#and study the angle of an ink line
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were you his boy? were you his number one boy?
#succession#kendall roy#logan roy#fanart#losing my kenstew privileges from#drawing logan roy after a kenstew episode#but i have feelings about this that needed processing#when you love an absence so sanctified and gigantified#you hold a sheet of paper like a relic#and study the angle of an ink line#was it real#was any of it real#do you feel validated by a ghost ken#i'm sure you do since you've been trying to do that your whole life#my#and now i can finally go watch barry
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linecook!Eddie Munson x server!reader blurb
For @bewilderedbunny, my love. I've been thinking of him and you.
You’re still rubbing the sleep out of the corner of your eyes when you pull into the parking lot that is only illuminated by the light that sits above the large metal back door of the diner. The van is already in its spot. You smile at the sight, relieved that this is not a morning that will require multiple wake up calls to his trailer. The scent of frying bacon hits your nose before your foot is even planted on the linoleum floor. It’s not half as sweet as the sound of his low and quiet voice humming a tune just inside the swinging door of the kitchen. You can see him through the porthole window, hair pulled back into a bun to keep his curls from hanging over the grill, a fresh towel over his left shoulder.
You turn the corner and decide to enter through the dining room, hitting the coffee station on your way. You’re filling the brew basket with coffee grounds while your bag is still hanging on your shoulder. You flip the light switches along the wall and squint under the harsh fluorescents. You turn the corner to the kitchen to hang up your coat and bag. You can feel his eyes. You don’t look at him, you focus on making sure your jacket is hanging just right. You angle your hip in a way that would draw his attention, and feel your skin burn when you realize what you’re doing.
You clear your throat and turn to face the kitchen. Eddie’s smiling at you while he scrapes bacon up with a spatula. He mouths, “good morning” before turning around to grab a pack of hashbrowns from the freezer to cook off next. You take the opportunity to study the ink on the back of his neck. You’ve wondered about the symbol that sits between his shoulder blades and dips under his shirt. Alone in your bed at night, you think about looking at the full piece - for now it’s a mystery.
And then you’re moving through the dining room, pulling down chairs and arranging sugar packers while Eddie moves around the kitchen prepping the line for the upcoming day. You can both do this dance in your respective dreams, hands move on their own until you’re both ready for the day at the same moment. You meet at the coffee station, mugs at the ready. You fill his cup before you pour your own cup, and he hands you your jacket. You both head back through the kitchen and into the early morning darkness.
The sun is only just beginning to peek out from under the trees that line up against the back of the parking lot. In synchronized movements, you both take your seat on the edge of the walkway and put cigarettes to lips. You inhale a drag as does Eddie. You both take a long drink of coffee. It’s a ritual you both have down pat. No words are to be spoken before that first drink of coffee - but now the day can begin. You will sit on that cold and hard concrete while getting your necessary ration of nicotine and caffeine, close enough to Eddie to smell his shampoo. And you’ll get to hear the first words he’s spoken since waking, his voice still hoarse and sleepy. Intimate in an unexplainable way.
“What do you think, hm? French toast or pancakes this morning?”
#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson fluff#linecook!eddie munson
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36 from the NSFW prompts with Nikolai please?! 🥰
I know you requested smut but this wound up tuning into an angst/love confession fic within smut. I hope you enjoy!!!! Requests are open!
Summary: Reader is a lifelong friend of Nikolai, having been with him during Sturmhold. Now that he is crowned to be King, the reality of war is starting to infiltrate your friendship and awaken things you had hoped to keep hidden. No chances left untaken.
Word count: 3.0K
Warnings: 🚫18+ Minors DNE🚫, afab! reader, slight angst, smut, fingering, p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it pls)
not my gif
No matter how many candles filled the map room of the forge, it still wasn’t enough to chase away the darkness of night. It gave a warm and hazy glow to the area, leaving a dull heat in the air.
It was these candles that brought out the angles of Nikolai’s face. It was almost comforting for you to see him hunched over a table, scouring maps and looking over plans. You could almost pretend you were back on the volkvolny, deciding which port to dock on instead of where to attack next. From your hidden spot in the doorway, you could see the stress in his brow and almost feel tension across his shoulders. His hair was messy from fingers running through it, lips slightly chapped as well. You wished you could push away the loose strands from his forehead.
“I know you’re staring.” Nikolai sounded tired, but there was still a hint of jest in his voice. You took a step forward.
“Sorry. Lost in thought.” More papers, which had been forgotten in your hands, found their way in front of the king as you adjusted the mess on the long table.
“So, what’s the consensus?” he asked, straightening his back with a satisfied sigh
A small smile found its way to your lips. “What?”
“Am I still as devilishly handsome now that I’m to be King, or was a daring privateer a better look for me?” He faced you head on, a humorously quizzical look across his face.
Chuckling, you pretended to study his features. You followed the lines of his strong nose and plush lips all the way to his collar bone peaking out of an unbuttoned undershirt. His brow tightened in anticipation of your answer. Honestly, he never looked more beautiful to you than right now; but he couldn’t know that. “Definitely the privateer, I’m afraid.
“Well damn.”
Smiling again, your hands searched for something to do. As if second nature, you began piling up loose papers, and rolling maps back up. Your eyes followed paths across the country side and the borderline unreadable footnotes along the edges. Pausing, you ran your fingers along a dashed line going north. It was done in pencil rather than the professional inking of the map. It was the path Alina and Mal had taken to look for the firebird with Baghra. Worry ran through you as you thought of your friends.
“They’ll be okay.” You hadn’t noticed Nikolai come up beside you. He placed a hand on your shoulder, fingers gripping tightly to the wool of your coat. You could almost feel the warmth of his skin through the thick fabric.
“I know they will be.” you sighed, leaning your head back. “it’s what happens after.”
He hummed in confusion.
“We’ll be going to battle.”
“And when have I known you to be afraid of a fight?” His voice was still teasing, much to jovial for your liking.
“When the fight has stakes like these, Nikolai.” you snapped at him. You turned fast, his hand dropping from your shoulder. “This isn’t some slavers ship or enemy club. This is us, against Grisha; powerful Grisha. The odds are stacked against us here.”
“Don’t you think I know that.” he wasn’t yelling, but his voice was stern, commanding. “You think I don’t know all that we are risking here?”
“I know you know.” You ran your fingers through your hair angrily “It doesn’t change the fact that the possibility of us failing is greater than winning.” You pressed your palms against your brow “I could die” your hands slammed into your chest, then into his “You could die.”
“I won’t let that happen.” his voice was firm with resolve
“You can’t control that.”
He laughed coldly “Have you no faith in me?”
“On the contrary, I have too much faith in you.”
You roughly sat down in an empty chair, hiding your face in your hands. Faith, devotion, pride; these were all things you felt for Nikolai. You would do whatever he asked, you trusted Nikolai with your life.
“I have followed you to the ends of the earth, and I would gladly do it again. You’ve been there through thick and thin, but it doesn't change that fact that I’m still afraid.” You looked up to see he had leaned against the table beside you, eyes on yours. Your voice was quiet, wavering with emotion. “I have too much to lose.”
Nikolai’s voice was heavy and low, as though saying it too loud was a sin.
“We all have something to lose.” His hand found yours, still not looking away from your gaze. A pang of nervous excitement filled you as you stared into his eyes. A small smile couldn't help but find its way to your lips. You could almost get high off of this giddiness Nikolai was making you feel. It was making you bold.
You stood up slowly, still holding onto Nikolai’s hand. The other gently cupped the side of his face. The slight prick of a day’s stubble brushed against your palm as he leaned into your touch.
“If something is to happen to us… and we fall” you whispered, your face growing closer to his “ I want it to be with no regrets.”
It was Nikolai who crossed the final stretch to meet your lips. The kiss was not long and almost timid. Still, his chapped lips felt like heaven against yours as you pulled away. Eyes closed, you pressed your forehead against his, warm breath fanning over your face. You could feel the energy buzzing between you.
“I am yours, Nikolai.”
He groaned, dropping his head to nuzzle into your neck.
“You shouldn’t say that.” His voice was low, spoken against your skin
“I speak nothing but the truth.” Your hand found itself on the back of his head, running through the shorter hair “I am yours, Nikolai. I have been for a while.”
One arm circled your waist. “Your words are dangerous, little minx.”
The next kiss from Nikolai was not so timid. It was deeper, the hand on your cheek almost pulling you closer. His lips met against yours again and again, the taste intoxicating. You gripped onto his hair as he stood. Walking back with long steps, you slammed into the wall as Nikolai pressed himself to you.
There was a crazed atmosphere about the both of you; a boldness. The excitement of this finally happening mixed with your looming situation left only desperation. Any type of suave was gone. You needed him, and you needed him now.
For how frantic Nikolai’s hands were moving, his tongue was gentle as it ran along your lower lip, almost asking for permission. You let him in without a second thought, groaning. The chill of the stone wall was a stark contrast against the heat of his body against your. As you pushed yourself farthing into him, you felt something hard pressed against your thigh. Swiftly, Nikolai untucked your shirt, hands roaming along the newly exposed skin of your waist.
Nikolai’s lips began to move along your jaw in wet, open mouthed kisses. Moaning into your skin, you pushed his head closer to you. Hurried fingers found their way to the buttons of Nickolai’s shirt, messily undoing the first few.
“Wait. Stop.” he was out of breath, hands gently grabbing yours. Still, he continued to press kisses to your skin. “Not here.”
He looked down at you with lust filled eyes, puffy lips shining as he smiled. A bolt of heat went straight to your core.
Leading you by your hands, he quickly blew out any remaining candles. You thanked every saint you could think of for the empty halls as you hurried to Nikolai’s quarter. You both giggled as he fumbled with the door, hands still intertwined. Anticipation buzzed in the air around you.
His room was dark when you entered with only the cool moon for light. Nikolai entered first, leaning into you to pull the door closed behind you. It had the same effect as the candle light, highlighting his already prominent features. You both quickly kicked your shoes off, Nikolai throwing his overcoat to the floor.
“Now, where were we?”
If not for how badly you wanted him, you would have laughed at how insufferable Nikolai sounded. You settled for a smile as your hands went to his jaw. Your kiss was not quite as frantic as before, but just as deep. His hands rested on your waist as you pulled his face closer to yours. Your noses bumped together while you slowly walked him back to the bed. You wasted no time crawling onto his lap once he sat, lips never leaving his. Hands traveled the expanse of your back as you nibbled on his lower lip, pulling deep groans from him. Continuing to unbutton the rest of his shirt, your mouth found its place against his neck, sucking dark marks into the pale flesh. Unable to stop yourself, you ground down into Nikolai’s hips, lightly biting into his skin. Groaning, his hips bucked into yours, sending a delicious tension to your core.
You finished on his buttons, slipping off his suspender and pulling his shirt back.
In all your years together, you had seen Nikolai shirtless before, but there was something different about it this time. You traced the strong lines of his chest, and ran your fingers up his sides, enjoying the shivers that followed your touch. His hands gripped onto the loose shirt bunched around waist, blue eyes boring into yours.
“May I?” you nodded. He pressed a quick kiss to your lips before pulling the shirt over your head. While you were still in your undershirt, the thin fabric did little to hide your form. Lips finding yours, his large hands palmed your chest, nipples pebbling under his touch. You moaned into his mouth, body on fire. Whether it was a bolt of courage, or the need to have Nikolai’s skin on yours, you pulled off the slip.
He moved his hands so they were resting just under your chest, rough fingers rubbing lightly over soft skin. Your breath caught in your throat as you watched him watch you, eyes trailing over your form.
“Beautiful.” he whispered, eyes now on yours once again, “Perfect.”
He began his assault on your neck again, following your collarbone to your breasts. He took one into his mouth, lapping over the bud. You moaned, your body keening forward into his touch. His hands supporting your back, Nikolai’s deep blue eyes kept contact with yours. He released with a pop, instantly moving to the other. As he continued, you ground down onto him, needing to find a release to the pressure building between you legs. One of the hands you had buried in his hair trailed down the waistline of his pants. Experimentally, you cupped the growing bulge, palming him. He instantly stopped what he was doing, burying his face between your breasts.
“Saints, don’t stop.” He all but moaned into your skin, breathing heavily. You didn’t, pushing him down by his shoulders until he lay on his back, you overtop of him.
“Gods, I want you.'' By now his blue eyes were completely blown out by lust, lips still shining. “I want all of you.”
To his protests, you did stop, moving up till you were over his head. You kissed him and he leaned up, chasing your lips when you pulled away.
“As I said before, I’m yours to take”
In a blur, you found your back hitting the soft mattress of the bed, Nikolai over you. His weight was being held up by one hand while the other was down at the button of your pants. He ran over the skin of your stomach, both in a teasing and hesitant manner. He would not go further just yet.
You squirmed at his touch in anticipation “Please, Nikolai.”
“Please what?” his hand was now in your undergarments, but still not where you needed him
“Please” you whined “touch me.”
It felt like fire when he finally touched you, running his fingers along your slit. You both groaned.
“Fuck” he was speaking almost to himself “Saints, you're so wet.”
His fingers ran along your folds, and his thumb found purchase on your clit. You mewled, hips bucking into his hand.
Nikolai huffed in an almost laugh, “Eager, are we?”
He continued in tight, slow circles, drawing more sounds from your open mouth. You moaned at the pleasant stretch of a finger, heels digging into the bed.
“You said you are mine, but that is simply not true.” you looked up at him with blown out eyes, pleasure coursing through your veins.
“What do you…” you stopped, choking on a moan as he added another finger. It was like your nerves were on fire, and his touch was doing nothing to stop the heat.
“You may think you are mine, but you're wrong.” he quickened his pace “I have been yours much longer than you have been mine.”
His words resonated in you, adding more fuel the fire.
Your fingers gripped onto the sheets, as if letting go would mean your death. The tension in your lower belly was now turning into a tight coil. Your pants now sat around your thighs, which were uncontrollably bucking up into his hand. Nikolai leaned forwards and took one of your breasts into his mouth, lewd sucking noises filling the air, along with your moans.
“Please.” you wailed. The coil was now dangerously close to breaking, the tension almost too much “I need to…Please!”
His lips left sloppy kisses against your skin, trailing up to your face.
“Let go, love.” you wailed at his words “Let go for me.”
With one final thrust into his hand, the coil snapped. Your vision darkened, pleasure taking over all of your senses. It was the most intense feeling you had ever observed. It pulsed throughout your body and into your core.
Your legs were shaking. That was the first thing you realized as you came too. The second was the wetness on your thighs. The final was the hand gently brushing over your face. Nikolai was cooing at you, pressing kisses lightly against your cheek.
