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ARTISTS, STOP POSTING TO DEVIANT ART

(Gen Ai/BDS)

Learned today that DeviantArt is owned by Wix, an Israeli company listed under boycott by the BDS Palestinian human rights organization.

Under Wix, who acquired DeviantArt in 2017, DV has been pushing Israeli occupation propaganda and allowing Generative Ai to completely takeover the platform and be sold on it.

It’s clear that under Wix, DeviantArt DOES NOT CARE whatsoever about the art or the artists it was originally created to cater towards. It only cares for profit.

Even if you are not well-versed on the current politics surrounding the Israeli Occupation and the erasure of Palestine for some reason, everyone can agree that Wix has changed DeviantArt for the worse and the best case scenario is that they sell it to someone who actually cares for art, not profit.

I absolutely adore to death so much of the art there, but for now I will stop posting my art there and I suggest that other artists do the same. They DO NOT DESERVE YOUR ART.

Please transition towards using alternatives like Tumblr, Insta, Twitter, and Newgrounds. Newgrounds especially is the best alternative to DeviantArt. Please suggest other alternatives as well.

All Because Of You - A Richonne Lemon Shot 🍋

Summary:

Detective Michonne Hawthorne has an impressive record, solving major crimes for the FBI in Atlanta. But all her intellectual knowledge and extensive training never prepared her for what was happening right in front of her.

MICHONNE POV

10:30 PM Friday

Deanna strolled by, casual as ever. I glanced up from my laptop. "Where is everyone?" she asked, scanning the empty office.

I shrugged. "Everyone called in. Glenn wasn't feeling well, Daryl's at the Carrie Underwood concert, and Rick has a hot date."

Deanna's cool demeanor evaporated in an instant. She looked downright irate. "Goddammit…"

"Captain…?" I frowned, suddenly uneasy.

What the hell was going on?

She fixed me with a look. "Seriously, Lieutenant—you're one of the smartest women in law enforcement…"

Wow. That was…unexpected. I couldn't remember the last time she'd praised me like that.

"Thanks, Captain, but I still don't—"

She cut me off. "The Three Amigos are playing hooky, and I want to know why. They think just because I've been AWOL for a couple of days, I wouldn't notice…" She dug into her pocket for her phone.

"Any better about what?" I asked, still clueless. But now that I thought about it, the guys had been acting weird today. Rick's quirks were nothing new, but Glenn and Daryl were usually steady as rocks.

Deanna gave me a pointed look. "I'll give you a clue, Detective Hawthorne." She pronounced my name with exaggerated patience. "Glenn never gets sick, Carrie Underwood's concert is next Friday, and Grimes is not on a freaking date. Everyone knows he's in love with you."

"What the—!" The words slipped out before I could stop them.

She rolled her eyes, clearly annoyed by my confusion. "Are you going to make me take back what I just said about how smart you are, Michonne?" She grimaced, dialing a number and putting her phone on speaker.

No answer. She hung up and tried another.

"I suppose not," I mumbled. "But you said everyone knows…"

"Yes, everyone knows Rick is head over heels for you. The mayor knows, hell, even the Attorney General knows…" She waved her hand. "Everyone."

The phone finally picked up. "Walsh, I need you to track down my three insubordinates," Deanna barked, then grabbed her phone and swept out of my office, too preoccupied to answer any more questions.

I was left alone, confusion and embarrassment swirling in my chest.

Everyone knows Rick is in love with me?

My palms went sweaty. I couldn't focus, so I slammed my notebook shut.

The mayor and Attorney General—who I've only met twice—know?

My head spun.

How is that possible when nothing has ever happened between us?

Has he told people he's in love with me? Why would he do something so reckless? He'd be risking his reputation as the precinct's stoic, unreadable senior detective. Meanwhile, I'd be pegged as the rookie distraction. I've worked too hard for that.

I clenched my fist, trying to steady myself.

