate Holdings) After Nero killed her dad. So ugh idk if I want to keep their powers or not… probably not??? Idk, if I do then it makes sense why Meg would be immune to the cordyceps if she’s a child of Demeter. If they don’t have their powers then it’s safe to assume that her mom is also dead…

Apollo (Lester) is a Firefly! Most of the Gods are fireflies. His punishment for whatever (doesn’t matter rn) is that if he wants to stay in the group he has to take Meg to a firefly base camp with access to proper equipment to make a cure out of Meg.

So basically it really is like the plot of the first game but more focused on the fireflies vs FEDRA getting Meg back.

…

Okay so I can kill off Lester if I wanted to. You know how he gets poisoned and almost turned into a zombie in Tyrants Tomb? Well I could easily use that to make an ending that’s him getting infected and not being able to be cured and actually turning into a zombie. Idk just a silly thought!

So who wants to hear about my Trials of Apollo-The Last of us Au? I can’t confirm that Lester will survive it but it’s for the plot so it’s fine…

[heartscrypt]

the web - fear of manipulation and lost control made manifest

[yurozo]

uxoriousness/meritoriousness

╚══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╝ leon kennedy x fem!reader

summary: following a recent outing to spain, leon indulges himself in the chaos of the theatre as a temporary reprieve. what he doesn't expect is to find you, a duke's daughter which captures his attention.

tags: fluff, romance, fem!reader, no use of y/n, early modern century britain, knight!leon (?), terrible flirting on leon's behalf.

a/n: it's 18th century britain leon babey! i attempted at making it as accurate as possible, but i did push flexibility in prose and conventions. i'm thinking of making this about five parts, so please let me know if you want to see more! <3 side note: uxuriousness is an 18th century term to be excessively fond of your wife, and maritiousness is a less common word to be excessively fond of your husband. ;)

part 1, part 2, next parts coming soon!

╚══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╝

Leon Kennedy, from the period of his last excursion to Spain, was admitted a frequent visitor to the theatre. Not particularly for the novelty of it; in truth he had no interest in watching the actors sing about their prose, but instead for the solitary comfort the booth often provided. To lounge in a padded chair and lose oneself to the idle chatter of the audience below bestowed a barrier that subsided his reserves, his tiring thoughts of blood staining his sword and the cracking of ribs as his weapon sinks between them. 

Certainly not for another more pervasive reason. Most definitely not the Lady sitting in the booth across the orchestra, watching the play with rapt interest. 

You had become a recent obsession of his, watching every slight change in expression that you wore so freely. Distaste at every nobleman vying for your affections, wistfulness at the chaste kiss between two actors, dejection when the curtains came to a full close. A painful curiosity ignited at your countenance and he could hardly withdraw his eyes from your person until the performance had concluded. Several weeks had passed in this kind of intercourse, content with being an unacknowledged admirer and not letting himself be overcome with more powerful considerations. 

That was until he spotted another man in your booth, desperately pleading with your hand in his rigid grip, and that same revulsion in your face, which propelled him upwards. He forbore any immediate inclination to withdraw his sword and allow him the same fate he willingly gave to his enemies for even daring to grab you without permission. 

His manners were very much admired in his circle, with many honoured with such an attention as his. It is for this reason that he is sure no true gentleman should ever dare force himself upon a woman, and especially not someone with a countenance more touchingly beautiful than he had ever dared to imagine before. 

In descending the last steps of your booth, however, your foot faltered and while Leon hastened to assist you, the man’s grip could no longer sufficiently engage to confine. While you were not materially hurt in your fall, it was reason enough to refuse any gracious acknowledgement from the other man. 

“My lord,” Leon derided, standing in the gap between the two. “I believe your presence is wanted elsewhere.”

The man remonstrated, and represented the serious danger that threatened from so rash a proceeding. “My lady,” said he in a solemn voice, “Sir.”

The man quickly departed, as the waning patience of Leon could clearly not have endured the repeated attack on another persons honour. But these cogitations were but of short continuance; they vanished with the appearance of your hand, waiting for his to assist you. He does so, pulling you gently to him, and greeted you with a softness oft unfamiliar to him. 

“My lady,” Leon said, folded in a deep bow; “I am sorry, exceedingly sorry, that you may have been given uneasiness.”

He wanted so desperately to bring your hand upwards, to brush his lips against the soft unscarred skin of your knuckles. But he is noble in heart, and too afraid to break convention in a manner of all people, so he acquiesced himself to squeeze it once instead. The accomplished mind of his was more likely to succeed in silent attentions than by a formal declaration of his sentiment. 

“Any such sentiment was easily quelled,” you responded, the gentle remonstrances in his favour becoming more pleasing and more convincing. “Thank you, Sir, I felt nothing but surprise at your sudden appearance.”

“Your surprise could not be greater than mine in being noticed by you,” said he, hesitating ever so slightly in his forwardness. “My lady.”

A hint of flush coloured your mottled cheeks that retrimmed the flame building with an ardent fire. “Allow me to thank you, Sir,” you said, retracting your hand from his. “If you are not diverted, to join me.”

The present confliction of passion seemed endless; he had already formed an inkling of affection for someone so far out of his station to even consider a proper courtship, and yet the very idea of never feeling that warmth in his palm again ached fiercely. Perhaps it was simply due to the long stretches of time in which he received none at all, but the crime of engaging in a past attachment was severer and more painful than he had imagined. Your hand was gentle in a manner that he is not, uncalloused where his are weathered from a swords grip.

“I shall,” he replied, allowing for you to seat yourself first before he followed, a timid eagerness in his step. 

Leon seized the opportunity thus offered, attempting to converse with you, while he was yet considering what he could say, that might interest and withdraw you from this severe reserve. From the style of your dress, he imagined that you were a person of honourable, yet modest personality, who exhibited an air of comfort in the midst of his usual experience of strict upper-class nobility. 

It was something about you, he decided, that circumstance had punished him gravely with your presence. He could not remember a true life without it, for all manner of previous happiness seemed finite in comparison. In fine, you were both infinitely charmed with each other, although you lacked the nerve to voice such affections. 

“Are you engaged, my Lady?” he said, in a tone much too hurried for the quiet air of the booth. His brow pinched at the suddenness of the intrusion, at the lack of care in his tone that may have painted him impatient, or at worst, rapacious. 

“I fear not,” you laughed, and what a wondrous sound it is. Had you been able to encounter his eyes, you may have seen how well the expression of heartfelt delight lightened them. Feeling all the more common awkwardness and anxiety of the situation, now forced yourself to speak. “Are your affections taken by another?”

“No, my Lady,” said he, “present company excluded.”

You coloured and laughed at his reply, and any guilt of his previous misstep is comforted by the brightness of your gaze, cast upon him of all people. Should the divine have asked him now to give all of him to you, he would have gladly obliged in that very moment, forfeiting all mortal possession and any semblance of self in your honour. 

“Are you enjoying the play thus far?” you started, still flushed of the affectionate gallantry that he bestows upon you.

“I do not recollect that I am.”

“You do not enjoy romance?” 

“I certainly have not the passion which some people possess,” said Leon, “but I am not steadfast in my conviction.”

You turned to him then, proceeding all the particulars of the romantic genre, and would shortly have recited some very plentiful dictation had Leon not interrupted you once more. 

“I have never met anyone of such true enjoyment,” he observed, cutting your speech not out of malice, but of something else entirely. Curiosity, or even sensibility, for he had received all your intelligence with the forbearance of civility. 

“Exceedingly so,” you answered, “but I honour your sentiment.”

“My sentiment has changed,” he admitted so fondly, that he feared every fault of his would come to light, “in the presence of such knowledgable company.”

When Leon looked upon you again, surreptitiously enough that you do not notice the length of which he watches you, you watch the two actors embrace each other with welled eyes. Even if Leon never considered himself a poet, surely he could manage a soliloquy that encapsulated the joy in basking at your presence much better than any writer. What fascinating sensibility that you wielded so easily, the same way he holds his weapon, freely and without uncertainty. 

The curtains drew shut only moments later, uproarious cheering filling the theatre chambers so any further conversation is halted in its vibrance. You clapped politely beside him, assuming an air of graceful satisfaction, and he clapped in turn, if only to momentarily revel in this moment. Never had he felt so beguiled by a story, attention so pulled by the audience as he did now, supposing that memorizing every detail would supply further dialogue to engage your consideration. 

While the audience continued their remarks on the performance, mixed with them many instructions of execution and taste, Leon stands from his seat. Despite the initial surety of his action, a hint of trepidation in his expression gave way to his inability to end a happiness so supreme as to efface all impressions of the past. 

