For all the requests, I AM WORKING ON IT! I'm so sorry I take so long to write, I am sadly a very busy body and I only write in small bursts of inspiration. But fear not! It is in the works, for now enjoy this art. My artsyle is evolving...
Traditional Sketches for my Gorillaz Pirate! AU! Ill be making full body digital and colored sketches soon hehe.
Murdoc Faust Alphonse Niccals was just kicked out of the pirate crew he was in for attempting to rob the captain. So now that he's broke and crewless, he needed a way to make it big both in riches and as a Pirate.
Pirate captain!Murdoc (Or Captain!Murdoc) for short) hearing of the existence of Sirens sets of to strike gold and find the fabled Blue Siren. He needs a crew, of course so he sets off and finds his ship mates. He posted a note in the twin square and sent out 27 pigeons and none of those pigeons made it back. Desperate for a crew, he turned to a building crew's worker, kidnapping him and filling him on the plan. The worker was named Russel Hobbs.
Russel wanted to disagree at first, however, he wanted nothing to do with the siren hunting at first, what good would a maiden's tale do him? But when Murdoc gave him a hefty payment of gold, and promised more once the siren was withiin his hold, he later agreed. And thus Deck manager! Russel (DK!Russ For short)
Russ and Murdoc convince a few sailors to join their crew, a few being Ace as the ship's chef, Paula Cracker as their navigator and a few other crew members.
For a while, they sailed across the seas in search of the fabled Blue Siren, Paula and Murdoc get entangled in a scandalous affair, they get caught by Russ who catches Paula with her actual plan to screw over the crew (Tryingo steal the map and files) Murdoc gets punched by Russel for being a dumbads and Paula is thrown overboard.
They go back to shore after a while without a navigator, right at the brink of the crew's collapse they find a 10 year old kid raiding the food, who only spoke a foreign language they didn't know, but she was a damn good navigator by how Murdoc saw it. So the problem was solved and Navigator!Noodle was officially part of the crew. (Named after after the food she was found rading)
-In the reefs..... Siren!2D, swimming in the reefs, oblivious to the events that will forever change the poor merman's life.
This isn't proofread, but bare witness to it's raw form.
It was one of those rare nights, where no sounds could be heard from the studio but the hum of the eletricals and the cars passing outside; A calm that came once a blue moon.
The chill of the night breeze had 2d wrapped around in several layers of duvet covers and a somewhat itchy sweater. The peppermint tea was going cold on his night stand but he couldn't be bothered to get up from where he was wrapped up to finish it.
Tonight was, quiet.
Too quiet in fact that he almost forgot that Murdoc was sleeping beside him. Murdoc had been crying curled up on himself on the couch when 2d found him.
He didn't say anything, he didn't need too. He didn't run up to dramatically wrap his hands around him, and murdoc didn't even bother to look up.
Neither of them said a word.
2D placed a hand on Murdoc's shoulder, he curled up in response, grumbling incoherently. He sighed, and dragged him out of the couch, using his body weight to support them both. The struggle was real.
He helped him up, thankfully Murdoc didn't make it harder than it had to be.
The sight was bizzare, seeing the oh so arrogant and mighty Murdoc Niccals so palpable in his singer's arms who he seemed to despise with how violent he was. But no one but themselves saw behind that, saw how deeply their ties with each other ran.
2D led murdoc towards his bedroom, wrapping him around in blankets and patting him down. Murdoc kept his eyes open for the whole ordeal, simply letting his singer do what he wanted.
2d then wrapped himself in a coccon of blankets. Seperated by soft duvets they were but company is wonderful on cold nights.
There was no sounds of protest, no snarky nor sassy quips, only their the sounds of their breaths hung in the air.
For a while, they just basked in each others presence. By just being there, the fact that Murdoc knows 2D is beside him, is enough to ground him. It didn't quell the trouble that brews in his heart like an ocean that never ceased; but it steadied the wind that blows viciously.
2d was the first to reach out, after all Murdoc never had the guts to ever actually initiate skinship. It was too exposed, to sacred for a man like him. And for all that he'd tainted, and stained, he didn't want to soil the one connection that spoke in volumes for both of them.
He reached out his hand, a silent invitation. He waited, a beat or two until Murdoc ever so hesitantly reached out his own from under the wrap of duvets.
The tips of their fingers touched, and it stayed like that for who knows how long, until one of them worked up the courage to connect their palms- then dared to lace their fingers in eachother.
It stilled once more, the position of their hands not changing until 2d brought both of their hands to his face, to his cheek.
