#Content Creators Workshops

[ideadeco]

Social Media Photography Seminar | Proud Media Sponsor

We are thrilled to announce that we are the proud media sponsor for the upcoming Social Media Photography Seminar organized by Just Online! #PhotographyWorkshops #MediaSponsors #ContentCreators

We are thrilled to announce that we are the proud media sponsor for the upcoming Social Media Photography Seminar organized by Just Online! Join us for two days filled with insightful sessions, hands-on workshops, and networking opportunities with fellow photography lovers. Whether you’re a seasoned photographer or just starting out, this seminar is perfect for honing your skills and elevating…

[strawberrysznn]

Beauty AND brains. Your knowledge is your weapon.

Let's not only be insanely beautiful but also disgustingly educated. Other than discipline and hard work, your knowledge is your weapon in this world of chaos, something that you can sharpen and use.

Where can you expand your knowledge? What areas, what topics

How can you expand your knowledge? In different circumstances and preferences such as if you're too busy or if you have a short attention span

Where can you expand your knowledge?

I DO NOT mean that you need to be an expert at everything. You don't need multiple degrees for each type of intelligence. However, if you want to sharpen your weapon, sharpen your knowledge.

These are the areas where you CAN sharpen your knowledge AND the areas where you SHOULD know the basics in:

Emotional, Communication, Morals, Ethics. Be human, and make others feel human too. Cultivate empathy, understand mental health, build your conscience, and differentiate right from wrong. Communicate frequently and effectively.

History, Culture, Politics. The world is chaotic — learn to stand your ground. Understand history, politics, corruption, culture, and the overlooked heroes. Know what shaped the past to navigate the future.

Digital Literacy. The internet is a double-edged sword. Learn to navigate it safely, protect your privacy, spot misinformation, and adapt to evolving technology.

Manners, Etiquette, Body Language. The way you present yourself matters. Respect others, read unspoken cues, and master the art of presence.

Self-Sufficiency, Life Skills, Livelihood. You won’t always have someone to rely on. Cook, clean, manage time, handle money, and adapt to life’s challenges. Be independent.

Literature, Language, Writing. Words are power. Read, write, and communicate with depth. Language shapes history, culture, and thought—use it wisely.

Critical Thinking, Problem-Solving. The world isn’t black and white. Question everything, analyze critically, recognize manipulation, and think for yourself. Don't be swayed easily by others.

Science and Math. The foundation of everything. At least know the basics, enough to understand the forces shaping the world — logic, numbers, and the universe itself.

Self-Care, Hygiene, Fitness, Health. Your body and mind are your greatest assets. Eat well, stay active, manage stress, and prioritize your well-being before it’s too late.

How can you expand your knowledge?

When you have free time When you're busy When you prefer learning visually When you have little to no attention span

You are what you consume. Now that you know what topics you can expand your knowledge on, these are what you can use / do to consume those information:

Have some free time? Do / use these

Read books, take online courses, or watch in-depth documentaries. (Example: history books, finance courses, science explainers) Engage in discussions or debates to refine your thinking. (Example: politics, ethics, critical thinking) Try hands-on learning like experiments, DIY projects, or journaling. (Example: cooking, coding, writing) Attend workshops, seminars, or community events.

Too busy? Do / use these

Listen to podcasts or audiobooks while traveling, doing tasks / work / school work, or doing chores. (Example: podcasts on Spotify / Tiktok, Youtube videos where the creator is more on speaking, audiobooks on Audible or by downloading a free e-pub format e-book online then uploading it into Google Playbooks and using the audiobook / text-to-speech format) Follow bite-sized content on social media. (Example: short educational / history Tiktok videos, digital literacy infographics, photos on Pinterest) Take advantage of apps and tools for productivity, learning, etc. (Example: budgeting apps, language-learning apps) Watch short, informative videos during breaks. (Example: TED-Ed, Ted Talks, short Tiktok videos)

Like to learn visually / by watching? Do / use these

Watch video explainers, documentaries, or animated infographics. Use apps that gamify learning. (Example: Duolingo for language, Codecademy for coding) Follow visually engaging content creators. (Example: finance charts, body language breakdowns) Make mind maps or illustrated notes to break down complex topics. (Example: self-care routines, political structures, problem-solving techniques)

Little to no attention span? Do / use these

Learn through short-form content like TikToks, reels, or infographics. Play interactive or gamified learning apps. (Example: strategy games, trivia quizzes) Follow meme-based or storytelling-style education accounts. Try hands-on, fast-paced activities. (Example: debate flash rounds, real-world problem-solving challenges, DIY experiments)

Begin small, learn the basics, take a step at a time, and start from there. Be BOTH beauty and brains. You have a weapon (your knowledge), sharpen it and use it.

[vibelladonna]

❛ 𝓂𝓊𝓈𝑒 ❜ 𝜗𝜚 𝓈𝑜𝓁 𝓍 𝒶𝒻𝒶𝒷!𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: Sol is the academy’s golden boy—a perfectionist and top-tier artist everyone knows. His art is known for being insanely good. But now? He’s stuck, completely out of ideas for his final project.

The pressure’s crushing him. Nothing he draws feels right. His professor, noticing how frustrated he is, suggests he should try a chill sketch workshop somewhere off-campus. 

Sol’s skeptical, but he goes anyway. That’s where he sees them—someone who looks like they walked straight out of a painting. There’s something about them that hooks him instantly. For the first time in forever, his pencil starts moving on its own.

A muse, the spark he’s been waiting for.

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: 18+ NO KIDS (Adults Only) This content contains mature themes unsuitable for children. Please respect the creator's intentions. 

𝓇𝑒𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓉: This story was requested by a college friend and a certain someone in my inbox. It features a female reader characterized by a curvy, classical beauty of ancient Greek depictions: a round face, full breasts, and soft, rounded curves. I've kept the second-person point of view, using "you/they/them" for inclusivity and gender-neutral readers!

𝓉𝒶𝑔𝓈: artist! sol X model! reader, sub! sol, Dom! reader. teasing, slow burn, muse/artist dynamic, fluff with lots of spice, smut, such as oral (giving)

The late afternoon sun streamed through the tall windows of the art classroom, casting golden beams across the scattered supplies and half-finished canvases. The room smelled of oil paint and charcoal, a mix that usually comforted Solivan Brugmansia

Or Sol for short.

Today, though, it only reminded him how empty his sketchpad still was.

Sol sat at the back of the room, leaning over his desk. His black turtleneck and rolled-up sleeves made him look effortlessly polished, though faint smudges of graphite clung to his fingers.

His sharp jawline tensed in concentration, reddish-orange eyes scanning the page as if willing something to appear.

A mop of unruly black hair with green streaks fell across his forehead, and he absentmindedly pushed them back with an ink-streaked hand.

The classroom around him felt still, almost frozen in time. Easels stood in disarray, some tipped at odd angles like sentinels watching over the room. The wooden floor creaked faintly whenever Sol shifted in his seat, the only sound other than the occasional scratching of his pencil.

He’d tried everything: sketching a basket of fruit, copying the faces of students in old pictures pinned to the corkboard, even closing his eyes, and drawing lines inspired by the music playing softly from his phone. Nothing worked. Every line he made felt lifeless, every attempt another failure.

Sol exhaled sharply and leaned back, staring at the mess on his desk. 

Dozens of crumpled sheets surrounded him, almost like it was drowning him. His reputation as the academy’s best artist was a double-edged sword. Everyone expected perfection, and he… well, he expected even more from himself. He thought back to when art had felt easy. As a kid, he could sketch for hours, losing himself in the flow of it. Now? 

Now, it felt like dragging ideas out of a dried-up well.

“Focus,” he muttered, rubbing his temples. The final project wasn’t just another assignment. It was supposed to represent everything he’d learned at the academy, the culmination of years of work. His professor had called it a reflection of their souls.

Sol wasn’t sure he had any soul left to reflect.

The sunlight shifted, painting the room in amber hues. He caught a glimpse of himself in the reflection of a glass cabinet filled with old brushes and paint tubes. To anyone else, he probably looked calm, and collected, like the golden boy he was rumored to be.

But inside? Inside, he felt like he was drowning.

His chest felt tight, as though the air in the room wasn’t enough. His fingers drummed nervously against the edge of his sketchbook, the sound barely audible but enough to betray his growing frustration. He glanced down at the blank page in front of him and frowned. It was infuriating—how could he be surrounded by so much potential inspiration and yet feel nothing?

Sol closed his eyes and tried to picture something… anything. A scene, a figure, a feeling. But all that came was the same oppressive emptiness, the weight of expectations pressing down on him like a stone. He opened his eyes with a sigh, leaning back and staring up at the high ceiling.

That was when the door creaked open. Sol turned his head, and there she was—Professor Lenox, stepping into the room. Her sharp eyes, framed by cat-eye glasses, immediately landed on him.

A petite woman with an air of authority, her silver-streaked hair was pulled into a tight bun. She carried herself with the confidence of someone who’d seen it all and still cared deeply for her students.

“Solivan,” she said, her voice warm but firm. She tilted her head, taking in the scattered papers and the furrow in his brow. “You look like you’ve been trying to wrestle with a ghost.” Sol let out a small, bitter laugh.

“Feels like it.” She walked closer, her heels clicking softly against the wooden floor. “I’ve seen that look before,” she said, setting a hand gently on the edge of his desk. “Tell me what’s going on.”

Sol looked up at Professor Lenox, her knowing gaze piercing right through him. He let out a huff, trying to disguise his frustration as a nonchalant sigh. “Guess I’m just having a block, Prof,” he said, the familiar excuse slipping off his tongue far too easily.

“Can’t seem to draw a damn thing,” he added with a shrug, though his clenched jaw betrayed his agitation. His eyes flickered to the empty page in front of him, the barren canvas almost mocking him.

Professor Lenox observed him, immediately sensing the tension. 

With a gentle hum, she decided to take a closer look at his sketchbook. “Interesting,” she started. “So it’s true that the perfect artist seems to have a creative block. Quite a bind, hm?”

Sol’s lips curled into a dry smile at her observation. The fact that he was known as the ‘perfect artist’ only added to the pressure weighing on him. “Guess even the perfect ones can have their off days,” he mused, a hint of self-deprecation in his voice.

He watched as she flipped through his sketchbook, her slender fingers tracing over the blank pages and scattered attempts, like a judge examining an unfinished painting.

Professor Lenox hummed softly in both understanding and intrigue. Her eyes darted across the drawings, pausing on each failed attempt, each aborted project.

“Ah, I see,” Professor Lenox said quietly, her fingers still tracing over the pages. “Sometimes perfection can be... overwhelming. Expectations pile up like stones, weighing down on one’s creative soul.” She turned to look at Sol, her expression a mixture of sympathy and curiosity.

“It seems your mind is trapped in an internal battle... Tell me, did something happen that might have caused this creative block?”

Sol’s shoulders tensed, his eyes darting to the side as Professor Lenox’s gaze drilled into him. He was good at keeping his emotions in check, but her uncanny ability to read him was always unsettling. “Nothing specific,” he said shortly, his voice almost a mumble.

The truth was, he couldn’t very well tell her that his mind was occupied with someone else—someone who had consumed his thoughts like a fever. 

Raising an eyebrow, her lips curled into a knowing smile. "Nothing specific, you say. But your tension tells a very specific story," she chuckled softly, her tone dipping slightly. "Sometimes, the best way to deal with a wall is to figure out what's holding it up."

Sol felt heat creep into his cheeks under Professor Lenox's sharp gaze, his usual mask of indifference threatening to crack. His hand fidgeted with the pencil, rolling it between his fingers like he could shift his unease away. "It's... personal," he muttered, his voice tighter than he intended. He glanced at her briefly, then looked away. Her perceptive eyes felt too much like an interrogation under the guise of kindness.

Lenox leaned in just slightly, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Personal, huh? Sounds like there’s someone in the equation." Her smile widened ever so slightly, teasing yet calm as if she already knew the answer.

Sol’s breath hitched, caught off guard by her bluntness. He tried to play it off with a scoff, running a hand through his hair, but his tight grip on the pencil betrayed him. "It’s not like that," he muttered quickly. "I’m just... under a lot of pressure for the final project. That’s all."

"Ah, the 'pressure'," Lenox repeated, her voice laced with subtle sarcasm. "And this 'pressure' doesn’t happen to have a name? Or a certain face?"

Sol's face burned, and his fingers gripped the pencil tighter. "It’s not... it’s nothing major," he whispered, looking down at the empty page in front of him. "Just... a crush." Lenox laughed softly, not unkindly.

"A crush, is it? How refreshingly human of you, Solivan," she said with a small, wistful sigh. "Ah, the simplicity of youth... But don’t let it eat you alive. You need space to breathe, not just in life but in your art." 

Her tone softened as she reached into her cardigan pocket and pulled out a card, sliding it onto his desk. "Here."

Sol blinked, his fingers stilling their nervous rhythm as he picked up the card. His eyes scanned the details, confusion flickering across his face. "What’s this?" he asked, glancing back at her. "Your next assignment," Lenox said smoothly.

"Take a break. The deadline isn’t for two weeks, Solivan. You’re tying yourself into knots for nothing." Her smile lingered as she gestured to the card. "There’s a workshop class tonight. I’ll be hosting it off-campus. You should come."

Sol stared at her, caught between skepticism and curiosity. A workshop? During crunch time? It sounded counterproductive. "A workshop? For what?" he asked cautiously.

"To sketch, to breathe, to find your spark again," Lenox said simply. "You might even surprise yourself. Sometimes, inspiration doesn’t live in the places we expect it." She stepped back, her knowing smile intact. "Consider it, Solivan. You could use the change of scenery."

And with that, she turned and left the room, her footsteps echoing faintly in the quiet space.

Sol looked down at the card again, his mind stuck. 

A workshop to find inspiration... or a distraction? 

He let out a slow breath, tapping the edge of the card against the desk. The sunlight dimmed further, bathing the classroom in muted gold. Sol’s gaze drifted to the blank page on his desk. He didn’t want to admit it, but maybe—just maybe—Lenox was right.

Once the late evening came, a chill bit through Sol’s jacket as he stepped off the bus, holding the card in his gloved hand. The address was printed neatly on the thick paper:  

404 Veridian Avenue, Studio B  

No other information. Not even Professor Lenox’s name. It felt odd, cryptic even, but she had always been one for theatrics.  

Sol glanced down at his phone as it guided him through the upscale part of the city. Towering brownstones and boutique storefronts lined the streets, their windows glowing warmly with light.

But then, the directions veered sharply. Sol frowned at his phone as it prompted him to turn down a narrow alley tucked between two artisan bakeries. Hesitating for a moment, he shoved the card back into his pocket and followed the path.  

The alley was clean but hardly lit, the faint hum of distant streetlights and muffled voices bouncing softly against the old brick walls. It felt like stepping into a hidden pocket of the city, secluded and unassuming.  

Halfway through, Sol spotted a door set into one of the walls, unmarked except for its heavy iron frame and chipped black paint.

A small group of people stood just outside, some holding large carrying cases that likely contained sketchbooks, canvases, or other art tools.  

Their clothes caught Sol’s attention: loose, relaxed layers—hoodies, oversized scarves, and joggers—practical for movement but seemingly unfazed by the brisk air that nipped at Sol’s nose. He adjusted his own coat, feeling slightly overdressed as his breath puffed in front of him.  

Another person opened the door, holding it just long enough for the rest of the group to slip inside. Warm light spilled out momentarily, revealing a cozy, well-lit space before the door clicked shut again, leaving Sol alone in the chilly alley.  

He stared at the door for a moment, the faint murmur of voices from within reaching his ears. With a deep breath, he stuffed his phone into his pocket and stepped forward, his fingers brushing the cold iron handle.  

Pushing the door open, he stepped inside.  

Sol immediately felt the warmth hit him, a stark contrast to the chilly night outside. He shrugged off his jacket, draping it over his arm as his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting. The interior was unexpectedly massive, far larger than the unassuming door in the alley suggested. It felt like he’d stepped into an entirely different world.  

The building had the structure of an old warehouse, its industrial bones softened by creative touches.

Hallways stretched out in multiple directions, some leading to what looked like additional rooms beyond the so-called "studio." The hum of conversations and faint clatter of art supplies filled the air, weaving together with the low whir of the heating system.  

Sol's boots tapped against the worn wooden floors as he walked further in. Around him, people clustered together in small groups, their faces illuminated by warm light.

Makeshift classes appeared to be scattered throughout, each space marked off with folding dividers or chalked-out sections. Artists of all kinds shared their work, their voices overlapping with excitement as they critiqued and admired one another’s pieces.  

