#but anyhow look! i did a coloring practice

[lialacleaf]

To Care For A Woman

Chapter 4

Simon Riley x Reader

Summary: You join the army as a last-ditch effort to avoid destitution, but when you sustain an injury protecting Lieutenant Ghost and earn yourself a medical discharge, you're stuck all over again. Or maybe not...

Warnings: Tension, Simon wants to care for you, small reader, a little bit spicy but not NSFW, man worrying about a woman's safety, typical cannon violence, deception, I'm sorry it's unedited...

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8

You were beginning to feel like Simon was hiding something. When he went out on missions he was insistent that you didn’t contact him. At all.

You never once wondered if there was another woman involved, Simon was too good to you for it to be that.

He was just so closed off when it came to the topic of work, and you weren’t sure why. Maybe he was battling PTSD, and trying not to let it color your relationship.

It had been six months since you had married Simon, two of which he’d spent deployed somewhere. Your parents had asked if you were coming home for the holidays, and you told them you would be working.

They still believed you had a job. In a way you did. When Simon wasn’t home you did light house chores, now that Dr. Radcliffe had cleared you for more movement.

Your leg was still weak, and running was out of the question. You’d begged Simon to let you get a dog but he’d bit his lip, given you a pained look, and explained that it wasn’t fair to the animal if you couldn’t care for it properly.

You’d nodded in agreement but it had hurt all the same. You were lonely when he was gone.

“So what are we doing for the holidays?” You asked as Simon washed the dinner dishes and handed them to you to be put away.

He shrugged as he scrubbed pasta sauce off one of the plates. “Haven’t celebrated in a while,” he admitted, handing you the next clean dish.

“Do you ever visit your family?” You asked.

“Have you ever been to Cambridge?” He went about scrubbing the cup your tea was in.

“I’ve never been to the UK, just the parts of Europe the 141 has taken me. Is that where you’re from?” You asked in excitement.

“No, I grew up in Manchester,” he said, passing you the cup.

“Is your family in Cambridge now?” You asked, feeling as if the conversation had gotten slightly off topic.

“No.”

You blinked in confusion. “Wouldn’t it make more sense to spend the holidays in Manchester with your family?”

“It doesn’t have to be Cambridge, London is nice too,” he added, drying his hands on the spare dish towel. “We’ve got a few weeks to decide anyhow.” He gave you a quick kiss on the forehead before disappearing into the bathroom.

You gaped slightly, blinking in confusion. What just happened? Had he really just swept your questions about his family under the rug with the distraction of a holiday vacation?

Maybe it was only fair. You’d made no effort to introduce Simon to your parents, but that was different. You were a daughter, not a son. If your parents found out their little baby girl had been injured, and married off to some strange man, your father would blow a fuse.

You knew very little about Simon though. The only thing you knew about him was his strange relationship with Ghost. Why was someone as sweet as Simon even mates with someone like Ghost?

~

Simon had started taking you into town once a week. He didn’t like to keep you cooped up, and Dr. Radcliffe had warned him you’d end up in trauma therapy if he kept you isolated during recovery.

Simon was relieved you didn’t display much interest in going to the mall. You were perfectly happy to go to the park and pet dogs, or go to the bookstore for hours on end.

You were begging to accumulate a small library, and sooner or later he’d need to build you a bookshelf.

“Out for the weekly book haul I see,” Jesse, the store owner said as you approached her counter, most of your books in Simon’s arms. You grinned at her as she scanned your latest finds. “You’re practically keeping me in business at this point.”

You shrugged and gave Jesse a bright smile. “You had new stuff in the gardening section, thought it might be helpful for the herbs we just planted,” you said, flashing Simon a grin.

He didn’t give you much of a reaction, but that was normal when he was in public. He wasn’t exactly fond of strangers, but he tolerated Jesse for the free cups of tea she bestowed on the two of you when you sat down to read in her cafe.

She’d never asked for the details of your relationship with Simon, but she always chuckled softly when he handed over his debit card without so much as a grumble for your somewhat expensive taste in books. A man that supported his partner's love of books was a good man in her opinion.

Jesse placed your books in a bag and handed them to Simon with a smile, unbothered by his flat expression and aversion to talking more than what was necessary.

“Have you decided where you want to go for Christmas yet?” He asked as he helped you load into his truck.

“Maybe we should stay home this year. I was just thinking it’d be harder to travel with my leg, and you already don’t like crowds, I can’t imagine how busy London must be this time of year…” you trailed off as Simon buckled into the driver’s seat. “But I would like to put up a tree!” You added.

Simon raised a brow at you as if he were amused by your declaration. “A tree?”

“Yeah! A Christmas tree! And we could have some of your teammates over-“

“They’ll be with their families,” he stated quickly.

Your smile fell. Oh. Right. “Maybe just the Captain then?”

Simon bit his lip but nodded. Price was aware of the situation, and the least likely to spill the beans. He supposed inviting his Captain over for a holiday meal would be alright.

“Speaking of family,” you began carefully, “Can we stop by the post office next week? I’d like to ship my parents' Christmas presents,” you requested softly.

Simon glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. “Would you like to see your family?” He asked, and you shook your head.

“No, I…” you trailed off, unsure of what to say.

“You haven’t told them.” It wasn’t a question. He’d heard your phone calls with them. They still thought you were working for Price.

“It’s…it’s not that I don’t want you to meet them. It’s just that I don’t want them to worry, and I know that they will.” Simon nodded, grasping your hand gently in his. “I’ll figure something out…eventually.”

“I have to go for a mission next week, but I’ll be back before Thanksgiving. We can put up the tree when I get back. I’ll…leave the truck with you, you can make it to town on your own?” He asked.

Your eyes widened in surprise. You hadn’t expected him to even offer, but now that you thought about it, it was a little ridiculous to expect you to stay put while he was gone. It was your left leg that was injured after all, you could still drive.

“Yeah, I know the way. Thanks, Simon,” you said, offering him a brilliant smile.

“Just be careful,” he reminded you. He’d leave a pistol with you just in case. The holidays were always more dangerous. He was starting to regret not getting you that dog. He would have to look into putting up a fence, but that was a long term project that he’d need a longer break from work to accomplish. Like hell he was gonna pay some stranger to come out to his home where his wife was to do the job.

Once the truck was parked and your books were unloaded, Simon went about doing his chores while you made lunch. At some point you heard the buzz of his saw outside. He seemed to always have some sort of project going.

You couldn’t stop thinking about the other night as you went about piling chicken salad on two croissants. Why was he so closed off concerning his family?

You eyed you bedroom door, wondering if you should just leave it alone, or put your detective skills to work.

You left your plates on the counter as you slipped into your bedroom. Simon didn’t keep many personal items, therefore your nightstand was always a little more cluttered than his between your laptop, medications, and other odds and ends.

You weren’t exactly sure what you were looking for. All you really knew about Simon was his name and that he’d grown up in Manchester. Your search would likely yield little result.

At least that was what you thought until you were starting at a death record. A death record for Simon Riley, bearing the same date of birth and identification information that was on your marriage certificate.

“Y/n?” You jumped, your head shooting up to see Simon in his sweaty work clothes standing in the doorway. “Gonna hop through the shower before lunch…everything alright?” He asked, noticing how pale you’d gone.

“I…um, yeah, yeah I’m fine.” You sputtered, closing your laptop screen. “I’ll go finish lunch,” you said, limping back into the kitchen.

Simon watched you, his head cocked to the side, before he shrugged, and stripped down to get a shower.

You tried to ignore the knots forming in your gut. Simon Riley was dead, and you had no unearthly clue who this man was. Did Ghost know? Had he unwittingly sent you right into the arms of someone dangerous, or was Ghost well aware of who Simon really was?

Your hands shook as you went about finishing the lunch preparations, and you quietly set the table, hyper aware of the other person in the house.

Simon was still in the shower, you had time to go back for your laptop. You quickly made your way into the bedroom, lifting the screen as you sat on the bed.

Your eyes scanned over the obituary with concern. Simon Riley…served in the royal army…died in a fire…no body…wait…no body?

You scrolled down a bit until you got to the photo at the bottom of the page. It was your Simon. You felt your throat tighten.

Why was your Simon supposedly dead? It made no sense. The man in the picture, albeit a little older, was currently showering in the bathroom.

You scanned through the rest of the obituary, noticing the mention of his family. Each name was highlighted, and you risked clicking on the name of the previous Mrs. Riley.

You felt like you were going to hurl when you were greeted with an even more morbid obituary. His entire family was gone. Murdered. Stolen right out from under him. It suddenly made sense. His overprotective nature was simply a trauma response. It still didn’t explain the falsified death certificate, but it was a start.

It wasn’t until you were staring into the photographed eyes of Tommy Riley that it clicked.

Tommy had brown eyes, practically identical to Simon’s. There was one other person you knew of with those eyes. One other person who’s voice sounded so similar to Simon’s, even if it was a little rougher.

Was Tommy…Ghost?

AN: OOOOOH Ya'll excited? We get spicy next chapter...

Tag List:

@warenai @livynicole @ghostlythots @hilowhiho @mrmountainman @miamia89 @shiraya92 @crocodilefeet2707

@zzariyahchan @gaida-511 @misshoneypaper @soldierlass @dazaiscum @mockerycrow @kaysav608 @classygardencroissantcolor @innerskylover @kristalhi @hotaruteba @tzutology @sushiumex @l3xiluve @immajustlikeok

@iplayghoul @linoskitten11 @zollaris @whore-for-anime @migeuloharaslxt @blog-luvdance @embermdk @buttercupmuffins

@corpsebridenightamare @15382663884 @discowizard88 @strawberryjambrrread @lieblinqs

@waves-against-a-cliff @saturnknows @elliesbabygirl @vynz0ne @teapartydreams @thesinsoflust @vantedaes @berryjuicyy @lovergyal @01trickster10 @coolcatyarb @nirvanaaaonly @innerskylover @thriving-n-jiving @whoisjazy @yeoldedumbslut @vinithechocolatevampire @starlettemoony @die-prophetin @1234ilikecowsthanyoumore @emily-roberts @mokyoenthusiast

@betelrus @shiftedvoid @beebeechaos @bitchoftoji @katbug37

@thatgirlboss1 @homeofthe-80s-90s-andnow

@illyanam1011 @hrchyysnz @chxosangxl @animarix @happy-mushrooms @pearlm00n @cathnoneofyourbusiness @ray-rook

@novausstuff @copiasratscheese @i-feel-violated @itsagrimm

#simon riley x reader #simon riley #ghost x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #ghost mw2

[loveume]

# my heart a canvas 🖼️

"but i'm terrible at painting!" you whine, "you know that."

bachira's grin is practically splitting his face open as he watches you pout. all he'd told you was that his mom offered up her studio for the two of you to use because he'd mentioned how the two of you hadn't settled on an idea for your date.

"how about you guys use my studio? isn't that something couples do these days, paint together? it'll be empty anyhow since i have a meeting."

"you're not terrible!" he counters but not before pressing a quick kiss to your pout, "you're just not artistically inclined is all." he continues.

"gee thanks meguru," you reply, wiping off his kiss to get back at him for the comment. even though you know he means well, "nice to have you in my corner."

his expression twitches with annoyance at your blatant act of rejection at his affections. which is why he, despite your half-hearted attempts at avoidance, presses his lips to yours in two more not-so-quick kisses.

"i'm always in your corner! and you know my mom loves you even if your painting isn't on monet's level. she offered and i thought it'd be fun. worst case scenario we end up just throwing paint at each other."

you appreciate his reassurance. you honestly do struggle with the thought that maybe meguru's mom would like it better if he had a girlfriend who was more "artistically inclined". someone who'd understand what brush technique she'd utilized this week or what type of paint she'd used last. he knew this was a gnawing insecurity of yours and always did his best to shoo it away.

"fine. let's paint," you say finally.

it does end up being fun, you give that to bachira because anything you do with him does end that way, but there is no painting to be seen.

you end up just swirling colors you find pretty together on the canvas while he finds the use of a brush restricting, opting to use his fingers and hands. it's not long before bachira abandons the canvas you two were using for a brand new one; you.

"stop meguru! i'm serious!" you cry through breathless giggles, backing out of his reach as he tries to grab you.

the surface of your coveralls had paint splotches here and there and smears of bachira's handprints in various places. his look just like yours do, except for the handprint that graces the fabric across his butt, courtesy of you.

"not until we're even, honey!" he lunges.

you've barely managed to stay out of his grasp, cursing his athleticism due to many many hours of soccer, and you knew your time was running out.

your downfall happens just as you hear bachira's mother call out to you two to announce her arrival home. the sound distracts you enough so that your boyfriend can finally take his long awaited victory.

before you can react his arms reach out from behind you and his paint covered hands latch onto your tits. pulling you in until your back is flush against his front, all you can hear is bachira's laughter, he gives your chest a squeeze and pushes his lips against your cheek in a wet kiss.

"i win!" he cheers.

and the two yellow handprints left behind prove it.

#blue lock #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #bachira meguru #bachira x reader #bachira meguru x reader #he's such a little menace #i love him oh so dearly #love.notes 💌

[sephirothsplaything]

DNA| Sec.80 high power-chapter 8

a/n: we've made it all. Lock in and pay attention cuz there's a lot of words here! This one goes out to all you Aemond wives! From here on out he's going to be a problem.

CW: mentions of sexual happenings but nothing super explicit

anyways<3

word count:3397(its worth it trust me)

below is a little gif I made with the edit version of Rhaella!

The halls of the Red Keep were something Rhaella was beginning to grow accustomed to.

The bustle of lords and handmaids alike filled the castle with traffic. Rhaella waltzed by, easily ignored by others.

Rhaenys had left Rhaella to her own devices, seeking out conversation with the king, possibly for the last time.

“I should let the guards seize you, after what you did to me.” A voice snided.

Turning around, Rhaella was faced with Aegon. 

How unpleasent.

“I’m shocked you aren’t drunk at this hour, cousin,” Rhaella said. 

It was mid-noon at the time of her arrival. From what she’d heard, Aegon was typically in a drunken stupor come morning.

Aegon laughed at her words, taking the liberty of stepping closer.