“You alright, my love?” he spoke in whispers, and you realized how out of breath you were. Instead of answering, you smashed your lips against his is a messy kiss, trying to convey your love for him into one simple action. All tongue and teeth, you finally broke apart to catch a full breath, resting against your forehead against his neck.
“I need you, Nikolai.” you looked up at him “I need all of you.”
The second he stood, you instantly missed his weight over yours. You sat, almost chasing him, but stopped when you saw he was undoing his pants. Shimmering yours the rest of the way down your legs, you laid back and waited.
He was hard, almost painfully so, you would have guessed. Tip red and angry, it almost pulsed with need. A quick flash of guilt crossed you. You wondered how long he was like this while you were in the grasps of pleasure.
Moving back overtop of you, he ran his member through your folds, collecting slick. You moaned at the sensation, your heaving chest meeting Nikolai’s.
You thought nothing could feel better than his fingers, but you were wrong. He created the most delightful stretch as he entered your heat. Nikolai groaned as he bottomed out, eyes screwed shut in pure pleasure, muscles tense in control.
He started with slow, yet deep strokes, hitting a spot that made your toes curl. Hands cradled his face. You shared breaths, his nose pressed into your cheek as his lips danced over yours.
You both whispered words to each other, mostly only half finished thoughts lost in moans. Your legs wrapped around his hips, trying to keep him close as his thrusts began to speed up. The tension began to form again. His head dropped to your neck letting out smaller moans and whines into your skin.
Your hands rested on his back, skin clammy from sweat. His damp hair tickled you, but you didn’t mind as one hand dug into it, pulling slightly. His skin was fiery against yours, and yet you still tried to push as much of yourself against him as possible. One of his hands traveled down to your core, thumb messily rubbing over your clit once more. The small mewls you were making turned into choked wails as the coil tightened almost unbearably.
Nikolai’s strokes were turning sloppy against you, going as deep and as fast as possible, hitting that perfect spot every time. It was a particular strong stroke that sent you over the edge yet again.
You came, calling out his name as you raked your nails down his back. With one final thrust into your spasming core, he finished, groaning into your neck. A new kind of warmth flooded your system. You were spent in the best way possible, body tired and thighs slick. The only sound that filled the air was heavy breathing as Nikolai looked up from your neck. He pulled out slowly and you both groaned at the sensation, but the loss of connection as well. You registered that he left, but came back very shortly, towel in hand.
After cleaning yourselves up, Nikolai pulled you close to his chest, arms wrapped tightly around you. He caressed your face, pushing back hair sticking with sweat.
If you thought he was pretty an hours ago, he was gorgeous now. Messy hair stood in different direction and a nice flush covered his cheeks. Dark love bites littered his upper body, and his lips were almost bruised. You were sure you looked similar.
“I meant what I said” he whispered, smile on his face “I am yours, my darling”
You leaned up and caught his lips. The kiss was tired, both of you energy gone.
“I love you” you grinned into his lips
“And I love you.”
#shadow and bone smut#shadow and bone fanfiction#nikolai lanstov x reader#nikolai lantsov smut#fanfiction#smut#slight angst#fools in love#shadow and bone netflix#shadow and bone#nikolai lanstov#fem reader
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His to Protect
Pairing: Joel Miller x reader (Biker AU)
Word Count: 1,776
Summary: It’s your best friend Jade’s birthday and she wants to go out dancing. Joel might not love the idea of dancing but he loves you so he’ll go and when some rando guy gets handsy he’s there to protect you, just like he always is...even if he gets a little carried away (and slightly possessive)- but it’s all out love!
Author’s Note: I just love the protective/possessive goodness and my lovely friend @pedritosdarling made this beautiful edit that you will see below the cut (surprise hehe) that totally gave me the right vibes. Thank you so much sweets! And thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Dividers by sweet @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 💕
Warnings: lots of fun, flirty fluff, tension, Joel is protective and maybe a little caveman-ish but it’s all because of the love that’s there, he’s also a cheeky litte sh*t :)
The edit below the cut is not mine, @pedritosdarling blessed us with it, thank you love! 🥰🥵
Joel Miller Masterlist
“Son of a bitch, I wish Joel were here already.”
You mutter the words as you make another reach for the zipper of your dress but your fingertips just graze it before it falls out of reach.
“UGH!”
Picking up your phone you start to type him a text to ask for his ETA but you hear a key in your door and stop, dropping the device to the bed.
“Sunshine?” he calls.
You round the corner of the hallway. “I’m right he…”
The moment your eyes meet his you stop dead in your tracks and blatantly sweep your gaze over the length of him.
“Too much?” he asks, fiddling with the open buttons of his shirt. “Should I lose the jacket? I have my leather one in the truck.”
You slowly walk over to him, resting your hand on his shoulder as you sashay around him to get a look from all angles.
“Don’t change,” you reply in a breathy tone.
When you return to face him his lips are quirked up in a smirk.
You wrap your arms around his shoulders, pressing your body along his as you play with the hair at the nape of his neck.
“So I’m presentable?” he asks, his eyes sparkling.
“Mm hmm,” you reply, letting your tongue trace your lips.
He studies you for a brief moment. His hands encircling your waist and then sliding teasingly up your back.
“You’re not even dressed yet,” he simpers, toying with your open zipper then smoothing his hands over your bare skin. “And you look perfect.”
“My zipper is not cooperating,” you answer with a demure lift to your shoulder. “I need some help.”
Your fingers slip inside the open buttons of his shirt and you drag a nail over the dark ink that lines his chest then slide them lower, hitting the first closed button and fiddling with it until it pops open.
“Good thing I’m here then,” he murmurs as his hands move higher, tempting the thin straps of your dress.
One strap falls from your shoulder and he brushes his rough fingertips over your delicate skin, producing a wave of goosebumps in their wake and making you shiver in his arms.
The front of your dress becomes looser exposing the swell of your breasts and just a hint of the lace beneath.
“You’re supposed to be helping me get dressed,” you breathe out.
“Now where’s the fun in that…” he murmurs, his eyes dropping to your newly revealed skin.
His fingers move from your shoulder and lightly graze along your collarbone, tracing the outline before falling lower.
“I know but Joel…”
You feel him hard against your stomach as he pulls you closer. His lips ghost along your jaw until they meet the skin just below your ear. He presses a soft kiss there, his warm breath caressing the shell of your ear as he whispers, “it’s still early…we have plenty of time.”
As you continue to trace his tattoos you can feel his muscles flex beneath your touch and he suddenly captures your wrist, drawing your hand from his skin and kissing your palm.
“Just a taste,” he murmurs, his nose running along your jaw.
Your phone rings, the familiar song echoing loudly in the quiet but heated moment.
“That’s Jade,” you sigh, letting your face fall to his neck.
His grip tightens as you place a trail of kisses along his throat before reluctantly stepping out of his embrace and turning to walk back into your bedroom.
“You coming?” you ask over your shoulder. “I need you to zip me up.”
You giggle instantly as you hear your own words, dirty thoughts running through your mind.
“I was planning to make you come but I guess this phone call is more important,” he mumbles grumpily as he follows you.
You bite your lip and eye him tauntingly from your dresser as you pick up the phone.
After hanging up with Jade and assuring her you’ll be there shortly you step between Joel’s spread legs as he sits on the edge of your bed, leaning your hands on his muscular thighs.
His hands settle on your waist so he can turn you around. He traces the shape of your body as his hands move higher to the zipper of your dress. He takes the small piece of metal between his large and thick fingers, pressing his free hand just above your ass as he starts to drag it upward. He reaches the middle of your back and stops, bringing you closer so he can press his lips to your skin.
The tickle of his beard makes your gasp turn into a giggle and you squirm in his hold.
“Sorry darlin’,” he says softly but continues tracing the curve of your spine with his lips.
He stands slowly, nudging you forward so he can pull the zipper all the way up.
“I can’t believe I just did that,” he grumbles.
You spin to face him again and step back, wearing a playful smile.
His eyes slowly peruse you from head to toe. “Sometimes I wonder why I ever let you out of the house.”
Your mouth falls open and you press a hand to your chest, feigning shock. You start to admonish him but he stands and takes you in his arms, his mouth twitching with a triumphant smile before he kisses the words right off your lips.
“Do you see them?” you ask, searching the bar.
He grabs your hand and pulls you through the crowd to the back corner. Jade spots you and her whole face brightens in a smile. She rushes at you and envelops you in a big hug. You squeeze her right back and greet her boyfriend and your friend Dan.
After ordering some drinks you all fall into easy conversation. Joel is his usual quiet self but you can tell he’s relaxed and every so often he interjects with something witty that makes everyone laugh.
“Are you gonna dance with me?” you ask Joel when there’s a lull in the conversation.
He stares at you and grunts.
You roll your eyes with a huff.
“Was that supposed to be an answer?” you ask.
He raises a challenging brow but remains silent.
“Then Jade and I are going to go dance,” you announce.
Jade downs the rest of her drink and hops up excitedly, grabbing your hand and dragging you out to the dance floor.
You give Joel a twinkly wave before disappearing into the crowd.
The two of you work your way closer to the center of the floor, enjoying the music and moving your bodies to the beat. After a few upbeat songs, a slower more sensual melody starts to play and you feel someone grip your hips.
Before you can turn around the stranger pulls you closer and presses you against his chest. You jerk forward, completely uninterested and appalled at the audacity of whoever is touching you without even asking.
You turn on your heel and stick your finger in the man’s face.
“I don’t want to dance with you and maybe ask first!”
“Aw, come on honey, don’t be like that,” he drawls, a slight slur to his words. “You’ve been moving those hips so pretty.”
“Don’t be like what?” you answer harshly.
Before you can get away you feel a familiar presence and a deep, gravelly voice says simply, “enough.”
“What the fuck, man?” the stranger retorts with venom. “You trying to cockblock me?”
Joel takes a step in the strangers direction, the action causing the man to take a tentative step back.
“That’s my girl,” Joel growls. “Mine. So back the fuck off.”
The guy puffs up. “What, you want to start something?” he asks.
Joel’s eyes narrow and his body tenses but he instantly relaxes when he feels your gentle hand on his, coaxing him to relax the fist he already made.
“Joel…”
He looks at you, his eyes soft as he cups your cheek and kisses the corner of your mouth. He turns back to the guy and gives him a hard look, his expression filled with a dangerous promise that sets the asshole back a few more steps.
Once the guy is out of sight Joel escorts you back to the table, a protective hand at your lower back until you’re safely tucked away.
“Oh my god! Are you ok?” Jade asks as he rushes over, Dan hot on her heels.
“She’s fine,” Joel confirms.
“Of course you are,” Jade grins, her eyes floating from you to Joel and then back to you. “I’m going to get another drink. Want anything?”
You tell Jade your order and watch her and Dan head toward the bar.
Joel sits down, his long legs spread wide at the edge of the bench and pats his thigh.
“A gentleman would offer me his seat,” you tell him with a smirk.
“Sit,” he commands.
You purse your lips.
“Please,” he adds.
You do as he says and perch yourself over his thigh, squeezing your legs together when you feel the thick muscle flex under you.
“Happy now?” you ask when he leans in close and kisses your neck.
“I’d be happier with you over my knee,” he whisper against your skin. “But…”
“But we’re out in public and you’re acting like a cave man,” you finish.
“I still wanna knock the shitheads teeth out,” he grumbles as he moves his lips to your shoulder, carefully moving the strap of your dress out of the way so he can continue his trail of kisses.
“I’m pretty sure he knows I’m off limits,” you say as you turn your face to look at him.
“You’re mine.”
“You made that very clear,” you state.
His eyes widen slightly before he hangs his head with a sigh.
“I’m sorry darlin’,” he says quietly. “I didn’t mean to get all…it’s just…”
You tuck your fingers under his chin, lifting his gaze then brushing your thumb across his lips.
“It’s just what?” you whisper.
“I know you can handle yourself. You’re perfectly capable.”
You nod, your smile growing.
“I just want to protect you.”
“I know,” you coo, peppering his face with kisses. “And you do. Always.”
“But” he simpers, his mouth lifting into a wicked grin as he takes your chin between his fingers.
“Another but,” you tease, but the lightness of the moment quickly transforms into one of anticipation and need when you see the look in his eyes.
“But I want to bend you over this table, fill you up, mark you inside and out so everyone knows you’re mine, darlin’.”
@sstan-hoe @beccablogsthings @justkinsey @hiddles-rose @laineyreads @blackwidownat2814 @lorilane33 @littleseasiren
#joel miller x reader#joel miller#joel miller x you#biker!joel miller#joel miller x y/n#joel miller fanfiction#biker!joel miller x reader#joel miller x female reader#possessive!joel miller#protective!joel miller#joel miller imagine#biker au#joel miller au#pedro pascal#pedro pascal x reader
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based on this sinful gif set of joe keery ౨ৎ
making out with older!businessman!steve in his study, straddling his lap as he sits atop his herman miller chair, the mahogany door to the cozy room is locked shut. his facial hair is slightly grown out, longer than usual. dusting across the mature angles of his jaw and upper lip like flecks of bronze and gold, illuminated by the amber light of the emerald desk lamp. you giggle softly as the coarse hairs tickle you when he nuzzles the angled bridge of his sun-kissed nose against the perfume scented crook of your neck, large hands splayed behind your back as he pushes you closer to him. the gritty scent of tobacco and aged whisky envelopes you as he sighs hungrily, intoxicated, before his pearly teeth sink into the silky skin of your racing pulse point. he had been imaging the delicious jump of your heartbeat between his canines all throughout the charity gala he had hosted earlier that night- before he came home to you. all throughout his speeches, various introductions, countless firm hand shakes, one too many toasting’s of champagne. a soprano gasp tears through your bared throat, manicured fingers running up the rogue buttons of his patterned dress shirt, before meeting the smattering of curly chest hair from where it peaks out between his wide open collar, decorated with a gold chain that glints with every breath he takes. steve’s raspy grunt echoes between you two as your acrylic nails rake between the long, glossy strands of his chestnut / silver hair, scratching his scalp idly before playfully tugging on the thick roots at the nape of his neck. his large, calloused hands reach below your pleated skirt, squeezing the petal soft skin of your behind that escapes from the lacy panties you were gifted last week, relishing in your responsive squirm. steve had bought them for you while he was away on business, along with another twenty pieces just like it. baby pink and handmade in italy. you moan melodically, and steve swears it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard. beating the endless symphonies he’s had to sit through in his fourty-five years around the sun by a landslide. his muscled forearms are on display, sleeves rolled up below wrinkled elbows. the bracelet he had gifted you for your most recent birthday, a delicate 14k gold piece encrusted with your birthstone, meets the genuine leather strap of his classic cartier watch as he lifts your hand in his, placing a firm kiss to the pulse of your wrist. a searing gentleness. a trembling moan escapes your strawberry chapstick coated lips as one of his long pointer fingers outlines the expensive panty hem that showcases the delightful curve of your bum, tracing the line all the way down to where it hugs just outside of your trembling mound. his slightly chapped lips pull up into a wicked smirk, before they smother your sweet sounds in a bruising kiss. the elder man unconsciously rolls his starchy dress pant covered crotch against your ever slicking heat, almond toned eyes practically rolling back into his skull at the delicious friction. your tongues meet. the tangy taste of lavender honey that emits from your mouth prompts him to sigh longingly, his wedding ring cold against your cheek as his left hand cups your angelic face. you languidly pull away from his dominating lips, a trail of saliva connecting you two as steve moans breathily at the sultry sight, attempting to torturously roll his hips up into yours once more. your plush pout forms a perfect ‘o’ shape much to his carnal longing, letting the soft wetness of your tongue brush the underside of his ring finger, before you enclose your mouth around the thick digit skillfully. you watch with glazed doe eyes as the almond ring of steve’s iris’s disappear within the blown ink of his pupils at your sinful actions. with a sharp ‘pop’ the gold band comes loose, sliding up his finger with the tight force of your warm little mouth, dizzying him with desire as you carelessly drop the offending piece of jewellery atop the imported carpet below you two. forgotten for now. you were only the babysitter after all… :)
#steve harrington#steve harrington x you#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington smut#steve harrington x reader smut#steve harrington fluff#steve harrington x reader fluff#steve harrington x innocent!reader#steve harrington headcanon#steve harrington blurb#older!steve#older!steve harrington#old money!steve#stranger things fanfic#stranger things fanfiction#joe keery#pixie’s works * ੈ✩‧₊˚
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hi! :) i love your writing!! Could i request an Astarion fic based on the Mahmoud Darwish Quote “they asked ‘do you love her to death’ / i said ‘speak of her over my grave and watch how she brings me back to life.’”?