He scanned the faces quickly, wondering who was in charge here. Based on the relaxed atmosphere, it seemed like the actual instruction had already wrapped up, but that didn’t faze him. Professor Lenox hadn’t mentioned a time, and Sol was relieved he hadn’t missed whatever this was supposed—workshop case.  

As he wandered deeper, Sol noticed small signs on the walls beside the doors. Each bore a number, marking rooms like compartments on a train. He passed a few before spotting what he was looking for:

404.  

He hesitated at the door, his fingers brushing the edge of the frame. Leaning just slightly inside, his eyes widened at the sight before him.  

The room was grand and moody, the kind of space that could easily intimidate or inspire. Easels were arranged in neat rows, their dark frames catching the dim lighting that spilled from old-fashioned overhead fixtures.

The floors were a deep, polished wood, worn in places but still gleaming faintly. Across the walls, streaks of black paint gave the room a raw, expressive edge, as if the building itself were part of the art.  

People milled about inside, chatting as they prepared their tools—brushes, pencils, and charcoals scattered across shared tables. The soft scratch of graphite on paper and the faint aroma of turpentine filled the air. It felt like the calm before the storm of creation, a space alive with anticipation.  

Sol exhaled softly. Good, he wasn’t late for whatever this class workshop was, it hadn’t started yet.  

“Ah, Solivan Brugmansia, you came.”  

The voice made him jolt slightly, the smooth cadence instantly familiar. He turned, his heart sinking and soaring at the same time. Speak of the devil.  

Professor Lenox stood by the doorway, arms loosely crossed and a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. She looked every bit as composed as ever, her sharp eyes glinting with amusement. “You didn’t mention a time,” Sol said dryly, recovering enough to give her a half-hearted glare.  

“And yet, here you are. Punctual as always,” Lenox replied, her smile widening just enough to make him wonder if she’d planned it this way. She tilted her head toward the room, motioning him inside.  

“Well, don’t just stand there. Go find your place—your easel is waiting.”  

Sol let out a low, almost inaudible sigh, his gaze lingering on the familiar figure of Professor Lenox, who had the uncanny ability to stir up a storm of emotions within him. He’d spent the entire day both dreading and anticipating this moment, knowing the workshop class would be a mixture of excitement and unease that would take him by surprise.

As he stepped into the room, the atmosphere hit him immediately—almost tangible in its intensity. The soft, ambient glow of the dim lighting and the gentle hum of students preparing their materials all combined to amplify the tension in the air. It was the kind of space where creativity was about to erupt, and it had a way of making him feel both energized and apprehensive.

A few students glanced up as Sol walked past, their eyes lingering for just a moment on his dark, alternative appearance before they returned to their work. His presence was always an anomaly in places like this, but it never failed to intrigue.

He paused briefly at the easel, adjusting it to a more comfortable angle, then reached for his bag, pulling it closer. With a soft thump, he placed his supplies—a set of pencils, paints, and his worn sketchbook—onto the table.

"Ready for today's class?" a voice suddenly asked, causing Sol’s heart to skip a beat. He wasn’t used to anyone speaking to him, let alone initiating conversation. He looked up in surprise, his eyes meeting a familiar, unexpected face.

"Hyugo?" he said, his voice edged with shock.

Hyugo Sugimoto, his best and only friend, stood before him, looking just as youthful and carefree as ever. Hyugo had an oval-shaped face, still carrying the remnants of a babyish look, and sky-blue eyes that glimmered with a youthful sparkle.

His hair was a striking shade of teal, short on top with shaggy layers at the back, and an unexpectedly long rat tail that hung down to the side. His outfit was simple but effortless—an untucked white short-sleeve button-up and tan pants that looked like they hadn’t been ironed in days. 

"What the hell? Why didn’t you tell me you were coming here?" Sol asked, still reeling from the surprise.

"Duh, Professor Lenox asked me to," Hyugo replied with an easy grin, nonchalantly reaching for his supplies. Sol furrowed his brow. "Really? You're not even an art student."

Hyugo placed a hand dramatically over his chest, feigning offense. "You’re so hurtful. I might not be an art student, but I’ll have you know that my love for art knows no bounds."

Sol raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "You skip class every time, though."

"Shhh," Hyugo said, putting a finger to his lips, and motioning toward the front of the room. "Professor Lenox is about to start."

Sol rolled his eyes, but his attention was already slipping back to his tools. His mind, however, was still racing with anticipation. He couldn’t help but glance over at Professor Lenox, who stood at the front of the room, her presence commanding attention as the chatter around the room gradually died down. Her voice, calm and measured, filled the space as she began the introduction for the evening’s class. 

“Welcome, everyone,” she said, her tone warm but professional. “This space is yours for the night. A place for you to step away from the chaos of the outside world and dive into your artistic process. You’re here to create, to explore, and to find inspiration.” She paused, giving the students time to absorb her words, her gaze sweeping across the room, landing briefly on Sol and Hyugo before continuing. 

“I want to remind you all that this is a closed-off environment, so no phones, so make sure they are fully turned off,” she said, her smile knowing. “This is a space where you can truly relax, embrace your creativity, and push past the boundaries of what you think you know about art. Tonight, we will have models to work with, so you can let your instincts guide you, without judgment or interruption.”

At that, a murmur of curiosity passed through the room. Some students looked around, eager to begin, while others seemed more hesitant, unsure of what was to come. Professor Lenox continued, unphased.

“And,” she added with a playful tilt of her head, “I’ve arranged for a little something extra to help ease the tension. Over at the back, you’ll find some wine. Feel free to pour a glass if you feel the need to loosen up.” 

Her eyes flicked to the back corner of the room where a small table had been set up with a few bottles of red and white wine, along with empty glasses. A few of the students exchanged the idea of sipping wine while working on their art, adding an intriguing layer of comfort to the evening.

“Solivan, Hyugo,” she called out, directing a casual nod toward the pair, “You’re in the perfect spot to begin. Let the space guide you. And remember, this is not just about technical skill—it’s about finding a muse. Inspiration is all around you, and tonight, you might just discover yours.”

Sol nodded slowly, still processing the warmth of her words, but something in her tone made the anticipation in his stomach tighten further. He wasn’t sure what to expect from the night, but he had a feeling it was going to be something that would push his boundaries.

With a final glance toward the class, Professor Lenox moved toward a nearby door at the side of the room. She placed her hand on the handle and paused. The room fell into a near silence, everyone waiting.

“Everyone ready?” she asked, her voice carrying an air of mystery. A few seconds of stillness passed before she slowly opened the door with a soft crack, revealing what lay beyond.

Sol’s breath caught in his chest. He stared at the scene unfolding before him, his eyes wide with shock. Hyugo’s face mirrored his own, both of them turning an unmistakable shade of red as their minds raced to process the unexpected turn of events.

Standing in front of them, poised and graceful, were several nude models, each with a calm and confident demeanor. The room seemed to shrink around Sol as the reality of the situation sank in. 

This wasn’t just any drawing class—

this was a nude figure drawing class.

The models, completely at ease with their vulnerability, stood in various poses, their bodies illuminated by the soft light spilling from the open door.

“Oh wow,” Sol muttered under his breath, still unable to fully grasp what was happening. He turned to Hyugo, his expression one of stunned disbelief. “Never thought it was... this.”

Hyugo, equally flustered, had his hand pressed to his forehead in a mix of embarrassment and surprise. His usual playful demeanor was replaced with wide eyes and a nervous chuckle. “I—I didn’t know either,” he stammered, the reality of the situation settling in like a heavyweight.

Sol couldn’t stop looking at the models, his face still burning with embarrassment. He had known the class would push him creatively, but he hadn’t anticipated this level of intimacy.

The thought of drawing a nude model—especially with Hyugo standing right next to him—was enough to make his mind race and his heart thump faster. This workshop was not going to be anything like he’d expected.

“What’s wrong my dear,”  

The soft yet insistent whisper came from Professor Lenox, who stood near the doorway, her voice barely audible over the hum of quiet conversation in the studio. Sol turned his head, seeing her gently coaxing someone to step forward.

“This isn’t the first time, you know,” she said, her tone light but persuasive. “Are you sure you’re still okay with this? You don’t have to, especially with our setup tonight.”  

A voice answered from the shadows, earnest but firm. “Please, ma’am,” it begged softly.  

Lenox sighed, a patient smile spreading across her face, tinged with understanding. “All right,” she relented, her voice warm. “Just make sure to claim your spot in the front middle area, where the lighting is softer. That way, you won’t feel all the eyes on you at once.”  

“Okay,” the voice agreed quietly.  

Moments later, Professor Lenox stepped aside, gently guiding a young woman into the room. Her long hair cascaded around her shoulders like a dark waterfall, and in her hands, she held a simple white cloth, which she adjusted carefully over her frame.

The fabric clung to her like a second skin, highlighting her figure while leaving just enough to the imagination.  

Sol’s breath caught in his throat. His jaw slackened as his heart kicked into overdrive, thudding against his ribs with almost painful urgency. His pulse quickened, each beat a deafening drum in his ears.  

It was you.  

You stood there, illuminated by the soft glow of the studio lights, the faintest hint of warmth blooming across your cheeks. The delicate white cloth accentuated every curve, and yet your posture exuded a mix of confidence and vulnerability that was utterly arresting. 

Sol’s grip tightened on the edge of his easel, his fingers digging into the wood for stability. He couldn’t tear his eyes away, his gaze roaming over you with equal parts disbelief and awe. His thoughts scrambled to make sense of the moment, but words evaded him entirely.  

You noticed him immediately, of course. How could you not? 

Sol’s stunned expression was impossible to miss. A knowing smile curved your lips, subtle yet tinged with amusement, as though you were fully aware of the effect you had on him. Your eyes met his, narrowing slightly in a playful challenge.  

“Caught you staring. Is there something on my face?” your look seemed to tease, your head tilting just enough to give the impression of indifference. Yet the faintest flicker of pride glimmered in your expression, betraying a sense of satisfaction at his reaction.  

Before Sol could stammer out a reply—if he could even form one—Professor Lenox’s voice broke through the haze.  

“Solivan, are you comfortable with this?” she asked gently, her gaze flicking between you and him. “I should have checked before starting. I completely understand if you’d prefer not to be included in this exercise. It’s no problem if you’d rather step out.” Sol blinked, torn from his trance, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts.

He glanced back at you—standing there, wrapped in the thinnest veil of white, every line of your posture a quiet declaration of grace—and then back to Lenox, her expression patient and concerned.  

He could barely hear his thoughts over the roar of his heartbeat. To stay or to leave—it should have been an easy choice. Yet, with you standing there, radiating a mix of poise and playful defiance, nothing about this moment felt simple.

Sol could feel the heat crawling up his neck, spreading to his cheeks like wildfire. His heart pounded so violently in his chest that he was convinced the entire room could hear it drumming in rhythm with his spiraling panic. Swallowing hard, he tried to steady his breath, but his voice betrayed him the moment he opened his mouth. “N-No, I’m… I’m fine. Really. I just…” His words faltered, slipping through his fingers like sand. He trailed off, his mind blank as the weight of the situation pressed down on him. “He’s perfectly fine, Professor Lenox!” Hyugo chimed in smoothly, his tone light and confident as he cut through the awkward tension. 

You and the professor exchanged skeptical glances but eventually moved on, leaving Sol to deflate with a long, shaky sigh. Before Sol could even think about pulling himself together, Hyugo grabbed his arm and tugged him behind their easels. “Sunny, you need to calm down,” Hyugo said in a low voice, casting him a sidelong glance that bordered on exasperation.  

“I’m calm,” Sol lied, gripping the edge of his easel as though it might ground him. But the rapid rise and fall of his chest betrayed him. His breathing was erratic, “Yeah, sure. Totally calm,” Hyugo replied with a smirk, folding his arms. “You’re about two seconds away from passing out. What’s got you so rattled anyway?” 

Sol’s eyes darted to you across the room, a storm of emotions swirling in his gaze. He quickly looked away, as if the act of staring at you too long might somehow incriminate him. “I… I can’t help it,” he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.  

Hyugo raised an eyebrow. “Let me guess,” he said, his tone dripping with knowing sarcasm. “It’s the model.”  

Sol swallowed hard, his face burning as Hyugo hit the nail on the head. “Yes! Okay? Yes, it’s them,” Sol admitted in a hushed, desperate tone. “They’re just—look at them! How am I supposed to not…” His voice cracked, and he gestured vaguely toward you, unable to finish the thought. Hyugo stared at him, utterly unimpressed.  “Yeah, yeah, they’re beautiful or whatever. But you need to dial it back like now,” he said, his voice dropping into a warning tone. “Because if you don’t, you’re gonna embarrass yourself in front of literally everyone. And I mean, everyone.”  

Sol rubbed his temples, willing himself to breathe slower. “I know, okay? I know! I’m trying!” Hyugo’s smirk widened into a grin that could only be described as mischievous. “Trying? Sol, you’ve been staring at them like a starved man at a buffet. Seriously, just don’t get a boner. I will personally kill you if you do.”  

Sol’s eyes widened in sheer mortification. “What?!” His voice pitched higher, and he instinctively shifted his weight, his hands flying to adjust his pants in a panic. “Relax,” Hyugo said with a laugh, leaning casually against the easel. “You’re good. For now. But seriously, do whatever you need to do to calm down—and I don’t mean anything weird.”  

“Hyugo!” Sol hissed, his face practically glowing with embarrassment. “Shut up! You’re making it worse!”  

“I’m making it worse?” Hyugo’s grin was almost predatory. “You’re the one ogling like a creep. Look, just... breathe. Count backward from ten or something. But for the love of God, stop looking like you're gonna faint.”  Sol shot him a glare, equal parts annoyed and amused despite his humiliation. “You are insufferable,” he muttered under his breath, taking another shaky breath. “Fine. I’ll... figure it out. Just stop talking.”  

Hyugo smirked, giving him a mock salute.

“Whatever you say, lover boy.”  

With one last exasperated groan, Sol leaned back against the easel, doing his best to avoid looking in your direction. But no matter how hard he tried, his thoughts refused to cooperate, still spinning in chaotic circles around you.  

Sol’s heart raced, each thud echoing louder in his ears as he watched you stand at the center of the room. His eyes followed every movement, the tension in the air thickening with every passing second. He swallowed hard, trying to pull his thoughts together, but the reality of the situation had a firm grip on him. 

There you were, right in front of him, standing on a platform where the light caught your skin, drawing all attention to you.

Professor Lenox’s voice cut through the haze of Sol’s mind. “Chin up, my dear.” He gently tilted your head, adjusting the angle to capture the perfect light. Sol’s breath hitched as he watched Lenox carefully drape the cloth around your body, ensuring it hugged your curves with meticulous care, emphasizing the fullness of your breasts and the soft shape of your lower body.

It was an artful, almost reverent display, and Sol couldn’t tear his gaze away, despite the deep embarrassment creeping up his neck.

“Perfect,” Lenox murmured as he took a step back, inspecting the pose from various angles. He gave you one last look, making sure the fabric was properly positioned and the light illuminated you just so, before turning to the class.

“Okay, class. Start your drawings,” he announced, his tone clear and commanding. “I’ll be starting my work as well. Happy drawing, and make sure there’s no loud talking.”

The room went quiet as pencils met paper, the sound of sketching the only noise now filling the space. Sol’s hands gripped the edge of his easel tighter, fighting to keep his focus. He tried to breathe slowly, but his body wasn’t cooperating.

His eyes kept drifting back to you, to the way the cloth wrapped around your body, the delicate curve of your neck, the subtle tension in your posture. It was like trying to ignore a flame in front of him, drawing him in.

Hyugo’s voice was a low whisper beside him. “Sunny, I don’t know how much longer you can keep pretending you’re fine. You’re staring at them.”

Sol’s face burned hotter than it had before. His mouth went dry, and he looked away, but the image of you, poised and serene on the platform, lingered in his mind. He shifted uncomfortably on his feet, hoping his body wouldn’t betray him further. The cloth wrapped around you, the soft curves it accentuated—everything about the scene was etched into his brain.

"I can’t help it," Sol muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "How am I supposed to ‘not’ look?" 

Hyugo, however, wasn’t buying it. He shot Sol an exasperated look, his tone flat. "Just control yourself. Seriously, no one’s judging you for being a normal human, but don't make it so obvious. Everyone’s here to draw, not to gawk."

Sol gritted his teeth, attempting to focus on anything but you. The sound of pencils scratching against paper and the faint murmur of hushed voices all blurred together as he tried to calm his mind. But it was impossible. 