No one ever said a word.
Murdoc pulled their hands away from his singer's cheek and placed it halfway through the pace that seperated them and rested his forehead on their hands.
Summary: Getting sleep in the ivory household is hard with all the noise. During a restless night you try to find comfort in a certain someone. NOTE: Я тебя люблю means I love you!
The house was never truly quiet, but at least it had its quieter moments. Moments where the usual chaos faded into something softer, where only the steady chime of Luther’s old, “decorative” grandfather clock remained.
But tonight wasn’t one of those nights.
Hours of tossing and turning, annoyed groans, and the faint screeching from down the hall had left you restless. It was bad enough being trapped in this hellhole, forced to sleep on a torn beanbag, but now, you couldn’t even get a decent night’s rest.
You were used to Randal’s late-night screaming, but tonight, it was impossible to ignore. The sudden burst of cursing, followed by the unmistakable thud of something hitting the wall, probably another failed round of whatever game he was playing, jolted you fully awake.
Sighing, you rolled onto your side, pulling the blanket over your head in a weak attempt to drown out the noise. It didn’t help. The house was always too loud when you wanted silence, too quiet when you actually needed the noise.
“What the hell do I do now?”
The thought lingered, heavy with exhaustion. With another sigh, you forced yourself upright, peeling yourself off the beanbag chair and onto unsteady feet.
The old wooden floorboards groaned under your weight as you trudged forward, mindlessly drifting toward Nyon and Nyen’s shared bedroom. Randal’s shouting faded into nonsense (if it wasn’t already) as you carefully avoided the endless trinkets scattered across the dark hallways.
<3
After what felt like forever, your shaky hand finally reached for the worn-down doorknob, its cold metal surface pressing against your palm. Before you even registered what you were doing, you had already nudged the door open, peering cautiously into the shared bedroom.
The pungent scent of cigarette smoke and dust clung to the air, thick and suffocating. The room was an absolute mess—heaps of laundry were strewn across the floor, no doubt belonging to Nyen. You carefully stepped forward, scanning the room, your eyes landing on the bunk beds.
Nyon’s was empty.
The realization settled in slowly, a quiet, unexpected weight in your chest. The sheets were untouched, neatly folded, as if he hadn’t been there all night.
From the top bunk, a loud, obnoxious snore broke the silence.
You flinched, turning just in time to see Nyen sprawled out like he owned the place, one arm dangling lazily over the edge, face half-buried in his pillow. Another snore rattled through the air, followed by an unconscious grumble. Of course, he’d sleep through Randal’s yelling with all that snoring to cover it up.
You understood why he left immediately.
Your attention snapped back to the empty bed below. If Nyon wasn’t here… where was he?
<3
All you wanted was to sleep and maybe talk to the only person you felt comfortable around in this house, but life had other plans I guess.
Slowly, you navigated through the incomprehensible maze of winding hallways, past the creaking floorboards and eerie shadows that stretched along the walls. The house felt endless at night, shifting and restless. After what felt like an eternity, you finally reached the front door.
A breath of fresh air. That’s all you need right now.
The door creaked faintly as you pushed it open, stepping onto the worn, half-faded welcome mat. A soft breeze brushed against your skin, the cool night air offering a rare moment of relief. Moonlight casts long shadows across the porch, illuminating the old wooden planks beneath your feet.
Silence, at last.
You inhaled deeply, expecting the crisp scent of pine and damp earth, the way the forest always smelled at night.
Instead, all you could smell was…smoke??
The vague scent curled faintly through the air, lingering, replacing what should have been fresh and calming. You turned your head, and that’s when you saw him.
Hunched against the far end of the porch, perched on a weakened wooden bench, Nyon sat still—motionless, yet unmistakably aware of you. His usual slouched posture made him blend into the night, almost disappearing into the flickering shadows cast by the porch lights. (Note: imagine his wide-eyed ass staring at u that’s SCARYY 😭😭)
You hadn’t even noticed him at first.
But he had noticed you.
<3
The faint glow of his MP3 player screen reflected in his tired eyes, the dim light flickering against the deep red circles beneath them. His head was bowed slightly, gaze unreadable, but you could feel the moment his attention shifted to you.
You hesitated.
Something about him looked… uneasy. Not in the way he usually was—quiet, awkward, keeping to himself—but tense. Like he hadn’t expected to be caught.
For a second, you considered leaving. You weren’t sure if he wanted company, and you felt bad for intruding. However, before you could decide, his eyes flickered up fully, locking onto yours—wide, surprised, unsure. And then, just as quickly, he looked away.