“It has been a very agreeable day,” you said to Leon, allowing your hand to be lightly grasped in his. “Never has a play entranced me so. I hope we may often meet again.”

“As do I,” said he, and gave you a final bow, just so you could not see the torment in his expression. Would you let me permit you home, is what he did not say. 

“Goodbye, Sir-” 

“Leon, my Lady.”

“Goodbye, Sir Leon.” The traces of an unbidden smile once again rises, for now you had a means in which to contact him further, to call upon him the next time you waited his presence.

“I am your humble servant,” said he, trembling with anxiety and sinking with despondency, remained for a moment to gaze upon you, unable to take leave yet irresolute what to say that might prolong the moment occurring. 

They took leave of each other; you back to the obligations of the family which expects your maintenance, and he to the tavern to drown the remembrance of his disappointment.

[aestophobia]

if i had a nickel for every time i saw a blitzstone/good omens post, i'd have two nickels, which ISNT NEARLY ENOUGH. I NEED MORE NICKELS. I NEED HUNDREDS. THOUSANDS. GIVE ME MORE NICKELSSSSSSSS

[eri-is-online]

Winmac but it's scott pilgrim???????

[magicwhiskers29]

Happy Flora Friday! Here's some drawings for what's been occupying my brain recently! (It's Flora if she was on the Boiling Isles... Extra thoughts under the cut)

Okay! To be clear, this isn't a toh au in the sense that I've dropped Flora in the story of toh, more so just in the world. So why the tracks I picked?

Plant was sort of the obvious one, because of how it lines up well with the whole Golden Apple thing... Additionally, it could be a family thing, with Flora's mother having liked. (Lady Violet/Viola being her name, so...) It also makes her relationship with it later more interesting - she doesn't like having to be the Golden Apple, so having the type of magic that would come most naturally to her be something so intrinsically related to that would push her to study more and want to learn other tracks of magic.

Illusions? It's a good one for her to get into and study herself, and it lines up well with her first appearances in CV. She's running around disguised, following them from the shadows, something which she continues to do, as well, and it's a good magical substitute for that. It just seemed fitting. Vibes, and all that.

Flora would have an interesting relationship with abomination magic too, considering how easy it would be for abominations to act as a substitute for robots. I don't know if I've considered this AU enough to say that St. Mystere is definitely filled with abominations rather than robots (covering that up would be a lot more difficult, though illusion magic is a thing), but it's an interesting comparison that Flora could absolutely make herself. I also think she could be interested in other applications of abomination magic outside of uh, literally just abominations (Think Blight Industries tech kind of stuff) later on. I like the idea of Flora taking an interest in mechanics post-canon, so that fits.

Other points of interest: I think something fun could be Flora's bad cooking skills being replaced with her being bad at potion magic, potentially. I just think her trying to learn that rather than literal cooking and still having it turn out disastrously is a fun idea! More chaotic, too, and kind of funny considering potion track is the one most people without a specific focus on other types of magic are in. (I.E. Eda and Lilith being in it pre-Emperor's Coven tryouts and Hunter pretending to be part of it ASIAS.)

I've had palismen ideas, but none solid enough for an actual design... Oh, and her magic's a reddish colour because I'm a fan of when it matches the character's eye colour, haha. Obviously, this isn't entirely consistent with the show (Amity and Gus's magic matches their track colour, for instance, and other characters sometimes just match their track and eyes like Eda and Willow), but I don't personally feel like green particularly fits Flora, and this is a personal preference thing...

I'll probably come back to this au at some point (hence giving it its own tag) because toh never leaves my brain haha. I'll definitely take asks on the matter too ;)

[skitskatdacat63]

I feel uninspired and lack motivation for art again so I thought of an ask game for me :)

Send me(or comment) a number from 1-34 and I will draw my corresponding oc

I mentally struggled over whether I should make this post, because ik ocs are niche and probably not many people care for it, but I realized I could have been using those hours to y'know. Actually draw something. So I might as well just post it

[ladsofsorrow24]

sometimes when your AU is too much of a niche for the modern audience you gotta take initiative yourself

[seonghrtz]

𝑣ideo 𝑔ames. 𐙚 両面宿儺 ( streamer!au ) fluff 508 words + warnings. occ sukuna | sukuna reacts to ship videos.

Sukuna never imagined he would become a famous streamer.

It all started when he started playing games to relieve stress ⸻ something that didn't work out very well ⸻ and the idea of streaming came from his younger brother, who had commented on it as a joke, but as Sukuna had nothing to lose, he started streaming his online matches. But apparently people liked Sukuna's explosive personality. So he kept doing it.

Popularity came with time and what started out as something simple became one of his jobs. With the help of his best friend Uraume, he organized his schedule between his day job as a tattoo artist and his streams.

His videos were all over the Internet, including his fans, who made compilations of Sukuna's best moments (whether he was winning or cursing all the descendants up to the seventh generation of his opponents). It turned out that anything with his name on it went viral, for better or worse.

And Sukuna got a lot out of the whole situation. He didn't care about the comments about him ⸻ the haters didn't get to him even though they tried very hard. In fact, Sukuna didn't care about anything.

But that started to change when his name started to be associated with the name of another famous streamer.

Sukuna didn't understand all this association. They were two streamers from different niches, with different audiences. While Sukuna played horror games with lots of shooting, the unknown streamer was into games like Hello Kitty and Gris.

They were complete opposites.

So when he opened the livestream to start playing, within seconds the comments section was filled with fans asking him to react to some videos.

"Okay, I'll fucking react to this video." Sukuna rolled his eyes and clicked on one of the links that took him to an edit.

In the edit, there were moments from some of his streams and others from the other streamer, while Video Games by Lana Del Rey played in the background.

"What the fuck?" Sukuna looked at the camera as if it were a person. "Why are you editing this? I don't even know her! We've never even spoken a word!”

Sukuna clicked another link that opened another edit ⸻ but with a different song.

"You make a cute couple..." Sukuna read one of the comments "How much did you smoke to say that?" Sukuna asked as he read the comments saying how good they would look together and how they would love to see them interact for real.

Sukuna had to stop himself from rolling his eyes at every comment he read ⸻ his eyes might have ended up in the back of his head. In the midst of the comments, however, Sukuna noticed one in particular from a well-known user.

@ yn.hrtz i think a collaboration wouldn't be bad :)

The corner of Sukuna's lips threatened to pop up, but he quickly looked away from the comment, hoping no one else would notice, and quickly continued his game, pretending nothing had happened.

© seonghrtz, 2024. all rights reserved, please do not copy / steal / translate / modify any of my works !

[chososdiscordkitten]

Lord Choso Kamo.

Synopsis: bridgerton au- 22 yrs old nd have yet to marry, only to be set up in an arranged marriage to Choso ^-^

Pairing: Choso x Fem!Reader Content: no use of y/n nor readers appearance, Choso is 26, enemies (on one side) to lovers, reader is sharp tongued and stubborn, plotttttt booooo, just a niche fic I couldnt stop thinking about ^-^, catered for a very specific audience, if you get it- YOU GET IT.

Presented to society at seven and ten. One of the many young potential brides. 

You had asked your mother to allow you to wait a few years- focus on your studies instead of marrying you off. As lacking in presence as your father was, even he said, ‘Absolutely not.’

The first year had a handful of potential husbands. But none of them could nack your witty remarks towards them. Causing your second year to have an even less amount of suitors.

The second year, you were already deemed a spinster by your parents. Attending balls and only sitting on the sidelines in the very same gowns you've worn before- only ever seeing it as a meaningless affair. Only present to watch the other young ladies receive marriage offers before you did. 

By the time you were two and twenty, your mother and father saw you and saw a sort of disappointment. An only child- raised and trained for marriage- and refusing to let go of the silly notion of going through life unmarried. 

They blamed you- but in reality it was a mix of their inability to keep up with the fashions of the seasons. Having to re-wear dresses didn’t help you in the situation either. That and the lack of an eye-catching dowry. Seemed as though no man wanted to marry a woman with a mere four figure dowry, no matter how beautiful. 

One afternoon, as you read a book in the drawing room, you sat on the couch lazily, wearing a day dress that you deemed obsolete—dressing up for no one but the servants and your mother. 

And your mama spouting- “I do not know why you insist on filling your mind with nonsense.” Pacing back and forth a few feet from you. 