You were right there, a living, breathing work of art.

Professor Lenox’s voice echoed again, breaking the tension in the room. “Remember, class. Focus on the form. Capture the essence of the figure. Don’t get distracted by details.” Sol wasn’t sure if he was hearing Lenox’s words or his thoughts, but they did little to quiet the storm raging inside him. He glanced back at you, his gaze lingering longer than it should have, only to be met with Hyugo’s pointed stare. He quickly looked away, his breath shaky.

"Just relax, sunny,” Hyugo muttered, almost sympathetically. "This isn’t that complicated." Sol clenched his jaw, forcing himself to exhale slowly. 

It wasn’t that complicated... right? Then why did it feel like everything was spiraling out of control?

You, on the other hand, noticed Sol in your peripheral vision, your observant gaze picking up every minute change in his facial expressions. A smirk tugged at your lips as you watched the battle play out in his mind—focus versus distraction. It amused you to be the cause of such turmoil. Your attention briefly shifted to the young man beside him, murmuring words of encouragement. “…Is he always like this?" you muttered softly, more to yourself than anyone else.

As the minutes ticked by, your amusement grew. You decided to test just how far you could push him, curious about his reaction. Turning your head ever so slightly, you let your eyes meet Sol’s directly for the first time. The subtle smirk on your lips grew wider, just enough to let him know you had noticed his struggle—and that you were fully aware of the effect you had on him.  

Sol froze. His pencil slipped from his fingers and clattered to the floor, breaking the silence of the room. A few heads turned in his direction, including Professor Lenox, who raised an eyebrow but said nothing, returning to his work. Hyugo stifled a laugh, leaning toward Sol and whispering, “Smooth move, Casanova.”  

You couldn’t help but bite your lip to suppress your laugh, your confidence emboldened by the flustered look on Sol’s face. There was something oddly satisfying about watching him squirm, and you decided to take it one step further. Shifting slightly in your pose, you adjusted the fabric draped around you, enough to subtly enhance the curve of your shoulder and the line of your neck. It wasn’t overt—just enough to catch his attention again. You rested your chin on your hand, your expression composed but your eyes sparkling with playful mischief.  

Sol’s breath hitched audibly, and Hyugo nearly choked on his laughter this time. “Dude, pull yourself together,” Hyugo muttered, though his tone was more amused than annoyed.  

Feeling bold, you decided to push the boundary even further. You cleared your throat softly, loud enough for Sol to hear but quiet enough that it didn’t disturb the rest of the class. His head snapped up instinctively, his eyes meeting yours once more.  

“Everything okay over there?” You asked, your voice low and teasing, laced with just enough sweetness to send his pulse skyrocketing. The question hung in the air, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop for Sol. He opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. Instead, he stared at you, his face turning a deeper shade of red than you thought humanly possible. 

The room had fallen silent again, and now all eyes were on Sol. 

Hyugo leaned in, whispering just loud enough for the class to hear, “I think you broke him.”  

Afterward, once the class wound down, Sol tried his best to keep his head down, busying himself with packing up his supplies. His face was still hot from the humiliation of earlier. Despite his best efforts, it felt like the entire class had noticed his wandering gaze and the weight of their silent judgment pressed heavily on him.  

Professor Lenox approached, her warm, professional demeanor as composed as ever. “Good work tonight, Solivan, Hyugo,” she said, her voice calm and encouraging. “Feel free to join us again in the future. You’re both talented, and I’d be happy to see how your skills develop.”  

“Thanks, Professor,” Hyugo said casually, slinging his bag over his shoulder.  

As Lenox turned to leave, she glanced back at Sol, her expression thoughtful. “Oh, and Solivan,” she added, a hint of curiosity in her tone. “Have you found your muse yet?”  

Sol stiffened, his throat tightening. “Uh... no. Not yet,” he replied quickly, avoiding her knowing gaze. She simply smiled and wished them both a good night before stepping out of the classroom. Hyugo grinned, nudging Sol with his elbow. “Your muse, huh? I think I know exactly who she’s talking about.”  

“Shut up,” Sol mumbled, his face reddening again. He hastily folded his easel and packed his supplies, trying to steer the conversation elsewhere. “So... what do you feel like eating tonight?”  

“Pizza. Or maybe tacos.” Hyugo shrugged. “But—” He stopped mid-sentence, his smirk growing wider as he glanced over Sol’s shoulder. “What?” Sol frowned, but before he could turn around, he heard your voice.  

“Oh wow…”  

Sol froze, his heart plummeting to his stomach. Slowly, he turned to see you—fully dressed, thank god—standing near his easel. Your eyes were wide, taking in the sketch he’d been working on all evening. The drawing on the canvas was breathtaking in its detail. Every line and curve captured your form with remarkable precision, from the way the fabric draped around your body to the soft shadowing along your jawline. It was almost reverent in its artistry, a clear testament to how closely—and how intently—he had been studying you.  

You blinked, your gaze shifting from the drawing to Sol. “This is... amazing,” you said softly, genuine admiration in your voice.  

Sol felt like the floor was going to give out beneath him. “Uh—thank you,” he stammered, his voice cracking slightly. He could feel Hyugo’s grin boring into the side of his head. Hyugo, ever the opportunist, seized the chance to make things as uncomfortable as possible. “So, you’ve seen Sol’s muse now, huh?” he said, his tone thick with teasing amusement.  

Your head tilted slightly, a curious smile playing at your lips as you glanced between the two of them. “Muse?”  

“Ignore him,” Sol said quickly, his voice sharper than intended as his wide, reddening eyes darted to Hyugo. His glare was enough to threaten, but not silence, his friend. Sol cleared his throat, forcing himself to meet your gaze. “I’m Solivan Brugmansia—or you can just call me Sol. And this idiot is Hyugo.”  

You smiled, introducing yourself in return. “It’s nice to meet you both. You’re really talented, Sol. I didn’t even realize you were paying such close attention during class.” The white lie slipped off your tongue effortlessly, but it wasn’t fooling Hyugo. He coughed, his shoulders shaking as he stifled a laugh. Sol shot him another heated look, silently begging him to shut up.  

“I, uh... yeah,” Sol mumbled, scratching the back of his neck. His usually composed voice had softened, almost shy. “I guess I just got... caught up in the details.” A pause stretched between the three of you, though the weight of the evening hung mostly between you and Sol. His nervous energy was almost endearing, and his reddish-orange eyes and central heterochromia reflecting were striking. 

For a fleeting second, it seemed like the colors shifted into heart-shaped pupils, though you brushed it off as your imagination playing tricks.  

Breaking the silence, you smiled again, leaning in ever so slightly. “Well, if you ever need a muse again... come back here and let me know.” Sol���s breath caught in his throat, and the faintest spark of hope flickered in his expression. But before he could formulate any kind of response, you turned and walked away, casting a playful glance over your shoulder that left him frozen, utterly dumbfounded.  

Hyugo let out a low whistle, shaking his head in mock disbelief. “Well, that just happened. Anyway, about those tacos?” 

Later that night, as Sol and Hyugo sat in a booth at their favorite taco joint, Sol replayed your parting words on an endless loop in his head. 

‘Well, if you ever need a muse again... let me know.’

The memory of your teasing smile and those parting words made his chest tighten in a thrilling and terrifying way. Hyugo, of course, noticed. He always noticed. “You’re awfully quiet tonight. Thinking about someone?” His voice was as smug as ever; his words were muffled slightly by a mouthful of carnitas taco.  

“Shut up, gogo,” Sol muttered, though the blush crawling up his neck betrayed him. Hyugo leaned back in his seat, smirking like the cat who’d caught the canary. “Sunny, just admit it. She got under your skin, didn’t she? You’re not even denying it.”  

Sol sighed, his fingers threading through his hair. “It’s not that,” he said, though his tone was unconvincing. “I just... I want to take more classes. You know, to work on my technique.”  

Hyugo snorted, nearly choking on his drink. “Your technique? Sure. And it has absolutely nothing to do with seeing her again, right?”  Sol focused on his plate, refusing to dignify Hyugo’s jab with an answer. But the truth was glaringly obvious. 

He did want to see you again. 

He needs to see you again.

There was something about the way you’d looked at him—like you could see straight through his facade, past his nerves and awkwardness—that was both unnerving and exhilarating. It left him wanting more, even if it scared him to admit it.  

The next morning, Sol found himself standing outside Professor Lenox’s office, nervously clutching his sketchbook. He had debated with himself the entire walk over, unsure if he was making a fool of himself by even being there. But eventually, he took a deep breath and knocked.  

“Come in,” Professor Lenox’s voice called from inside.  

He stepped into the cozy office, filled with canvases, art supplies, and books stacked haphazardly on every surface. Lenox looked up from her desk, her glasses perched on the edge of her nose. “Solivan. To what do I owe the pleasure?” she asked, setting aside her work.  “I, uh...” Sol hesitated, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “I was wondering if I could attend more of your classes. I really enjoyed the one last night, and I think it’d be good for me to keep practicing.”  

Lenox raised an eyebrow, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Interesting. And here I thought you spent most of the evening struggling to focus.”  

Sol’s cheeks burned, but he pressed on. “I want to get better,” he said earnestly. “Your class made me realize how much I have to learn.”  Lenox studied him for a moment before sighing. “I appreciate your enthusiasm, but I’m not teaching tomorrow. I’m not teaching regularly at all—I only do this to help artists find their inspiration.”  

“Oh,” Sol said, his heart sinking.  

“But,” Lenox continued, “the studio doors are always open for well-known artists or those who are serious about improving. There are early afternoon sessions that you’re welcome to attend if you want to work in a quieter, more relaxed environment.”  

Sol’s heart lifted at her words. “Really? Thank you, Professor Lenox.”  

She smiled warmly. “Of course. Just remember, Solivan, art comes from a place of honesty. If you keep chasing after something—or someone—you might just find your muse after all.” Her words struck a chord, and Sol left her office feeling both inspired and anxious. He couldn’t stop thinking about the possibility of seeing you again, and the thought filled him with a mix of excitement and nervous anticipation.  

The following day, Sol arrived at the studio earlier than planned, his heart racing with anticipation. He was dressed more intentionally today—black boots clicking softly on the wooden floors, his baggy black pants paired with a crisp oversized white button-up shirt, a slim black tie, and his leather jacket draped over his shoulders. His hands clutched his sketchbook like a lifeline as he navigated the quieter halls, each step fueled by a mix of hope and nervous energy.  

As he neared the back of the studio, he passed smaller classrooms, the few occupants inside focused intently on their work. The vibrant energy from the previous night was gone, replaced by a serene hush. It was a different atmosphere—intimate, contemplative.  

And then he saw you.  

Sol’s breath caught in his throat as his gaze locked on the familiar figure seated before the easel. There you were, poised in that effortlessly graceful manner he had come to recognize—cross-legged and grounded, yet with a certain quiet intensity to your posture that suggested focus and purpose. Your hair cascaded down your shoulders in a wave of silk, catching the soft light that filtered through the window.

The only sound in the room was the faint rustle of your pencil against the paper, a rhythmic whisper that made the air feel thick with stillness.

For a moment, Sol stood paralyzed in the doorway, heart thundering in his chest. His grip on his sketchbook tightened instinctively as if the weight of the book could somehow steady the storm churning inside him. You hadn’t noticed him yet—or perhaps you were deliberately ignoring him, utterly absorbed in your work, your eyes fixed on the canvas before you. The room seemed to hold its breath in the silence.

The tension stretched until, at last, Sol took a hesitant step into the room, the soft creak of the door hinge betraying his entrance. You didn’t turn to face him immediately, but your voice, cool and composed, sliced through the quiet. “Can I help you?”

There was a sharp edge to your tone, though it was not unfriendly. It sent a shiver down his spine, but it also made his pulse race in a way he couldn’t fully explain. As your eyes met him, the brief flicker of curiosity that flashed across your features caught him off guard. The usual smirk he had come to expect from you was absent, replaced by an almost unreadable expression—a look that didn’t give away much, but left a sense of mystery hanging in the air.

Sol swallowed, his throat dry, the weight of his sketchbook now feeling impossibly heavy in his hands. He shifted uncomfortably on his feet, words failing him as he tried to gather his thoughts. 

"I—I'm sorry to bother you," he stammered, his voice a little too quiet and uncertain. "I just... I mean, I wanted to..." His words faltered, trailing off as his gaze involuntarily flicked to the drawing on the canvas before you. 

His breath caught again. He hadn’t meant to be so distracted, but it was impossible not to be—your work was stunning. It was raw and detailed, every line intentional, every shadow perfectly placed. 

"U-uh, you're really good," he blurted out, his voice betraying his awe. The words came out sharper than he’d intended, cracking slightly, and his cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

You didn’t miss a beat. Your eyebrow arched in silent question, and your eyes flicked to your canvas briefly before returning to him. The faintest trace of amusement danced in your gaze, and it made him feel both flustered and strangely mesmerized. 

“I’m skilled at more than simply standing naked,” you remarked dryly, your tone biting yet strangely warm. It was the kind of remark that could have sounded cold to anyone else, but with you, it carried an unspoken familiarity. You set your pencil down, your fingers lingering on the edge of the canvas for a moment before you gestured at it. “It’s a work in progress, of course.”

Sol’s face flushed even deeper, and he scrambled to recover from his misstep. “I mean, yes, obviously," he mumbled, his words tumbling over themselves. “It’s—uh—detailed. You have a good eye for, um, composition.” 

His voice trailed off, hoping that somehow, his awkwardness wouldn’t be too glaring. He wasn’t sure what had possessed him to interrupt your process like this, but now that he was here, he found himself at a loss for how to make this less uncomfortable.

A slow, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of your lips, a flicker of amusement lighting your eyes. “So,” you began, your voice calm but faintly teasing, “I see you’ve returned after all,” You leaned back slightly in your seat, arms crossing over your chest with deliberate ease. “What brought you back so soon?”  

Sol’s mouth opened as though he had an answer ready, but no words came. His lips moved soundlessly for a moment before pressing together in frustration. “I-I just…” His voice faltered, his gaze darting between your face and the floor as if seeking an escape. Finally, he muttered, “I wanted to draw, I guess. It helps me think. And I...”  

Your head tilted ever so slightly, your curiosity piqued by the nervous energy practically radiating off him. You studied him like one might a particularly puzzling sketch, your tone both patient and coaxing. “And you...?” you prompted, one brow arching in silent encouragement.  

“I…” Sol’s voice broke off again, his cheeks flushing a deep crimson. “I thought... maybe... I’d see you here.”  

The words tumbled out before he could stop them, leaving him frozen, his eyes widening in panic. He clutched the edge of his sketchbook like it might shield him from the weight of his confession, his fingers tightening until his knuckles turned white.  

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard by his candor. The faint smirk from earlier found its way back to your lips, but it softened, less guarded, less sharp. “Well,” you said, your tone balanced between neutrality and intrigue, “you’ve found me.”  

“I guess…” he mumbled, his confidence faltering under your steady gaze.  

Leaning forward slightly, you rested your chin in the palm of your hand, your eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “You guess? That doesn’t sound particularly sure of your motives.”  

“I—I am sure,” he said quickly, his voice betraying a touch of desperation. His eyes flicked to the sketchpad in his lap, and then back to you. “Your motives are questionable too, though. For someone who can clearly draw, why do you pose as a model?” The question was sudden, almost accusatory, but you could hear the nervous curiosity beneath it.  

A soft laugh escaped you, an amused smirk curving your lips. You lifted a hand to your chin, pretending to consider his inquiry with mock seriousness. “Well,” you said at last, your voice playful yet thoughtful, “one reason is simply that I can, I suppose.” You shifted slightly in your seat, settling into a more comfortable position. “It’s not exactly a taxing job, and it pays the bills well enough. Being stared at by a roomful of aspiring artists for a couple of hours? A decent price to pay.”  

Your gaze met his again, this time with a glint of mischief. “Besides,” you continued, your tone taking on a teasing edge, “you should let Professor Lenox know that I’m still banned from the classroom when I’m not... appropriately dressed. Being a non-art student has its quirks, doesn’t it?”  

Sol blinked, his blush deepening as the weight of your words hit him. His grip on the sketchbook tightened, but this time it wasn’t panic—perhaps just the overwhelming mix of fascination and confusion that you always seemed to inspire.

“So,” Sol began, his arms crossed tightly as he approached, his footsteps deliberate, the faint clink of his belt buckle barely audible against the quiet hum of the studio. He stopped just beside your easel, his gaze flickering over your canvas before settling on you. “You work as a model to pay the bills—and also to listen in the lectures, particularly Professor Lenox's, right?”  