Far too close for Rhaella’s comfort.

“I assume you’re looking for my brother?” Aegon questioned. Rhaella averted her eyes at his gaze. He never failed to make her uncomfortable, even after all this time.

But Rhaella refused to make this known, she took a step forward in earnest.

“I’m looking for your sister, actually,” Rhaella said. This did little to alleviate the smug expression that seemed to be burned onto Aegon’s face.

“Where might she be?’ 

Aegon rolled his eyes, accompanied by a groan. Rhaella had already grown tired of his presence.

“ Am I my sister’s keeper?” Aegon said.

“One would think you’d care to know the doings of your wife,” Rhaella said.

Aegon grimaced at the use of the word.

“You may have my brother pussy drunk,” Aegon said, a slight slur noticeable.

Perhaps his drunkenness had finally seeped in.

“But I will not have you speak to me anyhow,” Aegon said.

Rhaella’s lips pursed slightly in annoyance. Disgusted would be the defining word for how she felt towards Aegon, but never fearful.

Fearful of what? His drunkard breath? Perhaps.

“I will speak to you however I please. “ Rhaella said. And with that, she walked down the halls.

Aegon could go pass out in a brothel for all she cared.

Arriving at one of the rooms, there sat Helaena’s son, Jaehaerys. The young boy was too occupied by his playthings to notice Rhaella’s footsteps.

She took a moment to observe Jaehaerys, the boy was only six years of age. Rhaella recalled holding his frail body at the time of his birth. It felt strange to hold a babe. She did not relish the feeling.

“Where is your mother, little one?” Rhaella asked softly. Jaehaerys looked up from his toys briefly before continuing.

“In her room, I think.” His little voice spoke. Rhaella thought about brushing the boy’s hair with her hand, as her mother used to do to her.

Rhaella decided against it. She made her way to  Helaena’s quarters. The door was slightly ajar so she refrained from knocking.

“Cousin?” Rhaella called to Helaena. 

Helaena looked up from her patchwork to see her beloved cousin. A warm smile spread onto her face, cheeks rose in color.

“Rhaella!” Helaena ushered her to come sit. Rhaella obliged her cousin, taking the seat next to her.

“Another embroidery?” Rhaella asked, eyeing the handiwork of her cousin. 

Helaena hummed in confirmation. “It’s a spider.” 

“I never had the patience for such things,” Rhaella said. She was one for histories and lectures from the maesters and septas. Rhaena was the one who excelled in sewing, arts, and music,

“It isn’t all that hard, just practice,” Helaena said. The two cousins fell into a silence familiar only to them. Rhaella watched Helaena work diligently.

“Ah!” Helaena exclaimed suddenly. Rhaella slightly jumped in surprise.

“It will be your name day in a weeks time.” Helaena said. In truth, Rhaella scarcely remembered herself. She had not celebrated the day since the death of her mother.

Rhaella watched as Helaena swiftly moved across the room, grabbing a garment into her hands.

“I had this made for you,” Helaena said enthusiastically.

Rhaella unfolded the garment. It was a dress. Rich purple silk, with gold embellishments stitched into the bust of the dress. The sleeves were long and elegant.

It was the most gorgeous thing she’d ever seen.

“Helaena...this is beautiful,” Rhaella said finally.

“I recall purple being your favorite color,” Helaena said eagerly. Only her sweet cousin would remember such a thing.

“ I did the gold bits myself, I know you prefer simple gowns,” Helaena said.

“Thank you Helaena, truly.. this is.” Rhaella was not sure how to place her gratitude.

Helaena smiled anyway. She knew Rhaella was thankful, it was more than enough for her.

“When Princess Rhaenyra is queen, I shall move into the Red Keep for you.” Rhaella decided. Originally, Rhaella had half a mind to sail back to Pentos after the princess ascended the throne.

Jace and Luke would marry Baela and Rhaena, her father would become king consort; There would be no place for her any longer.

But no more. She would not abandon her cousin to the predator that was her husband.

Helaena’s eyes glossed over with emotion. Rhaella felt compelled to continue, feeling uncharacteristically soft at the moment.

“ If I am there, Aegon wouldn’t dare to touch you.” Rhaella convicted sternly. 

Helaena shrunk back slightly.

“There is a beast beneath the boards,” Helaena muttered.

Rhaella sighed. She supposed her cousin had not outgrown the bouts of incoherent musings.

“I hope to never marry, much less to a man like that,” Rhaella said, moving along.

Helaena glanced at Rhaella in confusion.

“You do not wish for a husband?” Helaena asked.

Rhaella shrugged. “There is no lord in the realm that would suit me.” She said.

Helaena smiled slightly. “No lord, perhaps a prince?”

Rhaella felt her brown cheeks grow warm. She understood the implication.

“I wouldn’t marry Aemond, I know him far too well,” Rhaella said.

Helaena hummed in thought.

“Is it not preferred to be bound to one that understands you?” Helaena asked. 

For the first time, Rhaella had no answer. No profound thoughts or complex answers.

It was not a matter of understanding. It was her fear of being so known by him.

“He is not the same,” Rhaella said.

Helaena’s eyes softened. “ He still cares for you, if you’d only allow it.”

If she only allowed it. Perhaps, no harm could come from allowing such a thing.

There was no use fighting the issue any longer.

Rhaella abruptly stood, mind made up. No more games. No more control. She’d release it all.

“I’ll be seeing you, Helaena.” 

Rhaella rushed out the door, Helaena’s gift in hand. 

She had not the faintest clue as to what she intended to do when she saw him.

It was not like her to confess her feelings. And Rhaella knew Aemond was the same.

The same as her.

Rhaella found herself in the library. The crux of all this bother.

And Aemond was there. Naturally, she knew he would be.

Rhaella approched with caution. Aemond found refuge in the couch‘s velvet seats, book in hand.

“I thought I’d find you here,” Rhaella said. Aemond did not break from the pages of his book; He did not need to. The sounds of her voice did more than enough.

“Desperate to see me, I gather?” Aemond said. Rhaella’s hands suddenly became slick with sweat.

The enormity of her desire disgusted her.

“Believe what you’d like,” Rhaella said. She took a seat by him, peering at the book that contained his attention.

Aemond couldn’t fight the half-smirk on his face. Even in her admission, she managed to remain so haughty.

“It has only been a weeks time, yet you’ve found yourself at the Red Keep once more,” Aemond said.

“I did not come here for you, cousin,” Rhaella said. However, she would be lying if the prospect of seeing him again wasn’t half motivation for accompanying her grandmother.

Aemond hummed in response, clear disbelief. 

“I was at Driftmark, my grandmother wished to visit your father and brought me along,” Rhaella said. She couldn’t be too honest, it was far too embarrassing.

“And here I thought it was my letter that brought you here,” Aemond said.

Rhaella looked up from her lap in surprise.

“You actually wrote to me?” 

Aemond placed his book to the side, amusement all too apparent.

“That was your demand, was it not?” Aemond reminded. 

Rhaella briefly recalled her words from before. She was hardly serious at the time.

“It must’ve arrived after I left,” Rhaella said.

Aemond looked at the dress in Rhaella’s lap, his hand brushed over the silk.

“Where’s this from?” He asked.

“Early name day gift, from your sister,” Rhaella said.

“In a weeks time, was it?” Aemond said. 

Rhaella could hardly contain her girlish smile. Even after all this time, it was as if they had never left the Weirwood tree.

“In truth, I’m shocked you remember,” Rhaella said, deciding against expressing her excitement.

Aemond chuckled at Rhaella’s shock.

“As I recall, there was a time when you’d never let me forget the fact.” He said.

Aemond was older than Rhaella by a year and one. As children, Rhaella maintained that seniority meant nothing, as she’d always know more.

“ I shall be ten and eight years of age, same as you,” Rhaella said.

“Then I suppose I owe you a gift as well,” Aemond said.

The two maintained eye contact for what felt like a fortnight. Rhaella felt herself growing warm at the implication. She doubted she’d have the restraint to stop him this time.

Abruptly, Aemond stood up. 

“ Come on then,” Aemond said.

Eager as she felt, Rhaella took her time in following Aemond out of the door.

They walked into the courtyards, passing by the doors.

Criston Cole, the queen’s sworn protector, stood on guard.

The buzz that Rhaella had been feeling was muted in an instant. She reverted to her ladyship state, hands folded in front of her and a bored expression on her face.

“My Prince.” Cole greeted. His eyes shifted to Rhaella with an unreadable expression. Rhaella did not have to think too hard as to who Cole would rush to report after the fact.

“Are you going somewhere?” Criston Cole asked again, completely disregarding Rhaella. 

And she was thankful for it. Rhaella feared she’d be unable to control her tongue if provoked.

“I’ll be taking Vhagar, no need to follow,” Aemond said.

Rhaella supposed that was her gift. 

Ser Criston bowed again, leaving them to continue.

Approaching the valleys, Rhaella made her discomfort known.

“I don’t like him.” She said. 

“Ser Criston is an honorable man,” Aemond said. Rhaella rolled her eyes.

“Perhaps your version of honor is skewed,” Rhaella said.

Aemond didn’t grace Rhaella with a response.

Vhagar came into view. Her enormous body rose and fell as she softly slumbered. Rhaella paused as Aemond approached the dragon.

How long had it been since she had seen Vhagar? Since her mother’s funeral maybe.

Flurries of memories hit Rhaella at once. Her late mother had loved Vhagar with her entire being. Their bond was truly special. As a proximate, Rhaella had grown to care for the dragon as well.

When she was younger, Vhagar had always been especially soft with her. Laena had taken care to introduce baby Rhaella to Vhagar.

But that was years ago. And Vhagar had grown with a new rider.

“Well?” Aemond called out. “Get on.”

Rhaella was not so arrogant as to hold onto past memories regarding Vhagar. She was practically a stranger to the dragon.

Carefully, Rhaella made her way to the dragon, who had since woken at the appearance of her rider.

“Gaomagon ao gibigon issa?” Rhaella spoke in a gentle voice. ‘Do you remember me?’

Vhagar groaned slightly, fixing her gaze on Rhaella. Despite her fear, Rhaella stood her ground. Vhagar was her favorite after all.

“Lykiri,Vhagar,” Rhaella said. Her hand eased its way to brush the dragon’s nose, an act she had done many times as a child.

The act must’ve brought a memory back for the beast as well. Vhagar nestled into the touch. 

Rhaella fought the tears forming in her eyes. Vhagar remembered her mother. Remembered her.

“Sȳz riña.” ‘good girl’ Rhaella praised. She took the liberty of using both hands to rub the scales of Vhagar all over.

“How have you been, old girl.” Rhaella cooed. “Has this one been treating you well?”

Aemond had been silent in the exchange. It was a nice moment, although he couldn’t fight the envy. Vhagar had nearly burnt him when he had first met her.

“Show off,” Aemond said simply. His hand reached out to Rhaella.

“Your jealously is known, cousin,” Rhaella said. Grabbing his hand, Rhaella was pulled onto the back of Vhagar in one fluid motion.

Aemond’s hand lingered on Rhaella’s waist for a moment before grabbing the reins.

Rhaella’s arms wrapped themselves around Aemond’s waist, admittedly hastily.

The action did not escape Aemond’s notice.

“You seem eager, my lady,” Aemond said, teasing.

Rhaella scrunched her nose at the unnecessary formality. She delivered a sharp pinch to his side.

“I have no desire to plummet to my death,” Rhaella responded, opting to ignore his tone.

Yes. She was all too eager.

Aemond took Vhagar up towards the evening skies. The wind whipped all about them, loose wisps of curls moved along Rhaella’s forehead.

Rhaella’s careful violet eyes observed the way Aemond moved in front of her. His grip on the reigns were tight as he directed Vhagar through the air.

Her mother had always used a looser grip when she mounted Vhagar. Perhaps it was a difference in bonds.

Rhaella leaned forward, chest pressing up against Aemond’s strong back.

“Where are you taking me?” Rhaella asked. Her voice carried straight to the proximity of Aemond’s ear.

“You’ll see,” Aemond responded simply. Unbeknownst to Rhaella, Aemond’s lack of words was a result of his carefully hidden flustered state.

Rhaella looked down at the passing scenery, not recognizing any of it.

“What?” Rhaella said. “Do you intend on holding me for ransom?”

Aemond couldn’t help but laugh. “If that’s what you’d like,”

Soon after, Vhagar landed in the tall grass, the vast sea in view.

Jumping down, Aemond reached up to carry Rhaella.

“I’m quite capable of getting down myself,” Rhaella said, causing Aemond to roll his eyes.

“Perhaps I should let you fall to the ground then?” Aemond said.

Rhaella glanced down at the grass. It was a way down from the massive dragon.

“Fine.” Rhaella shifted her weight as Aemond held her waist, carrying her down, causing her dress to hike up slightly.

Somehow, shame was not an emotion she found herself with. They had been in much more compromising positions previously.

Aemond did not release his grip and Rhaella couldn’t find it in herself to pull away.

“Nervous?” Rhaella asked.

“ Is that your intention?” Aemond responded.

So quick-witted, he was. One of the many things Rhaella enjoyed.

Pulling away, Rhaella sat herself on the grass. Aemond followed suit.

“Your father doesn’t have much time left,” Rhaella said. It was the first thing that came to mind.

“I suppose,” Aemond said, tone flat.

Rhaella turned to him, curiosity peaked.

“You will not mourn him?” Rhaella asked.

Aemond’s thoughts mingled together. He supposed there would be no harm to be honest.

“He was no father to me, just a spineless king,” Aemond said 

Rhaella hummed. She understood.

“My father holds many things above me, I think,” Rhaella said.

Aemond’s hand found Rhaella’s in the grass, fingers brushing the top of her hand.

“He is feared in the realm,” Aemond said.

Rhaella scoffed. Daemon was the Rouge prince to all,but the Rouge father to her and her sisters.

“You admire him,” Rhaella said. There was no room for suggestion.

“Maybe I wish to be respected,” Aemond said.

Rhaella raised an eyebrow at that. She knew Aemond to long for something that affirmed his place in the realm. And she was the same.

“You wish to be a king,” Rhaella stated.