Causing you to lower your book and look at her with pursed lips. “It is not nonsense, mama,” you snipped, lining up your eyes with the words again. “It is Shakespeare.” you muttered, a small smile curling on your lips at the look on your mother’s face. 

She was about to start speaking again- only your father walked into the room with an unaccustomed smile on his lips. Almost exasperated, “And what is it you have to smile about, my lord?” your mother scoffed, sitting on the couch across from you with a sigh. 

“I have found a proper suitor for your daughter,” he said, causing your shoulders to tense and your book to lower in disbelief. 

“I am your daughter as well- father.” you scoffed. Lightly pinching the bridge of your nose and sitting up. 

The gleam that shone on your mother’s eyes was one you hoped you’d never see. “Who?” she asked, breathless and eager to see who would finally take you from their hands. 

Your father flashed his eyes to you, almost worried for the words that dared spill from his lips- “The lord Kamo.” 

You closed your eyes with a soft sigh. You had been appropriately raised to not talk back to your father, but the vein that pulsed in your mind when he said that name almost made you snap at him. 

Lord Choso Kamo. 

To others, just another lord without a bright and shiny title. Firstborn son and heir of the Kamo name, his mother gave birth to 8 more boys- all one year apart. And on the eighth, his mother died. 

His father remarried within the year, speculated with a woman he had an affair with when his mother was still alive. Giving Choso one last little brother. 

And to you, three years your senior. Choso was a playful child growing up. Chasing you around- stepping on your shoes and stealing your ribbons at the various balls you would attend with your mother. 

But somewhere around the time his father died, he became more serious. Now head of the Kamo family at a mere five and ten, he grew taller and more serious-faced. And no longer picked fun at you, nor chased you around. If anything, he ignored you. 

Even as a child, you had developed a special kind of disdain towards him. Seeing him as an ill-raised boy, blamed for his misdeeds by your mother. “But mama- he is the one who chases me!” you would defend when she would pull you away by the arm. 

And in your teen years- you would avoid him like a plague. Holding your head high as your eyes looked over at him- his eyebrows, thick and furrowed with severe eyes scanning the ballroom. 

You disliked Choso not only for his actions as a child but also because he had a dismissive aura when it came to these balls—and when it came to you now, apparently. Far too mature and busy to even hold a conversation with you now. 

Only once when you were four and ten did you approach him. Standing much taller than you at seven and ten, hands behind his back with a stern look in his eye.

Choso stood near the far wall of the ballroom, his eyes scanning the lively room for his little brothers. To make sure they did not stain his legacy even further than his father had. 

“I think you owe me a dance, my lord,” you spoke, standing beside him but not bothering to look over at him, dressed in a dark plum suit, a color he had taken a liking to at his coming of age.

His face churned in confusion, “Owe you a dance? Whatever for.” he spoke- improper and uncaring of this supposed debt you imposed onto him. 

“For stealing my ribbons and stepping on my shoes.” tilting your head slightly, so sure you were correct. 

He only scoffed, walking away from you and collecting his rowling brother. 

Choso’s coldness against you was upsetting. Not because you wanted his friendship but because of how improper and indifferent he was when it came to you. Not even bidding a goodbye before walking off.

In the third year you were on the market, you stood beside him once more—you, freshly twenty, and he, three and twenty. Thinking if no other man would have you, who was the Lord to deny you?

It was not as though he was the worst man of the bunch. A decent name, a decent fortune- and a better-looking face than most suitors. His only flaw was how standoffish he could be and how improper he was with you.

Yet still. You gave the man one last chance.

“You still owe me a dance, my Lord,” you spoke, watching the people dance at the center of the room. Choso looked over to you, quickly scanning the light pink gown you wore that evening, surely to attract a suitor.

Your gaze caught the bags below his eyes, a side effect of the late nights spent in his study with only candlelight illuminating the mess of books his late father left him. And his long hair tied back, giving you an unobstructed view of his strong jaw.

“Should you not be looking for a husband?” he spewed, looking back at the dancing crowd and lightly widening his eyes. Unable to see the youngest sibling he was watching. 

You let out an unamused laugh, “That is what I am doing, is it not?” looking over at him with a pleased expression. 

“No, you are talking to me-” he murmured. Walking off and trying to find the pink-haired sibling with a penchant for wandering off. 

After that, you swore never to speak to him again. There was a spark of hatred in your heart when you saw his stupid, serious face at the balls. And when his eyes caught on yours, you would look away, uncaring if people saw. If anything, you wanted people to see your dislike for that brinking-on beastly man. 

So when your father said that he- Lord Choso Kamo was to be your husband, you almost hemorrhaged on the spot. 

You did not speak to your father for three days and two nights. At the dinner table, you stayed silent. Picking at your food and avoidant of any conversation. And your mother held more than enough excitement for you both. Planning the flowers, the gown- all before the Lord even proposed. 

And when your father grew tired of your silence- he shouted at you to speak. 

You bowed your head, tears in your eyes—“Please,” you said in a tone of voice you had not used since you were a girl. Peering your eyes up at him, full of salt water and a weary lip. You said, “Please, do not make me marry that man, father.” 

Though your papa was generally uncaring when it came to what you felt. The way you looked at him- he saw a glimmer of his little girl in your eyes. The same little girl that would cling to his leg, scared of the strangers he would present her to. 

Your father took your hands in his- and you were so sure he would call it off. 

“I will allow you a two-week courting period.” He whispered, watching the tears spill from your eyes. “You must marry him,” he spoke your name softly. 

It wasn’t until the following day you heard your father speaking to your mother- the stoic man practically in shambles at the thought of using his only daughter as a form of paying his debts. 

Before the late Lord Kamo passed, your father owed him a substantial amount of money. A debt your father was still unsure how he would pay. And the news of Choso’s father's death washed over your papa as a wave of relief.

So when a six and twenty-year-old Lord Kamo wrote to your father- something along the lines of; ‘I have in my late father’s books that you owed him an undisclosed sum of money. I would like to discuss this face to face-’

Your father thought up a million things—selling off the silverware, the dresses, and letting go of the staff—but it didn’t amount to half as much as he owed. 

So when your father met up with the young Lord Kamo at a gentleman's club, he was far too inebriated. Drinking to fill the uncomfortability he felt with the severity Choso imbued in his words. 

“It is my understanding you have yet to marry?” your father spoke- glass half empty in his hand as he looked at the brown-haired man before him. 

Choso furrowed his eyebrows, looking at the drunk man and squinting. “I have yet to.” 

“Then the matter is settled. You may have—*hic* My daughter,” he said, thralling his arm around Choso’s shoulder with a happy smile. “She is well-read. And you have been friends since youth, have you not?” 

Choso parted his lips to speak—“Phenomenal!” your father said, “We will discuss the technicalities later,” ending the conversation and continuing to another topic. 

In Choso’s mind, he knew the impending task of finding a wife had run at him at full speed. And rather than slotting through the many carefully primped young ladies, Choso found peace in knowing if he should have to marry, let it at least be you who he does. 

The least objectionable option. Finding it revolting how the many mamas would peddle their overly young daughters to grown men. Be it you- three years his junior and knowing you far better than he would know any of them. 

And when your mother advised you that the Lord Kamo had asked to see you- you felt a pool of nerves and unease form in your tummy. Knowing that the two-week period your father had granted you, would begin the minute, he would come see you. 

Your mother mulled over what you were to wear when he would visit. Trying to find the best option- an option that would make your beauty distracting enough to ignore your sharp tongue. 

“Mama, I’ve already told you- he is not interested in marriage” you insisted- your mother ordering you to hold a dress against your body. 

“Hush up.” she insisted, causing you to sigh. 

Tossing a light pink chiffon gown onto your bed- “I have known him since I was a child- mama, he knows what I am like.” sitting onto your bed with a scoff, “A frilly gown I’ve worn before won’t change his opinion on me.” 

Your mother shouted your name- “Your father has said that he already agreed- mouthy and far too mature as you are. Lord Kamo has agreed to marry you.” she insisted. Making your mind reel at the possibility that he only agreed to vex you, knowing him.

As your ladies maid fixed your hair- looking into the mirror and thinking of your foiled plans. Plans that had been entirely derailed simply because the Lord said ‘yes’ to marrying you. 

And as you sat in the drawing room- back slouched and a bored look on your face. Your mother did not hesitate to slap your back when the footman walked in “The Lord Kamo, to see you- my lady.” he directed at you. 

Straightening your back- fixing your face as you watched the man stand at the doorway. Flowers in hand and with his hair pushed behind his ears. Unfurrowed eyebrows and nervous eyes looking at you. 