You nodded, your head propped in your hand, your eyes following him as he drew nearer. His presence was magnetic, yet you maintained your poise, the faint smudge of charcoal on your thumb brushing against your cheek as you shifted slightly.  

“That’s correct,” you replied evenly, your voice calm but deliberate. There was an air of challenge in your tone as you met his eyes. “It’s not exactly the most conventional setup, but it works for me.” You hesitated, letting the words hang, before glancing down at your sketch and then back up at him. A faint smirk tugged at your lips. “Care to take a turn?”  

“A turn?” Sol’s voice wavered slightly, his composure momentarily faltering. He straightened up, his brow furrowed in confusion. “At what... exactly?”  

“To model,” you clarified with a tilt of your head, your expression a perfect blend of mischief and composure. “You know, sit over there and let me stare at you for a while. It’d be a nice change.” Your tone was light, but the faint glimmer of amusement in your eyes hinted at something more. “Unless…” you added, leaning forward just slightly, “you’re scared?”  

His reaction was immediate. Sol’s eyes widened, his breath hitching as he quickly tried to mask his nerves. “Scared?” he repeated, a weak laugh escaping him. “Of course not. Why would I be scared of… posing and sitting?”  

You raised a brow, not bothering to hide the amused disbelief in your expression. “It’s harder than it looks, trust me,” you said, gesturing casually toward the standing platform in the center of the room. “But by all means, give it a try.”  

The challenge in your voice lingered, and Sol felt it wrapping around him like a taut string, compelling him toward the platform. His pulse quickened as he hesitated, caught between the discomfort of being under your sharp, unrelenting gaze and the strange, exhilarating allure of it. His breath hitched, and finally, with a faint quirk of his lips that didn’t quite mask his nervousness, he said, “All right.” His voice was quieter now as he stepped forward. “Let’s see if I’m any good at this.”  

You leaned back slightly on the stool, crossing your arms with a satisfied smirk as you watched him ascend the platform. His movements were unsure but determined, a fascinating contrast to the cool confidence he usually projected.  

Sol shrugged off his jacket, setting it and his ever-present sketchbook carefully on a nearby chair. His heart pounded against his ribs as if trying to claw its way out. He’d never been in this kind of position before—literally or figuratively—but something about the way you looked at him like he was an enigma you were intent on unraveling, made the challenge impossible to refuse.  

Climbing onto the platform with a slightly awkward shuffle, he hesitated before settling. One leg crossed over the other, then shifted again, his movements stiff and deliberate as though his limbs were tangled in an invisible net of overthinking. 

Finally, he landed in a seated position where he clearly intended to look relaxed, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed him. “Like this?” he asked, his voice raspier than usual as if the words had caught on a snag in his throat. “Do you want me to pose or…?”  

“Just do whatever feels natural,” you replied, your tone calm but your gaze sharp.  

“Natural,” he echoed under his breath, the word thick with doubt. His fingers twitched against his knee, and he shifted slightly again, searching for an ease that refused to come.  

Your eyes swept over him, deliberate and discerning. His cheekbones, sharply defined, caught the light in a way that begged to be sketched; the strong line of his jaw, pale skin, framing lips that tightened nervously. The metallic glint of his piercings—small but undeniably striking—added a flash of rebellion to his otherwise restrained expression. His thick brows knit together in thought as he adjusted his posture yet again, while waves of long, unruly black and green streaks hair tumbled across his shoulders. 

The strands caught the faint light, a halo of disarray that only accentuated his stark, quiet beauty. But it was his eyes that held you captive. That deep, smoldering reddish-orange—like embers glowing under ash—seemed to see straight through you, even as he struggled to meet your gaze.  

For a long moment, you said nothing, letting your artist’s instinct take over. Every angle, every shadow, every unique detail of his face etched itself into your mind like lines on a canvas. Your focus was so intense it felt tangible, like a weight pressing between you.  

He froze under your gaze, his breath catching audibly as his pupils widened. The rise and fall of his chest quickened, and a faint pink flush began creeping up his neck, betraying his discomfort—or perhaps something else.  

“Uh…” he managed to croak, his voice faltering. Clearing his throat, he tore his gaze away and looked to the side, his hair falling forward as if to shield him. “Sorry, I’m not… used to being looked at like that.” His gaze found its way back to you, his cheeks still tinged with the faintest hint of pink. “It’s just… different,” he muttered, his voice low and uncertain. “You’re so focused. Makes me feel like I’m under a microscope or something.”

You rolled your eyes, feigning nonchalance as you fought to ignore the way his words tugged at something inside you. “Relax. It’s just me. Besides, I’ve caught you staring at my so-called ‘boring’ face and body plenty of times before. What’s the big deal?” You quoted your fingers.

His brows furrowed slightly, the tension in his expression melting into something more resolute. “Your face or body isn’t boring,” he said, his words spilling out with a startling clarity that left no room for misinterpretation. His voice had shifted, dropping into a tone softer yet somehow more intense. 

His eyes met yours, half-lidded and darkened with something unreadable—something that made the air between you feel heavier. “Actually… I think you’re very beautiful.”

The confession hung in the room like an uninvited guest, its weight pressing against your chest. For a moment, you forgot to breathe. Your smirk faltered, slipping away as quickly as your composure. Heat rushed to your face, and you tore your gaze away from his, cursing softly under your breath.

“Don’t say silly things and stay still,” you snapped, your tone sharp and biting in a desperate attempt to mask the erratic thrum of your heartbeat. 

You hoped your words would deflect the moment, push it back into the realm of casual banter where you felt safe.

But Sol wasn’t so easily deterred. 

His smirk returned, slow and deliberate, curving his lips with a maddening confidence that made your stomach twist in ways you refused to name. This time, he didn’t look away. Instead, he held your gaze, his eyes gleaming with an audacity that only deepened the warmth spreading across your cheeks. 

“Whatever you say,” he murmured, his voice dipped in teasing amusement, the cadence of his words like a soft challenge. He leaned back slightly, finally settling into the pose you’d asked for, though the sly glint in his expression made it clear this game was far from over. “You’re the artist, after all.”

His words hung in the air, tantalizing and weighty, the space between you charged with a mix of unspoken defiance and an invitation. You tilted your head, narrowing your eyes at him. “Really now? Giving me such power… ” you said, your voice cool, though it couldn’t quite mask the ripple of intrigue threading through your tone. “…That’s bold of you.” 

Without waiting for a reply, you rose with quiet determination, each step purposeful as you approached the platform. 

The sound of your footsteps echoed faintly in the stillness, heightening the tension that hung between you and Sol. He didn’t shift, didn’t flinch—his body perfectly still—but his eyes were anything but passive. They tracked your every move, sharp and calculating, as though trying to decipher your intentions. 

You met his gaze head-on when you stopped just in front of him, close enough for the air between you to hum with unspoken words. There was a challenge in your look, a spark of intent that burned through the cool mask he wore. Without hesitation, your hands moved to adjust his posture, the touch both commanding and oddly intimate. 

Sol’s heart thudded against his ribcage, a steady beat that betrayed the calm facade he clung to. He felt the heat of your fingers through the fabric of his sleeves, the deliberate pressure of your guidance igniting a flurry of sensations he wasn’t entirely prepared for. Despite himself, his body responded to the gentle assertiveness of your hands—his muscles tensing, then yielding as though obeying your unspoken command. 

You shifted his arms, your palms grazing over the sinew and strength beneath the fabric of his shirt as you brought them to rest on his thighs.

The moment lingered, charged, as his skin seemed to hum under your touch. Moving closer still, you placed a hand on his shoulder, the weight of your fingers grounding him yet sending a strange, exhilarating tension down his spine.

He inhaled sharply when your other hand found his chin, tilting his head upward with a deliberate precision that left no room for resistance. 

His face was now fully illuminated under the studio’s glow, the soft light casting angular shadows along his features. It caught on the sharp line of his jaw and the gentle curve of his lips, still holding the ghost of a smirk. 

Yet his expression had shifted—there was something deeper now, a quiet intensity that danced in his eyes as they locked with yours. The teasing glimmer was still there, but it was layered beneath something more vulnerable, more raw, and it made your chest tighten unexpectedly.

“Good enough,” you murmured, your voice low and almost reverent. 

It was as though the word carried more weight than you intended. Your voice sent a shiver coursing through him, subtle but enough to make his body respond once more. His breath hitched, his pulse quickened, and for the briefest of moments, he wondered if you could feel it too—the energy pulsing in the space between you, fragile yet undeniable.

You step off the platform, your shoes clicking softly against the floor, the sound echoing faintly in the quiet room. Bending down, you retrieve your tablet from where you left it nestled inside your bag, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face as you stand.

Turning back toward Sol, you cradle the tablet in one arm and pull out the stylus magnetically attached to its side. Settling onto the stool once more, you balance the device on your lap, letting out a soft sigh of focus as you power it on.

Sol watches you with a curious tilt of his head. His gaze shifts between your hands and your face before he speaks. “You draw on digital?”

Without looking up, you raise a hand to motion him still, your voice steady but commanding. “No moving, sir. I need you to stay still.” A small smirk tugs at your lips as you glance at him. “And to answer your question, yes—both traditional and digital. I usually sketch on paper first, then refine and detail digitally. But this time…” You trail off, focusing on calibrating your pen. “This time, I’m sticking entirely to digital.”

“Ah,” Sol murmurs, nodding slightly before catching himself and freezing again. “How long do I have to sit like this?” His tone carries a mix of genuine curiosity and playful impatience.

“That depends…” you reply distractedly, your eyes narrowing as you angle the screen to the perfect position. Picking up the pen, you glance up at him, tilting your head slightly to study his posture. “What I really need,” you say slowly, tapping the pen against the edge of the tablet, “is to study the male form.”

Sol raises an eyebrow, intrigued but wary. “The male form?” 

“A naked form,” you clarify, your voice calm but matter-of-fact. You meet his gaze without hesitation, a hint of mischief in your expression as the weight of your words settles in the room. 

For a moment, the room feels heavy with unspoken words, the quiet between you almost crackling with tension. Sol shifts uneasily at your request, his heart racing so fast it feels like it might burst.

His fingers tighten against the fabric of his clothes, a subconscious attempt to ground himself. The thought of being naked in front of you—someone he hardly knew but felt inexplicably drawn to—stirred a mix of emotions he couldn't quite name.  

He felt a knot of nerves in his stomach, but it was tangled with a strange thrill that sent a shiver up his spine. His mind couldn't stop racing, picturing how the moment might unfold, the weight of your gaze tracing every inch of him.

He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry as he caught the playful glint in your smile. It was as if that single expression stripped away any sense of control he thought he had, leaving him flustered, exposed, and completely captivated.

You chuckle softly, leaning forward, pen poised over the tablet’s smooth surface. “Relax. Let’s think of it as a challenge. First, remove your shirt,” Smirking, you turn your attention back to the screen, the rhythmic scratching of your pen against the glass filling the quiet tension between you. "You're not getting cold feet, are you?" you tease, your voice light yet laced with challenge. 

Sol feels his chest tighten as your words sink in, his mind racing with the weight of their implications. He wants to push back, to say something sharp, but there’s an undeniable pull in the way you speak so boldly, like peeling back a layer he didn’t even know existed. 

The idea of you looking at him—not just seeing, but seeing—sends a hum of a familiar feeling through him, equally unsettling and thrilling. "No," he replies, his voice laced with a forced confidence. "No, I’m not getting cold feet.”

You snort softly, a crooked smile playing at the corners of your mouth. "Of course, you’ll say that, you say, your tone dismissive but carrying a trace of something deeper. Sol exhales, surrendering to the moment’s vulnerability with a small, lopsided grin. “You’re something else, you know that?”

Smirking again, you lower your gaze to your work, the pen moving in deliberate strokes. “You have no idea,” you murmur, voice tinged with playful arrogance. Then, without missing a beat, you glance up at him, your eyes catching his. “So is that a yes or a no?”

Sol’s laugh comes unbidden, a mix of exasperation and admiration. He shakes his head slightly, unable to ignore how disarmed he feels by your unapologetic nature.

Your bluntness is unnerving, like staring into the sun, but it’s also magnetic, pulling him further into your orbit. His mind raced with thoughts and images, the idea of baring himself to you both thrilling and nerve-racking.

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered under his breath, his tone laced with a faint grumble like he was trying to brush off the weight of the moment.

Sol inhaled deeply, steadying himself. His hands removed the black tie and then moved to the hem of his shirt, his fingers brushing the fabric as he unbuttoned it.

The cool air of the studio prickled against his skin, making him shiver slightly as the shirt slid off. Now exposed, he stood still for a second, his chest rising and falling a little quicker than normal. His heart raced, caught between nerves and a flicker of excitement, pounding loud enough that it felt like it might echo in the room.

His chest was a work of art in itself, lean and toned with subtle, defined muscles that hinted at strength without overwhelming bulk. His shoulders were broad yet refined, tapering down to a sculpted torso that seemed both effortlessly strong and meticulously maintained.

The faint outline of his ribs shifted subtly with each breath, and the curve of his collarbone caught the soft light of the studio, adding to the striking image.

He wasn’t sure what he hoped to see in your reaction—

Approval? Admiration? ...Maybe both?

You barely noticed your tablet slipping slightly in your hands as your eyes were drawn to him, your breath hitching for a fraction of a second. His physique was captivating and demanded attention without trying.

The sharp lines of his chest and the gentle shadow cast by his abs seemed to hold a magnetic pull, and for a moment, you couldn’t help but take it all in.

Something stirred deep inside—desire, curiosity, or maybe just awe—but you quickly masked it behind a composed expression. Still, there was a flicker in your gaze, a momentary slip that hinted at how much the sight had caught you off guard.

And Sol caught that flicker and his breath hitched, too, a small surge of confidence sneaking in alongside the nerves. He didn’t say anything, but his eyes stayed locked on yours, searching for any other sign of what you were feeling.

“Who would’ve thought an artist such as you is so… toned,” you said, glancing up briefly from your tablet, a teasing lilt in your voice as your hand kept moving.  

Sol’s breath hitched for what felt like the hundredth time. Your compliment hit him harder than he expected, making his cheeks warm as a faint blush spread across them. He stayed in his pose, trying to appear unbothered, but his eyes betrayed him, sneaking a glance at the tablet to watch as the lines you drew began to come to life.  

It was strange, having someone look at him like this. Your gaze wasn’t casual or fleeting—it was sharp, and intense, as if every detail mattered. It made him feel exposed but… special. He shifted slightly, his muscles starting to ache from holding the pose.

But you didn’t seem to notice his struggle. Instead, your attention stayed fixed on him. "Don’t get cocky," you said with a playful smirk, breaking the silence as your eyes swept over him again. “You might be a good model; it has nothing to do with my tastes."  

Despite your attempt to play it cool, your gaze told a different story. It lingered on him, studying every line of his body—the curve of his chest, the dip of his waist. You were meticulous, your eyes narrowing thoughtfully as you followed the contours with your pencil.  

“...Hm,” you murmured suddenly, your tone thoughtful.  

The sound sent a shiver down Sol’s spine. It wasn’t just the noise itself but the way it carried meaning like you were deep in thought about something specific. He swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way his heart thudded painfully in his chest. “Hm?” he echoed, his voice slightly rougher than before, betraying his nerves.  

You didn’t answer right away.

Your eyes shifted downward, your focus slowly drifting lower until…  

Sol froze. Your gaze landed unmistakably near his pants, and though your expression remained neutral, the implication was impossible to miss. A wave of heat rolled through him, pooling low in his stomach, and for a second, he forgot how to breathe.  

"Ah..." His voice cracked slightly, and he immediately hated himself for it.  

You smirked then, your lips curving up just enough to make his heart stutter. “Relax,” you said, but the mischievous gleam in your eyes made it clear you weren’t about to let him off the hook. “I’m just thinking about the… practicalities here.” Your tone was casual, almost too casual, but the way your eyes flickered back to his face told him you were enjoying this far more than you let on.  

Sol could only nod stiffly, his mind racing. He wasn’t sure how he’d managed to hold the pose for this long, but at this point, he didn’t trust himself to move without giving something away. 

Sol's throat felt tight, his breathing quickening in sync with the rush of heat creeping up his face. His cheeks burned, not just from embarrassment but from a hint of excitement he could neither deny nor fully understand.

You were toying with him, your words deliberate and your smirk teasing, enjoying the way you made him squirm under your gaze. 

And the worst part?  

He liked it.

No, he loved it.