Aemond tilted his head at the statement. It was as if she was in his mind.

“You do not think I would make a good one?” Aemond said.

In truth, Rhaella did not. There was a growing darkness around Aemond that she couldn’t place. Given the opportunity for war, Rhaella was sure that Aemond would throw himself into it.

“In the way I’d make a good queen.” Rhaella scoffed. 

“We would bring stability to the seven kingdoms, together,” Aemond said.

Rhaella smiled. The grin grew larger and larger until she could no longer contain her amusement, laughing loudly.

“I didn’t know you’ve taken up jests.” She said.

Aemond smiled slightly. He was serious. It escaped Rhaella’s notice.

Rhaella fell back into the grass. 

“The princess will make a fine queen I think,” Rhaella said, after a while.

Aemond had no response. Perhaps he didn’t agree.

Instead, he took in the sight of Rhaella. The silver-white curls of her hair cut through the grass. Her eyes were closed, withholding those all-knowing eyes he cared for so.

Rhaella’s face was rather gentle when relaxed, one could compare her to a fawn. She scowled far too often for one to take notice.

“Rhaella,” Aemond said. His tone was calm. He had already made peace with what he was allowing himself to feel.

Rhaella sat up in response, directing her attention. 

Then he kissed her. Like a man starved. The lengths of his repression no longer held weight.

And Rhaella responded. They did not need to confess what others might. It was known between them. As it was, the way it always would be.

Aemond’s body pushed Rhaella back into the grass as they continued. Somewhere along the way, the fitted corset on Rhaella’s body came loose.

The intensity of it all, there was nothing Rhaella could compare it to. Her lips found his once more, the ambiance of the surrounding area blocked out.

It was only when Aemond slid a hand underneath her undergarments did she slightly came to.

Maidenhood be dammed. It was a long time coming anyhow.

The two lay out in the grass, garments half covering their nakedness—Rhaella’s once neat braid and been reduced to messy frays. Aemond was no better, his hair was uniquely wild.

It was late into the hour of the wolf. Rhaella sat up slowly. Her fingers tangled into her hair, letting all the curls loose.

Aemond retrieved his clothing in silence however there was a self-satisfied smile on his face.

Rhaella was his.

“We should go, lest they send out the king’s guards,” Rhaella said. 

Aemond hummed in agreement. He noticed that Rhaellas corset was loose. He pulled her back slightly, quick fingers lacing the backing up.

“Where’d you learn that?” Rhaella said.

“Helaena,” Aemond responded. 

The pair mounted Vhagar once more. This time, Rhaella’s arms wrapped around the whole of Aemond, chin resting on his shoulder.

She couldn't deny it. Happiness had consumed her, nonchalant as she tried to be.

She need not the pact of marriage. Aemond could betroth anyone and she would not care. They’d now be tied forevermore.

They arrived back in Kingslanding. Entering the Red Keep once more, they were reluctant to part ways.

“That was an interesting gift,” Rhaella said, mirth in her voice.

“It crossed my mind to get you jewelry of some sort, but I recall you not caring much for it,” Aemond said.

“My prince?” A voice called down the hall. Ser Criston Cole. He seemed to appear anywhere she was these days.

Aemond’s hands moved away from hers. She did not protest. Their situation was...not ideal for public knowledge. 

“There is something I must speak with you about..now,” Cole said. There was clear urgency on his face.

Aemond turned back to Rhaella, she wouldn’t be remiss to see the slight apologetic look on his face.

“I’m coming,” Aemond responded to Cole.

Rhaella became all too aware of the empty halls. 

“Ser Criston?” Rhaella spoke. Criston Cole turned to face her. His expression was that of pure judgment. Suddenly, Rhaella felt rather self-conscious.

“Have you seen the Princess Rhaenys?” Rhaella asked.

“No,” Cole said, rather bluntly.

Aemond and Cole walked off to discuss matters unknown to Rhaella.

Rhaella carried herself back to her quarters, stripping down completely save for her underdress.

In the quiet moments between her drifting in and out of consciousness. Rhaella resolved that she would return to Driftmark on the morrow with her grandmother.

And with that, Rhaella lay limp in sleep.

#house of the dragon #black oc #oc character #daemon targaryen #aemond targaryen #black reader #rhaenyra targaryen #baela targaryen #rhaena of pentos #aemond x reader #aemond one eye #hotd aemond #aemond fanfiction #game of thrones #hotd #hotd fanfic #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire

[maniculum]

Bestiaryposting Results: Fekthrud

Happy Liminalmas, everybody! We've got fewer results than usual this week, which I would speculatively credit to a variety of factors:

Weird liminal space at the end of the year

It's Another Bird

Not a ton of fun details

It's easy to guess what the animal is

Anyhow, if you want to see the context for this, the page where I collect these posts is here: https://maniculum.tumblr.com/bestiaryposting. (Hmm -- looks like I forgot to update the page last time around. Maybe that's part of the issue too.) And the entry that people are working from is here:

So, our results, roughly chronologically:

@silverhart-makes-art (link to post here) has given us these very well-rendered pheasant-like creatures. They've given their Fekthrud a head like a Pachycephalosaurus*, which I think is a great way to interpret the whole business about the hard skull; like, that had not occurred to me when reading the entry, but now that I see it, it makes perfect sense. In general these are excellent birds here, and you can see some brief notes on design decisions in the post linked above. I like the justification that a ground bird makes the most sense if they're adapted for falling on rocks and/or running into stuff head-first.

*Proud of myself for spelling "pachycephalosaurus" correctly without looking -- being a former Dinosaur Kid pays weird niche dividends.

@coolest-capybara (link to post here) continues to impress with her medieval-style drawings. (And to provide alt-text, thank you.) I really like how colorful and generally very pretty she's made her Fekthrud. I also appreciate the decision to show them attacking someone who is trying to take that "iron rod" advice. Very correct response -- get 'em, birds. If you click the link to her post above, you can see some discussion of design decisions.

@cheapsweets (link to post here) has made the excellent decision to pose their Fekthrud like it's giving a speech. (And the generous decision to provide alt text, thank you.) This bird absolutely looks like it's saying "Ave!" -- I can clearly imagine it addressing the Roman Senate. Cheapsweets has also taken inspiration from Pachycephalosaurus, and I love that two of our artists got there independently -- like I said, it's an idea that makes perfect sense once you think of it. The post linked above contains a detailed discussion both of their design decision and of their artistic process, including an image of their tools and materials. Go read it.

@pomrania (link to post here) has decided that, rather than make the actual bone of the Fekthrud's skull thick. it should have a thick cushion of feathers. I don't know much about birds, but I feel like that makes sense: thick and heavy bone might be a weight issue if this thing is supposed to fly, so a feather cushion might be more practical protection. The goofy look with the tongue lolling out is also quite charming. In the post linked above, you can see some brief notes on design and process.

And... that's it for this week. Like I said, not a lot of people did this one. So, the Aberdeen Bestiary version:

Yeah, so, of course this one is the parrot.

The medieval illustrator is actually pretty close, I think. And they've used one of my favorite styles of Generic Medieval Plant, even though it doesn't look like it can support the parrot's weight.

The entry is broadly accurate, except for the bit about the skull and the iron rod. There are parrots in India with the coloration described -- multiple species, actually, as far as I can tell. They do talk, though I can't speak to the tongue anatomy thing.

Moreover, if you were a parrot trainer in India who wanted to impress medieval Europeans with your talking birds -- maybe so you can establish demand for them in a new market -- of course the first thing you'd do is train your parrots to greet people in Latin and Greek. Latin is the obvious catch-all, and Greek is the majority language in Constantinople, which is the trade hub you want to target. So I bet all the parrots from India that medieval Europeans saw really did say "Ave!" and "Kere!" (And we do know that people in the Byzantine Empire had pet parrots, so I guess it worked.)

I've never heard the thing about parrots having a hard skull and beak. I kind of wonder if, at some point, someone saw a parrot being struck by its owner (or the aforementioned hypothetical merchant) and asked if it was really necessary to beat the poor bird like that -- and got a line like "oh, they have really hard skulls, it doesn't hurt them as much as you think"... and then that just stuck.

Anyway, that's it for this week. Hope y'all are enjoying Birds because you're getting another one next week.

#maniculum bestiaryposting #fekthrud

[insult-2-injury]

The Coat Stays On

Happy (late) Birthday @averagecrastinator!! Thank you for being my pal. I simply adore you, so here's some smut! <3

NSFW | MDNI! | 3.8k words | Silco x F!Reader | Soft-ish Silco | Established Relationship | Fingering | Oral | P in V sex | Coat Kink | Fluff | d/s vibes |

AO3 Link

“Sorry, I’m late,” you say hurriedly as you respond to Silco’s quiet invitation by using your shoulder to ram into his office, your arms busy with a large, tattered wicker laundry basket, “But your laundry service is garbage and unreliable and I had to do it myself.”

“Had to?”

His good eyebrow cocks but he simply watches impassively as you rush in, steadfastly ignoring him, and the pen in his hand stills in its work.

“They never do get the blood out. At least not entirely. And it’s basic stuff, really.” You tumble through your words like mad, a bad habit of yours when you’re overworked and tired- never a particularly fruitful combination for someone who prides themselves on a smart mouth. “It’s like they don’t even know who they work for.”

You stand at the center of the room. “I mean a little hydrogen peroxide and some cold water and they were brand new. And what the fuck did you do, anyway, lop someone’s head off? It was messy.”

“I hardly believe you want the grisly details,” he says, but his gaze is latched onto the wide brim of your collar with a hawklike curiosity. “Anyhow, it sounds to me as if you may have taken on an unnecessary project.”

His tone is sharp and you know exactly what he’s not-so-subtly scolding you for: you always take on too much at once, placing the weight of problems that aren’t yours onto your own shoulders. And your worst crime? He was the one you complained to about it.

But who is he to be upset? Your unapologetic competence is what had him falling for you in the first place. You just did things better.

You scowl and practically toss the basket on the rose-colored chaise, feeling too stubborn today to concede, so you stay quiet.

Silco has that assessing tint to his eyes, trailing down the front of your form, now unobstructed, discerning the overcoat of his that hung just slightly too big off your frame, the shoulders wide, the cuffs of the sleeves reaching down to your knuckles. He’s unmoving, his beautifully mismatched gaze finally raising in question.

“Oh. Yeah. Didn’t have room in the basket so I just threw it on, I can’t believe you wear this thing everywhere, it’s heavy-”

“Did you walk the city wearing that?”

Your breath hitches at the muted strain in his voice, and if you weren’t so highly attuned to the covert undertones of his velvet voice, you’d think he was angry with you. There’s certainly a touch of it, a worried, disappointed bite to his words at the possibility of you having put yourself in danger, but there’s something else there, too, just a tad breathless.

You push on, taking on an air of indifference.

“Only for the short walk from my place,” you say, and with a coy grin, “I wore it with great pride.”

Silco’s gaze darkens at your cheek, depths growing hot amidst the calm sea of his teal eye.

“You should really be more careful, darling.“

His eyes track the movement of the hot shiver that runs down your spine at the purred double entendre, the tiny uptick of his lips tipping his hand, allowing you to see the pleasure he takes in throwing you off guard.

“How long have we been seeing each other, Silco?” you say, savoring the way his eye twitches before you turn to your task.

“Long enough for you to know better than to bother me while I’m working.”

You laugh.

“Awfully rude.”

“Was it? I’m dreadfully sorry.”

You can’t help the smile that tugs affectionately at your lips at just how unapologetic he sounds, and you chance a look, finding both eyes glittering across your figure again, goosebumps erupting across your skin in their wake.

His gaze, darkly delighted, meets yours before the pen begins to move once more and Silco returns to his work.

He’s busy today. And that’s fine.

You pull the coat tighter across yourself, cheek falling onto the soft crimson collar, allowing the comforting scent of fresh laundry to fill your lungs, and along with it, the subtle, fond smell of cinnamon and smoke. 

Sighing softly, you grab a white undershirt from the top of the basket, somehow maintaining an unbothered facade as you begin to fold his clothes with practiced ease, placing each gently on the taut, velvet fabric of the chaise.

As much as you enjoy playfully griping at him, you always find yourself wanting to freeze these little domestic moments in time, these sweet, comfortable silences.

You attempt to roll up the gold-trimmed sleeves of his coat, trying to bunch them up at the elbow and frown when they just fall again, impeding your progress. Annoyed, you pop at the buttons of his coat.

“Leave it on,” he snaps suddenly.

You freeze, hands stilling over the second button, and you wait, something devious and excited pirouetting across your chest, a thread of tension now in the air you feel you can reach out and pluck if you so desire.

But he says nothing more.

You’re certain of two things now: one, that Silco quite fancies the sight of you wrapped up in his coat, and two, that you’re going to exploit every second of it.

You move almost stiffly, reaching down to tidy your progress, smoothing your palms across the rich fabric of each of his folded dress shirts gently, terribly slow, as if handling a delicate baby bird, knowing full well he’s watching your actions closely.

You fix the top button of his coat and swipe your hands down it, walking unhurriedly toward his desk, his bladed eyes following you intelligently. You fiddle with the string on the lamp at the corner, knitting your brows together as if deep in thought.

The tips of your fingers trail across the piles of books littered across the surface, examining the titles as if you haven’t hundreds of times already, as if you’re even fractionally interested in the inner, infrastructural workings of Zaun. 

You trail the pads of your fingers across the dappled surface before your gaze meets his under the crowns of your eyelashes.

“Silco?”

He hardly reacts, two fingers propping against his temple, the other resting easily on the opposite armrest.

You move around the desk and his thighs part automatically to allow you between, a reflexive, practiced motion. Your palms drop to warm the tops of his legs, thumbs massaging his inner knee affectionately.

“How was your day?” you ask, tone light as a feather, and he looks unimpressed, but you can see, as your gaze drops, the fabric tightening at the front of his pants, the way his skin jumps beneath your teasing touch.

“Hm?”

You lean forward and your hands follow in kind, smoothing up his legs, until your nose is inches from his and your thumbs brush the sensitive, clothed junction between hip and thigh.