You rose to your feet, “My lord.” you exasperated, lowering in a half-assed curtsey as he slightly bowed. 

“My lady.” he spoke- almost unsure and far too formal for the relationship you had with him. 

You clenched your jaw looking at him- your mother leaning to your ear, “Be kind, and smile.” she instructed through clenched teeth. Sitting at a tea table a few paces from the couch you were sitting on. 

Choso took a step towards you, holding out the bouquet. “These are for you,” he mumbled- yet another thing you disliked about him. He spoke unclear words far too often. 

You plastered a false smile on your lips, reaching for them- “Thank you. My lord.” dropping the smile and holding them out for your ladies’ maid to take them. Thinking of a snide comment, only laughing softly to yourself at- ‘make sure to leave them in the sun till next week.’ you said in your mind. 

“Did I say something funny?” he asked- watching you sit onto the couch and following you. 

You eased your expression. “No, unfortunately you didn’t.” you spit. Hearing a slight cough come from your mother, reminding you to be kind.

Choso parted his lips to speak- “May I ask you why you agreed to marry me?” you interrupted- a hushed tone so your mother would not scold you. Eyebrows stern and determined to know his reasonings. 

The Lord squinted his eyes slightly with a furrowed brow. “I have yet to ask for your hand?” he queried- as though you had the answers that you, yourself, were looking for. 

“My father says you agreed to marry me in two weeks.” deadpan face looking at his confused one. 

The corner of the Lord’s lip curled, “Your father was drunk when he struck that deal.” 

You rolled your eyes and looked off to the side. “So you do not wish to marry me.” you stated rather than asked. So eager to hear the words- ‘I do not want to marry you.’

“I did not say that.” 

You almost groaned in frustration at his words. Only your twitchy eye went unnoticed by the man sitting before you. “Then?” you pressed, pursed lips and squinty eyes awaiting his declaration- or an excuse. 

“I am reaching the age to take a bride.” he started, bordering on a mumble that only frustrated you even more. 

“And why not take on a well-behaved child bride-”

Choso’s expression churned in a flash of disgust. “I did not choose you,” he spoke your name in a whisper. Improper as ever- not even using your family name with a simple ‘miss’ before it. 

You blinked harshly at your name callously spoken as though you were already wed. 

“Your father offered-”

“And you accepted.” 

“Because I have known you since I was a boy.” he defended, “I found marrying you to be simpler than carding through the many eligible young-” you sighed at his droning on. Giving you every excuse besides the one you wanted to hear. 

“You also said 'yes' to this union, did you not?” he asked. You looked off to the side, scoffing at his assumption. 

Intertwining your fingers together and pursing your lips, “This union is everyone’s choice but mine.” you muttered. Looking down to your hands with a frustrated look on your face. 

Choso called your name again- this time in worry. Making the vein in your temple pulse from his improper tendencies. “If you do not want to marry- I will not force you to.” 

“You do not know a thing.” you spouted, causing your mother to look up from the embroidery cloth to see why you were seething in your words. And Choso only smiled at your mother, assuring her it was okay. 

Clearing your throat- standing from the couch and urging him to do the same. “I think it’s time for you to take your leave, my lord.” You spoke- hearing your mother stand. 

“Can’t you stay for tea?” she asked- only for Choso to look at you. Mouthing a soft ‘No,’ instructing him to assure your mother that was not necessary. 

The next time Choso saw you was at a ball. You stood near a wall, a pondering look on your face, an unsipped glass of lemonade in hand, and an empty dance card on your wrist. 

Looking off as though you were physically here- but your mind was elsewhere. 

The Lord came up to you for the first time since he was seven. Calling your name in a mutter and pulling you from your thoughts. 

“Yes, my lord?” you spoke- refusing to turn and look at him. 

He inhaled sharply, “Have you thought more on-”

“It is all I think about these days.” 

Choso tried thinking back on the lessons he was taught as a boy- how to approach a lady and how to ask for a dance. 

He parted his lips to speak- “What is it you want, my lord?” you asked, interrupting his attempts to communicate with your tone bordered on frustration. 

“I owe you a dance, do I not,” speaking your name with the same thoughtlessness as he always held. You sighed, placing your glass on the table beside you. 

Looking over at him with a peaked brow, “Why is it now you want to dance? Not once have you ever shown interest before.” 

He scoffed softly, “I aim to court you- dancing is part of it, is it not?”

You let out an unamused laugh, “If dancing meant courting- you declined that proposition long ago, my lord.” taking a sarcastic tone, holding your head high as he furrowed his eyebrows. 

Unknowing what you were talking about, Choso squinted his eyes. “Why do you speak to me in that tone?” he looked over at you, trying to recall if he had insulted you or even done something to warrant your curt behavior. 

You sighed harshly, bored of this conversation- and irritated that Choso had the guts to ask that. “My mother is summoning me-” Trying to find an escape from this conversation; you chose to lie. 

Turning to face him, pursed lips and your jaw slightly clenched, “Good evening, my lord.” you spat, his eyes widening and scoffing. 

As you turned to walk away, he called your name- loud enough for more than enough people to turn their heads to the source. Seeing you still in Choso's presence, his face troubled as he looked at the back of your head. 

The control you had in not turning around and snapping at the man, was control you weren’t sure you held. You only breathed in a small breath and continued your steps, hearing the Lord step behind you as you walked out of the ballroom. 

Nodding your head 'no' as you stepped onto the terrace- breathing in the crisp evening air and clenching your jaw. Your name was spoken again, in the same uncaring tone he always held when he referred to you. 

“If I have done something to offend you-” You turned around swiftly, angered by the face before you and your eye threatening to twitch. 

“If? If you have done something?” you scoffed, finding it unbelievable that he didn’t even know what he did wrong. Choso turned his head, awaiting your explanation as your gloved hands balled into fists at your side.  

Choso parted his lips to speak, your name falling from his lips carelessly, making you even more upset. “Please, tell me if I have done something wrong.” The urgency in his tone fell on deaf ears. 

“I do not wish to speak of this any longer-” you muttered, “My Lord.” you gritted, a breath leaving his lips at the name. 

“Why do you insist on calling me that?” he lightly grimaced, cringing every time you’ve ever referred to him as that. 

The control you held slipping from the satin covering your fingers. “Because it is polite—something you do not harbor,” you spat, shivering at the crisp breeze brushing against your arms. 

Choso furrowed his eyebrows- even more confused than before at your proclamation. You scoffed- “Do not pretend you are unaware of what I speak of.” your chest puffing and slightly spilling from the top of your gown. 

You abandoned the topic, knowing he would only look at you with the same stupid expression in wait for you to further elaborate. 

Turning away from Choso and placing your hands on the balcony’s edge, sighing softly before a smile crept onto your lips. 

“We have yet to marry, and we are arguing already,” you whispered, looking out into the gardens with a pummeling headache. 

Choso sighed, his face troubled. “I’ve already told you—if this marriage is not of your will, I shall decline your father.” 

You breathed a sharp exhale from your nose at his claim, knowing it was not up to you nor him. It was a duty your own father entrusted to you. 

“It is of my will.” you muttered, hearing his footsteps creep beside you. Looking out to the same view as you. 

“Then why is it you hold such disdain for me?” he whispered, looking to the side of your face in worry. 

Dropping the veil of anger to answer his question in earnest. “Do you remember when we were children? And you would chase me around the Easter gardens?” you asked, taking a softer tone and looking to the very same gardens below you. 

“Or when you would step on my freshly polished shoes- or steal the ribbons of my hair?” Looking back to him with a soft expression- watching his face churn to a pensive one. 

A small smile formed on your lips, “I was able to forgive all of that- but when I was ten and four, you declined my offer for a dance.” your mouth in taught purse, watching his lips part to defend himself. 

“And when I was twenty, I offered again.” the corner of your lip curling in disbelief, “And you declined- again.” 

“This is all because I refused to dance with you?” Choso asked in a half laugh. 

You huffed a smile, “No, not because you declined my offers for dancing, my lord.” clenching your teeth and the seething below your skin burning in your cheeks. “Because after all of that- you somehow managed to foil my plans for the future.” 

Sighing in a straggled breath, “After all of that- you agreed to marry me. And go on as though we have been friends since childhood.” You nodded in disappointment. 

“But we have been-” Choso stated in almost a question. 

“You bullied me in childhood. We are not friends.” You spat in a whisper, turning and taking a step away. Only for his hand to grasp onto your clothed forearm, holding you back with an amused expression. 