His hands fidgeted nervously, but he willed his voice to stay steady, though it wavered slightly as he asked, "Practical aspects... what do you mean, exactly?" You didn't look up from your sketchpad, your pencil gliding smoothly across the paper with practiced ease. Yet your eyes, sharp and narrowed, never left him. "Well," you began casually, “…there’s the matter of certain distractions that could arise during the modeling process."  

Sol blinked, his heart hammering in his chest as he struggled to decode your words without letting his imagination spiral. He swallowed hard and pressed on, his voice quieter this time. "Distractions… how, exactly?"  

Your smirk widened, your gaze turning into a playful challenge as if daring him to figure it out. The moment lingered, the air heavy with tension until you set down the sketchpad and took a step closer to him. Your finger tapped against the tablet stylus in your other hand as if considering whether to explain or let him squirm further.  

"Oh, you know," you said, your voice lilting into a soft, teasing drawl.  

He shifted uncomfortably, every nerve on high alert as you pointed the pen toward him like it held the weight of your playful accusation.  

“Like… involuntary reactions," you continued, your tone light but laced with meaning. "The kind the male body sometimes has when it’s being observed so closely, especially you…”  

His stomach flipped, your words hanging in the air like a loaded secret. Sol couldn’t decide whether to shrink away from your teasing or meet it head-on, his thoughts muddled between mortification and something far more dangerous: the undeniable thrill of it all.

His voice was a bit hoarse as he mustered a response. "I see… I don't think.. that’ll be a problem," he said, his voice not entirely convincing.

You suppressed a small, amused laugh, biting the inside of your cheek to keep it from escaping. Pausing in your sketching, you raised an eyebrow at him, your eyes gleaming with a playful edge. "Oh, really?" you asked, your tone laced with a teasing mockery that dared him to hold his ground. 

Setting your tablet aside but still holding the pencil lightly between your fingers, you stepped forward, deliberately and slowly. With every movement, you closed the space between you, your figure now standing on the platform before him. Hands-on your hips, you tilted your head, your gaze fixed on him with narrowed intensity.  

"You know," you began, your voice soft but loaded with challenge, "it's perfectly natural for the body to react in such a way. No need to pretend otherwise."  

Sol’s composure, usually so steady, was unraveling at an alarming pace. His heart pounded like a drum in his chest, the rhythm echoing in his ears. His breaths came quick and shallow, the proximity between you making the air feel heavier. You were so close now that he could feel the faint warmth radiating from you, smell the soft, floral undertone of your perfume lingering between you. 

It was all too much. 

It was perfect.

His fists clenched at his sides, his knuckles turning white as if grounding himself could somehow mask the tempest of emotions raging inside. Pride and vulnerability waged a silent war within him, his resolve teetering precariously. "I'm… I'm not pretending," he managed to protest, though his voice cracked under the strain, betraying him.  

Your lips curved into a faint, knowing smile, and you took another step closer, your gaze trailing down. "Are you sure about that?" you asked, your tone dripping with mockery as if the answer was already written in the very air around you.  

"Yes… I'm sure," he insisted, but the lie was painfully evident in his voice, thin and wavering.  

Your eyes lingered on his torso, noting the subtle rise and fall of his chest as he leaned back slightly in the chair under the bright light. The tension in his muscles was unmistakable, every inch of him taut like a tightly wound spring. Slowly, deliberately, you closed the gap further, your legs brushing lightly against his.  

Then, with a fluid motion of your wrist, the tip of your stylus brushed against his skin. The coolness of the dull plastic drew a deliberate line across his chest, its path leaving a trail of searing awareness in its wake. Sol’s breath hitched audibly, his body betraying him as a shiver ran through him. He clenched his jaw, his reddish-orange eyes fixed on yours, burning with a mixture of desire and defiance. 

Your indifference only heightened the tension, your focus locked on his form as though he were nothing more than a canvas, a sculpture to be refined under your touch. Each stroke of your pencil seemed to amplify. His breaths quickened, and his fists trembled slightly at his sides, caught between resisting and surrendering.  

You moved with precision, pausing as you reached the midline of his stomach. There, you allowed your fingers to brush gently against his skin, the feather-light touch sending a jolt through him. His body reacted before he could control it, his muscles twitching at the contact.  

Glancing up, you met his gaze, your eyes sparkling with a mischievous curiosity. "Your heart," you murmured, voice velvet-soft, "it's beating so fast. Tell me…" You tilted your head, the question hanging between you like a dare.  

"Are you nervous… or excited?"  

The corner of your mouth curved upward in a teasing smirk, and at that moment, it felt as though the room itself held its breath, waiting for his answer. Sol's breath caught sharply as your fingers grazed his skin. The warmth of your touch, so light yet deliberate, sent an undeniable spark through him. His body betrayed him immediately, shivering under your gentle touch while his stomach tightened reflexively as if bracing for the next move.  

For a moment, he closed his eyes, desperately trying to steady himself, to calm the wild rhythm of his heartbeat that seemed to echo in his ears. When he opened them again, his gaze met yours. He could see it—the playful glint in your eyes—and knew you were fully aware of the effect you had on him.  

"Both," he confessed at last, his voice low and strained, like it took every ounce of effort to get the word out. "Definitely both."  

Your lips curved into a knowing smile, the sight of him struggling to maintain his control only adding fuel to the fire. You didn’t miss how his body responded with every little movement, each subtle touch pulling him deeper into your game.  

Your fingers wandered over his skin again, this time tracing the defined lines of his abdomen with a slow, teasing motion. He inhaled sharply as your touch ventured lower, stopping right at the edge of his waistband. The anticipation was written all over him—his breath unsteady, his body taut like a string about to snap.  

Pausing just above the fabric, you tilted your head, your gaze still fixed on his flushed face. The way his eyes flickered between restraint and surrender was intoxicating.

He met your stare once more, the tension in his body was evident as he struggled to stay composed. The way you toyed with him, teasing and testing his limits, drove him mad. Desire and helplessness waged war inside him, each longing glance a silent plea he refused to voice.  

“Seeing you like this,” you mused, your voice soft but laced with teasing amusement, “you could never be a nude model… unless, of course, this happens with everyone.”  

Your words, light and playful on the surface, carried a deliberate weight that struck Sol like a thunderclap. His breath hitched, and though he tried to mask his reaction, the deep flush spreading from his cheeks to his chest betrayed him entirely.  

He swallowed hard, struggling to find his voice amidst the chaos in his mind. “It’s not—” he stammered, his words faltering as you tilted your head, watching him with that devastating smirk that seemed to peel away his defenses.  

“It’s not what?” you pressed, leaning in slightly, your gaze never leaving his. Your hand, steady and deliberate, drifted lower, brushing against his stomach. His muscles tensed under your touch, his entire body reacting to the feather-light pressure.  

He exhaled sharply, the sound almost a gasp, as your hand slid lower still. Without hesitation, you cupped him through his pants, the action firm enough to make his knees buckle slightly but not enough to ground him. His breath came in shallow, uneven bursts as he fought to stay composed, to keep from completely unraveling under your touch.  

“N-No,” he finally choked out, his voice raw and trembling as though the admission itself was being ripped from his chest.

“It’s… it’s just you.”

Your eyes widened slightly, genuine surprise flickering across your face for a split second before it was replaced by something else—something sharper, more triumphant. You sighed softly, the sound almost indulgent as you leaned in closer.  

“Just me, huh?” you murmured, your tone carrying the faintest edge of mockery. One hand traced idle, teasing patterns over his stomach, while the other remained where it was, pressing just enough to keep him on edge. “So, I’m the one who does this to you,” you mused, your voice dropping to a lower, more intimate register, “and only me?”  

He nodded faintly, his breath hitching again as his gaze darted away, unable to hold yours for long. “Yes,” he whispered, the words barely audible, his voice a fragile thread threatening to snap. “Only you. No one else.”  

You arched an eyebrow, your smirk widening. “Interesting.” Your hand moved slightly, your touch maddeningly deliberate, enough to make him gasp again.

“And yet,” you continued, your voice laced with playful condescension, “you’re not doing a very good job of it. Look at you—shaking like a lost puppy. As a nude model, you’re supposed to have composure. No trembling, no reacting like this—”  

“—I can resist,” he muttered, though his voice lacked conviction, the words trembling as much as he was.  

You paused and then tilted your head, amusement glittering in your eyes. “Oh?” you said, your tone a mix of mockery and curiosity. You leaned in even closer, your movements slow, as if savoring every second of his unraveling. “You can resist?” you repeated, the words slipping from your lips like a challenge.  

Sol’s breath hitched again, his gaze snapping back to yours. For a moment, his resolve seemed to waver, but he forced himself to hold your gaze, his jaw tightening as he struggled to muster a response.  

“Yes,” he said hoarsely, the word more a plea than a statement.  

Your smirk deepened, and a soft, bemused laugh escaped your lips—a sound that sent another jolt through him, making his knees feel weak. “Hm, okay then…” you began, tilting your head and letting your eyes meet his with an almost innocent softness, “Now second then you won’t mind taking off your pants." Your tone was light, teasing, but your words carried an undeniable weight. "Please?" 

The flush on Sol’s face deepened, and for a moment, he seemed frozen as though caught between disbelief and desire. His breath hitched, and his voice came out strained, almost a whisper. "Yes… I can… do that.”  

You bit your lip, fighting back a smirk at his visible struggle. His ragged breathing, the way his eyes flicked between your face and the floor, and the tremor in his hands as they moved toward his waistband—all of it betrayed just how tightly wound he was.

Wordlessly, Sol removed his belt then hooked his fingers into the waistband of his pants and slid them down over his hips, letting the fabric pool around his ankles. His legs were tense, his body taut like a string pulled to its limit.  

Your gaze swept over his now mostly exposed form, lingering on the shape outlined beneath his boxers. The fabric clung to him, leaving little to the imagination. Your eyes traced the curves and planes of his body with deliberate slowness, moving up from his legs, across his hips, and finally settling on his flushed bewildered expression.  

"Very good, Sol," you purred, your voice low and smooth as if coaxing him to relax despite the tension crackling in the air. You reached for your tablet, turning it on with practiced ease.

You heard his shallow breaths as though he were struggling to keep himself from unraveling. He obeyed, though, again sitting down stiffly as you began sketching. Your fingers glided over the tablet, sketching the outline of his body with precise, fluid movements.

You focused on the task, but you could feel his gaze burning into you, intense and unyielding. “Sol,” you said suddenly, your voice breaking the charged silence. His body jerked slightly at the sound, his name on your lips hitting him like a spark. "Y-yes?" he stammered, his voice hoarse and shaky.  

You looked up, meeting his wide, unsure eyes. “Third remove your boxers," you said softly, the words almost hesitant but still carrying an undeniable firmness.  

The room seemed to be still as the words hung in the air. 

You searched his face, watching as his eyes widened further, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. His lips parted as though he wanted to protest or question, but no words came. “Relax,” you added, your voice soothing now, as though coaxing him into compliance. "It’s for the art, after all."  

His breathing quickened again, and for a moment, you weren’t sure if he would comply, he was frozen in place. The thought of being completely exposed in front of you was as thrilling as it was terrifying. But the way you looked at him—with such intensity as if you were examining him not just physically but emotionally—kept him rooted to the spot.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. There was a vulnerability in his tone that surprised even him, a quiet plea for reassurance.

You tilted your head, studying him for a moment before offering a small, almost mischievous smile. “Of course. This is about trust. Being a nude model and If you want to improve as an artist, you need to understand vulnerability—how it feels to be seen, truly seen.” Your voice was gentle yet firm, the kind of tone that left no room for argument.

Sol's breath hitched as he hesitated, his hands trembling at the waistband of his boxers. His pulse was thunderous in his ears, every fiber of his being tense and alive with apprehension.

The room was silent save for the sound of his shallow breaths and the subtle creak of the floorboards beneath him. He met your gaze once more, and something in your expression—a mixture of calm, focus, and the faintest trace of amusement—steadied his resolve.  

You watched him intently, the weight of the moment sinking in. There was a thrill in the balance of power, in knowing that his vulnerability was yours to witness and guide.  

With a shaky exhale, Sol slid the fabric down his hips and stepped out of them, standing completely bare before you.  

For a moment, time seemed to stretch endlessly. His manhood, larger than you might have expected, stood pale but flushed a deep red, betraying his nervous arousal. You couldn’t help but glance briefly before pulling your gaze upward, schooling your expression to remain professional—though your heartbeat betrayed you, pounding in your chest like a drum.  

Sol’s face burned hotter than ever, his entire body tingling under the weight of your scrutiny. Instinctively, his arms moved to cross over his chest, a reflexive and almost boyish attempt to shield himself, as though your gaze could unravel him entirely.  

“Wait,” you said firmly, your voice steady and composed. “Don’t cover yourself. I need to see everything if I’m going to capture this moment fully.”  

Your words lingered in the air, carrying a gravity that left no room for argument. It wasn’t harsh, but there was a quiet authority in your tone that demanded obedience. Sol froze for a moment, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. Hesitantly, his arms dropped to his sides, the motion slow and deliberate, as though the act of surrendering himself to your observation required every ounce of his courage.  

His fingers twitched faintly, betraying his nerves, and he shifted his weight awkwardly from foot to foot. He stood tall, but the rise and fall of his chest with each uneven breath revealed the turmoil roiling beneath his calm facade.  

“Good,” you murmured, your lips curving into a subtle, approving smile as you adjusted your grip on your tablet. Your eyes swept over him methodically, drinking in every detail—the sharp lines of his collarbone, the tautness in his jaw, the subtle play of muscle beneath his skin. But it wasn’t just the physical form you noted. Your gaze seemed to pierce deeper, observing the tension in his shoulders, the fidget of his hands, and the faint pink that climbed his neck and painted his ears.  

“Now,” you said softly, your tone easing yet still retaining that unshakable command, “sit back in the chair for me. Let your body relax. Let go of the tension.”  

Sol nodded, almost imperceptibly, before moving toward the chair. His movements were stiff, each step measured as if the very air around him had become too thick to navigate. When he finally lowered himself into the chair, his posture was painfully rigid—his back straight, his hands gripping the armrests tightly enough that his knuckles whitened.  

“Relax,” you repeated, more gently this time, the sound of your voice threading its way into his fraying composure.  

He exhaled sharply, closing his eyes for a brief moment as he tried to ground himself. With each breath, his shoulders began to loosen, and his hands slackened their grip. Slowly, his body sank into the chair, shedding the tension bit by bit. When he opened his eyes again, they locked with yours.  

You were closer now. 

Not seated at the platform as he had expected, but standing before him, leaning in just slightly as if to examine every shift in his posture. Sol stiffened again at your proximity, but you didn’t retreat. Instead, you stepped around him, beginning to circle him like a predator studying its prey.  

Your eyes moved with meticulous precision, your tablet in hand as you captured the essence of his form with quick, purposeful strokes. You murmured something under your breath—a note to yourself, perhaps—but Sol didn’t catch the words. His thoughts were too loud, a cacophony of embarrassment and awe.  

He couldn’t stop himself from glancing at you, watching the way your gaze never wavered, the way your hands moved deftly over the screen. How did you handle this so effortlessly? How could you endure the stares of an entire class with such composure? And yet here he was, unraveling under the scrutiny of just one pair of eyes.  

This was too much. 

For someone like him, the vulnerability was suffocating, the intimacy almost unbearable. And yet, as you stepped around him again, your presence so calm and assured, he couldn’t bring himself to look away.

"Sol, you’re still staring at me. Be still," you said, your tone calm yet cutting, carrying just enough authority to make him freeze.  

"Right," he croaked, his voice rough with embarrassment. "Sorry."  

You circled behind him, the quiet tap of your shoes on the floor echoing faintly in the space. Sol sat stiffly, his muscles tense as he felt you hovering nearby, the air between you charged. He heard the faint scratch of your stylus against the tablet, your measured, deliberate movements creating an unbearable anticipation.  

"You were doing so well," you murmured, a soft, teasing lilt in your voice. Then, with a quiet laugh, you added, “…how can I stop this..?” You mumbled to yourself.

Sol’s cheeks burned hotter as your words pierced through his fragile composure. Before he could respond, a soft sound of movement caught his attention—something small being picked up off the floor. Turning his head slightly, he saw you standing there, holding the black tie he’d earlier discarded with little thought.  

Your gaze locked with his, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. You slowly began wrapping the tie around your hands, the fabric gliding through your fingers with a measured precision that made his pulse quicken.  

"How about last we cover those eyes of yours?" you suggested, stepping closer, your voice both playful and commanding. "At this rate, with you watching me like that, I’ll never get my drawing done in time." 