Silco remains silent, making no move to touch you, but his eyes are brimming with hard promise as he takes you in up close, tongue pushing against the back of his teeth in thought. With a deceptive gentleness that has heat pooling like liquid gold between your legs, he threads one set of long fingers through your hair, coming to a cradle at the back of your head. Your eyes flutter closed, 

“Won’t you kneel for me, sweetheart?”

The rare submissiveness Silco manages to pull out of you never ceases to stun, and his hand remains as you sink readily to your knees, allowing yourself a tender moment to slump against him as he cards through soft strands, tugging delicately through tangles, massaging your scalp. Your cheek rubs coarse fabric as you turn to place a tender kiss to his inner knee, gaze half-lidded as you now peer up at him.

His lax grip tenses into a rigid fist and he holds you there for what feels an eternity, your neck craning backward uncomfortably as he keeps you just on the precipice of real pain, taking in the breathless sight of you knelt there before him, practically whining, that wicked, villainous coat of his pooling around your form. He exhales something ragged before hinging forward, the chair creaking as he closes the distance, devastatingly slow.

“Didn’t I tell you I was working?”

Your voice strains from your position.

“Mmm. Can’t remember.”

You skim your hands once again toward that delicious hardness, gritting your teeth as your hand manages to graze the column of pulsing heat, all while Silco maintains his steely grip, forcing you to reach like a child would a toy on a too tall shelf.

He eyes your struggle for a moment.

“Crimson and gold rather suits you, dear.”

“My two favorite colors,” you say, noting the way his cock twitches under your flat palm. “I’d wear them every day if I could.”

You pant up at him and his eyes flicker across your form, almost as if he can’t decide what to focus on, pupils blowing out wide with every word you speak next.

“I want to wear them everywhere. I don’t care who sees me wear your coat. I don’t care if people know about us, or about the danger of it all. I want everyone-” A sharp moan is torn from your throat as his fingers tighten slightly in your hair, but you continue, breath fanning the loose strands on his forehead that had escaped their careful style. “I want the entire Undercity to know I’m with the Eye of Zaun. That he’s mine.”

Silco snatches your upper arms, hoists you up as if you weigh nothing at all, and your back greets the cool, curling iron of his office window just as his mouth finds yours, pressing punishingly forward.

“Such a tease,” he hisses against your lips, hands holding your face firmly in place so he can devour you, tongue expertly rolling, licking into the cavern of your mouth, chest rumbling almost in frustration as he can’t seem to get enough of you.

“Why you love me-” You barely manage to stutter the words out before he’s back, his hips flexing against yours, sending a pang of delicious heat to your core.

Your hands grip into his vest, pulling him flush against you.

“Maybe so,” he breaks away, eyes wild, enamored by the red wreath of his coat collar encircling your head. The rough pad of his thumb finds your plump lower lip and folds it down.

“Unbutton,” he says, voice rough with command.

“Ask nicely.”

“And here I thought you knew me so well. Unbutton.”

You capture his thumb lightly between your teeth, tongue swirling once before you release. “You first.”

 There’s a ruthless twitch of his scarred lip before he tilts forward to drag the blade of his nose across the delicate shell of your ear, warm breath tickling your neck.

“You drape yourself in my bloodied threads only to hide what lies underneath?” His low, coarse voice drops even further into a throaty pitch that travels straight between your legs. “I don’t think so, darling. Un-button.”

He knows he wins this game every time.

Exhaling a shaky breath, you do as he commands, intentionally slowing your movements, normally nimble fingers working at the top button for a long while as he murmurs praises into your ear. He nips at your jaw and you hardly hasten, a heady power washing over you as he pulls back, rapt, to watch you reveal the simple green dress beneath.

Long, sinful fingers play at the hem of the fabric, mid-thigh, before hitching onto the coat, traveling upward teasingly, his thumbs extending to stroke across your collarbone when he reaches it.

”You are striking,” he says, gentle sincerity padding his tone.

A twinkling warmth flares inside your chest and you catch onto his lips in another searing kiss as his grip on the coat moves downward and his thumbs brush alongside. Your mouth pauses on his, and you feel his curling, diabolical grin as he purposefully circles the sensitive skin of your breasts, eliciting a small whine out of you before he relents, dragging digits across the stiff, clothed peaks and quickly inhaling the gasp that follows.

Silco brings his hands around to your back, squeezing the soft flesh there and tugs you further into him, his cock an impossibly hard pressure against your lower belly.

As much as you’d like to take charge, command it was time he unbutton now, you’re too impatient, hands darting out to release him, but before you can he snatches hold of your wrists and drags them upward, placing them on an iron wrought bar, a part of the windows swirling, industrial design.

“Hands to yourself tonight, dear,” he says, folding your fingers carefully around the cold metal above.

“What is it, you wanna fuck me up against the window like this?”

Your intent is to lure, to shatter that patience of his, as stiff and iron as the rail you cling to, but your voice is undeniably ragged with want, and he hears every shuddering hitch of breath.

“In time,” he says simply. His breath fans across your cheek and his hands ghost down to your bare thighs, using ungodly long fingers to drag the hem of your dress up until your panties are exposed.

“But first,” he drags two fingers through the crease between your thighs, pausing to press into the soaking wetness collecting through the fabric covering your pulsing core. You may like to push at every turn, but you bow now to his command, gripping your fingers tighter around the bar above, nails digging into your palms. “I wanted to see just how hot it makes you, wearing my clothes like this.”

You thrash and release a pathetic, broken cry as he flips his wrist upward, the heel of his palm grinding against your clit.

He hums.

“I did have my suspicions.”

“Judging by the tent in your pants,” you gasp once you catch your breath, “I’m not entirely alone in this.”

He chuckles darkly, moving your panties to the side so he can dip two fingers into your drenched heat, alternating between brushing touches to your entrance and lazy circles around your aching bud as he observes your reactions to him.

You’re in distress, pushing your hips desperately to grind against his hand, but he stays in a relaxed rhythm, keeping his touches featherlight.

You groan in frustration and it’s only when your head thunks against the glass in submission when he pushes in just barely, and you clench around what little he offers, just one knuckle deep.

“Wearing it, does it make you feel powerful?”

Your answer is a clenched jaw.

Silco’s lips twitch and his fingers begin to pull out.

“Yes, yes, yes. It does. It does,” you whine and his lips find the delicate skin of your neck, pressing a tender kiss to your pounding pulse point.

“Makes me feel,” your brows knit together, eyes falling closed as he presses those two fingers into you approvingly, starting out an excruciatingly slow rhythm. “Makes me feel-”

His forehead presses against yours as he plunges deeper and swipes your clit with a rough digit, your words cutting short in a strangled cry.

“What’s that?”

Oh, he is such an ass sometimes. You fight through the thick cloud of lust and open your eyes, staring dazedly at the space between his brows.

“Makes me feel good. S-strong, even. In con-control. Ngh.”

He’s pumping faster now, thumbing that bundle of nerves with fervor and sending you into a near delirium at the pleasure of it all. Your arms tremble from the grip you maintain on the bar above you, everything in you wanting to run fingers through his hair, but knowing he’s always made your patience worth the while. His forehead pushes further into yours and it’s like he wants to fuse his body entirely with yours.

You continue.

“Like I’m about to get f-fucked by the most powerful man in the Undercity.”

“Stay still for me, darling,” he says, beginning a slow descent down your body, and you brace yourself in realization, legs trembling at the sight of the Eye of Zaun coming to a kneel before you, hooked thumbs dragging your panties down to your ankles as he does.

“Oh, you really are a wicked thing. Knew exactly what you were doing walking in here wearing this,” he says as he works you, his bladed nose pressing into the skin just above your clit, sending little puffs of air across the sensitive nub as he speaks. “My clever, beautiful girl. And so good to me. So. Good.” He emphasizes with a particularly devastating hook of his fingers that has you seeing stars, a shockwave of pleasure stoking the fires of an incoming climax. 

Your voice is hoarse and pleading as he increases pace, as you approach release.

“I want to touch you.”

“You won’t,” he instructs simply and you stifle a sob.

Which turns into a choked hiccup as Silco burrows forward, tongue sliding impossibly hot and wet between the folds of your cunt, circling lazily around your clit before lapping at your weeping entrance, pushing the muscle as far as he can inside you.

You’re a moaning mess of writhing limbs, arms trembling uncontrollably, legs valiantly fighting the urge to squeeze his head between them, sweat beading at your brow as your climax approaches.

Silco drags the heat from your entrance to round your bud again before replacing his tongue with three fingers this time, pumping out a perfect, curling rhythm. 

“Cum, sweetheart,” you hear him say through the blinding hot tension.

Your eyes squeeze shut and his soft lips find your clit and with a gentle suck and the teasing fluttering of his tongue, you shatter.

You don’t have control over the way you cry out, shoving back against the glass behind you with the overwhelming intensity, or the way your hands fall from the bar to bury in his hair, how you reactively grind against his face. But he never minds, a hum of pleasure vibrating from his throat as he pulls every last drop of pleasure from you.

The last whimpers wrench from your throat and before the dots in your vision even fade, you’re stumbling mad, stomping in an effort to rid yourself of the panties around your ankles, kicking off your shoes as well.

Silco stands unhurriedly, holding your gaze as he licks the remnants of your release from his fingers.

“I believe I said no touching.”

You mumble under your breath, legs jello as you grab the armrests of his chair, dragging it to the window.

“What is it exactly that you’re-”

“I love you,” you cut him off, railroading his surprised form until you’re shoving him into the waiting chair, crawling on top of him, your thighs spreading wide, bare pussy cold to the air, coat settling over his covered thighs. “I love you.”

You grab the lapels of his coat and pull him into a kiss, deep and savoring, tasting the bitter tang of yourself on his lips. He relaxes into your touch and you tighten your thighs around him, cradle his face, press further into his mouth and your chest tightens as it always does, at the knowledge that you’re the only one who can do this. The only touch that can make the King of Zaun melt as he does now, arms encircling your waist, grinding you against his front.

“I’m yours,” you say, working at the stubborn buttons of his pants and he doesn’t stop you this time, his eyes moving savagely across your face, hands working alongside your wriggling hips to untangle the dress from under your legs.

“I’m yours,” you repeat, taking him into your hand and pressing your forehead to his, stroking him once, twice.

“And I yours.” 

His voice is gravel, tattered and ancient and released from the most primal depths of his chest.

You curve forward, allowing him a view over your shoulder of his Kingdom, the one he rules with an iron fist, you by his side. You kiss along his bladed jaw, before your mouth presses hotly to his ear, hardly able to catch your breath through the desperate, fresh bout of arousal that’s sunk its claws into you.

“Fuck me. I’m yours.”

A groan, short and harsh, is released from his chest in a rattling exhale at your words, his jaw dropping open just slightly as you move your hips against him. His hands roam every inch of your body, traveling up and down your spine, tracing the outline of your breasts, before falling to your hips.

He pulls you further into him, your face pressing softly against the cushion of the chair, and you know him, you know the heady power he feels with you clasped in his arms like this, looking out over the city he built from the ground up. Reaching down, you grasp his cock to align him with your entrance before lowering yourself down slowly.

“I want them to know,” you whisper, “It’s time they know.”

A growl tears from between his teeth and you hiss, and he is pensive no longer, hand snatching the back of your neck to pull you out from where you hide. He snaps his hips upward, filling you to the hilt, and watches a divine pleasure cross your face as you cry out, loud and sharp.

“Let them know, then.”

And you don’t hold back, allowing him to hear every yelp, every tattered moan that he unleashes from you as he fucks up into you. 

“Janna, you’re perfect,” he grits, one hand gripping your hip, the other encircling your throat lightly, holding you there so he can spectate. “Perfect.”

And it becomes almost a breathless, brutal chant as he pumps his desperate need for you into your pussy like he’s in a close race for first place.

A second release is torn from you as you ride him, rising up swiftly enough that your jaw drops in surprise, noiseless as you’re crushed by powerful waves of bliss. You spasm around him, legs quaking like fury and it isn’t long before he reaches his own peak with a jagged groan, his fingers digging bruises into your hips as he slams you down to the hilt, spilling himself inside you as you claw at the front of his shirt.

You don’t know how long you sit there boneless, slumped against him as he softens inside you, his hand carding through your hair again, dampened with sweat. Closing your eyes, you mumble lazily into his ear.

“Hey.”

You not so much see but feel the tired, amused smirk on his face as he answers.

“Hm?”

“Can every day be laundry day?”

<3 <3 <3

If you liked this piece, please check out my other works! My master list is here. I survive off your reblogs and comments, and I would love to hear what you think! AO3 Link if you want to toss me some kudos there!

Thank you @x-amount-verbs for tolerating my chaotic timelines and helping me edit super last minute, as always (be honest, you wouldn't have me any other way).

This was taking a different, less dommy turn before my brain derailed and started a mad sprint toward what I know best. So, Cras, I hope I delivered a healthy amount of 'domesticity' and if I didn't, well I just hope I delivered something. Happy birthday, darling!

Stay unhinged,

Sulty <3

#silco x reader #silco #silco x you #arcane #silco arcane #reader insert #mdni #smut #silco x f!reader #sinday

[bleachedjuice]

Red is the Color of Our lives (and Red is the Color of Our Blood) pt1.

Heyyy I took a little break for a couple of days, and HEYYY MY BIRTHDAY WAS YESTERDAY YEAHHHH

ANYHOW-

I hope everyone's having a good day and enjoys this entrance to our little story (this one's gonna be probably a 1-4 part series, maybe longer or maybe shorter

Warnings: foul language and mentions of blood

You've never been much of a fighter as a kid. You got your way to the military and to where you were now, all on your lonesome.

Having been in 141, grouped In after your first four years of service by Laswell and Price themselves. You wanted to be a medic, but you soon found that a sniper fit in your hands better.

And yet here you were, 3 years later, striking your feet harshly on the tread mill in the gym room as you sprinted forward,huffing and puffing as sweat slicked your body. And there stood Ghost timing and pulling you through this already hour long "light cardio" as he called it of sprints. And then, with one loud clap and a whitlse followed by Soaps voice breaking through the little bubble you and Ghost had built at the moment..."DAMN LOOKING GOOD Y/N" and then, with a nod from Simon,you began to slow before grabbing the sides of the treadmill to help your body slow to a jog,then a brisk pace before a stop.