“Bullied?” he asked in a surprised tone. “If anyone was a bully- it was you,” speaking your name and looking at your angered expression. 

Choso loosened his grip on your arm, “Do you not recall? When you would pull my ears or push me?” he smiled, remembering the memories he held fondly. 

“Or when I would call you 'my lady'- and you would snap at me? Tell me that was not your name- and that you were no lady?” he scoffed with an earnest smile. You furrowed your eyebrows, barely able to remember the memory he was referring to. 

“If I am so horrible- why did you agree to marry me?” you whispered, the smile on his face only growing in the slightest. 

His cheeks slightly flushed and daring to inch closer to you. “I do not find you horrible,” the tone he took when saying your name made your own cheeks threaten to warm. “I never have.” he smiled. 

Watching your tight expression soften, you parted your lips slightly. Darting your eyes back to the ballroom and seeing a pair of debutants whispering whilst looking through the doors. 

You cleared your throat, taking a step back and exhaling a shaky breath. Choso furrowed his eyebrows and looked over to where you had looked, “A dance, my lady?” he offered his hand out to you. 

You took it with a sigh, what you interpreted as anger filling your cheeks. Allowing him to guide you back to the ballroom. 

A hand on your waist and other holding yours, taking precise steps as your eyes avoided his. Thinking of a way to break the tension without stuttering. “If you insist on marrying me- I ask we speak of agreements beforehand,” you expressed, avoiding the gaze Choso held on you. 

His hand guiding you into a waltz, “Agreements?” he murmured, snapping your eyes back to him and nodding. 

“Yes, agreements. Discuss what shall happen if we marry.” you reiterated, keeping a stern brow and ignoring the wisp of a smug expression on his face. 

Choso lightly smiled, “Very well.” he murmured again, making you nod your head no with heat rising in your cheeks. 

“Bring freesias for my mother- and stop mumbling.” you seethed, watching his smile deepening as he heard your demands. 

-

(a.n) sooo niche and I overindulged I know, but I don't CARE.

[katareyoudrilling]

Audience of One (Dave York one-shot)

Pairing: Bodyguard Dave York x Female Reader

Summary: When online comments threaten your safety, you reluctantly agree to hire a bodyguard

Word count: ~3k

Rating: Explicit (18+ only. NO MINORS)

Content Warnings: a bit of danger, masturbation, unprotected PIV (please use protection IRL), a hickey (sort of)

A/N: This is my entry for @burntheedges Roll-a-Trope challenge! I got famous person AU and twisted it to fit my very niche tastes lol.  It has been quite a while since I posted something, thanks for hanging in there with me.  I really hope you enjoy it! Big thanks to @burntheedges for the beta 😘

Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated!

Dave York Masterlist

Masterlist

Taglist – link in my bio or let me know!

“I really think you’re overreacting.”  You finish cleaning off your instrument and securing it in your case.

“I’m not and it’s not open to discussion.” 

You sigh.  “I’m a concert violinist, not a movie star.  No one is out to ‘get me’ or whatever.  This is ridiculous.”

“It’s not ridiculous,” your manager forces you to meet her gaze.  “There have been emails, social media posts… I know you don’t want to believe it, but there are creeps out there focused on you.  I need you to be safe.”

She’s looking at you with so much care and concern that the fight leaves your body.  “Fine.  Send him in.”

“Thank you.”  She turns to open the door to the dressing room and gestures to someone in the hallway.  You gather the rest of your things into your bag and prepare to head to your hotel.

Your manager steps back into the room trailed by a tall, broad, dark-haired, incredibly attractive man in an overcoat.

“Meet Dave York, your bodyguard.”

. . . . . . . . . .

“I’m really sorry about this,” you apologize for the tenth time since getting into the back of the town car with your new bodyguard in tow. “All this fuss is unnecessary.”

Dave regards you across the darkened backseat.  “Your manager doesn’t think so and neither do I.  The sooner you accept my help, the better this will go.”

You lose your train of thought as the streetlights sweep across his gorgeous features.  His pouty lips… his aquiline nose… his strong jaw… his dark eyes… each feature takes its turn in the lamplight.  It’s probably for the best, taking him in all at once might actually kill you.  No one has the right to be this handsome.

You shake yourself out of your reverie and find Dave watching you closely.  You look away quickly, shifting your focus out your window.  You cross your legs, and the slit of your dress opens, revealing your legs up to mid-thigh.  You quickly adjust the skirt to cover yourself and tell yourself that you’re imagining Dave’s eyes flickering away.

You clear your throat, “Right, umm… how is this going to go, exactly?”

“I’ll be with you during the day.  When you return to your hotel room at night, I’ll hand off responsibility to my security team.  There will be extra security at your concerts and events as well.”

“That doesn’t sound too intrusive.”

“It shouldn’t be.”

“I hope you like classical music.”

“We’ll find out.”

. . . . . . . . . . .

And that’s how it goes.  Dave meets you outside your door when you’re ready to leave in the morning and accompanies you on each step of your schedule.  He tags along to masterclasses, rehearsals, concerts, and your own practice sessions.  Ushering you in and out of town cars and back exits.

You share brief conversations in the car.  His dry, sarcastic wit comes out little by little as you spend time with him.  He often makes you laugh and you thrill when his pouty lips tilt at the edges into a wry smirk at something you said.

He leaves you at your hotel room door in each city at the end of the day, waiting until you close the door to call his security team.

You don’t lean against the door and wonder where he goes after he’s with you.  That would be inappropriate.

You don’t replay the events of the day, the glances, the almost touches, that assuredly exist only in your own imagination.

You don’t catalog the little things you’ve learned about him.  Single.  No kids.  Ex-military.  Coffee, black.  Unexpected crinkles around the eyes when he smiles.

You don’t seek him out in the concert halls, looking for a sign that he enjoys the music you’re making, always finding him watching you intently from backstage, still and focused.

You don’t find yourself pulling out your favorite toy to relieve some tension more and more frequently as the days spent in his company add up.

Definitely not.

. . . . . . . . . .

“You played something different tonight.” Dave’s deep voice breaks the silence of the car. 

You hum your assent, “Sarasate’s Carmen Fantasy.  It’s a real crowd pleaser.”

“I didn’t know a violin could do that.”

You chuckle, “Yeah, the soloist gets to show off in that one.”

“You like to show off, don’t you?”

The energy in the car shifts in an instant.  Dave’s dark eyes are even darker than usual as he regards you across the cab.  The question hangs heavy in the air.  

“You have to like to show off to do my job,” you explain a bit breathlessly.  You meet his dark gaze, and he hums in approval.  “Do you like to show off, Dave?”

He drags his thumb across his lower lip, your eyes can’t help but follow the movement.

“No, I don’t like to show off.  I like to watch.”

His words hit you like an electrical current, zinging across your skin, breaking you out into full body goose bumps.

You hold each other’s gaze in the dark, your breath coming in increasingly erratic pants.  He doesn’t look away.  Neither do you.

You cross your legs and allow your skirt to fall open up your legs, just like the first night you were in the car with him.  This time, the dress has an even higher slit—you save this particular gown for when you perform the Carmen, you enjoy playing into the persona.  This time, you don’t cover up.

You watch as his gaze flickers to your bare legs, exposed practically all the way to your underwear, the tip of his tongue sneaks out to wet his plush lips.

He drags his eyes back up to yours.  The air is thick with possibility.  A line has definitely been crossed.  Words begin to bubble up from your gut when the car pulls to a stop in front of the hotel.

The moment pops like a balloon.

Dave opens his door and swings up and out of the car.  In a haze, you open your door and step out into the night.

The next moments go by in a flash.

You hear someone shout your name, Dave yells, you’re shoved against the car, unfamiliar hands grab your shoulders and whisk you into the hotel lobby and into the elevator.  The doors close before you can understand the commotion happening outside the hotel.

You’re flanked by security guards you’ve seen around after hours.  The words “assailant” “custody” “weapon” permeate the buzzing in your brain.  Questions form and dissipate in the tangle of your thoughts before you can get them out.

The elevator doors open on your floor, and you are bodily moved into your hotel room.  Before they can close the door, you finally manage to ask what’s going on only to be met with vague instructions to stay in your room and wait.

You pace the floor and look out your window, hoping for a glimpse of what might be happening on the street below, but you’re on the wrong side of the building.  It doesn’t hold any answers for you.

Your hands reach for your phone only to realize it’s still in your bag in the car, along with your instrument case.

The car.

Your mind returns to that moment right before you pulled up to the hotel.  So ripe with promise and possibility.

Then you had gotten out of the car.

Oh shit.