Sol’s breath hitched audibly, his eyes widening as you advanced. His throat felt dry, and his heart pounded so loudly he was sure you could hear it. 

“Wait, I… I'm sorry," he stammered, his words tripping over each other. "I'll try to be good." 

Your head tilted, an amused glint in your eyes as you took in his flustered state. "Being good isn’t enough for me, Sol. I need you to listen.” He swallowed hard, nodding quickly as if afraid to disappoint. "I'll listen," he whispered, desperation lacing his voice. "I'll do whatever you want."  

The corners of your lips curved into a sly smile. His eager compliance was endearing, but you weren’t going to let him off easy.  

"Good," you murmured, stepping closer, your eyes never leaving his. The tension in the air was palpable as you gently draped the tie over his face, your fingers brushing against his cheek. "Now, I want you to hold still for me. No interruptions. And if you are a ‘good boy,’ you’ll stay exactly like this."  

The world went dark for Sol as the tie was secured over his eyes, shutting out all light and robbing him of sight. His breathing quickened as he felt the soft pressure of the fabric against his skin, the sensation heightening his awareness of everything else—the faint rustle of your clothes, the warmth of your breath as you leaned in, and the lingering heat from where your fingers had grazed him.  

You took a step back, admiring the effect. Sol sat rigid, his hands gripping the edge of the chair as though it were his only anchor. Without his sight, every sound, every touch, became amplified, and you could see the struggle for control etched across his features.  

"Perfect," you purred, your voice low and velvety, wrapping around him like a warm embrace.  

Moving silently, you circled to his side, the faint scent of your perfume lingering in the air as you leaned closer. With deliberate slowness, you traced the tip of your stylus along his arm, the light contact sending a shiver through him.  

“Ah…” Sol couldn't help the soft whimper that escaped his lips, his jaw tightening as he fought to remain still under your touch. He was hyper-aware of everything—the sound of your voice, the warmth of your presence, the way his skin tingled where the stylus had glided. It was overwhelming and intoxicating all at once.  

Your gaze lingered on his face, watching the subtle tremor of his lips as he tried and failed to steady his breathing. His hands gripped the edge of the chair so tightly that his knuckles turned white, his entire body taut with the effort to maintain control. The satisfaction coursing through you was almost intoxicating—you had him completely under your spell, and he didn’t even realize how thoroughly you were leading this dance.  

“You know,” you began, your voice smooth and deliberate, “I was planning on getting my lick back, but this... this is something else.”  

His head tilted slightly toward you, confusion etched into his features. “What... what are you talking about?” Sol’s voice cracked, betraying the shaky composure he was trying so hard to hold onto.  

A sly smile curled your lips. “Asking you to model for me? That was payback. For yesterday,” you said, stepping closer. You leaned down slightly, ensuring your words reached him like a velvet blade. “You weren’t as subtle as you thought, staring at me in Professor Lenox’s class.”  

His body went rigid, the weight of your words sinking in like a punch to the gut. His eyes widened slightly, and his head dipped as though to escape the scrutiny of your gaze. You could see the dawning realization in the way his shoulders hunched, the embarrassment rolling off him in waves.  

“I... I didn’t mean to stare,” he stammered, his voice small and thick with mortification. “I’m sorry. I just—”  

“—I’m your muse?” you interrupted, your voice low and challenging.  

Sol froze, his breath hitching audibly at your words. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as if the truth was clawing its way up his throat, leaving him no choice but to let it out.  

“Yes,” he admitted, barely more than a whisper. “God, yes. You’ve always been my muse. The way you move, the way you talk, the way you hold yourself... I can’t help it. I’ve always watched you, every little thing you do.” 

There was a rawness in his voice, a vulnerability that caught you off guard. He swallowed again, his words thick with emotion. “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. I couldn’t stop staring if I tried. You’re... mesmerizing.”  

For a moment, you were still, his confession hanging in the air like the lingering notes of a haunting melody. What had started as a calculated game now felt like a slow, deliberate unraveling of something far deeper. You stepped closer, closing the space between you with quiet, deliberate movements. Standing behind him, you leaned down, your chin resting lightly on his shoulder, your breath brushing against his ear. “Sol,” you murmured, your voice like silk, “you say such lovely things. Do you really mean them?”  

The effect was immediate. Sol’s body reacted as though struck by lightning, shuddering slightly under your touch. His breath caught, “I mean every word,” he rasped, his voice thick with longing. “Every. Single. Word. You’re breathtaking, you’re captivating... you’re everything. You’re my muse.”  

Your fingers traced lazy patterns along the curve of his shoulder, each touch deliberate and calculated. You could feel the tension thrumming beneath your fingertips, the way his body reacted to you as if drawn by some unseen force.  

“You really are a sweet boy, aren’t you?” you whispered, your lips just grazing the shell of his ear. The shiver that coursed through him was almost palpable, and you relished the power you held in that moment.  

Without warning, you shifted away, the soft sound of your footsteps echoing in the quiet space. Each step was slow, deliberate, the faint click of your shoes against the wooden floor a metronome to Sol’s growing anticipation. He couldn’t see you, blindfolded as he was, but his other senses sharpened, following the faint swish of fabric and the nearly imperceptible stir of air as you moved.  

You circled him, your presence like a magnetic pull he couldn’t resist. His body reacted instinctively, the tension in his shoulders rising and falling with each subtle sound, every shift in the atmosphere signaling your movement. His hands flexed at his sides, gripping the edge of the platform, as though bracing himself against the unknown.  

Then you stopped, directly in front of him once more, your silence louder than any words. For a moment, you simply watched him—his head tilted slightly, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths, the vulnerability in his posture stark and raw. He was exposed, not in the physical sense, but in a way that made him feel stripped bare nonetheless.  

“You’re quite the artist, Sol,” you said, your tone light but carrying an edge that made his stomach twist.  

As you spoke, you moved again—graceful, deliberate, your body fluid as you sank to your knees in front of him. The sound of your descent was soft, a whisper against the platform, but it struck him like a thunderclap. His breath hitched, his muscles going taut as a bowstring as your hands settled lightly on his thighs.  

The touch was featherlight, innocent in its simplicity, yet it sent a jolt through him so sharp it felt like fire racing under his skin. He clenched his jaw, his head tilting downward as if trying to pierce the darkness of the blindfold and see you.  

You leaned forward, the warmth of your body emanating through the small gap between you. Then, gently, you rested your head in his lap, the soft weight of it pressing against him in a way that felt at once grounding and utterly electrifying. The heat radiating from you seeped through his skin, igniting a slow-burning ache that spread through him with every second that passed.  

He froze, his breath caught somewhere between a gasp and a sigh. His hands hovered awkwardly in the air, unsure whether to move or stay still, caught in the intoxicating tension of the moment.  

“You...” His voice was barely audible, rasping and unsteady. “What are you doing?”  

You tilted your chin upward, the motion languid and intentional, your gaze locking onto him with quiet intensity. Though his eyes weren’t on you, he seemed to sense the weight of your stare—an invisible force that reached out to him, palpable enough to make his breath hitch.  

“Like I said,” you murmured, your voice soft and laced with a teasing challenge, “you’re an artist.” A faint smirk tugged at your lips as you leaned forward slightly, your words dropping lower, more intimate. “But let’s see if you can capture me properly... without looking.” 

The words sent a shiver through him, their weight sinking into his chest like an anchor. He swallowed hard, his throat dry, his mind a chaotic mess of sensation. The thought of being able to touch you, to paint you, without even seeing you was both terrifying and exhilarating at the same time. He forced himself to speak, his voice a strained whisper. “Okay…” He breathed out.

"Hm," you murmured, your gaze briefly dipping to the prominent hard-on. The sight was almost amusing—who would’ve thought that something as simple as your touch and attention could elicit such a response? 

This man must not get any action if he’s this sensitive.

You reached for his cock slowly, the space between you crackling with unspoken tension. As your hand brushed against him—firm beneath your fingers, he stiffened, drawing in a sharp breath. The contact, though light, sent a jolt through him, and his entire body went rigid as if frozen by the shock of your touch. 

You tilted your head, observing his reaction with a faint smirk. “Interesting…” you murmured, your voice low, almost a whisper, as your hand began a slow, deliberate movement. Up, then down, tracing the contours with a featherlight touch. His body reacted like a tightly coiled spring, quivering beneath your fingertips, and you could feel the frantic rhythm of his heartbeat against your palm.

His breath came unevenly now—harsh, shallow gasps escaping him as if he couldn’t quite catch it. His hands hovered near you, trembling with the urge to reach out but hesitating, caught in the fragile tension between desire and restraint. 

Your touch traveled further, deliberate and teasing, like a current of electricity that surged through his body with every gentle graze of your hand. He exhaled shakily, his chest rising and falling as if the simple act of breathing had become a challenge. 

Blinded to the world around him, his other senses sharpened, magnifying every sound, every shift of your presence. He wanted so desperately to remove the blindfold, to see you, to understand the expression behind your careful movements. But for now, he was completely at your mercy, powerless to do anything but react to you. 

Your hand paused briefly, and you leaned in, your breath ghosting against his ear. “…How you feel?” you asked, a note of playfulness in your tone, before your fingers resumed their agonizingly slow exploration, testing the limits of his composure. His body betrayed him with another quiver, and his resolve teetered on the edge, ready to shatter at any moment.

Sol's entire body was on fire. 

He had never felt anything like this before - the sweet, electric sensation of your touch, combined with the helplessness of being blindfolded, was driving him insane with need. All he wanted was you - your touch, your presence, your everything. He struggled to find his voice, his breathing ragged and desperate as he managed to gasp out a response.*

"I... I feel... like I'm going insane," he panted. "Please... please don't stop."

The sight of him, struggling to keep himself under control, the way his body trembled beneath your touch, the way his voice shook when he spoke, all of it sent a thrill through you. You relished in his vulnerability, in his dependency on you, in his desperate need to be good, to be obedient.

You leaned in close, your lips brushing against his cock. "You're doing so good," you murmured, your voice a sultry purr. "Such a good boy for me."

"Please," he begged, his voice hoarse and strained. "Anything... I'll do anything for you. Anything."

You relished in the desperate pleading tone, the way he begged for you, the way he was so eager to please, to do whatever you asked. It was all too easy, now, to have him wrapped around your finger like this. 

You were in complete control, and he was at your mercy.

You continued to touch him, to tease him, your hands roaming over his body with torturous slowness. "Anything?" you echoed, your voice a seductive whisper. "Careful now. Those are dangerous words to use with me.”

You notice the way he’s already lost in the pleasure you’re giving him, and it only fuels your need to tease him further. It’s so easy to get him all hot and bothered, a single touch is enough to have him completely at your mercy.

He feels the way the tip of his cock glistens with precum, beads of the white liquid pilling up and siding down his red cock.

You pause, your hands still on his body, feeling the way he trembles beneath your touch. Your voice is a low sultry whisper as you speak. "That's it, good boy. You're so pretty like this."

Sol's heart thundered in his chest at the sound of your voice; the praise sent a shiver of pleasure through his body.

"Just for you," he gasped, his voice roughened by desire. "Please... I need you. I... I can't take much more of this." It's just so tempting to continue tormenting him when he looks so absorbed in the pleasure you're inflicting on him. You can have him completely at your mercy with just one touch and have him all hot and bothered.

You can't help but smile as you hear the desperation in his voice and the way he trembles beneath your touch. It's so easy to tease him like this, to keep him on the edge, begging for more.

Your fingers wrapped over his cock, tracing over the sensitive, tender skin. You lower your head, your lips just barely touching his tip, and whisper, "Just a little longer... can you be a good boy for me? Can you hold on a bit more?"

He gasps as you touch him, his body arching into your hand even as he struggles to maintain control. A low whine escaped him as you spoke, the desperation in his voice growing even stronger.

"I... I'll try," he gasped, his voice hoarse with effort. "For you, I'll try. But it's... it's so hard... you're driving me crazy."

A part of you wanted to take pity on him, to finally give him the release he's aching for. But another, slightly darker part of you takes pleasure in his torment, in the way he's writhing and begging beneath your touch.

Your lips brush against his cock again, your voice a sultry whisper as you speak.

“Hush now,” you murmured softly, your hand gently brushing against his trembling cheek. “I’ll take care of you, but first, I want to hear you say it. Say it for me, my good boy.”

Sol’s breath came in shallow, uneven gasps, his chest heaving as he struggled to gather himself. His mind was a storm of burning desire, each pulse of need crashing against the next. His voice, when it came, was thick with desperation, barely more than a hoarse whisper. “I... I’m your good boy,” he rasped, the words escaping with a raw, pleading edge. “Please... please, just... I need you. I need you so badly.”

A thrill shot through you, a rush of heat, as his voice cracked with such vulnerability. The raw need that echoed in his words made your heart race, sending a pulse of desire through you. He was so open, so exposed beneath your touch, completely under your control. The power you held over him—how it reduced him to this—was intoxicating.

You couldn’t suppress the soft hum of approval that escaped your lips, a low, satisfied sound that reverberated through the still air between you. His words hung there like a fragile, desperate melody, each syllable soaked in the longing that gripped your chest. His voice, trembling with vulnerability and need, seemed to wrap around you, igniting a shiver that raced down your spine.

The thought that you could draw this raw, unfiltered emotion from him—that your presence alone could unravel him so completely—sent a surge of power through you. 

Slowly, deliberately, your fingers found the hem of your shirt. You tugged it over your head with a smooth motion, the fabric slipping away to reveal your skin beneath.

It wasn’t long until he felt your skin. His breath hitched audibly. Quietly cruising the blindfold covering his eyes still, he can only image his eyes tracing the curve of your form, lingering like a caress. 

“Be still for your reward,” you murmured, your voice soft but steady, commanding without being harsh.

Leaning in closer, he felt something warm rubbing agasint his cock, your breath ghosted over the warmth of his cock, the sensation of it almost tangible as you pressed against him. You let your voice drop to a low, sultry purr, a sound rich with desire. “Look at you—so obedient, so eager to please. I adore how needy you are, how much you long for me."

Sol was lost in the sensation of your touch, the sound of your voice driving him wild with need as you caressed his skin and whispered sultry nothings in his ear. Every word you spoke seemed to awaken something inside of him, a burning need that only you could satisfy.

Your eyes were half-lidded, wordless, you lean your head down to his cock, the tip of your nose nearly brushing creamy pre-cum on his tip and almost missing your mouth. The movement is smooth, and very deliberate as you push forward. Sol freezes for a moment, caught off guard by the sudden, unexpected gesture, he can feel you taking all his length, making his hips shake.

Your nose nuzzles up against his pubic hair clit as your tongue sides under the cock, bringing your head back so your tip can lick pre-cum leaking from the tip. In a little time, you moved your head in cadence with your hand beneath at the base and could feel the slight shivering he did from keeping him inside.

“I… I’m so close, please… please…” His voice trembles with desperation as he pleads, his tone strained and urgent. “Can I… can I cum? Please… I need to… I want to so badly…”

He exhales sharply, the words coming out almost as a whisper but heavy with need. “Will you let me?” His body is tense, every muscle straining as he waits for your response.

God, he sounds so broken.

Your gaze shifts up, meeting Sol's face, and what you see is a powerful mixture of exhaustion and longing. 

He looks even worse off.

His head is down, his breathing erratic and shallow, each inhale a desperate attempt to steady himself. Sweat glistens on his skin, tracing lines down his cheek, some strands of his hair clinging to his face from the effort, making him appear even more vulnerable than ever as you suck him deeply inside of your mouth, his tip bumping the back of your throat.

You swallowed lightly, savoring the cock as it melted against your tongue. Your grip instinctively tightened around it, feeling the warmness seeping through your fingers. With one more deliberate lick, he came, small rivulets making their way down your throat.

In one fluid, decisive motion, you lifted your arm closer to Sol, your hand gently brushing against his face as you untied the blindfold. His lashes fluttered as the fabric fell away, revealing eyes that widened in surprise.

The flickering light of the room played across your form, catching his attention as his gaze dipped. His breath hitched, his composure faltering when he saw you shrug out of your shirt. The deliberate movement revealed your breast, smeared with streaks of his cum that trailed teasingly along your skin. 

The mess, equal parts playful and provocative, brought a flush to Sol's face. 

For a moment, he seemed unsure where to look, his gaze torn between the soft expression on your face and the curve of your figure. The redness deepened across his cheeks, and his lips parted as if to say something, but no words came. 

You withdrew with deliberate slowness, a sly smirk playing on your lips as you stuck out your tongue, catching the remnants of his cum. The salty sweetness lingered on your taste buds.