<3
“I… I’m sorry. Should I… er… leave you be?” you whispered under your breath, your voice barely audible over the swift hum of the wind.
At the sound of your voice, Nyon stiffened, his shoulders rising just slightly, his grip tightening over his knees as if bracing for something. For a moment, he didn’t move, didn’t even breathe, his body tense like a startled animal caught in the open. Then, slowly, hesitantly, his fingers loosened, his posture shifting ever so slightly as if willing himself to relax.
“…No. You may stay,” he murmured, barely above a breath.
His voice was steadier than his body. Even in the dim porch light, you could see the way his hands curled and uncurled against the fabric of his jeans, the way his breath came just a little uneven like he was focusing too hard on keeping it steady. Without looking at you, he shifted to the side, making the smallest amount of space. Not quite an invitation, but not a rejection either?
You hesitated, glancing at the newly opened space beside him. Was he… letting you sit with him? Was that for you?
Before your thoughts could catch up, exhaustion won over hesitation. Your legs moved on their own, carrying you forward until the old wooden bench creaked beneath your weight. The sound cut through the stillness, sharp and splintering, and you felt him react beside you, fingers twitching nervously.
You weren’t even that close, yet you could feel him go rigid, almost like he was caught between instinct and thought, unsure whether to lean into the moment or escape it entirely. He shifted ever so slightly, barely an inch, a quiet retreat assuredly, but not far enough to push you away.
The silence stretched, and for a while, neither of you moved.
Then, after what felt like forever, he exhaled quietly, as if he had just made up his mind about something, before finally parting his lips to speak.
“Can’t sleep?” he asked, voice low, distant, like the question had been lingering in his mind long before you arrived.
He still wouldn’t look at you. His eyes stayed fixed on the cigarette butt smashed against the porch floor, his gaze unfocused, like he was staring through it instead of at it. You watched as his fingers flexed against his knee as if they needed something to hold onto but had nothing to reach for.
You opened your mouth to answer—then paused. Instead of a response, all you did was move closer.
It was only then, in the dim, flickering porch light, that you noticed his face, half-lit by the glow, held the faintest trace of color. The tips of his ears, the curve of his cheekbone, just barely tinged pink.
He was blushing.
And you moved even closer.
<3
The space between you shrank, just enough that you could feel the faint tremor in his body, and hear the glitchy, muffled music spilling from his earbuds. The closer you got, the more you noticed—the way his hands started shaking aggressively against his lap, the uneven rise and fall of his chest as if he was trying too hard to keep his breathing steady.
Frankly, it was getting awkward.
What were you supposed to do? Say something? Pretend you didn’t notice how nervous he was.
You hesitated before finally breaking the silence.
“…I can leave if you want. No hard feelings,” you murmured, voice softer than you intended.
For a moment, nothing. No response, just the quiet hum of the night and the flickering porch light casting unsteady shadows over his face.
You took that as a yes.
Just as you started to push yourself up, a hand shot out, grabbing yours. Not rough. Not forceful. But desperately, softly.
His fingers curled lightly around yours, hesitant, uncertain, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch you but couldn’t let you go, either.
“…Please stay out here with me.”
His voice was barely above a whisper, unsteady in a way that tightened your chest. You sat back down, closer this time, your hands still entwined together. After a few more moments of silence, he spoke up.
<3
“Would.. you like to… listen with me?”
Nyon’s voice was quiet, barely above a whisper. His fingers fumbled slightly with the MP3 player before he finally glanced at you, his soft red-rimmed eyes meeting yours for only a second before flickering away.
Even in the dim light, you could see the heat rising to his cheeks.
You smiled, tilting your head. “You didn’t have to ask, dummy.”
His breath hitched slightly, but he still reached out, pressing an earbud into your palm. His fingertips brushed against yours for barely a second before he pulled away, gripping the cord so tightly it might’ve popped.
The sound quality was terrible. Extremely. It was horrendous. Static-filled and distorted, the lyrics are barely recognizable. You had no idea what the song was, but honestly? You didn’t care.
The warmth of his shoulder was more distracting. You glanced at him again. He was staring straight ahead, unmoving, his face still flushed.
God, he was cute.
Maybe it was the way his lips parted slightly like he wanted to say something but couldn’t. Maybe it was how he kept stealing tiny glances at you when he thought you weren’t looking.
You smirked. You were too tired to think over what you were even saying at this point.