Turning over your shoulder with a heavy breath, you watched soap motion you two to walk over. The Swedish man stood at the entrance of the workout facility, not moving, only watching us with a shit eating grin crossing his face. Before you and Ghost had walked side by side toward him, you were only a measly 5'9 "compared to these two. But, with their height, you make up for speed. And then, as soon as you stopped, giving Soap a wave before he spoke.

"Alrighty boys, we got a new member joining us today. He's been updated on missions and has proved to be a good addition to the team. He's already been introduced to everyone else, but you two. König. If you would step out of the dark please?"

And with a step to the side, an utterly massive mountain of a man steppes out of the dark, his head ducking beneath the door Frame as he stood over you three. And you watched him. Before your gaze snapped over to Soap as he spoke, both and you Ghost somehow simultaneously crossing your arms as you listened.

"This is Ghost, one of our main powerhouses to the team, big ol toughy eh? And this here is our sniper, Y/N, sneaky bastard. Well, I'll let you tow get back to it-"

"We just finished,actually."

Simon's voice sounded rougher, harsher. He was distant with even mentioning Konigs massive structure.

And then he stormed off.

"Exscuse him Kõnig, he's just grumpy today. But, welcome to 141." And then he watched his gaze lock to yours. And you found his green eyes entrancing, sharp, like a double-edged sword.

You then watched as he quickly tore his gaze from yours before you excused yourself and went on auto-pilot as you rushed into the main quarters and then into your room and grabbed something from the bag next to your cot. Yes, you did laundry daily,and yes, you took the time every day to repack everything in your pack. But, it was a habit, especially after living your life out of a pack and always being on the move, a thing trained to always be ready to be on the go, to need to move from place to place. And you knew you had to quickly shower and get your clothes washed due to the mission tomorrow morning that hung over your shoulder. All you had to do was scope and snipe out coverage if needed and take out people when needed while the boys went in and extracted the info needed and destroying the base, courtesy of Laswell and her best of the best bomb makers designing little things that go" boom".

In your hands were sweats,socks,boxers, and a plain sweater. Your boots now kicked next to your cot as you practically ran to the bathroom. And welcomed yourself to the cold air before encouragingly entering the warm shower, and you almost scrubbed your skin raw. Knowing that this could be the last shower you take in God only knows how long due to the mission length unknown if anything were to go wrong.

And just as you seemed to have gotten in, you were getting out and drying yourself off and shoving on your clothes to ignore the redness of your skin and out you went,almost slamming the door behind you..

Watching the laundry washer go on and on in a circular motion as you heard boots click in the quiet area and up your head shot up before you locked gaze with König. And this time, he looked just the same amount of towering out of his gear just as he would with it on. And at the moment, he is sporting his boots,sweats and a loose t-shirt.

And then, without a single word, he left the room. Huh, nervous? Perhaps anxiety. Shrugging you then heard the sound cry out from the washer before you opened it and threw the clothes into the dryer and sat back down watching it turn..and turn..and turn....

Before you knew it, you were being nudged awake by someone only for your eyes to snap open and you instincts to snap awake as you kicked your legs out and tackled the figure in front of you and hearing them land underneath you with an 'ooff' only for the motion detection lights to flicker alive only to reveal you had slammed poor König underneath you. And you became self-aware of where your hips were. Quickly scampering off of him, you apologized profusely as you helped him to you feet only to be silenced by a light German thick accent breaking through from underneath his mask.

"Ah, no worries. I'm quite surprised at how someone so small can pack quite the punch! But I walked past the barrack area and your door was open and you weren't there so, I came back here to find you sleeping."

Face warming up, you laughed to yourself before thanking him as you took your outfit from earlier out of the dryer and folded the clothes only to find him standing there waiting?

As if he read you like a book, he suddenly broke into words, sporadically speaking swiftly.

Oh- sorry. I was just gonna walk you to your room- if you'd be okay with it?"

You watched him fiddle with his fingers nervously like a child would when caught in with their hand in the cookie jar.

"You can walk me to my room König"

And with that, He seemed to lighten up, and in silence, you two had made your ways to your room, and with that, He abided you a good night and left you to your own devises. And with huff, you made sure your pack was all set and you put the clothes needed for tomorrow on the floor next to the cot as you set an early 4am alarm before lying beneath to small blankets covering you now, savoring them and drifted off the rest before the hell waiting for tomorrow as the image of green eyes drifted into thoughts of sleep....

#modern warefare 2 #konig mw2 #konig cod #konig x male reader #konig imagine

[yurayura-kurage]

A3! Troupe Event: MY WORST WEDDING | Event Story Translation (4/11)

Neither Japanese nor English is my first language so please forgive me if I made mistake. However, feel free to point me out, I’d love to hear your feedbacks on the translation ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶

Translation under the cut

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Azami: Fuah~...

Kumon: Did you not sleep well?

Azami: I had a bit trouble falling asleep. I couldn’t tell Sakyo not to stay up late working on his stuff.

Kumon: Come to think of it, Sakyo-san’s sister came to our dorm yesterday right~. Did something happen?

Azami: Seems like she came to consult about Sakyo’s mother.

Kumon: Heh~. Sakyo-san’s mother is such a kind person, isn’t she!

Azami: You know her?

Kumon: She is nii-chan’s fan and she’s been supporting him all the time!

Azami: Ah–, is that so.

Kumon: I think she’ll come to Autumn Troupe’s next performance.

Azami: Now that you mention it, I’ve been thinking a lot ‘bout Juza-san’s hair makeup this time…

Kumon: Ah–! Wait! No spoilers here!

Azami: Hah?

Kumon: He’s a former soldier this time, so it’ll def be really cool... 

I want to know, but I want to challenge myself without knowing anything until the performance starts…!

Azami: That’s impossible. We’re in the same dorm after all.

Kumon: Still no spoilers anyhow!

Azami: Well, I haven’t decided on Juza-san's hair makeup yet. Only Taichi-san’s role Olivia has costume coordination today.

Kumon: Ah, Taichi-san’s role is the woman who deceives the grooms right? I’m really looking forward to it!

*Shifts to practice room*

Izumi: Taichi-kun, it looks good on you! The impression has drastically changed.

Taichi: Heheh, I’ve turned into a perfect beautiful woman!

Yuki: It’s not that bad, is it.

Banri: Heh~, Olivia’s hair is purple, huh.

Azami: I’ve thought about it a lot, but this will suit the scene when she appears in the story. 

The makeup also matches the color of the wig though, this looks fine. 

Then, I’ll remove the makeup after the photoshoot, so Banri-san, please try doing it this time.

Banri: Roger that.

*Short timeskip*

Azami: Make the line a bit thicker here–– About this much.

Banri: …It’s done.

Azami: As expected of Banri-san, your sense is good. 

Taichi: Oh~, it’s exactly the same as before!

Banri: When I actually tried Azami’s makeup, I can see that you think a lot about various things in detail. That’s awesome. 

Azami: Obviously.

Banri: Well, but I only did the makeup just like the sample photo, so once I get used to it, I think I’ll be able to speed up even faster right before actual performance.

Yuki: And the rest are the costumes that go well with this hair makeup but— I bring lots of outfits for you guys to base on.

Izumi: This time main focus is the hair makeup, so the costumes will be later.

Yuki: First of all, this and this, try adjusting the sweatsuit lightly. 

Taichi: ——How is it!?

Yuki: Your legs are so masculine!

Izumi: Zero’s costume was the one with the legs out right.

Yuki: Zero’s lively personality matched with the vibe Taichi’s legs give off, but the image this time is a bit different. 

If they are put out as usual, it’ll definitely look manlike. The makeup will be mismatched and out of place.

Taichi: I’ll lose my muscles before the performance~.

Banri: Building muscles might be within your reach, but isn’t it impossible to lose them?

Taichi: Uh, maybe if I try not to use them as much as possible…? 

Azami: You might not be able to move your body when you’re Noah.

Taichi: Ah~ That’s right!

Yuki: I’m not even asking for you to do something in particular. Just don’t gain any more muscles.

Since I’ll style the costumes according to Taichi’s body shape to match the hair makeup. Tighten his waist with a corset for example… 

I think it might work if we cover his broad shoulders with a jacket, and show his skin with knee-high boots.

Izumi: That sounds great!

Taichi: As expected of Yuki-chan!

Yuki: Even if you only show the very least of your skin, I think the key here is that you can create a sexy look of the wicked woman. 

Banri: I see… So there are various ways.

Azami: It’s also the same with different skin qualities though, it’s difficult to match because there are differences between men and women’s body shapes.

Yuki: It’s worth thinking about how to style the costumes for each roles considering actors’ body type anyway, I’m even more fired up. 

Izumi: That’s the best part of being a costume designer, right.

Yuki: Taichi too, if you perform on stage in the costumes that are fit into your body, you’ll be able to act with confidence, won’t you.

Taichi: Yuki-chan!!

Banri: Our costume designer is really reliable.

Azami: (You’ll be more confident if wearing outfits that look good on you…)

Izumi: Well then, I’m looking forward to the costumes too.

Yuki: Leave it to me.

Azami: …Yuki-san, there’s something I’d like to talk to you about.

Yuki: ?

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Previous || Next

#a3! translation #autumn troupe #akigumi #autumn troupe’s 10th play #my worst wedding #my worst wedding translation #act addict actors #god blesses yuki for making olivia's costumes

[venomcasserolecomic]

Uuuh so Happy New Year folks I hope your year is starting better than mine. Anyhow This page did not love me. I did not love this page. It's been repainted an absurd amount of times and I hated nearly every one of them. Only this last iteration was passable but admittedly I'm still not in love but I've really spent way too much time on it and would very much like to move on and never have to look at it again. There is actually a fully colorized version of this but I really wanted to continue using colors (or lack of) to convey emotions. In this case it's how I feel things look during adrenaline crash and disassociation periods. I also added on a filter and texture that I made aaaaages back but have re-found and am really digging. Not sure if my progress will be very quick on these but I am happy to say I already have the next seven pages sketched and a couple inked. Hardest part lately is coloring them though since I'm fully painting the backgrounds in each panel (and before they're shrunk these pages are very LARGE) and I know that sounds excessive (it feels excessive) but this started as a project to practice backgrounds. No matter how much I'd like to phone it in I think the practice is more important (particularly since I still feel like I'm really bad at it.) Also I found a backup of the font I liked on my old laptop so hurrah no more having to try and neatly write dialog.

#webcomic #fallout #fallout new vegas #venom casserole comic #comic

[alucardownsmyass]

Hey Yari! I love your stuff and have been looking forward to more Dadcard headcanons! I don't think I have a certain scenario so they can just be random instances if you'd like to do that! Whenever you're ready I'm ready and I'll wait years b/c I know it'll be worth it lol ♥️

eeeek!! thanks a bunch, babe! you are insanely sweet! 😭

regarding the headcanons, i'll make this a continuation of my first set and that his daughter has gotten older; perhaps around six—seven years old!

𝗦𝗖𝗘𝗡𝗔𝗥𝗜𝗢 : ꜱʜᴇ'ꜱ ɢʀᴏᴡɪɴɢ ᴜᴘ ꜱᴏ ꜰᴀꜱᴛ!

𝗡𝗢𝗧𝗘 : ( ᴅ/ɴ ) = ᴅᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ'ꜱ ɴᴀᴍᴇ

his daughter absolutely enjoys going out on nightly walks with her father, and perhaps she's come to love them even more than him. she gets super excited at new sights in nature, like discovering and chasing a nearby frog, pointing at moths after they swiftly flutter past her little nose, or picking up pretty pebbles off the ground and giving them to her father as gifts. "daddy, daddy! look what i found!"

⠀ ⠀⠀

needless to say, he returned to the manor with a pocketful of colorful rocks inside of his coat and a much confused look from his lover's face.

⠀ ⠀⠀

she enjoyed helping her mother cook breakfast during the early mornings, and sometimes even alucard liked to join. sliced pancakes with whipped cream and strawberries were her favorite and she loved sharing. she'd press the fork into a piece of her strawberry and hold it up to her father's mouth to relish, which he'd happily take with dramatic "nom-nom-nom" sounds just so he could hear her giggle. he'd do anything just to hear her sounds of joy.

⠀ ⠀⠀

she was at the age where starting her first year in grade one was mandatory, and though alucard preferred his daughter be homeschooled, she eventually ended up attending a public school that her mother or walter brought her to and from since not only did he slumber during the day, but no one trusted the vampire enough to be behind the wheel, anyhow.

⠀ ⠀⠀

the only time alucard went to his daughter's school was when a parent-teacher conference took place one evening, where he probably scared other students and staff half to death. you're damn right nobody was going to be stupid enough to bully her after seeing the size of that man.

⠀ ⠀⠀

alucard also likes helping his daughter with her homework. they'll head into the library together where it's quiet and free from distractions. he'll pick out a chair, place her inside his lap and pull out her workbook. "alright. show me what your teacher assigned for you today."

⠀ ⠀⠀

she flipped to page three and pointed towards a group of addition and subtraction practice problems. "these!"

⠀ ⠀⠀

alucard is decently patient with her, even if she chooses to purposefully be a goofball.

⠀ ⠀⠀

"what is 7 + 1?"

⠀ ⠀⠀

she takes a moment to use those little fingers to count on. "9!"

⠀ ⠀⠀

"not quite. try again."

⠀ ⠀⠀

"10!"

⠀ ⠀⠀

"are you just guessing?"

⠀ ⠀⠀

integra knows immediately whenever she hears the sounds of girlish laughter echoing throughout the hallways that alucard and his daughter are either playing hide and seek or he's tickling the life out of her. she came to appreciate the sound everytime even if disrupted her work time or meetings.

⠀ ⠀⠀

when walter starts cleaning the manor on weekends, he likes to blast classics from an old radio. just as he's about to begin wiping down the windows, she's right beside him with a bright smile on her face. "may i help you clean up today, walter?"

⠀ ⠀⠀

walter's eyebrows went to the sky. that was new. "why certainly, miss (d/n)." he hands her a paper towel and sprays an area on the glass for her to start. those are the days where they spend time cleaning and dancing to the music as they complete task after task. the little one is already going to have great taste in music at such a young age.