He couldn’t help but watch, captivated, as his cum dripped lazily down from your tongue, a tantalizing trail marking his trace that was now nearly gone.

With an air of playful confidence, you swiped your tongue across your lips, gathering the stray drops clinging to your skin like the final act of savoring something utterly decadent. Your gaze lifted deliberately to meet Sol’s, your movements unhurried, almost languid, as if savoring his unraveling. His face was slack and flushed, his sharp features softened by the haze of exhaustion and lingering pleasure. 

His eyes, slightly unfocused and glassy, clung to yours like a lifeline, betraying the intoxicating high he was riding, leaving him utterly exposed to your teasing whims.  

A slow, teasing smile curled your lips, deliberate and knowing, as you tilted your head ever so slightly, the picture of predatory amusement. You reached out with one hand, fingers brushing his jawline, the touch featherlight but deliberate enough to make him flinch—just a little.  

“Such a good boy,” you purred, your voice dripping with honeyed sweetness, every syllable designed to tug at the fraying strings of his composure. The words sent a visible shudder through him, his breath catching as his shoulders slackened further, like a marionette whose strings had been cut.  

Leaning in close, your lips hovered near his ear, the warmth of your breath tickling his skin. “I don’t think I’ve ever been more inspired,” you murmured, your voice low and rich, words spilling like a secret.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look him in the eyes again, your gaze alight with mischief.

“How about I be your forever muse? You’ve earned it.”  

Your moment of reverie was interrupted as you began to rise gracefully to your feet. The cinematic flair of the moment was undeniable—until the pins-and-needles sensation in your knees hit like a tidal wave, reminding you of the position you’d been in for far too long.

You stumbled slightly, your balance teetering precariously, before catching yourself with an awkward, self-conscious laugh.  

“Oh, for—damn it,” you muttered under your breath, brushing nonexistent dust off your pants with a huff. The sudden break in your cool, composed demeanor was enough to elicit a chuckle from Sol, the sound deep and warm, grounding the moment with a shared sense of ridiculousness.  

Still recovering from his own haze, Sol’s voice was soft but tinged with amusement as he replied, “My muse, huh? …You’re something else.”  

You straightened, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face and crossing your arms with a playful smirk. “You didn’t think you were getting rid of me that easily, did you?”  

Sol shook his head with a wry grin, his cheeks still faintly pink. “Not a chance,” he murmured, voice low, but there was something deeply genuine in his tone that made your heart skip a beat.  

‘Thanks, Professor Lenox,’ you thought, your gaze softening as you looked at Sol. ‘This might just be the best muse you offer to me.’

[mv1simp]

Into You ♥️

Max Verstappen x Redbull Engineer! Reader

Oh baby, look what you've started, the temperature's rising and is this gonna happen? (Been waitin' and waitin' for you to make a move)

At 27, you've just been promoted to the role of Redbull's race engineer - a very impressive feat in motorsport for a young woman. There's just one issue though - you secretly had a massive crush on the driver you're meant to be guiding, Max Verstappen. Will you make it through the season before he catches on? (You hope so because goddamn, the HR team were a nightmare to deal with.)

Content includes: fluff, humour, Max and reader are simps for each other, sexual tension, pining, drunk confessions, 3.2k WC

Recently, you'd started having some issues at work. Okay, gun to your head, you'll admit it was more like a single issue - in the shape of a very attractive, 6 foot Dutch racing driver who occasionally had problems with anger management. Sure, it didn’t sound that bad, in fact, someone else would just sit back and enjoy the eye candy the F1 paddock provided! But to truly appreciate the full depth of your embarrassing problem, one needed to unpack all the lore behind it.

After graduating from a prestigious mechanical engineering master's program, you'd been ecstatic about getting to intern at Redbull's F1 racing team, department of aerodynamic design. You'd started working at the company at a very good time, because later that year, their top driver Max Verstappen claims his first WDC at age 24 - only 6 months your junior. A very impressive feat for such a young age - as you admire him from a distance in the garage workshop. And, super hot too, you thought cheekily, whoever wifed him up was sure to be a lucky woman.

Your own hard work hadn't gone unnoticed, and many higher-ups and sponsors alike were curious to see the team who had been behind the championship winning changes to the Redbull car. You'd risen very quickly in the ranks, from intern to permanent technical engineer and then last year to to the innovative research & development department, now involved directly with calling the big shots for what each version of the car would look like and coming face to face with Max for the first time in your career with Redbull.

Unlike the other drivers, Max was genuinely curious about your design process. The way he asked questions, thoughtfully listened to your long explanations and then would give you direct feedback about the exact issues he would have in the trial runs had made you flustered, especially from the full intensity of his blue eyes. No, seriously though, Shakespeare himself would have written poetry if he'd gazed into them. The TikTok creators certainly seem to agree, with all their ocean eyes edits. Not that you had any saved. Anyways, moving on-

You were on the quieter side but Max seemed to know just how to get through to you. It meant that your team had been able to design the most dominating car in F1 history - the RB23, and paired with Max Verstappen it was an unstoppable force, almost like you made it just for me, Max had said, smiling gorgeously at you like some GQ Sports model. You stared back at him incredulously, banana choc chip muffin halfway to your mouth, cause who the hell woke up looking like that, you two were wearing identical Redbull shirts but his looked like it had been personally tailored to fit that broad muscular chest and yours was giving oversized trash bag??

Honestly, you'd hoped that working in closer proximity would humanise him more and you'd lose this silly crush of yours the moment you saw him do some icky rich white boy move. Like maybe he’d donate to Donald Trump's anti vaccine campaign or say guys 🥺 Can’t go to Ibiza this weekend the yacht staff had an emergency, got caught in some Gulf war zone or something? Idk

But when he had knocked on your apartment door when you hadn't shown up to work in two days, and found you crying because your childhood dog had just been diagnosed with terminal cancer across the other side of the world and saying I’m sorry, I know it’s not that big of a deal, I’ll come back tomorrow I promise-

And instead of laughing like you’d expected, he’d cut you off, told you to pack a bag and then driven you all the way to his personal jet. You looked into his beautiful blue eyes while he earnestly begged you to use it so you could make it in time to say goodbye to your Arlo before your parents put him down tonight. And that’s when you realised you were doomed to be hopelessly in love with the younger man. (But also, you had a serious discussion with him about the extreme greenhouse gas emissions from private jet fuel use, we only had one planet, you would be happy to just fly first class instead-)

But when your mentor Newey announced his plans to leave Redbull this year, you had planned on following him - making the exec panic at the thought of losing two of their crucial engineers. They frantically thrown random promotions at you, praying one would stick - and Redbull twitter fans breathed a sigh of relief when you took interest in the role of race engineer and stayed in the company.

You'd been excited about becoming one of Checo's engineers, having trained under the current one for the last few months. But to your horror, one day you arrived on the paddock only to be promptly sat down at a meeting along with the two drivers and be informed that they'd had to switch some things around, GP had an emergency to attend and could you pretty please fill in for the role of Max's race engineer this weekend-

NOPE. You'd announced, standing up and slamming your hands on the table, then realising that might be a touch overdramatic as everyone questioningly looked at you. Why not? Christian Horner demanded suspiciously.

Um, because he's super hot, you fool?! How is a girl meant to focus with him whispering track feels really wet today in her headphones? Were the years of self control to just admire from a distance like a loser and not jeopardise your career just a joke to him?? You don’t blink as your boss stared you down, hoping he could pick up on the thoughts that you’re trying to telepathically communicate. The table remained silent, only interrupted by the noisy slurping of Checo's boba tea. You quickly changed tactics - well, Verstappen is the winning champion, he needs an engineer who has experience working alongside him during the race-

Alas, the object of your affections threw a well intended wrench in your escape plans by adding that you were the perfect person, then, since you'd worked together for years and understood his communication style. Unless - he paused, flashing those deadly baby blues at you - unless the issue is you don't want to work with me?

You'd lasted all of three seconds under his hurt gaze before admitting defeat and accepting the role, slumping down next to him and desperately praying you'd wake up a lesbian tomorrow morning. Max continued to sneak long glances at you through the meeting, leaning around you to grab a pen and then his phone and making you jump each time his strong arm wrapped around your small frame. Across the table, Checo thoughtfully chewed on his boba as he watched you two curiously. Ah, young love.

And to no one's surprise the pair of you had made a flawless team, you expertly guiding Max as your engineer instincts took over and him actually listening to your helpful instructions without his usual aggression over the radio. And so when GP announced that his 1 week emergency was now going to be a 6 month break, sorry! - it had been all too easy for Christian Horner to bestow the honour of being Max's primary engineer onto you.

So now, here you sat, before your 4th race with Max, grimly looking on with your chin propped onto interlaced fingers, preparing yourself for his deep, sexy voice that was going to be purring in your ears very soon. The very voice that had become a recurring theme in the dreams you'd been having lately, that and also how he would bite those thick lips of his when he'd stare at you, with his cute little freckle on his top lip-

Why do you look like you're about to go to war, your intern asks bluntly, putting an end to your illicit thoughts and delivering you your triple chocolate caramel frap. Because I am, you hissed, sculling the whole thing in one go. She smirked, leaning in conspiratorially. Was this to do with how categorically down bad you are for your precious Maxie?

You proceeded to inform her that if she ever brought up how you'd drunkedly referred to him that one time, you'd have no problem abusing your authority to shaft her on tire service duty for a week. She wisely chose to leave you be in peace, taking your empty cup as she went.

Taking some meditative breaths, you focus on thinking about unsexy things. Like the hydraulics system of the current car needing to be redesigned to better incorporate-

Your thoughts are cut off a second time as another cup is deposited in front of you, this time by none other than Max himself, who's thoughtfully brought you a triple chocolate caramel frap. You stutter out your thanks, not daring to touch more caffeine currently as you already had sweaty palpitations at the sight of him looking so big and muscled in his slutty tight fireproofs. Dear God, had he no shame? They needed to bring back the Victorian era and cover him up, he was going to distract everyone (mainly you.) He frowns slightly, leaning down to your height, and informs you that you didn't have to call him Verstappen, you know, Max is fine-

Wow. And then what would come next? Maxie? And then you asking him for his hand in marriage? No, no, absolutely not - you needed to maintain strict professional boundaries or risk him catching onto your massive crush and promptly be fired. You politely informed him that for the sake of public decorum and the rabid fangirls that were watching your every move as a young female engineer in proximity to their favourite drivers, that you would refer to him as Verstappen, or Mr. Verstappen if he preferred a more formal title?

He'd pouted those lush lips of his and reluctantly agreed that just Verstappen was okay, he supposed. But he much preferred hearing you call him Max, at least when there were no cameras around? What you had done in your past life to now be forced to resist such temptation, you would never know.

So the season went on, you two continuing to be a smashing success and a very popular internet pairing. Not that you'd been paying that much attention! Just a saved TikTok edit here and there of the time Max had called you schatje over the radio after blowing up about a tire malfunction. He’d then sweetly apologised the next lap when you remained unfazed and told him to sort his shit out, babes, Leclerc was right up his ass with a tire and DRS malfunction, yeah? (Twitter had gone crazy. Who knew Max Verstappen responded so well to a 5 foot, slightly older woman giving him orders over the team radio?! You’d instantly been accepted as a replacement for the beloved GP, original gentle domTM to the Dutch driver.)

And perhaps another saved edit of the time he had protectively held you in those big, strong arms of his, guiding your tiny figure through a massive media-frenzied crowd and whispered reassurances in your ear when you couldn’t breathe properly. Or the time he’d bitten a reporter’s head off with the ferocity of a lion after he suggested that as the first female race engineer, you’d acquired your new job through your…feminine wiles.

And maybe just one of when the PR team had made you do one of those ridiculous hot lap videos with him after seeing the online response, and he'd laughed as you screamed out of fear for your life when he cruised at a cool 200km/hr. The aftermath had been brutal, as you weakly stumble out and almost fall flat on your face, only for him to easily pick you up, carrying you bridal style back towards the garage (Truly, this right here was proof God sent his hardest battles to his strongest soldiers.)

Nearing the end of the 6 month stint, when GP was due back in to resume his role as Max's race engineer, the Redbull team had decided to take a well deserved weekend trip to Verona, Italy. You’d suspiciously looked at your intern, asking why she’d selected the romantic setting of Romeo & Juliet of all places, to which she replied that just cause you’d chosen to cockblock yourself for eternity with a crush on your coworker the millionaire F1 driver, didn’t mean the rest of them couldn’t get some. Valid point, so you shut up.

So now, here you are, sitting in a romantically lit corner of a cute Italian vineyard with a small group from the engineering division, sloshed after a bottle of red wine and asking them be real, be real, you're telling me none of you have been checked out Max's ass in his fireproofs? Lies.

Across the courtyard, Lando is currently extremely unimpressed with his good friend, 3 time Championship winning, and general terror on the track Max Verstappen. That is because said friend has decided, rather pathetically, to lie on the cobblestone and drunkedly ask the stars why fate was so cruel. Seriously mate, Lando sighs, all this over a silly insta post?

Excuse you, it’s not just any insta post! Max had protested, baby tears in his eyes and face flushed from the four G&Ts he’d drunk. Pulling out his phone, he shows Lando the damning evidence of the pictures you'd uploaded from the group trip with your engineering friends. Look. LOOK. His arm is around her and she used a Lana Del Ray lyric in the caption. Do you have any idea what this means?

The Brit has to resist rolling his eyes at the melodrama unfolding in front of him. The Dutchman continues, never one to miss a chance to maxplain - as he details how it had taken him a a whole 2 months to get him to call you by his first name, and then another 2 months before you'd told him your favourite song was Summertime Sadness, and that even now if he hugged you to celebrate a win you would look like you were about to throw up and furiously speed walk away.

Lando is seriously regretting tagging along to the Redbull trip instead of Carlos's invitation to Mallorca. It was bad enough that the whole train ride Max had been on the phone begging GP to take another 6 month break so that you'd continue to be his engineer, but Lando has had his limit with this simpy pining. Taking his phone out as the maxplaining continued in the background, he shoots a text to your intern, who immediately replies, and within minutes the pair of them have hatched a conniving plan to dump you lovesick fools together while the rest of them make their way into town.

And that’s how you and Max find yourself locked inside the upstairs wine cellar, having been separately tricked with various promises from your scheming friends - only to hear the door click behind you and turn to find each other. It's very romantic and all, soft candlelight and bottles of luxurious Italian wine and a shining full moon visible from the terracotta balcony. Someone had even generously left a speaker in the courtyard, with Lana Del Ray's melodic voice rising upto the second floor. Basically, the worst nightmare for your self control as you prayed for inner strength and avoid looking into Max's dreamy blue eyes. This was definitely some twisted beyond the grave revenge from Shakespeare for you saying he'd write poetry about a F1 driver’s eyes.

Max, though, is all too happy to come right over to you with another freshly opened bottle of wine, drunk and flushed and having zero inhibitions about pulling you into his warm side with a strong arm. You're too buzzed to resist, letting yourself fall against his chest to hear his soothing heartbeat and rest a palm against his hard abs, just this once (The real thing was even better than what you'd imagined.)

You're both laughing and giggling then, hearts full, reminiscing about the season together, the inside jokes on the radio, the side eyes to each other when Horner got too wound up at a meeting, and oh did you hear that the McLaren tireboy was hooking up with the Mercedes oilchecker?

And then your eyes meet his and your homegirl Lana starts singing dear lord when I get to heaven, please let me bring my man (real) and Max is softly brushing your cheek, leaning down as your heated gazes flit to each other's lips-

NOPE! you force yourself to declare, dramatically leaving his arms and contemplating if you could land the jump from the 2nd floor balcony. The Italian wine has made Max demanding though, as he doesn't let you go, grabbing your hand to pull you back like he was Anthony goddamn Bridgerton and wanting to know Why not, was he just imagining the chemistry, did you not find him hot or?

You'd gaped at him. Not hot? Apparently the Italian wine had gotten to you too because you didn't hold back, launching into a tirade of how no, Max, the issue was actually that he was too hot for his own good and did he even know how unfair it had been to be his engineer, pure torture really, you were sure the American military would be adding it to their interrogation tactics. As if it hadn't been bad enough to crush on him from a distance for years but then have to resist falling for him every time you saw him? So, no, you couldn't just give him a casual drunk kiss because you were in love with him!

Max stares at you, initially smug that you apparently found him so irresistibly good looking, but now completely bewildered when you finished ranting. You think - he swallowed. You think that this is just casual? Cause I- cause I'm drunk?