You got out of the car yourself.  You opened your door yourself.  You weren’t supposed to do that. Dave opens your door.  Dave ushers you out of the car.

It’s all your fault.

Just as your thoughts threaten to spiral, there’s a firm knock on your door.

“It’s me.  Everything is ok. Open the door.” You hear Dave through the door.  You rush over and check the peephole like he told you to.  At least you can say you remembered to do that.  You confirm it’s him and open the door.

“Dave, I—”

He crashes into you, pressing you against the wall with the length of his body before claiming your mouth with a rough, desperate kiss.  His hands grip your chin, your shoulders, your hip as he devours your mouth.

Your hands scrabble against his chest, finding the lapels of his coat to hang on.

Just as suddenly as you found yourself kissing Dave, you aren’t.  He pulls back abruptly leaving you cold and breathless.

“Fuck, I shouldn’t ha—”

You pull him back to you by his coat, drawing his mouth back to yours.  You lick into his mouth, moaning as he responds.

This kiss is less frantic, but still full of need.  Your tongues tangle together, tasting and testing.

Dave eventually breaks away, resting his forehead against yours.

“Are you ok?”

“Yes, I’m ok, but what happened?”

“A man came running toward you, the police have him now.  I’m sure it’s the person making those creepy comments about you online.”

“I got out of the car by myself, Dave, I’m so sorry, I know I’m n—”

“Shh,” he hushes you.  “It’s ok.  You’re ok.”

He presses his lips to yours, swallowing your protests, until you melt into him.

“I’ve wanted to do this for so long.” He drags his lips down your throat, across your collarbones and shoulders.  He licks back up the side of your neck.

You gasp as he drags his tongue over the sensitive spot on your neck.

“I noticed this mark the night I first met you,” he murmurs into your skin. “I was so jealous of whoever got to do that to you.  I kept waiting to find out who it was, to see if they were worthy of marking your skin, but there has been no one and the mark has stayed.”  You sense the unasked question.

“My… it’s… a violin hickey,” you pant as he drags his nose up the column of your throat and along your jaw. “Where my violin rubs against my neck when I play.”  He chuckles.

“Should I be jealous of your violin?”

“Probably.”

He hums against you.  “Fair enough.”

He steps back to the hotel room door and for a moment your heart drops thinking that he might be leaving, but he only opens the door to pull your bag and violin case into the room.  You hear him conversing with a guard outside before he closes the door, locking the deadbolt before turning back to you.

He shrugs off his overcoat and suit jacket.  He loosens the knot of his tie and begins to unbutton the cuffs of his sleeves.  You watch the movement of his fingers with rapt attention.

“So, Miss Show off. Do you want to show off for me?”  His eyes flash dangerous and dark and a thrill runs up your spine.

Adrenaline tingles in your fingertips as you find the zipper of your dress and pull it down your side.

You lock eyes with Dave as you let your gown fall to the floor, a puddle at your feet.  You are left standing in only your panties and high heels.

Dave drinks you in, caressing your curves with his warm gaze.  Your nipples harden under his perusal and wetness pools between your legs.  It’s all you can do to not rub your thighs together.

“Get on the bed.” He commands, his voice deep and rasping with need.  His shirtsleeves are rolled up now, exposing the tendons and veins in his forearms.  His hands fist at his sides, clearly fighting the urge to touch you.  But you’ve learned this about Dave, he is always in control of himself.

You walk over to the bed, turning your back to him and adding an extra sway to your hips.  You catch his strangled moan at the sight of your round ass framed by the string of your thong.  You turn to sit at the end of the bed with a satisfied smirk.  Dave stands at arm’s length from you, pinning you with his dark eyes.

“Show me.  Let me see if those fingers can play your pussy as well as they play your violin.”

You gasp at his filthy words and your center clenches with need.  Keeping your eyes on him once again, you drag your panties down your legs and off, kicking off your shoes as you do, and scoot a bit farther onto the bed.

You lean back into the plush bedding, resting on one elbow, knees bent, and spread your legs for Dave.

He drinks you in hungrily as you part yourself for him, dipping your fingers into your wetness.

Your mouth falls open as you circle your clit, a moan escaping your chest.  You fight to keep your eyes open so you can watch Dave watch you.  You really do like to show off and he is an eager audience.

You quicken your pace, hitting the rhythm you like best, and find yourself careening towards your peak.  Your hips buck on the bed, and you whine that you’re close.

“Show me,” Dave commands one last time before you fall over the edge, pulsing and shivering through your release.

 “Do I get a standing ovation?” you ask, breathless, once you’ve come back to yourself. 

“You tell me.”

You crack one eye open and find that he’s standing at the end of the bed naked.  His cock juts proudly away from his hips at full attention.

“My favorite kind.” You lick your lips as you sit up and crawl to the edge of the bed.  You look up at him as you take the tip of his cock between your lips, sliding down the hard length of him.  You watch his stomach flex with effort as he resists fucking into your mouth.

It makes you want to make him lose control.  He’s always alert and watching.  Even in the car on the way to the hotel tonight, he kept his cool as you tempted him.  Bursting into your room to kiss you is the only time you’ve seen him not in complete control of himself.

You tongue and suck and moan around him, losing yourself in the rhythm.  Dave drags his fingers down your cheek and throat.  

“Look at you, fuck.” He cups your breasts, swaying heavily between your arms, and pinches your nipples.  “I want to watch these tits bounce while I fuck you.”

You whimper around his length, arousal practically dripping down your legs.  He pulls out of your mouth, diving down to kiss you deeply and press you backwards onto the bed.

He arranges himself against the headboard and drags you on top of him.  “Ride me, baby,” he commands.  You eagerly comply, lining his weeping cock up with your entrance.

Your eyes roll back in your head as you sink down onto him, the stretch is so delicious with every inch you take.  When you bottom out, you open your eyes to find Dave breathing hard, the tendons of his neck taut with effort.

You rise and sink back down slowly, angling yourself backwards so he can see his cock disappear into your wet heat.  He licks the pad of his thumb and reaches between you, giving you friction that makes you shudder with each roll of your hips.

“Fuck yes,” he groans, eyes locked on your greedy pussy, swallowing him whole.  You feel yourself start to flutter around him, the intensity of his eyes on you drives your arousal higher and higher.  Being watched with so much desire gives you such a thrill that your orgasm threatens to take you far too soon.

You slow and lean forward, placing a hand on the headboard over Dave’s head.  Your breasts wobble in front of his face and he quickly takes one nipple into his mouth.  You arch your back into him as he sucks and tugs, tongue swirling around the sensitive bud.

He holds your hips still with one hand as he feasts on you, bringing his other to cup and pinch your tender flesh.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you cry as the pressure builds in your core.  Your hips grind into him, seeking relief as he relentlessly toys with you.

He allows you to move, to chase your high, riding his cock with abandon as he looks up at you with lust blown eyes.  You tilt your hips, and he finds your clit once again.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he praises you as you near your peak.  “Come on my cock, baby.  I want to feel you.”

You come with a gasp, rising up on your knees as your pussy clenches then collapsing back down with shuddering pulses.  Dave caresses your back before rolling you over and gently pulling out.  He kneels between your legs, stroking his length, as you lie boneless and hazy.

“That was so fucking hot, baby.” His jaw clenches as he strokes himself faster and faster.  “I fucking love to watch you.  Watch you play your violin… watch you touch yourself… watch you fuck…”

“It’s my turn, Dave,” you interrupt.  “I want to watch you come.  Come all over me.” You prop yourself up on your elbows and smirk at the way a shudder moves through his body.  He lets go with a groan, ropes of cum painting your tummy and chest.

You both collapse, satisfied.  Dave cleans you up, taking extra care with your breasts.  You smirk as he chases the warm cloth with his even warmer mouth.

“What happens now?” you ask later, when you’re twined together on the bed. “If that was the guy…”

“I’ll be here as long as you need me and even after you don’t,” Dave presses a kiss to the top of your head.  You snuggle into his side, relaxing in the knowledge that you are safe and thrilled with the prospect of showing off again for your audience of one.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

A/N: I don't have, and never have had, a violin hickey. I probably don't practice enough lol. But they are often seen as a point of pride among violinists.

Dave York Masterlist

Masterlist

Taglist - in reblog

[kisakis-boyfriend]

How about headcanons for Camboy AU Freminet who uses his helmet to hide his identity? What’s his online niche? Does he do private shows?? Is his username penguin related???