⠀ ⠀⠀

"ewww!" his daughter always grimaces when she catches sight of her mother and father sharing their lips.

⠀ ⠀⠀

her mother playfully rolls her eyes and places a hand atop her head. "just you wait! someday you're going to have a prince of your own to kiss."

⠀ ⠀⠀

alucard's eyes instantly glowed at that statement, a raised brow and all. "oh? is she now?" [ cue the overprotective father. ]

⠀ ⠀⠀

there are some nights where alucard will put on a children's show and lay in bed next to his daughter until it's her bedtime, though she spends absolutely 0 time paying attention to the television. a majority of it she spends jumping on the bed, pouncing on her father's chest or trying to grab at his clothed feet. he sighs, "(d/n). you're going to hurt yourself if you do not sit still. weren't you the one that requested to watch the television?"

⠀ ⠀⠀

alucard most likely knows better than anyone how horrifically real nightmares can seem to be, so when his daughter knocks on his coffin sniffling and complaining about having had one that woke her up during the break of dawn, he'll let her rest on top of him, keeping the coffin lid open. his fingers softly trail through her hair until he senses that she has fallen asleep.

⠀ ⠀⠀

"you have to go again? will you be back?" she frowns, viewing as her father and the rest of the crew began to get ready to leave for another assigned mission that would take place outside of london.

⠀ ⠀⠀

alucard softly chuckles, bending at the knee so he could be at her level in height. he leaves a kiss atop her head and takes her cheeks between his index and thumb, squishing her frown into a smile. "sooner than you may think, little one. i need you to stay put and behave for your mother for the time being until my return. you can do that for me, can't you?"

⠀ ⠀⠀

and it's quite often that when he returns from said mission that's had him away from her for weeks, that he'll always bring back a little surprise for her to indulge in, ranging from stuffed toys, barbie dolls, coloring books, little makeup kits that he sometimes let her practice her skills on him with; whatever he knew her little heart desired!

⠀ ⠀⠀

#alucard #hellsing alucard #alucard headcanons #hellsing headcanons

[opie-nixx]

You're not Illiterate. (CHAP. 10)

Lenny: "When we doin some readin?" Lenny practically prances over to Sean with a cup of coffee

Sean: "Not now Lenny, please. I've almost got it anyhow."

Lenny: "I told ya I'd have you readin. Okay, now come on, I can't do it if you won't let me try." He argues. Arthur and I watching from afar.

Sean: "Look, what's the point of readin anyhow? Just puts silly idea's in me head.

Lenny: "Exactly, that's the point of readin."

Sean: "Another day, please." Sean looks down, sharpening his knife.

Lenny: "Fine, but you can't avoid avoid me forever." Lenny walks off. I've seen this go on for weeks while Arthur has been healing. I push myself up.

Arthur: "What are you doin?" He chuckles watching me walk off.

Y/n: "He's gonna learn." I march my way and hop up on the table next to Sean.

Y/n: "Why you givin him a hard time?"

Sean: "Readin's stupid." He mutters out. I light up a ciggerate and take a small puff.

Y/n: "You know, I hate doing math. In fact I suck at it." I chuckle.

Y/n: "Learning new thing's can be a pain in the ass for you to understand especially when you feel like an idiot for not knowing what everyone else does." I take another drag.

Sean: "Why you tellin me this?" He sighs.

Y/n: "You're not alone when it comes to this shit, in fact you have more people here than I did learning. I promise you no-one is gonna make fun of you for not knowing a word. We have all stuttered on a word or mispronounced it." He looks at me and I give him a small smile holding out the ciggerete for him to take. He takes it while giving a long sigh.

Sean: "Foine, I'll learn how to read." I giggle.

Y/n: "Fuck yeah. You irish bastard. LENNY! Get back here with that book!" I yell over to him, hopping off that table. I take my place next to Arthur.

Arthur: "Ain't you Miss Encouragement." He says sarcastically.

Y/n: "Life is hard and depressing enough, why not live a little?" I retort.

Arthur: "I guess." He pulls me closer and plants a kiss to my cheek. His beard scratching my face. I turn to him.

Y/n: "You need a trim, my good sir." I giggle running my hands through his long hair.

Arthur: "You don't like it?" He gives his beard a stroke.

Y/n: "I have nothing but adoration for how you present yourself. But give the beard a trim....and keep the hair." I give him a peck.

Arthur: "I know this is off the subject..but..uh..How old are you?" He kinda whispers.

Y/n: "Oh? I guess you don't know much about me?" I chuckle, rubbing the back of my neck.

'I know you though.'

I can feel Arthur's gaze on me. I lightly blush as I turn to look at him.

Y/n: "20...I'm 20." Arthur's color drains from his face as he begins to choke on air. I can't help but hold my stomach while I laugh my ass off.

Arthur: "You screwin with me, woman!?" He mutters out taking a few deep breaths.

Y/n: "No, I'm very serious." I wipe the tears from my eyes.

Arthur: "I'm 36."

Y/n: "Niiice...heheh."

Arthur: "I gotta head out into town to help Micah and Bill with somethin. Possible job." He says standing up putting his hat back on.

Y/n: "Mmmkay. I come with."

Arthur: "I really would prefer it if you stay here."

Y/n: "I'd prefer it if you didn't argue with me." I make my way towards my horse. Arthur behind me.

Sean: "Wait for me. I'll ride wit ya's." He says standing up and practically running away from Lenny. My eye's widen with fear a bit as I watch Sean.

Arthur: "You okay darlin?" He asks putting his hands on my hips and giving me a concerned look.

Y/n: "Yeah.." I snap myself out of it and flash him a smile before putting my foot in the stirrups and climbing up. Arthur shares another concerned look.

Arthur: "You can talk to me ya know."

Y/n: "I know that, darlin." I lean down and give him a peck.

Sean: "Can we get goin? I don't want to watch you two weirdo's suck faces any longer."

Arthur: "Shut up." He grumbles before mounting his own horse.

The ride was filled with Sean talking about his pa which I understood why they all wanted him to shut up about it. He just goes on and on and some of his words I don't even think it was english. It was like his own word with his thick irish accent. I'll admit it was funny but I was worried about him dying. I was going to do anything I could to keep him alive.

'You're a good person.' I smile to myself.

Arriving in Rhodes made me feel like I was working in a saw mill from all the dust I was inhaling. We all hitch on the side of the bank where we saw Micah and Bill.

Micah: "We been waiting for you, Arthur."

Arthur: "Well, I’m sorry to have kept you."

Micah: "Come on. Let’s get going." We all trail behind him as we begin making our way to the saloon.

Arthur: "What's the plan?"

Micah: "We’re meeting a couple of the Grays over at the saloon. They spoke to Bill about a job… needing security." I pull out my carbine and eye the rooftops.

Arthur: "After the farce of stealing the horses for them, why we doing this?" They begin to bicker with eachother. I completely ignore them until we come to a pause.

Arthur: "This don't feel right." He snarls. I see a man on the rooftop of the Sheriff's office. As if time slowed yet again I immediately drop my gun and tackle Sean. I hear the man fire and a burning sensation in my shoulder. I let go of Sean and grab my shoulder. I scream at the top of my lungs. Micah glancing at me and then shooting the man on the roof and the one's around. Micah, Bill and Arthur all take cover as Sean drags me to cover. The sound of guns firing and bullets flying surround the whole town.

Arthur: "Y/n! You okay!?" I try to keep pressure on the bullet wound and look everywhere.

Sean: "She's foine! She's just bleeding bad!" He stands up from his cover and fires away with his shotgun before returning to look at me.

Sean: "You look sick." He leans me forward and I groan in pain as I grit my teeth.

Sean: "We have a problem! The bullet is still in her shoulder!" Arthur screams out a few curses as he goes awall shooting most of the bastards in the head.

Bill: "You bastards will have it now!" He laughs.

Y/n: "I..I don't feel so good." I slouch over and up chuck everything that was in my stomach. Sean rubs my back and moves my hair out of the way.

Sean: "It's okay, we're almost done here." He says reassuringly. A ringing fills my ears as I begin to cough up the dust from town. My sight going hazy.

Y/n: "I'm so glad you're okay." I smile as I fade out of consciousness.

Arthur: "You...idiot Bill!" I feel myself get ripped up off the ground bridlestyle. I scream again in pain. The smell of campfire fills my nostrils and I part my eye's a bit and notice Arthur is carrying me hauling ass across town.

Y/n: "This fucking hurts, Arthur."

Bill: "She needs a doctor!"

Sean: "There's 1 we passed walking down."

Micah: "Do we really have the time?"

Sean: "Oi! That ain't a question!" He snaps.

Arthur: "Shut up Micah!" My head lolls back as I struggle to keep them open. I hear a loud bang.

Sean: "You! Help her!"

Bill: "She lost a lot of blood and the bullet is still stuck in her shoulder." I feel myself get set on a chair. Then I hear a man take cautious footsteps towards me.

Arthur: "Don't try nothin funny or this will be the end of your petty life." He threatens. I feel my shoulder begin to ache as I take deeper breaths to try and soothe my wound. I grunt.

Doctor: "Shit! I'm gonna have to pull it out now and stitch her up fast." He stutters out in fear.

Arthur: "Do it, God Dammit!" He shouts. My eyes shoot open as I hear the man grab his utensils. My heart begins to race even harder. I whip out my knife as he the doctor comes at me with clamps. The doctor flinches. Micah and Arthur rush me slamming me back in the chair as Micah tries to pry the knife out of my hand.

Arthur: "Jesus woman!"

Sean: "He's tryna help yew!" Tears brim my eyes from the pain as my breath becomes labored. Arthur hold my body against the chair as Sean holds my legs in place as I began to thrash them around. Arthur puts his forearm in my mouth.

Arthur: "Bite me if you have to, this is gonna hurt baby." The doctore hesitates before digging the clamps into my shoulder. I scream into Arthur's jacket as I clench down. Arthur grunts in displeasure. Hot tears rush down my face as I feel more of my blood ooze out and a stinging ache in my arm. Suddenly I feel the bullet be grabbed and ripped from me. A stream of blood shoots out from where the wound was.

Doctor: "Cover her wound and keep pressure!" He gets up and runs to the back of his office as Bill keeps a gun on him. I whimper and cry as Arthur slowly removes his arm and gives me reassuring words and giving me kisses. The doctor reappears with a health cure and gauze.

Sean: "Yew did so good, Y/n." Bill even grunts in approval.

The doctor removes Arthur's other hand. He pours the health cure in the wound making me hiss in displeasure. He takes a clean cloth and wipes out the wound, patting it dry. He applies an ointment in the wound.

Doctor: "I need her shirt off so I can wrap it." He stutters nervously avoiding eye contact with us. Micah, Bill and Sean all slowly look at Arthur. He grunts as he begins to untie my corset.

Arthur: "Look away you bastards." Sean moves himself from my lower half with a deep blush as he turns around as do Micah and Bill. Arthur swiftly pulls my knife out and cuts the laces on my shirt and corset, my breasts falling out and my nipples hardening from the cool air. My breathing becoming more steady. The doctor pulls out a syringe filled with some sort of liquid.

Doctor: "This will help with the pain and help her get some sleep." He injects it into my vein in the arm I was shot in and then begins to wrap my shoulder as Arthur rubs my head. Once he finishes Arthur takes his jacket off and helps me slide my arm's through it.

Arthur: "Let's get you home." He buttons it as he helps me make our exit, the other's close behind.

Micah: "You tell anyone about this we come back for you." He says threateningly keeping a gun on him. Arthur lifts me up on his saddle and mounts behind me. I lean back into Arthur's chest. He wraps 1 arm around me while taking the reins in the other. He calls for my horse to follow. He gives me a kiss on my neck while whispering gentle words in my ear.

Arthur: "You did so good for me, girl." I would be lying if I said I wasn't getting a bit of pleasure from hearing him say that to me. I chuckle dryly.

Y/n: "I love you." I drawl out. He plants another on my neck before whispering.

Arthur: "I love you too." He whispers lowly. I begin to fall asleep and I hear him whisper shout at Bill and they all begin to argue.

I awaken to Arthur gently coaxing me awake.

Arthur: "We're here beautiful." I open my eyes and lazily look around. The swamp muggy air bringing back some moisture into my lungs. I feel Arthur slide off and I let my body slide down into his arms. He walks me back to his tent.

Dutch: "What happened?" Arthur gives him a menacing glare.

Arthur: "That whole damn thing was a setup. Sean would've been killed if she didn't take the bullet."

Dutch takes a glance at me and apologizes. Arthur waves him off as we walk into his tent. I hear some tense hushed mumbling.

Y/n: "Please be nice. It's not his fault." I sit on his cot.

Arthur: "He's a fool." He grumbles sitting with me.

Y/n: "Please?"

Arthur: "Fine."

Y/n: "I love you." I say.

Arthur: "I love you too." I lean over to him and slowly lean in and plant my lips on his. Arthur pulls me into his lap without breaking the kiss. My breath hitches from this.

Arthur: "Easy, girl. We don't wanna hurt your shoulder now." He whispers out a smile on his face. I glare into his blue eyes. I shove him back into his wagon wall. A small slam emitting from that action. He chuckles. I begin to undo his belt buckle and pants as I smash my lips onto his. He holds his hand up at either side of me unsure of what to do with them. I grasp his cock in my hand and stroke his tip with my thumb. He grunts into the kiss. He tries to take over dominance, but I bite his lip.

Arthur: "Jesus!" He chuckles. I pant.

Y/n: "Stay." I stand up and unbutton his coat and take off my own gun belt and pants. His eyes watching my every move. I see his member begin to pulse. My eye's flick between his own eye's which held nothing but love and lust and his cock which had to be an impressive girthy 6 inches. I climb back on top of him and he places his hands on either side of my hips. I position myself at his tip. He moans.

'Not so fast cowboy.' I rub my wet clit all over his tip. He tightens his grip into my hips.