Are people talking about us?

I mean, sure, the attraction is there. Rick is…well, he's more than just nice-looking.

The man is fine. Still, have I been that obvious? Has anyone caught me staring at his—okay, yes, his very cute ass?

Has he been looking at mine?

I've caught him smiling at me, but he smiles at everyone—' Officer Friendly,' after all.

But thinking back, I remember the Commissioner's Gala. I wore a white dress tailored to perfection. Before the valet could open my door, Rick was there, looking sharp in his tux, curls tamed for once.

We walked in together, greeted the team. When Captain Monroe introduced us to Mayor Morgan Jones and Attorney General Hershel Greene, Greene made some throwaway comment about what a cute couple Rick and I made. I corrected him, said Rick and I were just colleagues.

Rick was attentive all night, always making sure my glass was full. Later, Jones asked me to dance, joking that Rick probably wanted to ask me himself. Rick just smiled, but never did ask me to dance, even though he had plenty of chances.

I shrugged it off.

But now, I'm forced to re-examine everything. If Rick told Jones he's in love with me, that could be his way of warning off other guys. In our circle, men like Jones would respect that.

But would Rick really do that? He's not the type for games. He's direct, honest—sometimes awkward, sure, but always genuine.

Oh, hell.

He is in love with me.

This is not fair. Damn you, Rick Grimes, and your sweet, fine ass.

Why do you have to act like a lovesick puppy around me? Why can't you just be my platonic, professional partner like Glenn and Daryl?

Now, since I haven't been returning his affections, everyone probably thinks I'm an ice queen. I gather my files, stuffing them into my briefcase. Rick said he had a hot date, but if Deanna's right, there's no way he'd ask another woman out.

So why would he say it? Why pretend?

This shouldn't bother me, but it does.

I need a drink, a hot bath, and some sleep.

7:30 AM Monday

"Lieutenant Hawthorne," Captain Monroe called from her office phone.

"Yes, Captain," I replied, clutching my coffee and silently begging for the caffeine to kick in. I hadn't slept much all weekend—this whole Rick 'loving me' revelation had completely wrecked my sanity.

"Bring all the case files you're working on."

"Right away, Captain." I gathered the mountain of folders—my usual workload, since I always end up doing the guys' paperwork. Sometimes I feel more like a secretary than a detective, but everyone pays their dues. I'd have finished sooner if I hadn't been busy implementing the new electronic filing system.

I stacked the folders on Monroe's already cluttered desk.

"Jesus, Hawthorne," she muttered, flipping through the pile. "How do you do it all?" Before I could answer, she waved me off. "Doesn't matter. You won't have to for the next three months. I'm making The Three Amigos your desk jockeys. Grimes is first up—he's your paperwork lackey."

I couldn't help the bright smile that broke out. "Yes, Captain."

Back in my office, I typed up instructions for the new database, sent them to the guys in a group email, and printed out three copies for good measure. I was about to leave when Rick barged in.

"Hello, Lieutenant Hawthorne." He flashed that sweet, infuriating smile—and those blue bedroom eyes. I wanted to slap him for making my heart flutter all weekend.

"Hello, Lieutenant Grimes," I managed, keeping my tone even. "Can I help you?"

"Yes, you can." His answer was loaded, the air thickening between us.

I took a deep breath, but it felt useless, like trying to breathe underwater. Rick stepped closer. Then closer still, until there was no space left.

His voice was low and molten, vibrating through me. When Rick Grimes spoke, people listened—whether they knew him or not.

He ran his fingers through his dark, wavy hair, the light catching it just so. His skin glowed, his stubble making his jaw look even stronger. Those lashes should be illegal.

God, why does he have to be so damn handsome?

"I can..." I started, not sure where I was going, but he nodded, lips parted, waiting.

"...Rick, I really need to know what's on your mind."

"You, Michonne. Baby, you're always on my mind."