Pairings: None

Warnings: Sub/bottom!Freminet, adult Freminet, pillow humping, sex toys, overstimulation, camboy AU

I am unfamiliar with French unfortunately, but I came up with pingouindoré69 as a username :)

Lyney was the one to suggest tacking on the '69' at the end 😅

His niche is definitely oceanic themed sets/roleplays. Freminet has a small room reserved just for his cam shows, painted blue with minimal furniture so that he can easily set up props and backgrounds

I definitely think he'd want his shows to be incredibly immersive when he does roleplays and such

His roleplays are scenarios such as: A diver getting fucked by tentacle monsters. An unsuspecting adventurer being ravaged by all sorts of monsters and creatures; depending on which dildo Freminet or the viewers choose~

Freminet is also well known for using all sorts of strangely shaped dildos (dragon dicks, horse dicks, lawachurl dicks, toys with knots at the base, toys with varying textures such as bumps and ridges, all different sizes 'n colours)

Owns a whole collection of tentacle dildos (that both Freminet himself and his audience fucking adore~)

The thin pink tip slides up into the young boy's hole as he slowly lowers himself onto the toy. It's a perfect replica of a classic tentacle; reddish-pink and covered in suckers from top to bottom. If the slutty moans pouring from the boy's mouth mean anything, they must indicate that those suckers feel heavenly as each and every one drags against his walls while he inserts the length

He carefully bounces on the tentacle, working it deeper inside with every downward thrust. The inside of his helmet grew steamier as the show went on, bringing an uncomfortable film of moisture to his milky skin. After a few minutes, the thick base of the tentacle pressed against the boy's ass cheeks — the entire length of the toy filled him up and made a slight bulge in his little tummy. A sight that the viewers thoroughly enjoyed~

The boy's cock bobbed with each thrust, begging to be touched and release all of that sticky cum trapped inside. Alas, our camboy's generous viewers had donated enough mora to already meet tonight's special punishment goal — 50,000 mora for the little diver to ignore his dick, forbidden from touching it even once. And he was a very good boy, so he torturously obeys the goal, crying inside of his helmet throughout every anal-only orgasm

—

Private shows are few and far between. Mainly reserved for special occasions, and even then the cost is rather steep. Freminet is just too shy to do one-on-one sessions often...but when they do occur? Ooohh baby–

The lucky viewer can request just about anything from him. Freminet won't remove his helmet and he sticks to his hard no's, but as long as your request is within his boundaries and capabilities, it's all fair game

They can bring out this boy's inner slut easily; making him degrade himself for their amusement. They can request that he use any number of the toys from his vast collection too

Make him stuff two monster dildos deep within his hole? Ask him to creampie himself with a fake cum pump inside of a massive tentacle toy? Request that he pinch his cute nipples and call himself “Daddy's little slut”?

Yep, Freminet will do it all~ If the viewer is kind enough to spend their mora on this private time with him, then they deserve a real treat!!

The viewers also fawn over his voice often. The echo from his helmet amplifies the abundance of whines, moans, and pleas that fall from his lips. His loyal viewers eat that up every time 💙

Freminet streams himself humping a pillow a couple times. Those shows quickly skyrocket in views, becoming some of his most popular streams

“Oh- oh gods...wa-wanna cum—!! ” The eager boy moans, thrusting wildly against his fluffy pillow. His head hangs low as overstimulation begins to kick in. Every 5,000 mora adds five more minutes to his humping session; every individual 10,000 mora donation delays his orgasm for just as long

Larger incremental donations mean that Freminet might do something such as calling himself a filthy whore (or whatever the viewer wants if they donate enough to add their own message), playing with his chest, or placing a vibrator underneath the pillowcase

Freminet's muscles ache as he's stuck grinding against the pillow for hours, his dick leaks clear precum everywhere. The fluid sticks to his lovely thighs with every drag against the pillow, and Freminet is left whining like an adorable whore the entire time

[ranticore]

hits u with my dragon beam

tha boys and their dragons from the au i am self-indulgently messing with. green, bronze, and brown. these are scaled to their actual sizes relative to one another & their riders.

reasoning/more info under the cut. when i say 'niche audience' i mean the approximately One Person who knows my characters and has also read a pern book (me. i'm the one person it's me)

Féiix is a green rider obvs. I think it's really generous of dragons to have a colour specifically for bottoms. Her name is Estibarith and she ends up committing matricide by stubbornly rising at the same time as queen Lenath, to protest the weyrwoman's abusive treatment of her rider. Estibarith is legendarily short-tempered and protective, and although her rider might continually reassure her that his arrangement with the weyrwoman (as her personal spy; he is an ex-harper) is healthy, Estibarith has other ideas. She is quite good at precise hops between, which is how she manages to bait Lenath into flying head first into a mountainside.

Islin's bronze Taranth is very big, very gentle, and completely unwilling to do his duty as a bronze in any capacity at all. He has a... complicated relationship with Lenath and endures a good amount of ridicule, but Islin is adamant that he will never make a bid for weyrleader as this involves sleeping with the weyrwoman and queen (he'll settle for being wingleader). A strong disagreement over Félix's spywork and loyalty to Lenath leads Islin and Taranth to walk out from their weyr, and operate out of a different base for years before Lenath ultimately dies from failing to compete with Searrath on a mating flight. He is the only bronze rider who is not originally from a weyr.

Francis's brown Nllath was almost killed by Lenath when he hatched. As the son of the newly-ousted ex-weyrleader, Francis could have easily impressed a bronze and ousted the current weyrleader, so the weyrwoman conspired to prevent it from happening. Lenath broke Nellath's leg during the hatching, and only the invervention of Francis's father's bronze saved both himself and the injured hatchling from what appeared to be the queen's random fit of infanticidal rage. Nellath recovered well and became a very popular brown dragon and an impressively good shot with his flames. He has attempted several times to chase a queen (usually one of the juniors, still a little wary of Lenath), and has even succeeded more than once. Francis and Nellath support one of those junior queens during an attempted ousting of Lenath and the weyrwoman, but never expected that Félix's loyalty to the weyrwoman would separate them for years (until Lenath goes out carcrash style against a mountainside, as previously mentioned)

It's my first time trying to write a full conspiracy over the course of the characters' lifetimes so it's pretty fun!

[bonkalore]

Lol I didn’t expect to see this!  I was still just a high schooler when I first was drawing the “Tangled 2″ art and am a sucker for angsty circus stuff. And then I waited to see how the series played out to see if I wanted to do an AU at any point and bring any of those former elements back and went with the Moongene thing. Technically, neither of them needed the giant thing happening, but also: I like giants and I’m just gonna always be putting it in everything! 😂 Makes for good storytelling to me! I’m glad it can still appeal to others regardless of their interest in that and has over so many years for people. ❤️ Thanks for the kind words, Bex. (Also am happy I wasn’t the only one thinking of my old comic with him reading the tiny book back from the “Tangled 2″ days!! <333)

Ok bringing back the moongene talk. What do you think about the moongene giant version?

I love @bonkalore's work, and they have a tell in their preferred storytelling arcs. XD This isn't the first time Eugene has become a giant to them! Way back in the day - prolly 2011 - they conceived of a "Tangled 2" where Eugene now had the Sundrop in him, and it made him giant. He joined the circus. There was very good art involved.

That being said, I'm not an inherent fan of kaiju or fantastically giant people. There's nothing wrong with them, and I think the stuff that was done for Eugene in these two specific cases was interesting, but that's more my love for Eugene and New Dream than anything else. I don't think getting his hands (or blood) on either the Sundrop or Moonstone would make him gigantic, but man, the animatic @bonkalore did for the premise is fantastic!

Plus, Eugene reading all the tiny Lorb books in the Lorebrary in "Islands Apart" felt like an unintentional shout out to it, so there's that. XD

[hybbart]

Hi! I absolutely adore your work, I was wondering if you have any advice on getting your ideas and au's out there? Sometimes it feels like no matter how much you post/try to connect with others it's impossible for any posts to break out of the little tumblr interaction bubble

Well, I'm not really the person to ask this, cause any popularity I have at any point is almost entirely dependant on my current hyperfixation, and I'm not one to care much about it.

Mostly I have a good enough appealing and safe art style and good enough sense of humour that's easy for people to like even if they don't especially care about the content, and draw often enough that I don't get forgotten.

My current stuff is fanworks, which have a built in audience, so you're always going to be seen as long as you tag it properly. Especially if you're actively participating in the fandom. I also have the benefit of being obsessed with a rather popular duo like ranchers.