it's our last chance ( we'll get it right )
pairing: astarion/tav
wordcount: 2,902
content warnings: canonical discussions of death, spoilers for astarion's act iii romance, spiritual interlude to this fic, references to cann.ibalism as a metaphor for love, an exploration of how s.ex can be healing, the faintest hints of a mortal!tav but that's up to the reader, what if s.ex cures vampirism ?
other tags: canon compliant, character study, introspection, codependency, religious imagery & symbolism, p.orn with plot
archiveofourown: here.
tag list: @azrielshadows1nger, @pandimoostuff, @faevi, @microskies, @foreverthemaraudersera, @queenofthespacesquids, @claryvoyantfray, @6doodlaang14, @anne-isnotokay, @itshimbotime, @yeeteth-the-raven, @sessils,@8-opossums, @worryknotdear, @abirdaboxandachippedcup, @ghosts-and-ink, @b4um3pfl4um3, @gunslingerorchid, @hypopxia, @m0ssytrees, @erysione, @odette-attackattack, @catching-fire-in-the-wind, @ashrio20, @wills-mental-illness, @queenofcarrotflowers-s, @kirahlene
be added to the taglist here
summary: ‘Gale asked me tonight if I loved you,’ Astarion tells you. ‘He asked if I loved you purely. I’ve never loved anything purely in my life, but I knew what he meant. He asked, ‘Will you love them to death?’ That’s why I brought you here tonight.’
This is a night reminiscent of the day he died.
The sun has faded out over the horizon. The streets are bloodied once more, and hundreds of shadows have transformed into the shape of a bat.
Astarion’s grave is very old and covered with moss. You watch as he kneels in front of it and brushes his fingers across his name in reverence. You join him and cross your fingers together in prayer. You don’t know what you’re praying for but you mumble the words under your breath. It isn’t until you start digging that you begin to understand why you’re really here. You dig and dig and find relics of a life you never knew — dead flowers and childhood toys, tears that you cry. A mother and father’s love.
Astarion looks so much younger now that Cazador no longer hangs over his very being. The tension around his eyes has lessened, and even though he’s feeling something you can’t imagine, he wears the smallest smile as you uncover the gifts left behind by his family. Proof that Astarion lived, proof that Astarion existed. You dig until your fingers reach nothing and then you turn to him. He means to plant a seed and watch it grow.
He hands you seeds from a flower you can’t remember the name of. You pour them into the depths of this grave and fill it back up with dirt. You drop handfuls and wait for it to rain. You turn your chin up to the sky and wait for the storm clouds to release rapture.
‘I love you,’ Astarion says suddenly.
He looks at you like a man learning to see for the first time. The softness of his features only intensifies the longer he looks at you. Astarion is always made up of hard angles and harsh lines but tonight, he looks upon you with an earnestness you haven’t seen for him in quite some time. You’re caught off-guard when he caresses your cheek.
If Baldur’s Gate were to weather a storm tonight, Astarion would be the warmth from the cold of the rainstorm. You close your eyes at his touch and lean your cheek into it, nuzzling his palm. Astarion decides that it isn’t enough. He’s selfish, manipulative, roguish and cruel, but when he leans forward and kisses you with his plump mouth, you forget about all those things. It’s healing. You open your lips for him.
‘I love this,’ he murmurs, snaking a hand down to the small of your back. ‘And I want it all.’
The storm breaks overhead, but Astarion covers your body with his and you forget that you hate the sound of thunder. He kisses the very soul of you, and you can’t help but lean into his touch. There’s something about the way he nips at your skin that infinitely thrills you. How could a man so determined to be dangerous, so keen on becoming the most powerful man in the world melt at the sound of your voice? Had Astarion always been this weak for you, or was this a new transgression in his never ending quest to crush his desires?
Astarion kisses you.
He is the only thing that quenches your thirst.
He knows that.
When you first fell from the illithid ship, you had felt a hunger unlike any other swell up in your gut. It was freedom you had never experienced, and somehow, you came out on top. What happened after that was only like the romances you had read about. When a beast hunter falls in love with their bounty, when a mortal loves their immortal despite the difference, when an angry vampire becomes softer and softer the more he learns about kinder touch. You’re a romantic, after all.
You think that you should talk about it. You want to ask Astarion if he’s sure. But of course he’s sure, he’s never been surer of anything. Asking him now would be a disservice, you think. He’s worked so hard to come this far. You don’t ask. You kiss Astarion back like you’ve never kissed anyone before.
His mouth is yearning. Astarion pines for you like a prince pines for a sweetheart — and his mouth and his tongue and his teeth are so overwhelming that you can’t help but cling to his shoulders, using him as a lifeline.
He turns his cheek against yours and sighs wistfully against your skin. Slowly, carefully, Astarion presses his fingers between your legs curiously. He does it just to hear you gasp. You meet his eyes, and your cheeks burn so hotly you think you might be dizzy. Astarion consumes your soul. He presses you down in the flowers you planted above his grave. Clover, daisies, and asters grow around, twirling in your hair as Astarion collapses into your arms. You hold him as he shakes.
‘I was dead before I met you,’ Astarion whispers in the crook of your neck. ‘I was a ghost.’
‘You’re alive now,’ you promise. He cradles your soul in his hands. ‘You’re alive now and you’re the sun, and I love you.’
Maybe it’s not that you aren’t sure Astarion is ready. You’re nervous about the setting. It’s not that it’s inappropriate or dire, but that anyone could see at any time and you were a selfish creature. For so long, it has always been you and Astarion and everyone else. Now, Astarion presses into the space between your hips and mouths at your chest. He tastes your skin and your nipples, and you shiver at the touch. He eats your heart. You’re grateful.
‘I’m not convinced,’ Astarion says roughly. ‘Should I die, where will I go?’
‘You will go where I go,’ you say as he sinks into your flesh. ‘You are half my soul. I’ll beg the gods. We can never be one without the other.’
‘And if they deny you?’
‘I’ve already killed gods,’ you say. ‘What are a few more if they deny me my love?’
Astarion lets out a satisfied hum, content with the fruit you have given him. He ripens you with his fingers and you turn your head. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and allow him to caress your sides, closing your eyes as he touches the more ticklish parts of your body. He nibbles at your collarbones
You say, ‘This isn’t your grave.’
Astarion’s mouth ghosts over your skin, and finally, he sinks his cock into you until you’re gasping for air. It pushes and fills and causes lights to dance in the corner of your eyes. You touch the little hairs at the nape of his neck to distract yourself.
‘You’re right,’ Astarion says softly.
‘A place of rebirth.’
‘A place of happiness, my love,’ he says. ‘Now when I see it — ’
‘More,’ you whisper.
You feel a rush of tenderness sweeping through your veins. You are drawn to it like a moth to light, and you chase Astarion as he flees from you, sliding your hips back against his so that he’s never gone for too long. You waited patiently for Astarion. Every touch, every kiss is a feeling so rare that you can’t help but savor it. You admire the vulnerability he shows you, and when he leans back to lift your hips higher for a better angle, you moan softly and cry.
Astarion’s fingers burn holes into your skin. He leaves a wildfire against your skin. It leaves you wanting more. But you’re always going to want more, aren’t you? Even a lifetime of Astarion is not enough. You seek the warmth in his gaze.
You aren’t sure how long you’ll last. The time between your trysts and the sheer passion causes you to be needy. He likes it that way too. Likes the way that you’ll always seek him out first. The first in your heart. The first in your soul. You wish you could pour yours out of your body to give it to him. He’s half your soul regardless of what he might say. You never understood the concept of an immortal soul until now. You pull Astarion back to you and kiss him, teeth to teeth.
But it’s not enough.
You don’t think it will ever be enough. You dig your nails into his spine and hold onto him. You cry weakly. It feels too good and like it’s too much at the same time. You part your legs wider and drag him further, hypnotized by the feel of his thighs beneath yours. Astarion shows an enthusiasm you haven’t seen in a while, and you’re reminded of how much you’ve craved him. The knife at your throat, the scowl on his face, the night at the party… Astarion is all-consuming. You never thought it would happen.
At first, you thought Astarion was primed to ignore you forever. You were kind and good and sweet, and now you knew that was everything Astarion was looking for. He tastes your kindness and goodness and sweetness and becomes drunk on the taste of your shared fate.
Astarion bites you on the shoulder but for once, it isn’t to draw blood and feed upon what makes you who you are. It’s a lover’s bite. An inquisitive nibble. That part of sharing is what this is about. He meant it when he said you were more than blood, more than a fling. You always thought about it…
Astarion proving his love to you now was welcomed. You summon a new life for him here during this pale evening. A life where he will not know hurt. A life where he will not be betrayed by those he trusted. Astarion was in your hands now, a crow on your wrist. He sings you a pretty song against your neck. He’s vocal now, content with moaning and mewling as he takes his pleasure in the warmth of your body. You wish you could bottle up his pretty song and take it with you forever.
You press your mouth to the sharp curve of Astarion’s ear, sneaking a kiss against the pointy tip. ‘Come closer to me, my love,’ you whisper. ‘No one must know.’
‘Everyone must know,’ Astarion disagrees softly.
‘Even the birds?’ you ask. ‘Even the trees?’
Astarion smiles. You can feel it. ‘The entire world must.’
‘Are we in love?’ you ask him softly, looking upon him fondly.
‘We are,’ he says, laughing.
You are in love like you have never been in love before. Astarion is a romantic and he cherishes this new world with you. He’s intoxicated by the freedom of your scent. And it’s not as though it’s any different for you. You wrap your legs tightly around his hips and keep him there, and when his arms shake and tremble, you accept his weight.
You kiss his throat and he raises his chin so you can kiss it more. You’ll pretend that it doesn’t entice you. You want to sink your teeth in like he has, to share with him that quiet exaltation. Astarion gives it to you more and more, and finally, you can no longer tame that part of you set to rupture. Your pleasure causes your vision to burn almost.
There is a world where you and Astarion have never met. A world where the mindflayers never devised a plan and you were still searching for enlightenment. The thought of it scares you so you cling to him and you climb into his sternum, holding onto his skin while the world is remade in your image. A world without Astarion is not a world worth living. You know that to be true. That’s why you’re here now.
Astarion follows suit in quick, frantic strokes. He loses himself in the quake of your core and digs his fingers into the dirt next to your head for stability. You watch as pleasure overtakes him and he wavers, choking on a ragged moan. You press unfocused kisses against his shoulders and sink beneath the earth.
It’s a good thing Astarion finds his confidence in the taste of your bones. He eats from you an essence that would make him strong. When he sits up, eyes soft around the edges and mouth swollen from your love, you can see the change in him. Have his shoulders always been that wide? Has his back always been that straight? Has the majesticness of his attitude always been so grandiose?
Astarion holds out his fingers and you kiss the tips of them. You give him a blessing and watch as his skin begins to glow. Cazador had unmade a proud man. You have rehabilitated a broken man. But Astarion is not defined by his brokenness, not authenticated by his terrors and trauma, but by the whims he has shown you tonight.
When Astarion pulls you from the bed you made in the grass, you can see a dim light filtering through the overhead tree. A familiar sight, like the first time. You pull his jacket over your head to avoid any more mess and become acutely aware that Astarion is watching you breathe. He listens with that frightening vampiric hearing as your lungs exhale. He smiles as your heartbeat settles.
You distract yourself as he enjoys his orgasm by making him a crown of flowers. You twist them expertly like you once did in your youth, and when Astarion turns his head, you give him a kingdom. The fresh green of the leaves accentuates the paleness of his hair.
You know what you’ve done even if the world does not. It was an objectively stupid thing to do, Astarion said so himself. Life is a challenge, and you were not a quitter. If anything, you knew that you deserved it. A ghost called your name and you answered, unfrightened by the specter’s cold touch. Slowly, you replaced that frigid air with your own heat until there was nothing but fog in the aftermath.
‘Sometimes,’ Astarion begins when he’s ready, ‘I still have these cruel thoughts. This fear still consumes me but… It’s so unlike before I hardly recognize it.’
‘You’re not his first son anymore,’ you say.
Astarion smiles and slides the crown from his head. He twirls it between his fingers. ‘Not — Not that fear, no. Something else.’
‘What else could frighten you?’
‘Everything,’ Astarion confesses. ‘I listen to your heart when you sleep for any change. I check your face every day for any extra wrinkles.’
You laugh. ‘I’m still young,’ you insist. ‘We have time, Astarion. I am with you every moonrise.’
‘The worst thing about loving you is that I will never stop,’ Astarion says, staring at his headstone. ‘I don’t want you to die in a world where I could still love you.’