Arthur: "Please, baby." He begs. I slowly slide down on his tip and bounce just on that little bit. He only takes so much before he pulls me down on his length. I yipe from the shock of taking it all in so suddenly. He takes 1 hand off my hip and over my mouth. I moan into his hand and place my hand on his shoulders as I begin to bounce and grind on his member.

Arthur: "Y-y/n." He moans out. His hand falls from my mouth and right back to my hip.

Y/n: "Daddy." I moan out.

Arthur: "Say it again." He drawls out. I feel that same knot form in the pit of my stomach.

Y/n: "What?"

Arthur: "Call me daddy." He demands softly. I feel that knot slowly untie as I begin to grind on his cock.

Y/n: "Daddy, shit!" I whisper shout as I bury my head into his shoulder. I feel my pussy begin to throb as it releases every bit of it's juices all over him. I begin to slow down.

Arthur: "Oh, no you don't." He quickly lays me down on the bed and begins to thrust hard and fast. I begin to mewl from the  stimulation.

Arthur: "I'm almost there, darlin." He grunts out eyes flicking between me and my breasts that bounced with every thrust.

Y/n: "Arthur, you're so good." Both our eyes meet as I feel him to pick up his pace nearing his end. I feel another knot form and untie as he pulls himself out and cums all over my chest. I flick my eyes to him and to his cum. He stands up and grabs his coat and wipes me off. I try to regain my breathing, while he crawls right next to me giving me the most innocent look.

Arthur: "I didn't hurt ya, did I." I shake my head and crawl into his chest. I fall asleep to his heartbeat as he plays with my hair.

#arthur morgan fluff #arthur morgan #future smut #rdr2 arthur #rdr2 fandom #arthur morgan x reader #im tryin my best #arthur morgan smut #van der linde gang #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan red dead redemption 2 #high honor arthur morgan #rdr2 smut #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 x reader

[el-yon]

Fic drabble #1

It was Yumichika’s birthday and I wanted to make something for him. I have a lot of drabbles on my silly-texts’ draw, and realized I had this Orihime-Yumichika shot that I wanted to use. It was going to come up on Connecting Heart’s Valentine’s Special, but I am not sure of it yet... anyhow, for this beauty’s birthday, I wanted to share this for Yumichika, Orihime, and IkkaYumi appreciation ✨

“… ah, this is beautiful, Orihime-chan…!”

Orihime smiles, relieved, as Yumichika complimented their work with the bonbon-baking and decorating marathon. When Rangiku made the impromptu appearance at ABCookies that turned out to lead her to Soul Society and bake candies for the Shinigami Woman’s Association, she did not expect the 11th Division official to join them – something about Ikkaku being on deep slumber after heavy training, heavy eating, and heavy drinking, a combo that always led to “at least 8 hours of snoring, I swear, I have to change my ear waxes again…”

Last time she saw them was months before, after the war, and while she was quite fond of him, Orihime was afraid he would not like her work – he was very picky, about aesthetics, after all, and her cooking style has always been more of a “looks weird, tastes good” kind of practice. However, she had invested more time in deserts, and her drawing and sewing skills actually paid off when it came to handling delicate frosting and icing patterns.

As such, it turned out to be a fun afternoon, and having Yumichika’s seal of approval was definitely a high-note – she was also particularly impressed with his own skills, and was delighted with the Hozukimaru design on top of a éclair that he baked for Ikkaku. “Well, it’s not like he deserves it…! But I am the bigger person in this relationship.... as expected....”

Yumichika shrugs it off after she complimented him, and Orihime laughs, thinking about the time she and Keigo went grocery shopping together, right before they began their junior year, and the boy spent the whole trip complaining about the time Ikkaku and Yumichika stayed in his house, which could only mean he actually enjoyed the company of the Shinigami, and possibly missed them - she could relate to it all too well. 

 “... those chocolate bonbons are looking pretty special… But...” 

Oh no… I blew it…

His beautifully accessorized eyes scanned her side of the tray, mainly the chocolate-on-chocolate ones

“... isn’t it too much chocolate in them...?”

“Oh, those are for Kurosaki-kun! He really likes it...” She answers, softly, and the man next to her smirks

“... ah, so we do have more in common than I thought”

“… how so…?” She asks, amused – flattered, too – and Yumichika looks at her as if she had just asked what color the sky is.

“Well, we’re top tier beauties, yet we can’t help but love and appreciate those morons… It’s a curse, really…”

“Oh…” She blushes “… well…”

Feeling the Shinigami’s eyes on her, Orihime fidgets her fingers on the hand-towel, embarrassed for not keeping up with the conversation, fully self-conscious that her flushed cheeks were probably telling just how much embarassed she was of having her feelings that much obvious for everyone - well, almost everyone.

“... you know the Shinigami Academy’s commandment, Orihime-chan?”

 Yumichika asks her after a few seconds in silence, smiling as he gently picks up the towel to dry his own hands. Grateful that he changed the subject, and curious to see where he was going, she answered, remembering her trainings with Rukia.  

“... don’t seek beauty in battle, don’t seek virtue in death...”

Yumichika nods before she finishes the rest

“Yes… when we graduated, I laughed. I never thought I would not seek beauty in battle; that’s why we joined the 11th Division in the first place”

“…”

“... It’s not about the battle itself, you see” His voice is gentler, melodical, and he hands her the towel back

“… it was about surviving in the Rukongai at first, but then… It was about living. Battle kept us alive, Ikkaku and I. Battle drove us here. Battle brought us together; battle kept us together”

Orihime smiles, admiring the glow in Yumichika’s eyes, and feeling oddly unafraid to speak her mind, nor sounding silly. 

“… the beauty wasn’t in battle at all, right?”

Well…” Yumichika laughs “We do like to fight around here…. But yes, the beauty wasn’t in the battle... at all”

She smiles back at him.

"it took Ikkaku a while, too... well, not to get physical, of course..."

...!!!!

Orihime's face heat up at the unexpected mention of... it

"... that he got right away..."

oh dear...

"... but it took him a long time to get real. Only after Captain made him 3rd seat that I saw the look in his face... and he was ready"

Yumichika finishes his line with a soft smile, and she smiles back, fondly looking back at the éclair -- and inevitably feeling her cheeks burn up again as certain mental images popped into her head.

#bleach #yumichika ayasegawa #ikkaku madarame #orihime inoue #ikkayumi #fic #happy birthday Yumichika #Kubo should have treated you better #this might be inspired by Yumichika the beautiful patissier

[spiderwarden]

He's heard in passing she may not take too well to others wearing Drow armor, but gods does he adore how he looks in it. The enchantments are nothing to scuff at. So of course he strolled in front of her practically flaunting wearing it.

"Don whatever armor you please-" Despite the words, the hollow tone suggests the lack of sentiment behind them. Staring hard at Astarion's wispy little head as he passes, he does not look as pleasing as he thinks he does. Not in the colors of battle anyhow - it did not compliment the wearer. "What I take issue with is the fact that most seem to think that they can take mine own and apply it to themselves."

@apalestar / YOU BETTER NO ASTARION. YOU BETTER NOT.

#[ 🕷️ ] —— inquires #[ 🕷️ ] —— [ crack ] —— it was a beautiful webbing. #apalestar #[ speaking of - if that's MINE i will THROTTLE you!! ]

[neonponders]

When Coal Turns Into Pearls - Harringrove x Hunger Games!au - ch. 2

Ch. 1 | Ch. 3

• • •

Robin Buckley could take a fresh, black manicure down to chips within minutes, and she’d been through several as she waited on the Academy stairs. Steve allowed himself a casual jog once he made it a block away, but it sped up the closer he got until Robin practically caught him on the stairs and used his momentum to get herself hustling into the building. “There you are! Took your time.”

“I’m not late,” Steve defended, but mostly he hoped to will the fact into reality.

“No, you’re not late. You’re only leaving me with these people.”

“It’s your own fault for speaking three languages. Maybe if you flunked a little more, you’d be happier.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re skipping over the moon,” she sassed, elbow firmly hooked with his as if it were freezing or he might fly away. Steve felt grateful for the anchor. Robin stood almost as tall as him, making their strides through the cathedral-like lobby of the school strong and quick.

His mother’s voice echoed in the chambers of his memory. Gothic Revival. How many times it’s been revived, who can say?

Like she’d heard it too, Robin whispered, “How is she?”

“Same,” Steve clipped.

Robin nodded once, understanding, and then said at normal volume, “I’m coming over today.”

“Sure.”

She didn’t mean the penthouse. She meant his workplace. Steve had all but forgotten that he had a shift tonight. The elite of the Capitol were devoting more work hours than ever for the Reaping and Hunger Games, while regular people still had glasses to wash and food to serve. A part of him took it as a light at the end of the tunnel. The work at the old music club was hardly difficult, and the owner had been a close friend of his parents. Steve just hoped the whiplash wouldn’t damage anything in his head; he had to be Steve Harrington every day until the Games were over. Fresh as a rose.

They traversed the stairs and long hallways, more and more people loitering excitedly about as they went. Eventually Robin let go of him so he could do his chivalrous duty and letting her walk in first. When he stopped with his arm open, gesturing for her to go ahead, she scoffed, “Shut up,” which cracked a grin on his face.

Robin wasn’t a mentor, but she was working closely with one of her professors, so she would not be sitting with Steve and the others when the time came. A couple of mentors already sat in the fan of chairs around a raised dais, reading through notes on previous Games. On the wall behind the dais, a massive television screen glowed with the seal of Panem. Occasionally it faded to be replaced with various things:

10th ANNUAL HUNGER GAMES.

Welcome, Gamemakers.

Welcome, mentors.

“Where’s the food?” Steve prioritized, trying to peer around without looking like a bird.

“There’s an itinerary,” Robin said like an apology.

Steve swiveled his head to look at the screen, but the plan for the day did not flash across it. “Okay, and when’s the food?”

“I guess they don’t want us to know. Probably after a lot of talking. They won’t feed us until the guests have their asses kissed.”

They shared a smirk. With the Gamemakers around, students fell one rung lower on the ladder. There was a very slim window of allowance for rudeness today, but even Capitol teenagers wanted a buffet over a lecture.

Too many people stood around the room for their complaints to matter anyhow. The crowded buzz of noise soothed Steve’s nerves. He liked crowds. He had heard that some people reacted to a hoard of people the same way he did to an elevator, but in his mind they were nowhere near the same. Every scent that drifted by told a story, and Steve felt like a kid at his parents’ soirees again; all of his senses absorbing colors, textures, scents and sounds like a sponge. The social rules changed the more people stood together. A person could hide while being completely visible. A person could walk up and talk to anybody. It was a fun paradox, having all shields down while also being fully shrouded. The only thing missing was—

“There we go,” Steve said to nobody, eyes on the beverage table. He hadn’t seen it before because everyone else had the same idea. As he made his way through and the libation enjoyers dispersed, he took in the options. Water with green coins floating in it. Cucumbers. Fresh cucumbers. Green bottles that poured bubbly yellow and pink alcohol. Alcohol! Before eight o’clock! The day was looking up.

He preemptively celebrated, “Oh, baby, that’s what I’m talking about—”

The white fabric of gloved hands interrupted his path to the drinks. An Avox held out a glass of the cucumber water. Steve all but choked and managed an inaudible, “Thanks,” as he accepted the glass.

For a hard second, he stood with the water in his hand, feeling dumb. His brain began to swing wide, trying to find what exactly he’d done wrong and pilfering the corners of his memory for the manners his parents had ingrained in him—

A loud but lazy laugh arrived beside him and Steve looked at the balding head of…of…

“Murray Bauman,” he introduced with a lift of his glass. The size and shape of the glass told him enough, but the clear liquid swirling with Bauman’s movements left a meniscus line on the glass. Steve knew it to be a clear liquor of some kind. He poured plenty of such drinks at the club. “Sorry, kids have to behave while the adults play. I hear the water’s good, though.”

Steve rushed to get his countenance back together and took a sip. He knew of Murray Bauman but had never actually met the guy. His official role was a professor at the school, but nobody really knew what he did outside of that. Every teacher had their sabbaticals and extraneous studies, but no one dared ask what Bauman got up to. Now that Steve had a point blank view of him, he could definitely understand why Nancy kind of hated the man. Bald crown but full beard, he had a reputation for drinking in the middle of class. Whatever he did to fill his time, it gave him enough heft so nobody punished him for being the Academy’s alcoholic.

“You’re wondering if I’ve tasted water in the last ten years.”

Steve blinked. Yep, that’s exactly where his brain had gone. “Sorry, what?”

Bauman laughed again. “Well I’d have to, wouldn’t I? Can’t make this last the morning without diluting it.”

He raised his glass again and gave it an intentional swirl. Then all at once, Steve had those dark eyes behind thick spectacles boring down on him. “You’re familiar. Whose kid are you?”

Steve had his brain back into gear and held his ground. “I’ve never taken your class, sir.”

Bauman rolled his eyes patiently. “I know that. My guess is you take after both of your parents. That’s why I can’t place you. It’d be easier if you were the direct copy of just one person.”

Bauman was definitely an alcoholic. People knew who Steve’s parents are. Even with one dead and the other a recluse, they still only wanted to talk to Steve about his parents. A quiet corner of his brain grumbled, Enough of that.

“I’m Steve Harrington.”

“Steve! ” Bauman sighed with a bizarre amount of recognition, even fondness. Steve didn’t have time to figure that out because without warning, he crooned, “And Miss Wheeler. How apropos.”

That last part didn’t sound like a compliment. It sounded teasing and belittling in the way like Bauman knew something Steve didn’t. Steve knew the feeling; growing up, classmates loved holding things above him because he took a little longer to understand stuff. He gratefully looked to Nancy Wheeler for a clue on how to escape this guy.

“Murray,” she returned curtly, and…that’s all it took. Steve gazed in wonder between them as Murray sipped his drink, silently observing them while Nancy took Steve’s arm to guide him elsewhere.

He also realized that Robin had never left him, and stood with her own glass of water when Nancy found them a space by a wall. He asked her, “Have you taken his class?”

“No, but he came into one of my language classes a lot. I got the impression he’s more comfortable in another language.”

“He’s a nightmare,” Nancy intercepted. “He might actually be productive to society if he stopped drinking.”