That wasn't what I expected. But I wasn't about to object. His voice was so deep, so full, so utterly sincere. I stared into those ocean-blue eyes—close up, I could see flecks of silver swirling in the blue-green depths.

I reached up, cupping his cheek, feeling the heat rise beneath my hand.

My other hand trembled. My mind screamed, Don't do this, don't do this. But my heart was pounding so loud I couldn't think straight.

"Rick, I—we..." Words failed me, so I just smiled, and he smiled back, a small, secret thing.

"Have you ever thought about me?" he asked, voice smooth and low, lips pressed together in a nervous line.

My whole body heated at the sound of him.

"Of course. But we're colleagues… this could change everything."

Some days I wonder if I'm steering my thoughts, or if they're steering me. I promised myself never to make big decisions out of fear. Maybe it's time for a change.

"It will change," he said quietly, "but for the better. Are you going to let our jobs decide our happiness?"

He had a point. I looked into his eyes and swallowed, cheeks burning. He leaned in, lips barely an inch away, gaze dropping to my mouth as if savoring the moment.

And then he kissed me.

I was completely unprepared. After all the hours spent with Rick—talking, laughing, arguing—I never imagined how warm and soft his lips would feel.

His kiss was slow and gentle, tasting of mint and autumn. His hands slid around my waist, mine found their way around his neck, drawing him closer. When we finally broke for air, I rested my forehead against his, both of us breathless.

He smirked, and I couldn't help but smile back, sinking into his arms.

His hand slid to my hip, pulling me closer still. I gasped, sparks flying in every direction. The world faded away—no worries, no rules, just us.

For the first time in forever, my mind was quiet. The opinions of our colleagues, the risks, the consequences—all of it melted away.

Rick's hands slipped under my blouse, his touch sending shivers up my spine. He let out a low moan, and I felt a rush of pure joy. My eyes fluttered shut, lights exploding behind them.

He savored my lips, breath quickening to match my own. That kiss was a beginning—a promise.

We finally pulled apart, breathless. He cupped my face, studying me with a look that made my heart skip.

"So what do you say?"

"I can't deny it—this is… exciting."

I felt like I was flying and falling at the same time.

"I've dreamed of kissing you," he whispered. "But my dreams can't compare to the real thing."

"So what is this, Rick? What are we doing?"

"Whatever you want. I'm yours. It's been that way from day one." He ducked his head, suddenly shy, peeking up at me through his lashes.

He looked so vulnerable, like a lost boy. I realized I needed him just as much as he needed me.

"I'm yours," I said, my voice steady and sure.

He looked up, eyes shining, swallowing hard. "Can I take you to dinner tonight?"

"I'd like that," I replied, barely containing my grin.

He leaned in, resting his forehead against mine, his touch growing more confident.

"It'll be a late dinner—I've got all your case files to finish," he teased.

"Serves you right, party boy. If you weren't doing the paperwork, I'd be here late instead." I arched an eyebrow, amused.

Rick gazed at me, eyes softening with tenderness, then sparking with something deeper. He tilted my head and kissed me again, this time hot and demanding. I felt a smoldering heat ignite between us as his grip tightened, pulling me flush against him.

He deepened the kiss, and I let myself fall.

This changes everything.

I know the risks, the consequences. But right now, none of it matters.

A Night of Revelation

Michonne's gaze lingered on Rick's retreating back, a soft smile playing on her lips. "See you tonight, Lieutenant Grimes," she murmured to the empty office, her heart still thrumming from their kiss. She gathered her things, the weight of the case files feeling lighter than usual. The afternoon passed in a blur of anticipation, each tick of the clock bringing her closer to Rick.

The soft glow of candlelight flickered across Rick's face as he watched Michonne across the table. They were at a quiet, intimate Italian restaurant, the kind that whispered secrets and encouraged lingering glances. Michonne, radiant in a black silk dress that accentuated her curves, felt a warmth spread through her that had nothing to do with the chianti in her glass.