You think you’re going to be sick. You don’t mean to cry, but you do. You burrow your face in your hands and weep so hard Astarion wraps his jacket around you and kisses your head, shushing you until you’ve let it all out. It’s…not how you wanted to end the evening.
‘You didn’t let me finish, my love,’ he murmurs against your forehead.
‘Then go on,’ you say miserably.
‘I will never stop loving you,’ Astarion says again. ‘For a thousand more years and one.’
You twist the knuckle on your middle finger anxiously. You don’t know what to say. You don’t know what to feel.
‘Gale asked me tonight if I loved you,’ he tells you. ‘He asked if I loved you purely. I’ve never loved anything purely in my life, but I knew what he meant. He asked, ‘Will you love them to death?’ That’s why I brought you here tonight.’
You look at him suspiciously, and his ardor steals your breath away. His jacket slips from your shoulders. You watch as he fixes the carvings in his headstone and adds to them in a sprawling language you’re almost too exhausted to read. Eventually, you find your voice again. You lean your cheek against his shoulder, and if your eyelashes are wet against his skin, he says nothing about it.
‘Tonight,’ Astarion says, ‘and on top of my grave, you have brought me back to life. That is a debt that cannot be repaid.’
You turn to him and this time it is your turn. You take Astarion’s jaw in your hands and lift his mouth to yours, kissing him so sweetly you’re almost certain that he swoons from the touch. It’s like kissing him for the first time, a kiss that sweeps over and over, until the ocean of night sweeps over you and you melt into his sinew.
‘You love me?’ you ask him just to hear him say it again.
‘I love you,’ Astarion says.
Love is not always in the eyes of the goddess. Love is buried somewhere most will never find it. It is healing, it is sweeping, it is gratifying. It is watching your lover’s hair turn grey strand by strand every morning. It is chasing the sun before it falls beneath the stars every evening.
You think you get it now.
Astarion rests his cheek against your palm, and for the first night since he was turned into a vampire, he slumbers in your touch. He dreams of a future where you are both mortal and laughing.
‘I love you too,’ you confess, and Astarion smiles in his sleep.
#astarion#astarion ancunin#astarion bg3#astarion x tav#astarion x reader#astarion x you#astarion x oc#from ，carcosa .#anonymous#my fic#AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH#THIS PROMPT LIVED IN MY MIND RENT FREE SINCE I GOT IT#& after a long time trying to decide how to redeem it#i finally figured it out !!!#i hope u enjoy it nonny
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Sympin’ Ain’t Easy
⋆.ೃ࿔*:･pairing: richarlison x singer!reader
⋆.ೃ࿔*:･synposis: they say getting your girlfriend’s name tattooed on you is a bad omen. richarlison thinks not.
⋆.ೃ࿔*:･cw: brief mention of blood? tattoos.
⋆.ೃ࿔*:･authors notes: i love his nose. i used google translate.
The rhythmic beat that pulsed from the loudspeakers overhead cooled Richarlison.
He lay on his stomach, his chin pressed against the head of the massage table. His jaw sat clenched, a line appearing between his brows as they drew together. His lips set into a hard line, and his nostrils flared as he took a sharp breath.
His back throbbed and pulsated. A pricking sensation shot down his spine as a thin needle pierced against his flesh.
In perfect calligraphy, her name stood bold and tall against his brown skin. The letters that formed her, entangled with each other and blended flawlessly.
A concoction of blood and ink stained his skin before a gloved hand wiped it away.
Bopping his head to the beat pounding from the overhead speakers, Richarlison lay stiffly. The only body part that moved, apart from his head, was his thumb as it smoothed across the screen of his phone.
Occasionally he would pass a smile to the artist attending his back or throw out a quick remark to a friend before returning his attention to his phone.
A couple of hours had passed with Richarlison now upright and sore, his two legs straddling either side of the massage table. He hunched over slightly as the tattoo artist wiped over his fresh piece, flinching at the pinching sensation that flickered across his skin.
Relieved and fatigued, Richarlison kept a careful gaze on his back through the reflection of a mirror. He smiled tiredly and craned his head, skimming his eyes across each letter now permanently marked across his skin.
“(name)…” He breathed softly. He could practically hear her yelling at the top of her lungs, scolding him for being so careless.
She took pride in the art marked across his skin, her gentle fingertips often finding themselves across his figure tracing his artwork, caressing them with such care and attention it lulled him to slumber.
She respected, and appreciated the choices he made to colour his body— encouraged him mostly. However, she forbade the idea of brandishing.
“It’s a bad omen.” She would often say. “It’ll destroy our relationship.”
Richarlison didn’t believe that to be true, it was her fear talkin’.
Her fear— that one day they’d break apart and he’d be left scorned and scarred with the remnants of their relationship permanently blemished on his skin.
She loved him and he loved her; their love was a perfect brew of his bold passion and her unconditional tenderness.
Studying the tattoo closely, Richarlison affirmed to himself. I’ll prove her wrong.
Turning away from the mirror, Richarlison paddd through his contacts on his phone and pressed her name, ringing her through FaceTime.
His phone vibrated and sang for a while before (name) picked up. She held her phone on her lap, her camera angled upwards at her chin.
She was seated on what seemed to look like a parlour chair, her upper half hidden beneath a robe whilst her makeup artist lightly dabbed blush onto her ample cheeks. Her eyes were shut, her shoulders tense as the hair stylist behind her fiddled with her hair.
“Meu amor!” Lifting her phone from her lap, (name) held it up to her line of sight, muttering a “yeah”. Slowly, she opened her eyes and steadied her gaze onto her phone.
Richarlison stood up tall, his arms tucked by his sides— his phone held by a friend. “Look! You see!”
“Agh!” With wide eyes and a slack jaw, (name) gaped. She traced her eyes over her boyfriend’s back and shrieked, which garnered the interest of her glam team who fixed their attention towards her phone. “What did you do?!”
richarlison
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richarlison eu vou te amar para sempre
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username673 this is crazy
username7833 never thought id see the day
username0913 richarlisons a simp now????
username5701 imagine they breakup
username8642 girl hes never leaving her
username1095 what she do to have him doing all that??? teach me sis!!
username3087 exactly! i need a rule book now!
username119 noo!!!!! she’s brainwashing my man!!!
#richarlison x reader#richarlison x black!reader#richarlison imagine#black!reader#football imagine#football x reader#football fanfic#football fanfiction#social media au
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the language of flowers — part two, irises
warnings: more angst than part one which is great, also reader throwing stuff bc she’s a badass, and in character Anthony which is honestly more of a red flag than ooc Anthony but you love him anyway you nasty :)
word count: 1.4k (wow I impress myself sometimes)
author’s note: we love this part bc reader stands up for herself and Anthony is one major daddy issues boy.
read the other parts! — part one, daises | part three, peonies
i don’t consent for my work to be reposted or copied, translated, or transferred to any other platform, or this one, in part or whole.
--------- . . . ---------
ii. 1804, iridaceae versicolor. irises, trust
Anthony paced the length of this study—which wasn’t all too large, but stress relieving nonetheless. His mind was a whirlwind of emotions, a tempestuous mix of newfound worry and lingering doubts. Today marked one year, one year without his father, one year his mother was cast into a depressive state, one year since he had taken on the mantle of viscount, and become the father figure that his youngest siblings did not have.
It had been far too long since he had last spoken to you—days? Weeks? He had never gone so long without even seeing your face, and that was a stretch. He’d spent his last few months mourning, brooding, and perhaps being a tad overbearing on himself, but he had to, for the sake of his family’s honour, it’s prestige.
There’s a sharp knock on his door, it’s most likely Colin or Daphne, who are frequent in irritating him. He makes no effort to open the door, and with a practiced gesture, he dips his quill into the inkwell, resuming his task of poring over the estate's financial matters. How often had his father sat here, absorbed in these very same calculations? A pang of longing pierces through him at the thought, his heart echoing the emptiness his father's absence had left behind.
Another knock.
It must be Colin, his eyes sparkling, attempting to irritate him once again. “I’ve got a job,” he snaps, “and I suggest you get one as well, one that does not involve vexing me at every given minute.”
The door creaks open, candlelight flickering over the stacks of leather bound tomes and haphazardly organized scrolls, casting lanky shadows over his face, playing upon the strong angles, highlighting the lines of exhaustion that marred his usually composed countenance. His normally impeccable attire was slightly disheveled, as if he had been running his hands through his hair in frustration, and his ink-stained fingers spoke of long hours spent in diligent work. He wasn’t in a position to meet anyone, much less usher yet another one of his young siblings out of his room.
“Oh, I vex you? Is that why you've been evading me like the plague?” Your presence was like a sudden burst of sunlight piercing through the storm clouds—startling, yet warmly welcomed. The quill slipped from his fingers as his eyes widened in surprise, locking onto your face, a vision that brought back a flood of memories and feelings he had attempted to suppress.
Your stormy eyes burned through his deep brown ones, and you crossed your hands across your chest. Your soft hair was tucked behind your ear, and your eyes were wide, as if staring directly into Anthony’s soul, and for just a moment, he allowed himself to become lost, to dream, and to gaze into them as if he was merely a boy again, holding you in his arms.
“Say something, Anthony! I’ve not seen you in weeks, properly, and you’ve barely held a conversation with anyone other than your butler, and frankly, I—”
Anthony quickly wrapped you in a hug, burying his face in your shoulder, your cotton dress soft to the touch. He mumbles. “I missed you.” He can feel you stiffen, but soon gently relax into his arms.
“That is why I came,” you smile, and pull away, holding him at an arm’s distance. “Oh, and my brother is getting married. I wanted to invite you personally to the wedding.” Your oldest brother, twenty eight years of age, was getting married, Anthony recalled. He was, of course, to be the next Duke when your father inevitably passed.
Anthony rubbed his eyes. “My sisters will come, of course, but I may not be able to.” Your invitation was tempting, and the prospect of seeing you again filled Anthony with a mix of excitement and trepidation. He hadn't realized just how much he had missed you until this moment, when you walked in the door. But his responsibilities as the viscount weighed heavily on his shoulders, and he feared that leaving the estate at this crucial time might jeopardize his mother’s already precarious emotional situation.
"I wish I could attend, truly," Anthony replied with a hint of regret in his voice. "But with the estate's financial matters in such disarray, I can't afford to be away for long. I must attend to my duties here."
You frowned slightly, concern glazed across your soft, delicate features. "Anthony, you can't carry the burden of the entire estate on your own. There must be someone who can assist you, even for a short time."
"I've considered that," Anthony admitted, his mind aching from the internal struggle. "But finding someone trustworthy, capable, and knowledgeable enough to handle the estate's affairs is not an easy task. I fear leaving things in someone else's hands might cause more harm than good.”
You crossed your arms, frustration evident in your expression. "Anthony, you can't keep shutting yourself off from the world. Your family's honor and prestige won't matter if you run yourself into the ground!"
He takes a step back, feeling defensive under your stern gaze. "I am taking care of things. I'm doing what I need to do to ensure the estate's survival, which is all that matters to me, at this point in time."
"Are you?" you snap, your voice tinged with disappointment that Anthony could see etched in your face. "You've barely spoken to anyone, including me, for weeks. You're burying yourself in work, and for what? To prove some sort of point? That you’re fit to be the man of the house?"
"I don't have a choice," Anthony replied tersely. "As the viscount, it's my duty to oversee everything. And after losing my father, I can't afford to let anything else slip through my fingers."
"You can't live in the past, Anthony," you urged, taking a step closer to him. "Your father's gone, and while it's natural to mourn, you can't let grief consume you. Of course, you have responsibility—"
His jaw clenched, and he shot back, "Responsibility? What would you know of responsibility? You don't understand the weight of responsibility on my shoulders. I can't just leave everything behind and go gallivanting off to weddings, like an immature child."
Pain flashed across your face, but Anthony was much too in his head to take a look at his surroundings. He continued, as if possessed by some spirit. “You’ve never had to work a day in your life. You’re spoiled, and the only thing your family has ever thought of doing for you is getting you married.” He spit. “So why don’t you worry about your responsibilities, and I’ll worry about mine.”
A single tear fell from your eye, and in that moment, Anthony wished he could take it all back, swallow the poison he had thrown at you so mercilessly. “I…” you bite your lip, and he wanted to take you in his arms, comfort you, and hold you.
“I’m sorry,” you choke out. “I’m sorry for whatever sin I’ve done to have you treat me like this.” You quickly wipe your tears and rush to the door. Anthony wanted to stop you, to scream about how he didn’t mean any of the words he said.
You quickly turn around, revealing a bouquet of irises, the specific ones Anthony had commented on the last time he visited your estate. He could barely remember when. “By the way, I bought you flowers. I thought they’d cheer you up,” you retort, before throwing the delicately tied bunch of flowers straight to his head, hitting his nose.
The door slammed, and Anthony was once again left alone, only this time, he’d have done anything to bring you back. Slowly, the petals of the irises cascaded down onto the ground, fracturing the flowers, and Anthony noticed a small piece of paper.
The Guide for Flora for Debutantes: In the quaint world of botany, the charming iris blooms have long been regarded as symbolic emissaries of trust and faithfulness. Like an ancient scroll unraveling before our very eyes, the iris, with its alluring hues and delicate petals, unravels the story of steadfast devotion and allegiance. Just as an honest man's handshake vouches for his sincerity, the iris bestows its trust upon those who approach with an open heart and gentle touch, and a receiving of this gentle bloom from either gender discloses that the gifter trusts you with their whole heart. Its regal demeanor, reminiscent of a gallant knight in armor, instills in us the assurance that this flower is a beacon of loyalty and constancy.
Trust. You had trusted him, and what had he done with that? He’d tossed it away, and your gift had broken. Anthony wasn’t usually one for symbolism, but these broken irises were pretty damn apparent.
#anthony bridgerton x reader#Anthony Bridgerton#bridgerton#bridgerton netflix#Bridgerton x reader#bridgerton x female reader#Bridgerton x you#Anthony Bridgerton x you#anthony Bridgerton x y/n#anthony Bridgerton x female!reader
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Classic Comic Villains: The Unnatural Selector
Pinup scan from TyrannoMax #21, Cocytus Comics, 1977
Born in a lost corner of the cosmos, the cosmic demigod known as the Unnatural Selector has but one driving concern: life and its propagation. For millions of years he has wandered the cosmos, transplanting populations and terraforming worlds to seed life in new corners of space and in his time-accelerated Genesis Engines, where he can study evolution in all its forms.