Basically, the notes I get are very predictable and temporary, and not really based on any intentional work. I'm good enough for casual followers to pay attention to as long as it's stuff they recognize. I'd say like 80% of my notes are from casual engagement who aren't really going to do much besides a like and maybe reblog just because they were told they have to reblog artists or they're using the site wrong.

I guess what I mean to say is, having those notes is nice and appreciated but at the end of the day I also have a pretty small little bubble. There's just a wall of passers-by around it making it seem bigger than it actually is. It very quickly dissipates when I draw anything out of the ordinary that I can't put a bunch of popular tags on. So, I'm not really the person to ask about that sort of thing.

That said, I guess all that might sound a bit cynical to most people even though it isn't meant to be, so I guess some actual tips might be in order.

Skill. Art's about communication and expression, which like anything is better done with a larger toolkit and knowledge. And also especially casual engagement just enjoys things of higher quality. Raw ideas aren't usually enough to get people to understand or care unless they care about you. To be blunt, sometimes people just aren't good enough or are too niche for a general audience. That's nothing to be self-conscious or miserable about, it's just something you have to be self-aware about enough to accept that you're not gonna attract people who aren't invested in you. If that's something you want to change by becoming better then you have to intentionally do so, talent is a lie.

Passion. It's obvious when your heart isn't in it regardless of skill level because art is about communication. And passion's what drives us to do better, it's hard to develop and spend time on work you don't really want to do. If you're enthusiastic other people will be more likely to join you in your enthusiasm. If you don't care or are burnt out people will notice. If you're doing things just to get attention people will notice. You have to want to create what you're creating.

Good ideas. To be blunt a good idea that interests people is just going to be more popular than a bad one that doesn't. Sometimes something that interests you doesn't interest a lot of other people, that's why you gotta make peace with caring more about quality interaction over quantity, and being more self-aware.

Making friends. Finding people who are as enthusiastic as you about something is going to go a long way, and people who aren't as enthusiastic are more likely to become enthusiastic or support you if you're friends and you can annoy them in their DMs with 3 hour tangents about your favourite thing. Honestly once you have someone you can do this to you stop caring about the other stuff. Art's about communication, like I said. Participating in events is a great way to make friends, but so is just reaching out to people you like.

Being friendly. This one's pretty simple. If you're a dick people aren't going to take the time to get invested in your project even if it interests them.

Being accessible. This covers anything from literal accessibility to having clean directories and tags, to anchoring/themed extra engagement. 'Do you have any questions about [character]' is going to get more engagement than 'feel free to ask me anything about my au' even if there's less questions to ask because it's less broad and puts less of a burden on the asker to come up with a prompt. It's easier to be broader later on when you have already put out a lot of information and people are more invested.

Being concise: Basically very few people are going to read this goliath of a post compared to a short, information dense, clear post. When I post art I try to avoid too much text, because I want the art to be the focus of the post. When I post writing I put it under a cut so it doesn't consume someone's dash and write something clearer above. The reason writing is going to get less engagement is because it takes more time and effort to engage with than a picture. People who aren't already invested aren't going to sift through 10 paragraphs of loose info. This goes for art, too. One piece is going to catch the eye easier than 10 unrelated sketches or a long form comic. This doesn't mean don't make this content, but be smarter about how you present it to take into account how it engages people.

Tagging things. Don't abuse tags or put irrelevant tags, but finding out what tags are frequented that apply to your art helps. There is definitely still an inconsistent limit of tags that tumblr's search actually pays attention to, so put the most important ones first. I usually put warnings first and foremost and put personal categorization tags last. Being consistent with tags lets people find stuff on your blog easier and makes you show up in a search more frequently, so you're easier to find for people who use tumblr in different ways.

Time of day. This one's finicky to figure out and can change but if you post when there's more people online... well, more people are likely to see it. Apparently other people follow like hundreds or even thousands of blogs and don't even look at everything on their dash, so for those types of people posts might as well not exist unless it's at the top of their dash. This also helps when popping up in more popular tags' most recent when people are actually looking them up. This doesn't affect posts as much as people think but it does enough to be visible. I frequently post things at like 1 am when no one's on so it doesn't get notes until later on and through notifications.

anyways, i hope something in there helps. If not, well... crap.

[aroaceleovaldez]

I've been listening to hank green explain (at various times with various contexts but most recently during a vlogbrothers video on Bree Sharp's David Duchovny) how "nothing lasts on the contemporary internet" and I wonder what that might have to do with your analysis on fandom infrastructure... like IS it even possible for BNF/public AUs/OCs/fandom events to exist at the same scale in the new internet? I also have to wonder if rr is similarly operating in this new (awful) way with the knowledge that the old books could last longer as cultural moments while the new books are kinda just... there to trend for a hot minute and then fade away into nonexistence within the fandom canon. or maybe i'm just coping bc I miss old tumblr

I absolutely do think old-style fandom is possible on the modern internet! some of the oldest pillars of fandom are from BEFORE the internet was popularized! Plus, there are still plenty of old-style fandoms that are active in those same ways!

You mention "at the same scale" and i think that's interesting because, yes, a lot of those old-style fandoms that are active are smaller. The thing is the scope of old fandom we're used to when we think of classic examples are outliers who were MASSIVE. PJO was a fandom GIANT back in the day, at least so far as book fandoms went (and still is!). The major thing that's changed is that "fandom" has become mainstream - or at least, the concept of fandom.

The thing with mainstream modern fandom is it gets conflated with general audience a lot. A lot of people trying to engage with fandom when they're new to it don't understand how it's different from just being a normal fan or audience member of a thing, and so just treat them as equivalent and this causes a lot of problems. The main one being the reliance on source material - which causes a lot of newer fandoms to die out whenever there is no new source material - comparatively to old-style fandom, which is inherently self-sustaining.

Some examples of old-style fandoms that are still plenty active are furry fandom (obviously), a decent number of anime fandoms (particularly older ones or less mainstream ones cause the communities are smaller/closer-knit, also their fandoms aren't as strictly western-leaning), and Hermitcraft/associated fandoms is one particularly that I'm in that's VERY active and old-fandom style. They're constantly engaging with material that's long over or series that have ended (Evo, older Life series, older Hermitcraft seasons, etc). They have fandom OCs/AUs/concepts that are shared, they have a TON of projects happening constantly (a recent massive one that just finished is the Hotguy Comics zine! It's an incredibly cool project). Hermitcraft fandom is pretty much the closest new* fandom to old-style fandom that I've found so far (*it is technically 11 years old but it had a recent boom during the MCYT surge in like 2020).

But yes! Old-style fandom absolutely can still exist - and does! It's just far less common because the mainstream image/concept of what fandom is that has become popularized differs from it in practicality. People are being introduced to fandom as just being equivalent to a general audience and are interacting with it as such, when it should be interacted with as a niche, very passionate community. The core of old fandom is always community.

I guess i would describe it as like, passive fandom versus active fandom? Passive fandom being the "new fandom" type format - near complete reliance on source material, usually some attitude of entitlement towards fanwork creators because theyre viewing it as another source material to passively engage with, large lack of headcanons or hcs being equated to theories, shipping is restricted almost exclusively to canon pairings (and ships/headcanons are treated more as things you want to become canon, not explorations outside of canon), etc etc. There's no community or creation happening, only a focus on consumption and maybe at best how to streamline consumption (the only sorts of hubs we see form in this type of fandom are update accounts and official social medias). Basically no proper community has formed and there is little to no engagement with the material outside of the source media. (I also have a theory that this format leads to some New Fandom behaviors that have become more commonplace comparatively to Old Fandom, such as a LOT more trying to directly interact with writers/cast/crew or reliance on them as secondary source materials during hiatus or similar - we see this now with PJO TV and a lot of people downright literally stalking the actors - and almost a refusal to make fanwork of their own. You see a lot more of "omg somebody write/draw [concept]" or trying to pitch ideas to source material writers because they only want to engage passively, not actively, or genuinely don't know how to engage actively.) Big Name Fans can absolutely exist in this sphere, but it's a completely different environment (for PJO, Velinxi is a good example of a new fandom BNF - ive found in this format of fandom, BNFs are almost exclusively fanartists, because fanart is one of the easiest fanworks to find and passively engage with. This also often results in the community being extremely entitled towards larger fanartists).

Active fandom, comparatively, is focused on community and creation. This is where you see fandom projects, engaging with the media beyond the source material, things of that nature. There is actually a structured community.

This post got long but I have more points regarding the second half of your question and my thoughts for why the new books are so. Like That. so I'm going to move that whole ramble to a second post which I will post momentarily.

[part 2 here!]