"So, 'party boy,'" she teased, her voice a low murmur, "how was your day as my paperwork lackey?"

Rick chuckled, the sound a low rumble that sent shivers down her spine. "Let's just say I have a newfound appreciation for your… dedication. Though, I must admit, I kept getting distracted thinking about this." He reached across the table, his fingers gently tracing the back of her hand. The simple touch ignited a familiar spark.

They talked for hours, not about work, but about their lives, their dreams, the little things they'd never shared before. Michonne found herself laughing more freely than she had in years, lost in the easy rhythm of their conversation. Rick was even more captivating outside the confines of the precinct—his humor sharper, his insights deeper, his gaze never leaving hers.

As the night deepened, the restaurant emptied, leaving them in their own private world. Rick's thumb stroked the back of her hand, a silent question in his eyes.

"Ready to get out of here, Lieutenant Hawthorne?" he asked, his voice soft, hinting at the unspoken desires bubbling beneath the surface.

"More than ready, Lieutenant Grimes."

Rated NC 17 🍋

The drive to Rick's apartment was filled with a comfortable silence, punctuated by the soft hum of the engine and the occasional brush of their hands. When they stepped into his place, the air crackled with a palpable tension. His apartment was warm, inviting, and surprisingly neat—a testament to his meticulous nature. A jazz record was playing softly, the saxophone weaving a seductive melody.

Rick took her coat, his fingers brushing her bare arm, sending a jolt through her. He led her to the living room, where a plush sofa beckoned.

"Drink?" he offered, his voice a little rougher now.

"Please."

He poured them each a glass of amber liquid, the rich scent of whiskey filling the air. He handed her a glass, their fingers lingering as they touched. Michonne took a sip, the warmth spreading through her, mirroring the heat building within.

Rick sat beside her on the sofa, close enough that their thighs brushed. He turned to her, his ocean-blue eyes dark with desire. "Michonne," he began, his voice a low thrum that vibrated through her, "I meant what I said. I'm yours. Whatever you want."

She set her glass down, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs. "And I'm yours, Rick." She reached out, her hand tracing the strong line of his jaw, feeling the slight stubble beneath her fingertips. His eyes fluttered closed at her touch, a low groan escaping his lips.

He leaned in, his lips finding hers in a slow, possessive kiss. This wasn't the hesitant, exploratory kiss from the office. This was a kiss of raw hunger, of pent-up longing. His tongue traced the seam of her lips, and she parted them, inviting him in. Their tongues met, a dance of fire and passion, each seeking to devour the other.

His hand slid around her waist, pulling her onto his lap. She gasped, a soft sound swallowed by his kiss. Her arms wound around his neck, holding on tight as the world spun. He deepened the kiss, his teeth gently nipping at her lower lip, eliciting a soft moan from her.

His hands moved from her waist, sliding up her back, exploring the curve of her spine. Her silk dress offered little resistance, and she felt the heat of his palms through the thin fabric. He broke the kiss, his breath ragged against her ear.

"God, Michonne," he whispered, his voice thick with desire, "you have no idea how long I've wanted this."

Her own breath hitched. "Show me," she urged, her voice barely a whisper.

He needed no further prompting. His lips trailed down her neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. She arched into him, her fingers tangling in his dark, wavy hair. He found the delicate skin behind her ear, eliciting another moan.

With a deft movement, his hand found the zipper of her dress, slowly drawing it down. The silk pooled around her waist as he shrugged it off her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor in a shimmering puddle. She was left in her lace bra, her breasts rising and falling with each quickened breath.

His eyes, heavy-lidded with desire, devoured her. "Beautiful," he murmured, his voice husky.

He leaned in again, this time his lips finding the soft skin of her décolletage. He kissed her shoulder, then the curve of her collarbone, his touch sending shivers of delight through her. Her fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against hers. He chuckled, a deep, throaty sound, and helped her, shrugging off his shirt.