Part of this study is the "Tournament of Life," a cruel experiment where champions of a given world face a series of deadly trials and battles against disasters and the Selector's prized monstrosities. The biospheres of those that fail are scoured in a mass extinction event.
The Unnatural Selector was a regular foe of TyrannoMax, and showed up in several Cocytus Comics titles including Johannes Factotum: Professor of Practically Everything, True Life Tales of Science Fiction, and Barton's Mix-Ups!
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A little sneak peek of a panel from an upcoming multi-page TyrannoMax comic I'm working on, reworked into a pinup. Bonus points if you can guess what the Selector is an anthro of (its not an animal, exactly.)
The Selector is a heavy edit, the main components of which are here.
As with most of my Tyrannomax stuff, the images are first composited, then reverted back to B&W lines, edited and inked, before being recolored from scratch.
I accidentally saved over the unedited background image, and Dall-E 3 is bad at archival.
I probably won't be going into this kind of detail on my process for the full pages, because this here is just one panel.
The Selector is a character concept I've had for awhile, this is just the first time I solidified a visual concept. A mysterious space god with a taste for trials and tournaments is a classic comic villain archetype, after all, and the evolution-obsessed villain fits nicely with dinosaur characters.
Might do a whole Coctyus Character Catalogue entry for him if the druthers hit me.
Prompts:
A cobra standing on a chunk of rock floating in in the cosmic void, it is reared up, threatening, facing toward the viewer, comic panel by jack kirby and john byrne, 1977, angled view
a cosmic nebula in the vague shape of a DNA double helix, comic inks by jack kirby, 1968, trippy, in the style of syd mead
A robed creature stands, one hand outstretched, palm up, toward the camera, he has a lion's head with a mane made of green flames, wearing cosmic-tech gauntlets, imposing, mysterious, foreboding, standing on a rock floating in the starry void, wide stance, standing tall, comic panel by jack kirby and wally wood, 1968, in the style of 1960s marvel comics, eerie cosmic coloration, wide angle, full body. The mood is dramatic.
#tyrannomax#retro comics#unreality#the unnatural selector#ai assisted art#ai edit#dall-e 3#fauxstalgia#Cocytus comics
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A Magnificent Bastard
Summary: Agnes (the Dark Urge) draws Astarion, but he doesn't actually know what he looks like.
Pairing: Astarion x fem!durge (named)
Word count: 1K
Tags: fluff
While writing this I was listening to: High by Stephen Sanchez
Find me on Ao3 here
Agnes sat near the campfire, pen and paper in hand. Arron, the druid merchant in the grove, had sold her a journal and some ink that day. The half elf had next to no memories before the nautiloid, but she had an itch to draw. She wanted to know if she was any good. Now she needed to decide what to draw. Agnes surveyed camp, eyes landing on Karlach who was rough-housing with Scratch. She doodled them to warm up, surprised that it actually came out decently. She looked around camp, trying to find someone else to sketch. Gale was peeling potatoes near his tent, Laezel sharpened her sword on her grinding stone, and Shadowheart knelt by her tent in prayer. Agnes trailed her eyes over to Astarion, who was standing at his tent, rifling through a book. She observed him, his white curls sitting perfectly as always. With the light of the fire glinting off of his pale skin, she couldn’t help but notice how beautiful he was. His face was perfectly chiseled. He had subtle smile lines and forehead wrinkles, his eyes a beautiful deep red. Agnes turned her body slightly to face him without being too obvious, and began to sketch.
It felt almost as though her hand was moving independently from her body as she sketched his face. She paid extra detail in capturing every curve and angle of his jaw and nose, taking her time to draw his curls just right. Agnes became lost in her art as she continued to sketch the vampire spawn, drawing him from different angles, trying out different styles. She didn’t notice Karlach and Wyll silently watching her, enraptured in her art. Gale and Shadowheart abandoned their activities as well, coming over to watch Agnes draw their pale companion. The hairs on the back of the half elf’s neck stood on end, she could feel eyes on her. Agnes spun around to see her companions peering over her shoulder at her art. She instinctively covered the drawing, suddenly feeling embarrassed.
“Don’t be embarrassed, soldier, you’re a pro!” Karlach cheered, clapping her hands together. Wyll and Gale nodded in agreement. Agnes blushed, holding the journal to her chest. “Thanks,” she mumbled, looking over towards Astarion who had set his book down to see why everyone had gathered around the other rogue. She averted her gaze as he walked over toward her. “What’s this then?” he asked, looking at everyone. Agnes’ other companions swiftly departed the campfire, leaving her alone with the vampire. “What was that all about?” he asked, sitting down next to her at the fire. “Oh, it’s nothing,” she lied, tucking the journal to the side. Astarion zeroed in on the journal in her hands. He smiled, holding out his hand expectantly. Agnes scoffed, turning away from him. Astarion quickly weaseled the journal out of her hand, turning it to the first page, on which he found the doodles of Scratch and Karlach. He chuckled, “Cute,” flipping the page.
On the second page Astarion saw a sketch of a man that he did not recognize. The man was quite attractive, he had full, gorgeous curls that sat perfectly atop his head and piercing eyes. She had drawn him from many angles, taking extra care to detail the smile lines on his face. “Aw, does someone have a crush?” Astarion tuts, shooting a sly smile at Agnes. Agnes' face turned red as she tried to snatch the journal away from him. “Ah ah, I’m not done,” he scolded, swiftly rising to his feet to keep the journal away from Agnes. “When would you have had time to meet someone like this? Surely, I would remember him,” Astarion asked, genuinely curious. Agnes had no recollection of her past, so it probably wasn’t an ex-lover, and he would’ve remembered if they met someone like this on their journey. As Agnes watched Astarion studying the drawings, realizing that Astarion didn’t know what he looked like. He didn’t realize that the drawing was one of him. She smiled to herself, looking over at him. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” she smirked, leaning back. Astarion continued to look over the sketch, trying to place the man in the drawings.
She must really like this person, he thought, inspecting the care and detail that went into the drawing. He hated that it made him a little jealous. He enjoyed their flirtatious banter, even if it was just a means to an end. He needed to keep on her good side by any means possible, they had traveled together for long enough for him to know she was not one to be messed with. Behind him, Astarion could hear Gale and Wyll snickering as they looked in his direction. Astarion turned to look at them, narrowing his gaze. Turning back towards Agnes he noticed that she had her head buried in her hands in embarrassment. Astarion looked at the drawing once more, analyzing every detail. He noticed that the man had two dots drawn on his neck. Bite marks. His eyes widened as he continued to look at the sketch, beginning to recognize his own features. She had drawn him. Astarion slowly sat down on a log next to the fire, a death grip on the journal. He had not seen himself in 200 years. He had forgotten what he looked like.
Agnes watched the realization flood Astarion’s face, as he finally concluded that the sketch was of him. Embarrassment filled Agnes, as she buried her head in her hands again. After a moment, she looked up to see Astarion sitting with the journal gripped in his hands. He was studying every inch of the paper, a small smile crossing his face. She watched him for a moment, as he looked at himself. “I really am a magnificent bastard, aren’t I,” he finally said, looking up at Agnes. She let out a chuckle, nodding in agreement. “You can have it,” she smiled. Astarion looked up at her, his eyes rounder than normal. “Thank you,” he said quietly, running his fingers along the page.
#astarion x oc#astarion x durge#astarion x dark urge#astarion x the dark urge#bg3 astarion#astarion bg3#astarion fluff#soft astarion#astarion#tav x astarion#baldurs gate astarion#the dark urge posting#the dark urge oc#the dark urge x astarion#the dark urge bg3#durge bg3#bg3 durge#durge#bg3 fanfiction#bg3 fluff#bg3 fanfic#bg3 fic
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Saltwater
Rated: M
Genre: Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Slow Burn
Summary:
"'Oil and water'...and what? She's the oil?" Ekko laughed. "Bullshit. She's salt. Stir her up and she'll melt right into you."
[Immediately following the end of Arcane Ep 9. As the cities descend into war, Caitlyn and Vi seek refuge, grappling with the aftermath.]
Words: 86,966 || Chapters: 15/? || Kudos: 2,094 || Hits: 66,144
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Midnight Oil
Rated: G
Genre: Romance, Fluff, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Summary:
"Read to me?"
She was tentative. Quiet. Eyes downcast. She pressed into sore places on her wrist.
Caitlyn studied her.
"...read to you?"
A nod.
Caitlyn let silence ask for an explanation.
Vi lifted a shoulder.
"Bad day. Can't focus. And…your voice, you know?"
—"Keeps me here."
That's how it started.
Words: 1,671 || Chapters: 1/1 || Kudos: 571 || Hits: 6,425
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Pen and Ink
Rated: T
Genre: Romance, Fluff
Summary:
Vi is on the broad windowsill, tucked behind her knees, sketchpad open against her legs. The breeze from outside is easy, the light is soft and just right. Its angle cuts across the floor and hits Cait like it should—like she's the reason the sun rose that morning.
Vi's hand tightens around charcoal again. It starts to move.
Words: 1,219 || Chapters: 1/1 || Kudos: 236 || Hits: 2,679
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Meno Mosso
Rated: T
Genre: Romance, Fluff
Summary:
"So," she began.
"So," Vi echoed, eyes already seeking purchase elsewhere.
Caitlyn stepped into her line of sight.
"May I have this dance?"
Words: 2,992 || Chapters: 1/1 || Kudos: 328 || Hits: 4,685
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Sunkissed
Rated: G
Genre: Romance, Fluff
Summary:
"I was just wondering how many you had."
Vi blinks open her other eye.
"How many of what?"
Caitlyn's finger brushes with purpose against a point high on her cheekbone.
"Freckles."
Words: 808 || Chapters: 1/1 || Kudos: 425 || Hits: 3,739
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Diffuse
Rated: M
Genre: Romance
Summary:
Anticipation always wrecked her.
Words: 390 || Chapters: 1/1 || Kudos: 181 || Hits: 3,594
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Bow and Arrow
Rated: M
Genre: Romance, Fluff
Summary:
It's a pleasure to see her this way, like a bow unstrung.
Still curved and strong, but without all the strain.
Words: 950 || Chapters: 1/1 || Kudos: 152 || Hits: 1,705
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One Slow Turn
Rated: E
Genre: Romance
Summary:
"...I've got news for you."
"Oh yeah? What's that?"
Caitlyn kissed her.
"It only gets better from here."
Words: 2,244 || Chapters: 2/2 || Kudos: 447 || Hits: 8,133
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Ebb and Flow
Rated: E
Genre: Romance
Summary:
"You're thirsty as hell, y'know that?"
Cait doffed the pillow, beaming.
"Are you complaining?"
Vi sniffed. "Uh. No. Absolutely not."
Words: 3,078 || Chapters: 2/2 || Kudos: 207 || Hits: 3,415
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Simple Things
Rated: T+ [Rating subject to change]
Genre: Romance
Summary:
Caitlyn broached the subject one night in late winter.
"For as long as you can stand it, let me spoil you."
"Simple Things" is a "Saltwater" compliant anthology.
Over time, this fic will evolve into a small compendium of "Saltwater" compliant one-shots, vignettes, and drabbles-short-and-long. Some may start as Twitter threads, others will be pulled from my stack of WIPs. All will fit with this anthology's main theme of Intentional Love. Particularly, Caitlyn's intentional acts of love towards Vi (as the opening scene suggests).
Words: 2,397 || Chapters: 2/2 || Kudos: 202 || Hits: 1,405
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Note: all statistics are current as of Feb 9, 2023.
Before reading any fanfiction on AO3, be sure to carefully review all tags, warnings, and supplements the author provides. I personally am extremely careful in my tagging to ensure a safe reading experience, and I do not tag idly. If you see a warning, please take it seriously and check in with yourself before proceeding. This is especially important in my main multi-chapter fic, Saltwater.
#arcane#arcane fanart#arcane fanfic#piltoversfinest#violyn#caitvi#caitlyn kiramman#vi#fanfic#ao3 fanfic#SaltwaterAO3
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Miguel O'Hara: What's his deal
Ok so ever since the theatre realease of Across the Spiderverse back on May 31st (yes in France we get our new releases on Wednesday, this is why the early videos on YT had French subtitles btw in case you were wondering), I have been deep in it. Like. DEEP. The main offender for that being Miguel O'Hara, who immediately started living rent free in my head and he is clearly not leaving any time soon. Anyway, this is completely out of topic for my blog but I do what I want so let me rant about the aforementioned Depressed and Overworked DILF because we love men with problems in this house.
WATCH OUT FOR THE SPOILERS (and unhinged ramblings that totally sidetrack).
Ever since the release of ATSV, a lot of videos have been available on YT to dissect everything, and of course I have been having an intense focus on character analysis, because that movie is absolutely brilliant at establishing character arcs and presenting new Spiderverse characters in one of the most efficient, thrilling and engaging way I've ever had the pleasure to witness. We've been blessed with Gwen's heartwrenching character arc (and she deserves none of the hate she's been receiving, but don't get me started on that), Hobie more like Homie in the span of 5 minutes on screen... And Miguel, who blesses us with his ego, anger issues and massive trauma while also dropping bits of a gentler side - but only bits of it. And I have been extremely normal about Miguel, since he absolutely doesn't tick all of the boxes of the Tickle My Fancy list.
I have been ranting about him in many YT comment sections for more than 2 months now (hi Purple Kisseokjin and Schnee lol), but with the digital release of the movie, I finally remembered I have a Tumblr blog where I can yell about Miguel all I want, so here we are now. Now where do I start...
First Part: Miguel's character design
I've overall been highly impressed by the various art styles given to the Spiderverse cast, and how it reflects who they are and where they come from. Miguel in particular hits many soft spots for me for a good reason: his association with architecture and industrial designs, which are topics I'm interested in (especially architecture). As such, I will begin this study by analysing both the character and environmental designs for Miguel and Nueva York, and how the depiction of Nueva York 2099 reflects the state of the narration as well as how Miles and Miguel feel and think - following the same logic as what we get to see with the use of watercolours on Earth-65B, during Gwen's sequences, to express emotional states. A mandatory tangent will be made in regard to Miguel's themes as well, because they fall in line with my arguments for the character and background designs.
There are some main points to take into account when it comes to anything related to Miguel's design: straight lines everywhere, light rough sketch lines, gouache tones. Where do we find these elements? In architecture design. Older ones made in a traditional way usually have gouache for the colours (although ink and watercolour are also present), and the light sketch lines and straight lines are present to study the perspective, as shown in the example below:
Feels familiar? Well, will you look at that:
One of the reasons why I am giggling everytime he appears on screen is because of these delightful sketch lines. Looook, it has the same style as architecture concept art! Even better, from the mouth of one of the character designers, Kris Anka: NO CURVES!