Steve had known Nancy long enough to know this was praise and lifted his brows. “He’s smart, huh?”

Nancy sighed, deflating a little but not so much as to relax. Steve felt an old, worn out and unplayable string twang inside of himself. The emotion was fondness. Nancy was too pretty to be this high strung, but she cared so much and he couldn’t fault her that. “He’s a genius. He might actually be the smartest person at the Academy.”

That’s why Steve hadn’t met him before. He sipped his water, willing any thought of his grades away. The things granting him a seat in this room were his father’s last name and his own athletic prowess. But before he could ask what the man actually taught, she pointed out, “Chief Hopper is here.”

Chief…Hopper? Steve followed slowly. He and Robin found the direction she indicated and sure enough, the Head Peacekeeper of the Capitol stood looking like the unhappiest person in the room. Perhaps the whole city. A big man, Jim Hopper ran a palm over his neatly combed hair and followed it with a brush of his mustache. Someone was talking to him but the man’s wandering eyes and random nods indicated he might not be listening.

Robin voiced for all of them, “Why is there a cop here?”

Nancy sighed, “They have to keep everyone bought and paid for.”

“Nance,” Steve warned quietly.

Robin agreed, “He’s halfway dressed for work…but what’s the worst a bunch of Academy kids are gonna do? Shouldn’t he be watching the streets for drunk drivers?”

Steve’s brows stitched a little bit. Halfway dressed for work was a good way of describing how he looked: steel toed boots under Peacekeeper uniform pants. Instead of the uniform jacket, he covered his textile armor with a nice blazer. No gloves, just clean and manicured hands. He looked like a soldier slightly gilded for the swanky breakfast.

If we ever get to breakfast. Steve’s stomach had begun the steady, pinched cramp of hunger. The shrinking feeling that would make finally eating less of a victory because his stomach had shrunken too much to actually eat his fill.

“Maybe they think the Capitol citizens will grow a spine this year,” Nancy said.

Both Steve and Robin shifted restlessly, the former inhaling through his nose in a jaded manner. “You know, you don’t have to remind everyone all the time that you’re from District 3.”

Steve knew he’d messed up before he was even through with the sentence. The way Nancy’s lips parted, before they puckered in steeled resolve. Once upon a time, he’d pinch her chin softly and try to say something soothing and funny to that expression. That time was long gone.

“Yes, I do. Because someone has to remind all of you that you’re not superior. We eat the same food and you bleed red just like me.”

“Nance,” he tried to say, but she strode away. He’d just apologize to her later. Or not. He wasn’t her boyfriend anymore, plus he never seemed capable of reaping the benefits apologizing was supposed to give.

By Capitol standards, the Wheelers were top of the line: money and brains. That had been Nancy and Steve’s issue. He was too Capitol and she too District. She was too rich and he was too poor, though he never revealed that to her. He’d wanted to. Wanted to have help with his mother, someone else to talk to her, someone else to fill the void silence of the empty home.

Nancy’s father had made such a fortune in District 3 that he moved his family to the Capitol, thereby safeguarding his children from being reaped for the Games. Therein lay the issue. Nancy loathed the Hunger Games. Plenty of people did. Nobody in their right minds actually liked the notion of children dying, much less putting them in an arena to kill each other. But Nancy spoke too loudly about these things.

Steve’s eyes involuntarily found one of the Avoxes standing by the wall, eyes watching the goings-on in a manner that some would consider servile. To Steve, the person looked barely awake, lashes hanging too low. Like they were only half alive.

Music ripped him from his reverie, and he met Robin’s gaze. As the instrumental melody of Panem’s anthem played over the room, they understood it was her time to go be a professor’s protégée, and he to be a mentor. Steve felt the tri-colored amber bracelet Robin wore against the back of his hand when she bumped their wrists together. He understood, See you later.

Steve took a seat and kicked his bag under the chair after he unpacked a notebook and pencil that he’d sharpened with a box cutter at home. Dustin got free pencils at school and for all of his extra curricular nerd activities. The box cutter was from work. A lot of boxes of liquor to open.

The room fell into silence as the guests of the Academy took their places. Namely, a man with white and gray hair and a suit to match. He did not have a podium, but he did have a tall, skinny microphone to introduce himself with.

“Good morning. My name is Dr. Martin Brenner. It is my honor to welcome all of you to the Tenth Hunger Games, and more importantly, to our first and very special collaborative effort. The Games may be our way of remembering the past, but this year we are embracing the future. As a former teacher at this very school, I know how invaluable it is to one’s passion and study, the insight and rejuvenation of young minds. We learn from you just as much as you learn from us. And as Head Gamemaker, I am excited to guide the next generation into our traditions and to watch these young birds fly.”

Steve almost clapped with the rest of the room. Nancy’s rigid shoulders sitting diagonally in front of him made him pause to watch how she crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair, defiant. He couldn’t help but wonder why the hell she even agreed to be in the mentor program with this being how she felt about it. Then again, Steve had no real love for the Games either. If anything, it was far more like Nancy to want the gold star on her university applications. Steve needed the tuition money prize for winning.

“Without further ado, I’d like to introduce this year’s mentors. Students, when I say your name, please remain standing. We will follow your lead into the room to my right for more substantial refreshments before we come back here for the Reaping ceremony.”

Food. Steve fixed his posture.

Twenty-four students. Two for each district. Not unlike the tributes themselves, each district would have a boy and a girl mentoring it, but that would not mean that the mentor and tributes’ sexes had to match. And just like the competitors, that did not mean that mentors had to team up. They had the choice to strategize together, or to keep their lips sealed.

There ought to have been twenty-six mentors and tributes, but that was another story. Specifically, the story of District 13. The place got blown sky high right at the start of the war, and with it, the river that fed the Harringtons’ bank accounts. At the start of his and Nancy’s relationship, she had pointed out how his family must have hated the Capitol for making such a decision. A decision that failed. The idea was to scare the country into immediate submission. Cut down a tree before lightning strikes so the whole forest doesn’t burn. As if humanity could control the sky. Instead, the forest did burn. The districts fought back, and fought hard. The Capitol almost lost. In so many ways, the Harringtons truly did.

Steve hadn’t known what to say to Nancy. He’d managed to put together a silly, flirtatious and self-deprecating remark, “Only if you can’t stand to date a loser like me.”

Nancy had smiled like the stars. “You’re an idiot, Steve Harrington.”

“Steve Harrington,” Dr. Brenner announced.

He blinked, jarring awake but rising smoothly to his feet. No one clapped for the students; the simple introduction was meant to be an honor, but fast. They had to fill the time until the two o’clock Reaping, after all, and the best way to keep people docile and happy was to get them to food as quickly as possible.

Still, Steve felt eyes on him. Like following the origins of a sound, he peeked in an intuited direction, which in this case was diagonally to his right. Tucked behind the dais, he felt his lungs freeze in his chest. Chief Jim Hopper stood against the wall with Murray Bauman, both of them looking at him despite another student’s name being called. Hopper’s bright blue eyes were expressive but…Steve didn’t understand them. The ghost of his father and how Steve had a hard time knowing whether Robert Harrington was angry or sad or both passed through his body, inciting him to flick his gaze elsewhere.

But not before he absorbed the closed-lipped smile behind Murray’s beard. Steve didn’t like that one bit.

#harringrove #when coal turns into pearls #hunger games!au #ballad of songbirds and snakes!au #neonponders #tribute!billy #mentor!steve

[sarasa-cat]

Two nights ago I was messing around in procreate on iPad after reblogging a digital painting someone did (I’m on tumblr for phone- plz excuse me not having link and artist name) in which they painted a digital study of a well known john singer sargent painting but redid the woman as isabela (da2)

I finally had a realization WHY digital painting in the style of traditional painters is such a giant ????? whenever I try to do it since i got this fancy iPad 2 yrs ago.

I have so many thousands of brush hours with traditional (lol, analogue ahaahaha) painting that everything looks and feels sorta wrong when trying to do it digitally

I know what I would do if I squeezed out oils on a palette and selected from my collection of physical brushes. I know a few different ways for starting a painting (the underpainting part) and why I would select one way over the other.

And with digital in procreate I’m just confused and somewhat annoyed bc it is a pain in my ass to keep doing a bunch of taps (pen equiv of clicks) to subtly shift hue or temperature or value of my paint color. none of the brushes that come standard do what I would want for a traditional painting circa Sargent’s time.

Don’t get me wrong - I love digital for modern illustration stuff. But mimicking and old painting style baffles me

Yet I know ppl can do it

But I can also see how digital (smearing effects from the algorithm) leaves its fingerprint and I am like — no, do not aesthetically like for me (and you all do you!!! I will be impressed!!! But for me I am cranky bc I know what I want and cannot yet figure it out)

But I do very much love how digital is zero clean up and zero mess.

lol- except for my messy file system

Anyhow, I think I want to learn about digital brush making or at least find nice brush packs that traditional artists have made such that digital works for them as they expect.

Or I just need to embrace a totally different way of thinking when in digital

Anyhow. Baffled but fascinated.

Like- not baffled with how digital brushes and different layering modes work- I get that algorithmically.

Mostly just baffled at how go get an “analogue” aka traditional paint look as a result and the feel of traditional tools while using them digitally.

And, again, purposefully modern/illustrative digital styles are *chef’s kiss* and make far more sense to me as a process. I love layering in different textures to create those looks but still not practiced enough at it to say that I have a procedure I follow.

Yeah, I should prolly pick a small fannish project for me to do and post it here else it is me talking about stuff with no images to explain my issues.

Hmmmm.

[clairethecutepup]

Title: A String's Many Uses... (Ed Edd n' Eddy, "Assassin AU")

"I'm not going to kill you, silly~... You're doing it yourself, 'little dolly.'"

- Sarah, after Goon "A" jeers at the thought of some "prissy ballerina" taking him out, if he doesn't scram.

"Now, now, if you insist on falling to pieces, you should do so properly~."

- Jimmy, after Goon "B" freaks out over Sarah managing to physically manipulate his cohort into forced suicide.

Click "keep reading" for artist's notes...

Did I say C2ndy2C1d's version of Sarah and Jimmy unnerve me? Sorry, I should correct myself: I'm jumping out the most lethal window height, if this version of them ever tried coming within 100 ft of me. Maybe I just "headcanon" this version of them as being more malicious and childishly "playful" than they're actually meant to be in the AU, even when they're assassins that kill people for a living and can't be expected as the most moral beings; but they often did have a crueler/sinister side in the actual EEnE series, and I'd imagine they'd only grow that sense of ruthlessness and cunningness when entering a highly amoral career choice. I doubt the "puppet masters" and professional acupuncturists here wouldn't be too shy about-- and keep your mind out of the gutter here --taking a chance to get all "hands on" and playful with an amusingly fearful shorty, like me. I'd probably be perfectly "dolly-sized," as I could hear Sarah giggling.

Anyhow, the actual file of this thing is about .8 mb over the acceptable size for PNGs, here on Tumblr. Thank goodness for the concept of "Print Screen" and Paint, for "shrinking" the size of a file and not harming the quality, really.

As for the "design-wise" aspects, this was a great opportunity to practice the "shading assistance" feature in Clip Studio Paint: I have to say, it doesn't look too bad, but I wish there was a way to make it appear a bit more smoothly blended. Of course, I had to use red coloring to cover up a yellow spot it made under Sarah's hair, but you should stick to AI art if you expect to let a program do everything for you and do no proper "touch-ups" as needed. I also liked the "gradient" tool, too, 'cause it helped make those neat backgrounds possible! I ensured to have Sarah and Jimmy stand in the center of their "light beams" behind them, while the goons would have the main focus of their lethal injuries be "illuminated" in a similar fashion. I didn't intend for the whiter section to practically "line up," in the two goons' squares, but I'm glad it practically did 'cause it looks nice. I also hope their injuries aren't "gory," but let's be honest: if you can't handle red circles or a spritz of VERY cartoonish-looking blood droplets, I dunno if you should further traverse the internet, lest you end up a mess from the REALLY traumatizing stuff out there...

Also, ever since Puppy Eyes and Doll Eyes (click for comic), I've been adamant about giving Sarah and Jimmy these signature "slasher smiles": Sarah having fiercely glaring eyes and a malicious sneer, while Jimmy has a gleefully sadistic grin and eye filled with ecstatic cruelty. Ohh boy, speaking of that, the (fully-human) Claire is sure in for a ride, when the fan comic series for this AU comes out... Sorry, Claire, but I'd rather YOU be forced to constantly be near them, as part of the "apprentice" program by the organization, than come within 1,000 ft of those two myself. Hey, I said I'd only jump out the window, if the distance was 100 ft, as I'm confident I could find the appropriate one to escape through while they're closing that 900 ft gap.

Anyhow, if you like this piece, thank Demon Slayer for inspiring it, by reminding me of the duo: the "mother" of the spider family could control people with her threads (she even calls them her "dolls"), and the Kizuki that created said family would cut people up with his thread. Interesting fact: C2ndy2C1d's ref. sheet for Sarah and Jimmy only states that thread of theirs is good for cutting bodies than controlling them, it's really fan art and all that portrays them as actual puppet masters-- even if one of C2ndy2C1d's digital art pieces DID depict the duo extending the string from their fingertips, like their hands were actual "crosses" for a puppet's wires to dangle from.

#ed edd n eddy #eene #fan art #assassin #au #alternate universe #digital art #digital drawing #fan work #sarah #jimmy #clip studio art #digital artist

[eldritch-spouse]

Azale first male oc I ever drawn

This is my first time drawing men and man boobs. What chu think? 👉🏼🥺👈🏼

I think he's really neat!

His name sounds good actually, I bet he'll look even better colored (if you do decide to color that is).

I started out only drawing girls too, to be honest. Then I did a complete one eighty because my end goal was always to be able to make my own porn and I usually obsess over male characters more. Yes indeed, I am an ambitious, picky pervert. Anyhow, it's definitely hard moving from one type of anatomy to the other, so don't feel disheartened if your male characters end up looking more feminine than you want them to, it's all really just a matter of practice and reference. Not that I'm one to speak, anatomy is the bane of my existence. Man boobs certainly knotted my brain for a while...

He's quite cute! <3

#05-redacted