“You know…” you murmured, voice low, teasing, “You’re kind of cute when you get all nervous like this.”
His breath caught in his throat.
His fingers twitched, and before he could stop himself, his arm moved, slow, hesitant, but this time, with purpose.
You felt the weight of it settle around your shoulders, his touch gentle but firm, like he was still expecting you to pull away.
But you didn’t.
Instead, you leaned into him, your head lightly resting against his shoulder. His breath came slower now, steadier, though you swore you could still feel his heart racing beneath his skin.
For a moment, he stayed quiet. Then, barely above a whisper—so soft you almost missed it—
“…You’re the cute one.”
The warmth of his arm tightened around you, holding you just a little closer.
And under the quiet hum of static and song, the night faded into something softer.
You gazed up at the moonlit sky, exhaling deeply, grateful that through all this chaos, you had something—no, someone—who could give you the quiet you needed. The soft silver glow bathed the world in light, illuminating the stillness, and when you turned your head, you saw it—the same glow catching the edges of Nyon’s face, highlighting the warmth in his quiet, lingering stare.
And for a while, you looked back down into the endless abyss of the night sky. The stars above twinkled like scattered dust, flickering in ways that felt almost familiar. They were cold, like shattered glass, but soft—soft like a whisper against skin.
A sky full of stars.
And he was looking at you.
A quiet warmth bloomed in your chest, one you couldn’t name, one you didn’t have to. You shifted closer, pressing yourself into the crook of his neck.
You felt his entire body tense, his breath catching in his throat, but he didn’t move away. He just sat there, stiff and warm and unsure, like he didn’t know what to do with himself. But you did.
He was soft. He was comforting. And he was the first thing in this house that had ever made you feel at peace. You turned your head slightly, eyes tracing over his face—the sharp angles, the way his lips parted slightly, the nervous flicker in his gaze as he refused to look at you.
His breath was uneven. His fingers twitched at his side, flexing and clenching like he didn’t know what to do with them.
“…Nyon.”
At the sound of his name, he stilled. Completely.
Slowly, you leaned in—closer, closer, so close your noses almost brushed.
That got his attention.
His wide, red-ringed eyes finally darted to yours, pupils slightly enlarged, his face burning like a fever beneath the soft glow of the porch light.
You swore he wasn’t even breathing.
God, he looked so cute like this. Frozen, wide-eyed, lips barely parted, as if he wanted to say something—beg for something—but couldn’t.
You smiled. You leaned in closer and closer till your lips were mere centimeters away from each other. You could feel his grip on your hand tighten as he pulled you closer to him, almost as if he’d lose you if he didn’t.
And then you kissed him.
It was quick, barely even a second, a soft press of lips that left him completely wrecked.
You pulled back just enough to see his face—his breath shaky, his face blushed a bright red, and his body practically trembling.
For a long moment, he just stared at you, eyes looking at you with such an adoration before slowly pulling you back into a kiss.
You chuckled, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck like nothing happened.
“You’re cute.”
He made some kind of strangled sound in response, but you were already drifting off, letting the warmth of him pull you under.
<3
Sleep was already pulling at you, dragging you down into its quiet embrace. You barely heard it when he whispered, voice low and uncertain—
“Are you… awake?”
You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. You were already half-drifting, the sound of his unsteady breath mixing with the quiet crackle of music.
His arm tightened around you, his grip firmer, protective.
For a long moment, nothing.
Then, as soft as the moonlight, he murmured into the stillness—
↻ the 11th of the fatui harbingers has some... questionable kinks.
tags : asphyxiation, choking, dry humping, sparring kink, hate sex, light dirty talk, death threats, semi-public sex, light spanking, clit slapping, squirting, creampie, loss of consciousness // wc. 1k
author's note : another late one.. don't worry, the next one is all lined up n ready in my drafts !! this is most likely the freakiest one yet bc why does tartaglia have a sparring kink... also this is the heaviest one yet too so please mind sharp of the tags !! someone passes out in this one so be warned. i know you alr know the drill, notes n reblogs are ALWAYS appreciated here but can i remind u not to spam (esp w/o a follow) because that can decrease my reach and my stuff won't show up anymore :( i love you all, thank you for 400 followers and see you in the next one!
this work is NSFW. minors and ageless blogs DO NOT INTERACT.