Even his face has sharp angles (he truly has the most powerful cheekbone game), look at the sketch lines:
And you know what else has a lot of straight lines and sharp angles? Nueva York.
Look at this. Look at this. It's even in the title card when Miles arrives at the Spider Society.
Allow me to make a slight detour to explain what we are looking at while looking at the architecture of Nueva York 2099. What we are seeing here is a blend of brutalism and eco-brutalism. Brutalism is characterised by its materials, steel and concrete, as well as its intent: in a post-WW2 world, architecture is seen with more pragmatism and values function first. Eco-brutalism is a branch deriving from Brutalism, and aiming to reintegrate nature in the concrete jungle in order to create an harmony - albeit a fully man-made one.
The concept artists took (eco-)brutalism and ran away with it for a massive Solarpunk vibe, which makes the whole setting very interesting considering that in the comics, Nueva York is also very much a futuristic dystopia. Yet, using (eco-)brutalism to have us experience the place for the first time along with Miles is a great way to give a sense of awe by way of what we envision as the future to be now:
The interesting bit about it is how (eco-)brutalism and the adjacent solarpunk aesthetic are associated with a rather hopeful future, one where humanity manages to harmonise its modern way of life with a new development of nature. It feels like a haven mixing the relaxing greens of nature with the sharp lines of brutalism architecture, and that's how Nueva York feels on first sight. Similarly, Miguel O'Hara's first appearance leaves quite the memorable impression: tall, with broad shoulders and everything about him being sharp (it's even exagerated in the comics part), even his web.
(Fun fact time: ball pens have initially been designed for architecture and industrial drawings, they are fantastic tools to draw neat lines and create a nice variety of shading as well based on how you push on the pen and how you hatch/cross-hatch to modulate the intensity of the shading. You know who and what could be drawn solely with a couple of ball pens? Check the answer below.)
He also shines at the Guggenheim by showing how competent he is, with a certain benevolence on top of it: he initially rejects Jessica Drew's suggestion of adding Gwen to the lineup (yes Miguel, you don't want her because she's buddy buddy with Miles), yet saves her from being shot by her own father and ends up getting her on board as she finds herself with nowhere to go. It certainly leaves a similarly good first impression as the bright and harmonious first sight we get of Nueva York.
However, the environmental and character designs both give us a deeper look into Nueva York and Miguel, and it's certainly not as pristine as it seems. Just as Miles is about to discover the truth of the Spider Society, he enters a darker lab and Hobie keeps warning him, until they reach the area where Miguel is pretty much playing Big Brother by watching them through some of his screens:
I'd argue that the darker space is a callback to the comics, in which Miguel becomes sensitive to light after his genetic mutation, But it is the very opposite of what we've been shown when introduced to the Spider Society: soft whites and greens are traded for deep blues and the stark orange of multiple screens as well as the tone on Miguel's own costume - the bright orange light of the screens is even reflected on him. This is not a pleasant place, and everytime we see it (the Go Home Machine area has a similar style, albeit more organic in the creepiest way, as displayed above on the 4th screenshot), we witness Miguel having outbursts of anger as well. There is also something that feels disconnected from humanity in the sense that it's colder and more methodical in the design, either with all the sharp angles and stark contrasts, or the alien design of the Go Home Machine.
It's an impression that can also be found once we discover the underbelly of Nueva York, while Miles is being chased:
Here, we also have dark tones with stark neon lights that create the impression of a colder, less caring place, that points to the dystopic nature of the place. The impression is created with great efficiency not only by intense contrasts, but also by using the classic codes for a dystopic society: the solarpunk tones can be found in other stories such as the video game Mirror's Edge (classic case of solarpunk hiding a dystopia), and of course the darker cyberpunk aspects are a staple of the Dystopic Futuristic Society, that goes as far back as the first Bladerunner movie at least, and that can also be found in movies, series and games such as the Ghost in the Shell movies/series and the Cyberpunk TTRPG/video game (which pretty much gave its name to the genre) - I'd even argue we could go further back in time for the references with classics such as Aldous Huxley's Brave New World. It matches with the atmosphere of the Spiderman 2099 as well, which is set exactly in that type of darker, cyberpunk dystopia.
I argue that there's something coldly methodical in Miguel's design and, by extension, Nueva York 2099's design as well. And it is delightfully balanced through an initial positive introduction of both, before being broken down for a darker turn later on during the movie, as it matches Miles' own amazement-turned-disappointment throughout the sequences in Nueva York when his initial desire to belong somewhere is brutally turned on its head by the very persons who could have given him that sense of belonging he was seeking.
Interestingly, even the soundscape for Miguel, "Spiderman 2099" and "Lab 2099", expresses the underlying coldness of Nueva York 2099 and Miguel's own scientific, methodical approach to problems. As explained by Youtuber Azcona in his Miguel O'Hara Suite playlist:
"I'd argue that it has the same tonal resonance that the Prowler theme in the first movie had, though is less villainous and dreadful as that theme. Miguel's theme is a five note synth line that sounds akin to an alarm or siren. It's blaringly loud, but is also used for more calm dialogue scenes in an effective way. The words that come to mind when describing the musical soundscape of Miguel O'Hara is "methodical", because no matter how loud or abrasive his theme gets it has an underlying feeling of coldness and efficiency. This is further shown through a repetitive synth ostinato that plods and chugs during a lot of his scenes/scenes involving the multiverse at large. It's reminiscent of Blade Runner in tone and it's mechanical nature, and I think it suits someone as jaded and distant as Miguel. Not only is his theme alarming and efficient, but also efficient in it's cold, electronic soundscape and melodies."
And this very methodical, cold tone is itself used during the infamous Train Chase and Miguel's on-screen mental breakdown... But more on that in the next part!
#across the spiderverse#atsv#miguel o'hara#atsv miguel#atsv spoilers#character analysis#spiderman 2099#not twisted wonderland#THE HOLD MIGUEL HAS ON ME IS SO REAL#He truly lives rent free in my head since May 31st#we love Depressed and Overworked DILFs in this house#and now you have to deal with my latest insane ramblings#I hadn't gone that far since Hell's Paradise lmao that was 4 years ago#but man does it feel GOOD#i live and breath for character analysis AND I get a bonus on architecture this time too
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Amber's Art Resource Compilation (The Return!)
Once upon a time, I used to regularly share link collections of helpful art resources here that I would stumble across on my various feeds and timelines, both to keep track of them for myself for later reference, and to share them with others who also might find these resources useful or interesting. And considering how many websites most folks are spread across nowadays? It seems like as good a time as any for me to start doing this again! Feel free to share and reblog to whoever you think will benefit!
(I would recommend that if there's any links that you find particularly helpful, perhaps save the image or video to your computer for safekeeping. I have no idea how long Twitter links will work because of obvious site shenanigans, even with Nitter as a workaround...)
TIPS, TRICKS, AND TECHNIQUES
Drawing easy straight lines in CSP with line variance! (I use this one all the time now):
https://nitter.net/PharanBrush/status/1573559518830940160
Every layer blending mode explained in detail!
https://nitter.net/DanHollick/status/1583080119068807168
A digital inking tip for unsure artists: use a blurred sketch!
https://nitter.net/quasimaddi/status/1585011119277555712
Tips for drawing motion blur by hand:
https://nitter.net/stardustjarr/status/1553140493462241280
Divide layer trick for removing unwanted colours for a picture! (Works great for cleaning up scans)
https://nitter.net/DaveRapoza/status/1513918096922226694
Quick perspective tip: think in several layers of depth!
https:/nitter.net/toni_infante/status/1530209210558042114
A trick for handling 1-point perspective in backgrounds:
https://nitter.net/djamilaknopf/status/1478738291386204160
And another interesting perspective insight from someone else in the same thread:
https://nitter.net/Masa_Ikku/status/1478747970233585667
Easy architectural facades for buildings: paint it flat, skew, and expand!
https://nitter.net/DevinElleKurtz/status/1481791432490815489
Sinix Design: Anatomy Quick Tips. A playlist of videos focusing on how to break down and draw specific parts of body anatomy. (A favorite resource of mine!)
https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLflflDShjUKH4EfZyf0vuKEuqeqvlV0Qd
EDITED TO ADD: Thank you to Honeybees for a wonderful link to some additional book resources!
https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1vEv0qEQKeGuWI4MPUcX8adWtNuGtTgSB
This folder contains:
"Anatomy for Sculptors", "Anatomy of Facial Expression", and "Form of the Head and Neck" by Uldis Zarins. An invaluable set of resources for understanding the 3D volumes of the human body from all angles! Goes into detail about skeletal structure and musculature, with photos and 3D models to help break down structures.
Volume 1 through 6 of "Hamm Tips", an amazing PDF archive of knowledge from the late Jon Hamm's art advice Twitter. Covering a wide variety of topics from inking to composition to visual narrative, there's a little bit of everything to learn here! (These PDFs are also still available to purchase on https://jessehamm.gumroad.com/ Proceeds go towards supporting Hamm's wife.)
The Morpho Series by Michel Lauricella: "Clothing Folds and Creases", "Fat and Skin Folds", "Hands and Feet", "Simplified Forms Anatomy for Artists", and "Skeleton and Bone Reference Points". A collection of detailed drawn figures and studies covering a variety of essential topics. Especially helpful if you find it easier to learn from seeing drawings rather than photos or 3D models!
DOWNLOADABLE TOOLS AND ASSETS
Baydews shares their favorite CSP brushes:
https://nitter.net/baydews/status/1607413330444169219?t=wH2Ijop-0llRr_HUF-0PTA&s=19
Master list of CSP brushes and assets!
https://cspmasterlist.carrd.co/
CSP Perspective Box asset:
https://nitter.net/PharanBrush/status/1687876570764238848?t=82DGi0khF8qtZTrndemHhg&s=19
Extensive 3D prop resource (Models can be imported into CSP and more!)
https://thebasemesh.com/
REFERENCE MATERIAL
Line of Action, a figure drawing resource tool! Most folks probably know this one, but it's still worth pointing out as a favorite for gesture drawing practice of many kinds:
https://line-of-action.com/practice-tools/figure-drawing/
AdorkaStock, another great resource for pose photos:
https://www.adorkastock.com/sketch/
A reference search resource for finding photos of human heads from specific angles:
http://referenceangle.com/
A similar resource to above, but for animal heads from specific angles:
https://x6ud.github.io/#/
And another, for finding photos of poses with limbs in specific positions:
https://x6ud.github.io/pose-search/#/
Japanese terms for certain eye shapes, with photo examples:
https://nitter.net/authorkurikuri/status/1597780432526925824?t=45tt1w6XFisqf53wLpW4TQ&s=19
Need pose inspiration for a mermaid? Try photos of skaters!
https://nitter.net/BelgharbiHouda/status/1521578742203752453
Actual mermaid poses, in 3D model form, with multiple turnaround angles:
https://nitter.net/kingcholera/status/1466065821835403271?t=QOTTQ_NaM4lC67hjaIWHKw&s=19
KingCholera's Patreon is a great resource for free 3D model poses! (Select "public" in the Tier dropdown at the top of their Patreon post feed to get a list of currently available free resources):
https://www.patreon.com/kingcholera
Another example from KingCholera's public ref collection: shoe refs (turnarounds)
https://www.patreon.com/posts/480-shoe-pt-2-70970957?utm_medium=social&utm_source=twitter&utm_campaign=postshare_creator
PAID RESOURCES
Eco-friendly bubblewrap substitute (helpful if you sell merch):
https://www.ecoenclose.com/shop/greenwrap/
Plushie sewing templates and tutorials from an awesome plushie artist, NazFX:
https://nazegoreng.gumroad.com/
MISC RESOURCES
Font help: good title and body typeface pairings:
https://nitter.net/Unenthuser/status/1539391099919224837
Font: SS Pretzel comic-friendly font:
https://nitter.net/salinsley/status/1445752040123092998?t=JqHW97mq0Zsie84vddCkPg&s=19
Rarebit: a Neocities webcomic website template:
https://nitter.net/spellsquad/status/1537116379706298368
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🐻 FIND THE WORD🐉
thank you kindly for tagging me, @liv-is! my words were: hum, don't, star, and strong. i couldn't find hum in my kalsar & runa draft, so unfortunately, i will have to omit it.
tagging: @theskeletonprior, @bebewrites, @writinglittlebeasts, @authoralexharvey, @andromedaexists, and @afoolandathief! your words are myth, scale, grasp, and vicious. but if you see this and have some great passages to share that include those words, feel free to hop in!!
DON'T - Kalsar's POV
“Unless you have a knife hidden inside of you, I can’t carve it out. You’ll have to wait until they find you.”
“I don’t know which of you rogues started those whispers, but I assure you, it’s not customary to sheath our weapons beneath our skin. Just a tiresome rumour that has little merit,” Fourteen said.
“Sounds like if it were true, you might have a way out of here,” Kalsar said.
Fourteen’s eyes glanced away and focused upward long enough to compel Kalsar to do the same. Above, he saw icicles pointed into smooth, dangling spears, undisturbed by the warm sun, not a lick of water threatening to drip down. They were angled directly above Fourteen’s ice tomb, a final image burdened into the memory of those freezing. More magic, he knew then. Constructed as a permanent fixture for the freezing damned to obsess over.
STRONG - Kalsar's POV
For several minutes, Kalsar grappled with the mostly prone wraife, while his other hand maneuvered through flesh and bone, refusing to forfeit until he could feel the pulse of its heartbeat beneath his fingertips. While having no exposure to cadavers before, Kalsar knew enough from whispers and tomes that human hearts weren’t black. This one was.
He studied it only seconds long, not wanting to prolong his cell mate’s suffering unnecessarily. How a heart could beat so strongly in a body comprised of loosely-threaded limbs impressed him all the more. The blood spurted like ink as he clipped away the tissue holding it in place.
Fourteen ceased at once as the heart left its chest.
STAR - Runa's POV
After lunch, Runa found the guardsmen waiting for her at the entrance of the dining hall. The men huddled under thick layers of wool and fur, their gloves thick and lined with ember leaves to encourage warmth into their finger tips. Unlike the rest of them, Runa wore only a bright blue dress, hand-stitched by her mother and emboldened with the family crest: a dazzling, gold star in the maw of a sapphire-scaled dragon. She wore her pink hair in a single braid down the straight of her back, slightly loosened by the stems of flowers she had threaded through earlier that morning. The frost didn’t seize her like everyone else, but she ached for plants to bloom along her window sill again. These flowers would disperse before supper time, their life only as long as a conjuring spell.