His chest was broad and muscled, lightly dusted with dark hair. She pressed her palms against his warm skin, feeling the strong beat of his heart against hers. He groaned, leaning his head back as she explored him.

He lowered his head, his lips closing over one of her nipples, drawing it into his mouth. A gasp tore from her throat as a wave of intense pleasure washed over her. He suckled gently, his tongue laving the sensitive peak, and she arched her back, her body trembling with unfulfilled desire.

Her hands tangled in his hair, holding him closer as he moved to the other breast, giving it the same exquisite attention. Her mind was a dizzying haze of sensation, every nerve ending alive and screaming for more.

He pulled back, his eyes burning into hers. "Are you sure, Michonne?" he asked, his voice rough with restraint.

"Yes," she breathed, her voice a desperate plea. "More than sure."

He stood, pulling her up with him. He shed his pants and boxers in a single motion, revealing his hardened erection. Michonne's breath hitched at the sight, her gaze raking over his powerful form. He was magnificent, a testament to raw, masculine desire.

He reached for her, his fingers expertly unhooking her bra, letting it fall to the floor. Then, he knelt before her, his eyes never leaving hers as he slowly, sensuously, rolled down her panties, baring her completely. Her breath hitched, her cheeks flushing with heat, but she met his gaze, her own desire a fierce, answering flame.

He rose, pulling her close, his hard erection pressing against her bare stomach. She gasped, her body yearning for the intimate contact. He kissed her again, a deep, hungry kiss that left her breathless and aching.

He led her to the bedroom, the soft glow of the moonlight filtering through the window. He gently eased her onto the bed, then climbed over her, his weight a delicious pressure. He propped himself on his forearms, his eyes locked on hers.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

He spread her legs gently, his eyes never leaving hers as he slowly, deliberately, positioned himself. She arched up to meet him, a low moan escaping her lips as his tip brushed against her.

"Please, Rick," she pleaded, her voice choked with desire.

He entered her slowly, his gaze unwavering, allowing her body to adjust to his magnificent fullness. She gasped, her muscles clenching around him, and he let out a guttural groan.

Once he was fully embedded, he paused, allowing her to savor the exquisite sensation. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. He began to move, a slow, deliberate thrust that sent waves of pleasure through her.

Each thrust was deeper, more insistent, building a crescendo of sensation. She met his rhythm, her hips bucking against his, desperate for release. Their bodies slapped together, a symphony of passion, and their moans filled the room.

He leaned down, burying his face in her neck, his breath hot against her skin. "Michonne," he grunted, his voice raw with ecstasy.

She clung to him, her nails digging into his shoulders, as the waves of pleasure intensified, building to an unbearable peak. With a final, powerful thrust, a scream tore from her throat as she convulsed around him, her body shattering into a million pieces of pure, unadulterated bliss.

He groaned, his body tensing, and then he followed her, his own release a hot, pulsing torrent deep within her. He collapsed onto her, his breathing ragged, his heart pounding against hers.

They lay tangled together, breathless and sated, the scent of sex and their mingled sweat filling the air. Michonne ran her fingers through his damp hair, a soft smile on her lips. This was more than just sex; this was a connection, a profound intimacy she'd never known.

After a few minutes, Rick shifted, propping himself up on one elbow, his eyes tender as he gazed at her. "Still think I'm just your platonic, professional partner?" he teased, his voice a low rumble.

She chuckled, pressing a kiss to his chest. "Definitely not, Lieutenant Grimes. Definitely not." She snuggled closer, her body still humming with the aftershocks of their passion. "So, about those case files… think you'll be done with them by Friday?"

He groaned playfully, pulling her tighter against him. "I might need a few more late nights with my Lieutenant."

Michonne smiled, her heart full. This was just the beginning, and she couldn't wait to see where their story would take them.

#richonne #fanfiction #mic drop #for the moots