“mmm, fuuuck, you’re a feisty one, aren’tcha, doll?”
you didn’t know what you were signing up for when you decided to spar with the 11th of the fatui harbingers. in fact, you were more forced to spar with him than of your own volition. he thought you were pretty, and he thought you would look even prettier pinned underneath him, panting and begging within an inch of your life.
what ajax didn’t expect, however, was to be flipped on his back with you straddling atop him, hands closed tightly around his neck. he also didn’t expect that it would feel so good.
blood drips from your forehead and your lip is swollen from one to many punches to the face, but fuck you look so beautiful. “you gonna kill me or what?”
you’re driving him damn near insane. you look angry and feral, and it’s a look that only the most determined of warriors wear during battle.
as of right now, you’re determined to kill him, or at least make him give up. the thing is, you’ve clearly underestimated the man who calls himself the 11th fatui harbinger.
“are you… hard?” something big and firm protrudes through his trousers, and he looks up at you, lips cracking into a smile.
“right on the money, angel.” his hips thrust upwards once, his mind growing hazy at the buzz of adrenaline flowing through his veins. “you gonna squeeze tighter? i’m quite liking this.”
you scowl at him. “you’re disgusting, tartaglia.”
“it’s ajax, baby,” he manages to say through his lack-of-oxygen induced haze. “you gonna call me that while you’re chokin’ me out?”
god, you hate him. god, god god, you want him dead, but you can’t suppress the feeling of victory washing over you. you managed to make a harbinger hard, and all you had to do was threaten to kill him. “why would i give you that pleasure?”
“you seem to be happy enough sittin’ on my dick and trying to kill me, baby, the least you could do is call me by my real name, no?” he has no bargaining chips here, especially since you might actually kill him cold turkey. “move your hips for me.”
“you’re in no position to be making orders.”
“and you’re in a good enough position to get grinding.” when you swivel your hips in the slightest, his hands twitch, trying his hardest not to grip your ass under your skirt desperately. who even wears a skirt to a fight? “hurry it up. i’m starting to get bored.”
this guy. he’s so fucking annoying, but you can’t help but clench around nothing at the way he looks up at you, eyes hooded and lip quirked up in a smirk as he tries to move his hips to no avail, and suddenly, you’re left with two options;
option one: get the fuck off of him and run as far as humanely possible in the hopes that he won’t catch up to you.
option two: fuck him, and fuck him.
it’s a good thing that in situations like these, you like to think primarily with your pussy and not your head.
“ajax!”
“that’s it angel, fuck, you’re doin’ such a good job.”
your skirt is abandoned somewhere in the sparring ring and your breasts spill out of your shirt as you bounce in his lap, eyes squeezed shut and hands latched around his neck, nails digging into its supple flesh.
oh, he’s liking this. you swear he grows two times bigger every time you squeeze on his neck, and your eyes roll into the back of your head as his tip bumps your cervix. this is the deepest position possible, and he’s hitting you just right, despite being delirious from the lack of oxygen flowing to his brain from your hands around his neck.
when you decided to fuck him, he gave you one order and one order only; hold on tight. and damn did he give you the ride of your life, because you’re twitching atop him, hands attaching and detaching from his neck as you struggle to keep your consciousness afloat.
whilst your hands stay wound around his bruised neck, his hands are seemingly everywhere. one moment he’s squeezing your tits through your torn shirt and the next he’s spanking your ass, warning you that he’s going to speed up and that you need to hold on tighter unless you want to fall off.
“ ‘m close-!” you warn him of your impending orgasm, hands trembling around his neck as he starts to deepen his thrusts. you can barely focus on the look of his face, but the bastard is smiling, his own eyes starting to flutter shut as he starts to see dark spots clouding his vision. ajax is about to pass out, but he doesn’t even deserve such a luxury without feeling you cum all over his cock.
with what little strength he has left in his arms, he slides his hand from your ass to your clit and gives it tight little slaps, eyes urging you to cum as his mouth drops open in ecstasy. this feeling, having you not only squeeze his throat but his cock too, has him delirious, and he totally thinks he could become completely addicted.
“cum f’me, angel. come on, c’mon, i wanna fucking feel it, baby…” he uses the last of the oxygen in his lungs to give you one final command, and as ajax blacks out, he feels you squirt on it, plastering your juices all over the floor of the sparring ring before collapsing on top of him.
in his newly (and partially short lived) vegetative state, his cock pumps you full, his seed leaking out of the creases in your cunt. it takes a couple of seconds for you to come to, and when you do, you’re faced with a sprawled out ajax on the floor, eyes just closed and lips parted gently.
you panic momentarily because you think you’ve actually killed him, until you see those damn lips of his stretch into a smile. “thank you doll.”
you’re definitely not sparring with this freak again.
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