#i am surprised that this was the only don't in my entire manuscript so far#kalsar:writing#writeblr#tag games#find the word
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'' you kissed me first. '' '' i definitely didn't. '' and '' can we do it again? '' with dabihawks
It’s a Tattoo Artist/Flower Shop AU! No quirks! No bad stuff! Woohoo!
Also I never got to include this detail in the writing but imagine Hawks’ wings are a large back piece thank you
🌻🌻🌻
Dabi glanced at the clock as he pinned a ribbon on one of the last boutonnières for this weekend’s wedding. The clock was right over the door and said it was 10 minutes until closing.
And of course the door opened. “Hey, we’re about to close—“ Dabi began, but paused upon seeing a familiar face walk in.
“Heyo. My shop just closed up and I wanted to see how your newest piece was healing up.”
Dabi’s most recent tattoo artist walked in through the door. The blonde one who licked his lips while he concentrated on line work. The hot one who laughed at his dry jokes. A pleasant surprise in some aspects, sure— especially him remembering where Dabi works— but he couldn’t have come while Dabi was actually willing to talk to customers? “You could’ve just DMed me, you know,” Dabi remarked as he adjusted the angle of the boutonnière’s rosebud.
“That feels so impersonal, dontcha think?” Of course he had some sort of quippy reply.
“You’re lucky I don’t have any customers right now—“
“Who’s to say I’m not also a customer?”
“Really?” Dabi played along, “You got someone to get flowers for?”
The tattoo artist made his way toward Dabi, resting his arms on the counter, “Can’t a guy get some flowers for himself?”
“I guess—“
“Seriously, man, I’ll at least patronize the shop so I’m not loitering,” he smirked, “But I do wanna see the piece.”
Dabi sighed, put the flowers down, and rolled up the sleeve of his sweatshirt so it went above his elbow, “You into looking at peeling skin or something?” Dabi teased.
The guy’s hot. He’s hot as shit. This is a weird request but god damn is the guy hot, so Dabi will at least humor him. His left arm’s tattoos were revealed, including the black work rhododendron under his elbow that was just done a few days ago.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” They made eye contact and the tattoo artist raised his eyebrows. He’s flirting.
He gestured at Dabi’s arm and asked, “May I?” Seeking permission to touch to inspect further.
“Yeah, uh—“ Dabi is just now realizing he doesn’t know this guy’s name. He contacted the studio with the tattoo request and they gave said request to this guy, and he didn’t bother to ask his name during the session.
“Hawks.”
“Hawks?”
“Everyone calls me that.”
At least he spared Dabi the embarrassment.
Hawks carefully took Dabi’s arm and brushed his fingers across the inked skin… he wasn’t just looking at his own work, was he?
Dabi watched Hawks study him and felt every single stroke of Hawks’ fingers. The tenderness was intimate and sexy. “Hm,” Hawks paused by Dabi’s wrist, grazing his palm with his fingertips, “Do the numerals mean anything?”
Dabi knew which tattoos he was referring to.
VIII XXIII
XII VI
VII I
I VI
They were in a column down his wrist. “They’re uh,” he’s almost sheepish admitting it, “They’re family birthdays. The family that matters, anyway.”
Hawks didn’t stop brushing his skin, “That’s sweet, actually.”
“Yeah?”
Hawks moved his hand further up Dabi’s palm, “Really. It’s subtle and genuinely nice.”
“That’s kind of you to say.”
“Well I wanna be nice to someone so pretty,” Did… did he just wink?
Dabi took a shot in the dark and gently laced his tattooed fingers between Hawks’. “Pretty?” He playfully asked for clarification— or more compliments.
Their eyes met and Dabi could feel the tension in the air like a sudden gust of wind. Hawks wasn’t retracting his hand. “I know we don’t really know each other or anything like that,” Hawks began, going back and forth between looking at Dabi’s eyes and hand, “But I got a confession.”
“Yeah?”
“I thought this would be a better way to get your number instead of combing through the network of clients.”
“Really now?” Dabi smirked.
“Heh, yeah,” Hawks, still holding Dabi’s hand, sheepishly admitted, “You’ve been running through my mind the past few days. You were quite a challenge for me to ink, you know?”
“Was I now?” No artist has ever complained about Dabi during sessions in the past.
“Took a lot for me to focus on the work instead of you,” Hawks flirted.
Dabi smirked again, leaning closer over the counter, “I’m honored.”
It was quiet for a bit as they held the other’s hand and just looked at each other. They were both holding their breath.
Hawks kept glancing at Dabi’s lips.
Was he really going to do this? The signs are all here. They barely know each other, though, as Hawks just said a few moments ago… but that doesn’t necessarily mean this is wrong.
In a flash, their lips were together. They were both leaning over the counter, keeping the sparks flying even as their backs strained.
There’s something so enticing about sharing a passionate kiss with someone you barely know.
There’s something so electrifying about having to climb on furniture to get a better angle-- that’s what Hawks was doing as he maneuvered himself on the counter to be on his knees, gaining some sort of higher ground as he took Dabi’s face in his hands, bringing them together once more with a devilish smirk.
Hands were in hair and gripping to the cotton of t-shirts and hums of pleasure were muffled against the other until Hawks pushed a bit too hard, nearly collapsing into Dabi. Dabi’s got decent reflexes, though, and caught Hawks, hands under his thighs, gripping the denim to keep him secure, and Hawks instinctively wrapped his legs around Dabi’s hips.
“Heh,” Dabi smirked himself, pondering the possibilities in his mind like he was playing a game of chess, “I haven’t even taken you out to dinner.”
“Hey, you kissed me first,” Hawks teased.
“I definitely didn’t,” Dabi teased back, meeting Hawks’ amber eyes.
There was silence for a few seconds. They could feel the heat from each other in the small gap that separated their lips. Hawks broke the tension by shyly asking “Can we do it again?”
“Absolutely.”
Dabi agreed with no hesitation, gripping Hawks’ legs again, making him push into Dabi again, their bodies flush as they continued to kiss… and kiss… and kiss…
#my fanfic writing#my writing#dabihawks#dabihawks fluff#dabihawks flower shop au#flower shop au#tattoo artist au#dabihawks fanfic#dabihawks fic#bnha fanfiction#todoroki touya#touya todoroki#dabi x hawks#keigo takami#takami keigo
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To the Depths - Part 3.1
(Pirate!Silco x F!Reader)
Damned and Double Damned
Part One - Part Two
AO3
A/N: Part 3 ended up being over 11k words so I am splitting it into two parts and will release the other part tomorrow lol whoops.
But tomorrow will bring something spicy at last!
Rating: Explicit, MDNI
Summary: Sleep deprived, you experience the joys of cohabitation with your pirate captor.
Chapter Tags: still sfw...for now, reader shamelessly checking out Silco, sass and sarcasm, corset malfunctions.
Word Count: 4.8k
All night, you stare at the bare back of your kidnapper. Every time he shifts or sighs, your body locks up, prepared for the worst. The worst never comes but that doesn’t mean you find any peace.
To say your dress is uncomfortable is an understatement. Between the salt and sweat-soaked fabric and the unforgiving structure of your corset, you cannot find a comfortable position. You toss and turn, succeeding only in making your skin burn and your misery rise.
Hours pass before the gentle rocking of the ship finally puts you to sleep.
For all of five minutes.
Far too soon, an unforgiving morning sun streams in through the wide, deep bay window, illuminating the room in a pale green light.
The window glass, you realize, is tinted green. The deep brown wood of the lattice is unusual as well. Not perfect straight lines crisscrossing in squares or diamonds, but curves and whorls comprising all manner of shapes that vaguely remind you of cresting waves. It creates a rather lovely backdrop for the little window seat laden with cushions and even a blanket. Anywhere else, it would be quite the cozy little nook. Nothing like that would ever be permitted on a naval vessel nor your father’s ships. In fact, you’ve never seen a window like this on any ship before.
Did Silco have it specially made?
Through the muddled mess of your sleep-deprived mind, you decide it’s wise to take proper stock of your surroundings. You already know there is a multitude of weapons on display but perhaps you’ll find little clues that will lead you to something more valuable than a weapon.
Information.
As tempting as it is to grab a sword off the wall and show him exactly what you think of his hospitality, you rein yourself in. The tether holding your emotions in check is dangerously weak after so little sleep. Your growling stomach doesn’t help matters either.
Slowly, careful to minimize the rustle of your gown, you sit up. You’re trapped between the wall and Silco. If you were in a quieter garment, you might try to scoot off the end of the bed and make a break for it, but the cabin door is locked. You have no idea where he put the key, not that getting ahold of it will do you much good. The only place you can go is the deck.
Blinking away the bleariness hanging on your lashes, you study the room. Most of the cabin is taken up by a desk opposite the bed, its surface cluttered with papers. Maps, charts, and ledgers. Behind the desk is a low bookshelf, perhaps hip high. It’s crammed to the gills with books, rolls of paper, writing supplies, and all manner of trinkets from all over the world.
The chaos of the desk sits in stark contrast to everything else in the cabin. The weapons rack is neat and orderly, everything polished to a perfect shine. The cushions lining the window seat are perfectly arranged, the blanket neatly folded. The wardrobe is closed, but you’re willing to bet the clothing inside is folded as well.
Between the wardrobe and the shelves is an oddity you would never expect to find aboard a pirate ship. A vanity table, mirror and all. The only imperfection is one crack running the length of the glass.
Beside you, Silco shifts in his sleep. He rolls onto his back, one arm lifting over his head to bend at the elbow. You spot lines of ink on the underside of his wrist but aren’t at the correct angle to see the full shape, only a curving line and a splotch of blue.
Your eyes travel down to his face. That hellfire eye remains open and you find yourself wondering if it’s functional. Or if it hurts.
Your gaze wanders down the collum of his neck to the lean expanse of his chest. You’ve never seen so much of a man’s body before, not even when you turned your charms on a besotted stable hand or footman for a ruinous tumble. Those quick, panting exchanges in shadowy corners never required the removal of clothing. You were in it for a brief escape and a chance to damage your prospects. You assume your partners had their reasons, as well.
Bragging rights, perhaps.
As you watch the steady rise and fall of Silco’s chest, you wonder what it might be like to feel someone else’s skin against yours. Slow and deliberate. Not a desperate grab or impersonal gloved hands clasped for a dance at a ball. Something…you can’t quite come up with a word for what you’ve only read exaggerated accounts of in dime novels you trade with your lady’s maid.
You draw in a sharp breath, slicing through your train of thought. This is not the time to be recounting your past exploits or thinking of certain book passages. Especially, not with Silco stretched out beside you the way he is.
You would not have expected such well-formed muscles on such a lean frame. Yesterday, you witnessed him pace the deck, posturing like a ruler over a stolen kingdom while his crew toiled away in the searing heat. The body beside you tells a different story, one of labor and hardship. Not to mention, he was able to throw you over his shoulder like you were nothing, dangle you over the open ocean, and barely reacted when you smacked him with an oar.
That hidden strength is just another deception, a reminder that you can’t take anything about him at face value.
Another tattoo splays across the right side of his ribs—a sea serpent wound to the point of constriction around a human heart. The fangs of the beast sink deep into the organ, its eyes filled with lifelike rage, maybe even anguish. You lean closer, half expecting the sea serpent to come alive and slither away, dragging the heart with it.
Engrossed in your study of him, your gaze dips lower still and stops when you see the sharp curve of a hip. Heat streaks through you so quickly, you feel a touch lightheaded. You were aware that he’d stripped off his shirt before climbing into bed beside you, but did he remove any other articles of clothing?
You follow the slice of muscle arcing over his hip leading down…
With a jolt, you remember yourself and drag your eyes back up to safer territory.
There is…beauty to him. A strange and savage beauty, but beauty nonetheless. Every harsh line reminds you of cliffs battered by an unforgiving sea, affected but indomitable. Even that cursed eye burns with layers of gold and umber. A precious stone set against black velvet.
Devil damn you, the lack of sleep is making you wax poetic about a most unworthy subject.
You glance at his face once more only to find, to your horror, his dual gaze of ember and ocean fixed on you, a smirk on that infuriating, mocking mouth.
You look away quickly, too quickly to pretend you hadn’t been looking at all.
Devil double damn you.
“Have I captured your interest so quickly?” His voice is thick with sleep, making the rumble of it all the more hypnotic.
In a grating, annoying, infuriating kind of way.
“When one is in the lair of a beast, it’s wise to keep an eye on the beast in question.” You smooth your bodice just so you have a reason to look anywhere but at him.
You feel him move beside you. He flings the covers off his body. Before you can stop yourself, your eyes flick to your peripheral as he gets to his feet. The dark trousers he wore yesterday hang low on his hips.
You release a breath you weren’t aware you were holding as you redirect your focus to your hands.
The wardrobe creaks open and you glance up as he pulls a deep red shirt from within. A laugh rises in your chest and passes your lips before you can curb it.
“What?” There’s a low warning hidden in the growl of his voice that you ignore. Perhaps, it’s foolish to do so but your brain has allocated its remaining dregs of energy to vital functions and bare-bones coherency.
“Do you dress to match your ship on purpose or does that bad eye come with some color blindness?” You ask, fighting off another giggle.
“Don’t try my patience,” he groans. “I didn’t sleep a wink because of you.”
“Because of me?” You bark out a laugh. “That’s rich. I didn’t realize I’d been kidnapped by the funny pirate.”
He carries on as if you hadn’t spoken, turning his attention to the cracked mirror as he buttons his shirt. When he’s finished, he places his hands on the vanity surface and leans closer, examining where you struck him with the oar. A tickle of pride swells in your chest. Maybe you dealt more damage than he let on.
“Your ridiculous dress is noisier than you are,” he grumbles.
“That’s what happens when quality fabrics get wet,” you say as if speaking to a child.
“You shouldn’t have gotten it wet, then,” he says, matching your tone with a sneer.
“You dropped me in the ocean!”
“Because you wouldn’t stop thrashing.”
“It’s almost as if I objected to being kidnapped!” What a notion!
“You knew the terms of the arrangement when we started down that ladder.”
“An arrangement,” you scoff, “that was agreed upon by everyone but me.” Anger stoked into a blaze, you scramble off the bed to stand, hands on hips, in the middle of the cabin.
“One doesn’t typically negotiate with the target of a kidnapping.”
“If you negotiated with me, you might have gotten some sleep last night.”
“Oh?” He looks at you in the mirror. “How do you figure?”
“I wouldn’t fucking be here, for one thing.”
“A lady shouldn’t use such foul language. It’s unbecoming.”
“I’m surprised you know what half of those words mean.”
“You little-” he snarls as you slip into the space between him and the mirror. He has no qualms invading your space -grabbing you, restraining you, throwing you over his shoulder- so you’re going to invade his right back. His payout is directly tied to your well-being, so he can’t do anything to you.
And if he could, frankly, you’re too damn tired to care. You relish the idea of him raising a hand to you. The tether around your anger grows looser by the second. Not just anger at your current situation, but years of anger you’ve stored away in the spirit of making life easier for everyone but yourself. You dare him to push you just an inch too far.
“If you’re going to demand a royal’s ransom from my father, I think it’s fair you earn every stolen coin, don’t you?” You ask, leaning close to the mirror. Yesterday’s stretch in the sun has put a tint in your cheeks which only makes the dark circles under your eyes more dramatic. The rest of your complexion looks washed out and dreadful. Your hair is a mess.
“I’m starting to think they’re all relieved I took you. They might pay me extra to keep you just to spare themselves the headache.”
You whirl around, a barbed retort ready on your tongue, but you miscalculate how close he stands. An ill-planned half-step has you bumping into his chest. You spring back, only to hit the vanity.
Once again, you find yourself trapped by him as he places both hands on the vanity on either side of your hips.
“I might accept such an offer,” he purrs. “A little training and you might just make a perfect pet. I do so relish a challenge.”
You bring your knee up, intent on dealing a blow to his most tender spot, but he anticipates your movement. He grabs your leg between your knee and thigh, fingers pressing hard enough to feel through your skirts.
“You’re predictable, treasure.” He gives a slight shake of his head to mark his mocking disapproval.
“And you’re vile.”
“Is that why you were looking at me so intensely not five minutes ago? Because you find me vile?”
“No, I’m simply fascinated by how someone can live without a heart. Don’t let the scientists at the Piltover Academy get ahold of you,” you warn. “They’ll put you in a cage and study you in a lab.”
“I didn’t realize I kidnapped the funny heiress. Try to keep those charms to yourself when we make port.”
“What?” You stammer.
“I have business to attend to in Port Fairna. You are to accompany me.”
“You can’t be serious.” A plea to remain aboard and sleep nearly escapes you, but you don’t want to beg him for anything.
“Do I strike you as someone who often jokes?”
“You strike me as a joke if you expect me to accompany you while you do whatever it is pirates do when they make port.” You grab two fistfuls of your skirts and give them a shake. “Especially if you expect me to wear this.”
He grasps his chin, running a thumb along his bottom lip as his eye rakes over your dress, lingering on the top of your bodice. “Yes, you will stand out too much if you wear that.”
He opens the bottom drawer of his wardrobe and produces a flimsy white blouse, a cheap-looking black corset, and a deep teal skirt.
“Do you always keep women’s clothing in your cabin?” You ask as he thrusts the bundle of fabrics into your arms.
“Guests have been known to leave a thing or two behind on certain occasions.” His mismatched gaze glitters with mischief.
With a shriek of disgust, you throw the clothing onto his bed. “If you think for one second I’m going to wear the discarded clothing of your whores, you’re in for a long day.”
“I assume every day is long for those in your company. Put on the clothes or I will put them on for you.”
You bite your tongue before you can dare him to try.
As you gather up the clothes once more, you realize he makes no move to leave the cabin.
“Do you mind?” You ask, glancing between him and the door.
“Mind what?” The cocky tilt to his head tells you he’s playing the fool on purpose.
“I can’t change with you in the room.”
“I’m not going to leave you alone with enough weapons to stock a small army, not to mention the other valuables,” he scoffs.
“Oh, please,” you roll your eyes. “My monthly bill at the modiste could buy your ship ten times over. I don’t need to rob you of your little knick-knacks. Now turn around.”
“You don’t give the orders here.”
“If you want me to change, you’ll have to turn around. If you don’t turn around, I won’t change. What part of that are you struggling with?”
“Your lack of manners, for one thing.”
“Manners?” You all but cackle. The logical part of your mind wakes up enough to remind you that taunting a notorious pirate isn’t wise, but you’re well past that point now. “Don’t make me laugh.”
“Your utter lack of any self-preservation instinct is the only laughable thing here. It would serve you well to remember that you are a prisoner.”
“You’ve trapped me on this ship with you, but it would serve you to remember that you’re also trapped with me,” you say. “I’ve made a career out of being an insufferable brat when it serves me. How do you think I slipped the collar of engagement as long as I did?”
“I assumed your personality was deterrent enough without any deliberate enhancements.” The cool smugness laced through his voice makes your mind turn murderous.
Though, you have to admit you walked right into that one.
You sway on your feet, mistaking the sensation for the natural bob of the ship through the water. Only when you realize nothing else in the room is affected do you make your way back to the bed. You perch on the edge, crossing one leg over the other and folding your arms across your chest. Your mind redirects all of its energy to not fainting or vomiting. You’re not one for sea sickness but the lack of water, food, and sleep is taking a physical toll.
Anger leaves you in a rush, the rolling righteousness of it is just too much to sustain. You try to pull it back, needing that anger to shield you from the fear you refuse to let take hold of you. The spark doesn’t relight, but fear doesn’t rise up either. You’re left feeling hollow, wrung out.
“Are you really going to sit there pouting like a petulant child?” Silco asks.
“I’m simply considering all of the ways I can make it look like you’ve broken your word.” You examine your nails as you level your threat, wishing you could summon more venom to your words.
“I beg your pardon?”
“If my father finds so much as a bruise on my body, Captain Vander will put you down like a dog. I can starve myself to sickness. One careless step could lead to a laceration. I imagine infections are difficult to combat at sea.”
“You’d go that far?” He tilts his head. His gaze holds not annoyance or anger, but curiosity.
“Instead of wondering how fall I’ll go to ruin your plans, consider what you’re risking. It would be a pity for Jinx to lose out on a real home because you’re too stubborn to turn around while I change.”
Your words strike their mark, perhaps harder than you intended. Rage floods his gaze, but not the burning, breathing rage you’ve come to expect from him. What you see is cold enough to suck the life out of the room and the breath from your lungs.
“You will not speak of my daughter.” His voice is so quiet you barely catch the words but the threat they carry is enough to make you rethink your next statement.
Still, you aren’t going to let him win this little stalemate. Call it pride, call it a habitual loyalty to propriety, or perhaps it’s a death wish in disguise. You’re going to make him turn around.
It’s worth a shot appealing to his sense of reason. Besides, you aren’t sure you have the energy to make good on your threats to be relentlessly insufferable but you’ll be damned if he calls your bluff.
“Look, Silco-”
“You will address me as Captain or nothing at all.” As soon as the curt demand leaves his lips, he realizes his mistake.
“Nothing it is, then.”
You fall back into stubborn silence. The truce you nearly offered still lingers on your tongue like a half-dissolved sweet. You can either swallow it down or spit it out.
Turns out, you won’t have to do either. With a long sigh, Silco turns his back on you. “Be quick about it.”
Hm. This little victory doesn’t taste as sweet as you hoped it would. How disappointing.
Undressing quickly is easier said than done. Under normal circumstances, you’d have a maid to assist with the laborious process of dressing and undressing. The lacings of your overdress provide a challenge, but you manage it with some twisting and a few popped seams.
You lay the ruined garment on the bed. Heaviness settles in your chest. It seems silly to be sad over a dress considering your present predicament but you’re too tired to tuck the useless emotion away.
Glancing over your shoulder, you make sure Silco isn’t peeking at you. As much as you don’t want him to see you in any state of undress, you don’t want to give him the chance to mock you for mourning your gown even more. Once you confirm his back is still turned, you trail your finger along the embroidery at the hem. It’s beautifully done, except for one section.
Six inches of the pattern was clearly done by another hand. Yours. The day the dress was delivered, you plucked a section clean and spent hours recreating it until it looked somewhat correct. You don’t have a particular interest in needlework or clothesmaking, but it’s a valuable skill to have in your arsenal.
While you still cling to a thread of hope that you can make your father see reason before you’re forced down the aisle, you have a contingency plan in place. One you do not want to enact but your options are to lose your freedom through the shackle of marriage or lose everything else to gain your freedom.
If it comes down to that final hour, you will run.
You have enough money hidden away to buy passage on a ship and bribe the dockmaster to keep your name off the manifest. Wherever you end up, you’re certain you can find a seamstress desperate enough to take pity on you and offer an apprenticeship. It’s a plan that will lead you to months, maybe even years, of toil and discomfort. It’s a plan that will sever you from what little family you have and ensure you’re cast out of good society for the rest of your days. It’s a last resort but, if the time comes, you know you’ll have the mettle to carry it through.
“I cannot fathom what is taking you so long,” Silco snaps, pulling you back to reality.
You say nothing and set about removing the rest of your layers. Complications arise when you grasp at the back of your corset. The lacings are stiff with dried saltwater and refuse to cooperate with your clumsy fingers. You can’t get out of it on your own.
“I…find myself in need of assistance.” You keep your eyes on the floor as you hear Silco turn around. “The corset.”
The sound of his boots on the wood grows closer until you can feel a faint warmth radiating from him.
“The laces,” you stammer. “If you just-”
“I am more than capable of relieving a woman of her corset.”
You press your lips together as quick fingers prove his words true. The corset loosens. You press your hands to your chest to keep it from slipping down. You feel exposed enough as it is. You swear you can track the movement of his good eye as he takes in the sight of your exposed arms, shoulders, and nape.
Something white hot and featherlight slips over your skin and twists in your stomach. Anticipation, you realize. Every nerve is alight as you wait for the brush of fingertips you’re certain will come.
But they don’t. Sillco’s warmth disappears and his boots retreat. You wait a beat before looking over your shoulder. His back is to you once more, hands clasped behind him in a white-knuckle grip.
You refuse to read his body language, to understand the meaning between tight shoulders and gripping hands. Instead, you dedicate yourself to the task of pulling on the new clothing while removing the old without leaving any part of your body bare. You examine parts of your body as you go. You’re patterned with raw patches where salt and ruined clothing wrecked your skin, rubbing the top layer to feverish irritation.
The black corset sinches your waist but only reaches your underbust. The fabric of the borrowed shirt is thin, but after the discomfort of scratching fabrics against your skin, you’re glad for the lack of contact.
You glance at your discarded underclothes, wondering if you should attempt to wear any of them for the sake of propriety, but you can’t stand the thought of the ruined fabric rubbing your skin even more raw than it already is. You forgo all undergarments, leaving yourself bare beneath your skirt.
“Will this suffice?” You ask, turning around.
He turns to face you slowly, his eyes roving over your body.
“Not quite,” he says, approaching you.
There is an instinct to move away from him, though you know there is nowhere to go.
He kneels at your feet, the sight of him bowed before you evokes something you’ve never felt before. You don’t know how to name it. You don’t know how to rationalize it.
The spell breaks the moment he reaches up your skirt. Your heart clenches though his fingers never actually touch your skin. The urge to kick out grips you, but something else lingers underneath. Curiosity. A tiny shift on your part would bring your leg into contact with his hand.
Before you can decide, his fingers find a small slip of fabric. He pulls it from under your skirt and secures it to a tiny fabric hook sewn near your hip, leaving a high slit exposing part of your leg.
“Are you insane?” You pull away from him.
“If you’re going to play the harlot, you’ll need to look the part.”
“Excuse me?” You stumble away from him. “Did you just call me a harlot?”
“Harlots don’t draw attention. Well, except in the usual way.” He rises off bended knee to see the shock written all over your face. His eye narrows, irritation ticking through his features. “Don’t look so scandalized. I’m not going to turn you out. No one will question your presence if you look like this.”
“And if someone mistakes me for an actual harlot?”
Irritation shifts to dark delight. “Then I’ll have the joy of correcting them. Get some sleep.”
Your brows knit together. “Giving up on your promise to keep me within your sights already?”
“Oh, I’m not leaving this room.” He settles into the chair behind the desk. “I have more than enough to deal with right here.”
“And if I don’t need to sleep?”
“You can barely keep your head up, treasure,” he sighs, his attention diverted to one of his many papers. “Port Fairna will be easier on both of us if you’re not stupid with exhaustion.”
You glare at the top of his head though you are unable to form an argument or even a final insult to throw at him, just to have the last word. Unfortunately, he’s right about one thing. You want to have your wits about you when you step off the Zaun’s Revenge. Your father has an office in most port towns. If you can get to one, you’ll be free of this nightmare and deprive Silco of your ransom.
A metallic click followed by a hiss of air sucked through teeth draws your attention back to the desk. Silco holds some kind of device in his hands, like a syringe but not quite. His other hand presses a handkerchief against his ruined eye. Pain pinches at the corners of his mouth.
One deep breath restores his composure. The handkerchief and device are put away and a thin wooden box is produced. He opens the lid and plucks something from inside.
A cigar, as well as a lighter and cutter. The cigar is snipped and lit with practiced movements. He takes a long drag, letting his head fall back. Your gaze flits to the stretch of his neck but, this time, you look away before he catches you.
A long, slow exhale fills the cabin with an earthy scent, spiced and dynamic. A high-quality cigar, then. Where does a pirate get the funds and knowledge to be selective about cigars?
“Does it bother you?” He asks, a hint of mischief in his voice.
“Not at all.” It’s not a lie. Your father prefers to host business meetings in the library of the estate. The rugs, curtains, and upholstery is imbued with the scent of many cigars. It’s almost comforting to you now. You’ve taken many a lazy nap in the library, a book left open in your lap or on your chest.
Silco offers only a light grunt in response before looking back to his papers. Has piracy always come with so much paperwork?
The rumple of covers and the promise of a soft pillow is too much for you to ignore. You stretch out on the bed, square in the middle. Above you, footfalls crisscross the deck as the crew sets about their daily tasks. The ship sways and you allow yourself to sink into the motion now that you don’t have to worry about bumping into your unwanted bedfellow.
You slip your hand under your cheek, annoyed when you feel the scrape of shaped metal and gemstones.
Your engagement ring. You’d forgotten about it. Obviously, you can’t wear it into Port Fairna. You may as well wear a sign that says come rob me. With a glance at Silco to make sure he’s absorbed in his papers, you slip the ring off your finger and tuck it beneath the mattress close to the corner.
As soon as the weight of it lifts from your finger, you feel a little better. You settle into the pillows again and inhale the scent of smoke and sea, wood and paper. Tension bleeds from your body as sleep comes for you.
********
thank you @sherwood-forests @silcoitus and @ilikemymendarkandfictional for beta-reading! Part of the crew, part of the ship!
#silco x reader#silco fanfic#silco x you#pirate!silco#silco pirate au#arcane pirate au#silco arcane#arcane#to the depths
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