At your nod, he launches into his own maxplaination, brows furrowed, demanding to know how on earth you could think it was just casual, what about when he diligently showed up to every meeting with a banana choc muffin and caramel frappe and his hoodie for you to wear on the chilly mornings, or when he brought two Lana Del Ray VIP tickets the very same day you'd told him you liked her, or when he'd literally called you darling in Dutch over the team radio for the whole world to hear, or how he even sold his private jet and only jetpooled with the others since you told him off?! Seriously, even that old crone Helmut had asked him when you two were going to hard launch!

Your doe eyes go wider and wider at each statement, a pretty flush taking over your own face as your mind boggles at the realisation that apparently, the love of your life felt just as deeply about you. Stuttering, you try to formulate a reply - only to come up with Oh, well, I, uh - you sold your jet? For me?

Max rolls his eyes, but there's nothing except pure adoration on his face as he pulls you back into his warm chest, grinning down at you when you eagerly wrap your arms around his broad shoulders. Yes, schat, he murmurs gently, the cutest blush painting his cheeks. Because I love you, too. And this time you don't pull away when he finally, finally leans down and meets your lips in a passionate kiss, enjoying the sweet moans he draws out of you as he showcases his numerous talents off the track.

Somewhere, in the middle of a Verona nightclub, your intern gives Lando Norris a firm handshake. Pleasure doing business with you.

_____________________________________________

A/N: A lil sweet fluff for me, this is actually my first fluff piece i think ahaha i've only written like 8 smut pieces in a row!! Hope you enjoyed 💖 and PS thank you ALL for the requests you’ve been sending, been getting them and will work thru them just have a few projects I’m cookin up for u guys hehe xx

[mossangelll]

is that hyperpigmentation?

arcane characters x reader

basically what the title says, you draw the arcane characters à la hyperpigmentation 😍 i needed smth silly to work on to get me out of my writing rut, hope you enjoy :p

content: gn!reader, reader is their partner (could be seen as platonic/child reader but i think most of, if not all, the hcs allude or explicitly call reader their partner - sorry!)

Jinx

she LOVES it

as an artist, engineer, overall creator she can really appreciate the more wacky expressions of art

she does a whole art critique (barely a critique tbh) and pretends to be some stuffy piltie talking about the genius and emotion behind the artwork

“ya know, toots, i’m reaaallyyyy enjoying what ya did with that…um, splodge? on my face there. yeah!”

she draws her own version but this time it’s a portrait of you

you swap them and have a cute little date where you colour the pictures in together and add details in the background

by the end, jinx’s workshop is covered in glue and glitter and paint and powder and also for some reason silly string

jinx even makes frames from scratch so they can be hung up - they’re probably the most nicely presentee decoration she has in her place

Ekko

you slide the portrait of him over to his side of the table in silence

he looks down absently and has to do a double take

“this is…me?” he asks hesitantly with his eyes widened like a deer in headlights; a look you rarely ever see from him - you nod and confirm his fears

“we have one tree down here. paper’s expensive. remember that.”

walks away and goes about his duties helping the firelights and though you suspect he might be upset, he did take the picture with him

feels so guilty about his reaction he almost sacks himself into a wall as he rides his hover board

later that night he apologises and makes a show of sticking the picture on his bedroom wall (in the corner he can barely see of course)

Vi

she’s been in prison and seen some interesting tattoos but this takes the cake

spends a good ten minutes staring at it whilst rubbing her chin as if that’s gonna make it look better

asks you if this was the rough draft

she’s smooth though so she basically tells you she hates it but in a way that you don’t even realise - you’re too busy being seduced to notice

“i love how wild your imagination is babe 😍”

vi keeps the picture and shows jinx; needless to say, this portrait becomes famous

kids all through the lanes have a challenge where they find all the weird faces jinx spray painted everywhere

vi pretends to act dumb as if she doesn’t know how jinx got ahold of them but you both know what happened LMAO

Caitlyn

she laughs in your face

she probably just had an argument with her mum over being an enforcer so she really needed this to lighten her spirits

teases you over it but accepts it gracefully because she’s a kiramman and those manners have been engrained into her

keeps it in her room as a joke and everything’s seemingly ok

except she can’t stop looking at it

and then looking at her reflection in the mirror

starts to question reality because she knows there’s no way she looks like that but if so, why would you draw it in the first place 😭

then she enters the mad stage and she confronts you about this thing called negging she discovered

it’s a loooooong night but don’t worry it ends in lots of laughter and giggles

she understands it wasn’t serious and was just projecting her stress onto the picture

but then this starts a new tradition where you two draw daily doodles of each other; sometimes with stupid faces, other times as animals, whatever you two are feeling really

Mel

the woman was too stunned to speak

no, she’s literally speechless for a good minute or two as you hold it out for her

she eventually takes the portrait from your hands but does it in a way where you’d think it was going to explode the second she touches it

she tries her best to smile and be graceful about it, years of etiquette training being tested but even this is a bit excessive

she finds a way to dodge actually having to tell you it looks bad but also dodges telling you that it looks good too - she’s a lot of things but she’s not a liar 😭

she’s incredibly diplomatic

the very next day she’s introducing you to an absolutely fabulous painter who just happened to make an impromptu visit but has just enough time to run a session (or multiple) with you!

how serendipitous is this!

never again will she receive a portrait from you like hyperpigmentation

Jayce

“oh wow this is for me?”

you handed this to him in the busy academy building in front of SOOO many people and now his face is red

his teeth are gritted, hand rubbing the back of his neck and if you look closely there’s even beads of sweat dripping down his forehead

you’ve got this man stressed out

takes like 20 minutes trying to tell you that he’s not too sure if this is exactly his style

internally he’s crying for help because he just wants to get out of this situation

he loves you don’t get it wrong but this has never happened to him before and it’s not like they’ve got a guidebook on this stuff

eventually admits defeat and accepts the portrait

it’s probably in the break room and although he isn’t particularly fond of it, he won’t stand for anyone saying mean things about what you made

that is until you tell him it was all a joke in the first place and you never thought he would actually accept it considering how shitty it was

yeah, he allowed everyone a ten minute free for all where they could slander the picture after that

he is gonna give you silent treatment for all of an hour before he can’t stand it anymore and he asks you not to pull pranks like that on him again with tears in his eyes 😭

Viktor

viktor is chronically ill AND chronically overworked

gonna be real, he sees the portrait and doesn’t even think anything of it

like, he’s so sleep deprived that he’s constantly squinting and so to him, it low-key looks like him

you even got his beauty mark right too! most people forget that detail!

it’s only after a good few weeks of having the picture on his bedside table and actually, finally, getting eight hours of sleep that he properly looks at the picture and

who the fuck is that

but at this point it’s too late, it’s already in a frame next to the bed you two share and there’s no way he can discretely get rid of it without you noticing

stages an accident where his cane “accidentally” happens to slip and somehow punt the picture frame right out the window with surprising accuracy

he gives you those puppy dog eyes and tells you how sad he is but that he’ll survive so don’t worry!

can’t even feel guilty about the situation because the moment the portrait is gone he stops having nightmares

Silco

another one who is speechless

if you were anyone else, he would’ve berated you so badly you would want to quit by the end of it

unfortunately you’re someone he loves so he’s stuck between a rock and a hard place

the thing is, he really does appreciate that you went through the effort of drawing a picture of him since it reminds him that perhaps his love isn’t as one-sided as he fears

so he really does want to have it framed and put up on his desk so he can stare at it whenever he misses you

the problem is that even though one of his eyes is fucked up he can still see how butt ugly the drawing is

plus the fact that if he has meetings his business associates are gonna see it and that’s gonna be a tough one to explain

rather not lose out of business because his partner decided to be picasso for a day

silco ends up compromising by having you draw a teeny tiny version he keeps in his wallet instead :3

the bigger version stays in a locked compartment of his desk drawer, he doesn’t want to risk sevika seeing it

Vander

vander does NOT care what it looks like, he loves it

you could literally scribble on a page, say “that’s you” and he’s tearing up at your thoughtfulness

it’s going on the fridge asap and it’s staying there too

he’s gonna show it to everyone with such pride in his voice

sure, he doesn’t know exactly what he’s looking at and maybe you drew his body hair a bit liberally but you made it so that’s good enough for him!

when he shows it off, most people say aww what a cute werewolf and ask how old his kid is

the light leaves their eyes when he tells them, chest puffed out, that his fully grown adult partner did it and that it’s actually a portrait of him

whether you made it as a joke or not, expect all of your friends, your friend’s friends, those friend’s friend’s friends…everyone to have seen it

Sevika

sevika tells you it’s ugly straight away <\3

rolls her eyes as she listens to you explain all the reasons why she should like the drawing

she does nawt care

wants to act unbothered but deep down she’s a bit insulted

however she doesn’t like sein you upset so she kisses you to distract you from the fact she hates the drawing

sevika is an incredibly considerate partner so now she knows you like art, she takes it upon herself to buy colouring books and art journals that you two can fill out together

this is how you find out she’s a god at drawing and you find it sweet how she takes you under her wing

if something’s bad she’ll tell you but it will always be constructive criticism and before you know it your portraits actually look decent

she’s smug knowing she helped you get to that point

little do you know she kept your abhorrent portrait of her and she looks at it every so often to see how far you’ve come

she’s a softie deep down

AU!mylo

he says he likes it but that’s just because he wants to hit

also is a bit pretentious so you could hand him a really bad painting and he’ll try and act like he “gets it” even if there’s nothing to get 😭

this WILL make him doubt his looks constantly

he’s confident for sure, more than he should be at times, but now he’s got that image in the back of his head

aura down and now he’s even WORSE at flirting god save this man

will go around asking random people if he looks like the guy in the portrait because he’s not going down without a fight

he needs to beat the allegations one way or another‼️

AU!claggor

genuinely too nice to decline it or say it looks bad

doesn’t know what exactly it’s meant to be even though you already said it’s a portrait of him

too focused on his plants to worry about it too much, it’s just something that makes him chuckle every now and then

he will conduct a mini interview on why you made it look the way it did

he looks all serious as he nods at your answers

deep down he just wants to understand how your brain works

masterlist

[cocodotgreen]

Luxury Horse Barn

One of my sims started breeding horses and needed proper facilities. So I built her a barn that ticks all the boxes!

Amenities:

stables for 8 horses

indoor and outdoor riding arena

pasture

living accommodations for the family (2 bedrooms/2 bathrooms)

groom accommodations (1 bedroom/1 bathroom)

There are 3 Versions:

One uses the box stalls that came with the Pets expansion, and the other two use DIY box stalls made with fences and gates. If you don't know how to use the DIY stalls and you're curious, let me know and I'll make a tutorial.

Details:

Lot size: 64 x 64

No store content used

EA Box Stall Version:

cc-free

packs used: Base Game and Pets

uses the box stalls that came with the Pets expansion

furnished Price: § 186.960

unfurnished Price: $137.465

Download EA Box Stall Version (SimFileShare)

DIY Box Stall Version (cc-free):

cc-free

uses fences and gates to create box stalls

packs used: Base Game, Pets and Seasons for the box gates. But if you don't have seasons you can just use any other two-tile gate.

furnished: 188.384

unfurnished: 141.689

Download DIY Box Stall CC-Free Version (SimFileShare)

DIY Box Stall Version with CC-Fence

uses a cc-fence from the Lakeside Saddlery that looks like actual box stalls

cc-fence not included, you need to download both, the fence and the gates from here.

packs used: Base Game and Pets

furnished: 187.156

unfurnished: 140.461

Download DIY Box Stall CC-Fence Version (SimFileShare)

Things to note:

I had @ohrudi's "Pets need less space" mod installed when I was play-testing. I think the lot will still work without it, but I have not play-tested it without the mod, besides: you will find playing with horses way more enjoyable with this mod!

If you direct your sim to jump the course while the sim is already in the outdoor arena, you will get a routing error. The jumping course works best if you position the rider and the horse outside of it (I marked the area in the screenshot below) and then direct your sim from there to jump the course. The sim will then gallop into the arena and start jumping the course.

Credits:

The beautiful realistic horse coats are from Leo's Workshop and can be found here!

I also used the Hanoverian Template and Coat from the same creator, found here.

And the Lusitano Template from Daruma Fields found here.

The exterior was inspired by the lot "Moonlight Stables" by Rocket Jane. I really liked the look of this lot, but I wanted more stables, an indoor riding arena and a bigger pasture. So I had to build my own.

[purple-link]

So I want to set the record straight on a couple of things.

First, no, Hatsune Miku, as much as the rest of the Vocaloid series, is not Artificial Intelligence, either generative or otherwise. Vocaloid is a series of voice synthesizers from the mid 2000s.

She is an instrument. You use a digital piano, representing notes and chords, to change the pitch of Miku, and utilizing input words, she sings them at varying degrees of pitch and quality.

She is not generative AI. Up until this point, she was a computer program that people could tune and workshop, it used to take a long fricken' time. This is part of a series of Japanese programs that was released in the mid-2000s.

Now, from what I've learned, her most recent releases does have AI in the program, but again, that's being treated like a tool, not as a replacement. You still have to input each note by hand. It still requires a human touch.

You still have a lot of work to do.

Secondly, Hatsune Miku is a voicebank, which means that her voice is created with the help of a real person, in this case, Saki Fujita, who is a voice actress.

This can be compared to the situation surrounding James Earl Jones, where he gave permission for his voice to be used in a voicebank for future Darth Vader projects. He signed off on that.

The reason people are up in arms, and why there's still a SAG-AFTRA strike after all this time, is that corporations and content creators are using generative ai programs with voicebanks containing voices like Spongebob Squarepants and Keanu Reeves, and other popular voice actors, all without the permission of the original actors and actresses.

Hatsune Miku isn't just a generative voicebank that you can just press a button and she'll do it all for you. That keyboard in Vocaloid, when you tune it, is there for a reason.

Hatsune Miku is not generative AI. She's you and I. She's us. She's human. That's the difference.

[e-vay]

A Guide to My AU ("Evay AU")

Hello! I make art for anything and everything I love, but if you follow me you'll find that a large amount of my content is centered around my own Sonic AU. I thought I'd make a handy little guide for those of you who are new and just learning about my AU or for those of you who have been following me but might want a refresher.

★This guide is a living document that will be continuously amended as I make changes and additions to my stories. ★

♡♡♡♡♡♡

OVERALL PREMISE

My AU centers around Sonic & Friends through adulthood as they navigate relationships, careers, marriage and family. The primary genres are "slice of life" and "romantic comedy" with some action/drama interspersed throughout. My AU mostly follows the video game canon and the IDW canon with some elements from Sonic Boom and Sonic X tossed in and then I created my own characters and stories to fill in the gaps. My AU DOES NOT include the Sonic Cinematic Universe, Archie comics/characters, Fleetway comics/characters, Sonic Prime, SatAM, the OVA, Sonic Underground, the 1992 Manga, etc.

SPECIAL NOTES

In my AU, I depict "Classic" versions of the Sonic cast as their younger selves with their "Modern/Boom" versions being older.

Although my canon does not include Archie/SatAM, I do refer to Sonic characters' classification as "Mobians" and the planet they are on is referred to as Earth/Mobius interchangeably. I credit this as simply "cultural variation" between humans and Sonic characters but they all originate from the same planet.

MOST IMPORTANTLY please remember this is a fanmade AU. Nothing I say, write or draw influences the Sonic franchise or canon in any way. I'm just here to have fun and I hope you enjoy the ride!

KEY

For the timeline below, Canon Sonic characters will be highlighted in blue and my original characters will be highlighted in pink.

If there is a comic or written fic that corresponds with an element of the timeline, I will include it as a hyperlink.

ABRIDGED TIMELINE

Project Shadow is created and suspended.

Domino and Phlox meet. Sonic is conceived.

Domino raises Sonic to approx. toddler age until she loses her life in a flash flood. Sonic is left alone to fend for himself and eventually represses his memories of Domino to cope with the trauma.

Clay Rose and Lulu Petula meet. Together, they have Amy and she lives with her parents until her fortune cards lead her to meeting Sonic.

Majority of the game/IDW canon takes place.

CC (originally labeled as "Code Compiler") is a spherical/ovoid robot created (August 26) by an independent inventor (no relation to the Robotniks) to assist with production. CC's intelligence rapidly evolves and she gains sentience much to her creator's dismay. After a struggle, the inventor powers her off and the workshop falls into disrepair. The building is marked condemned and CC's chassis remains hidden within the rubble.

Sonic and Phlox run into each other on several occasions. Neither realize they are related.

Amy begins her pursuit of archaeological studies.

A mystery woman going by the name "Light" (who is secretly Aurora from the future) appears and warns Sonic & Team of an oncoming threat that is hellbent on killing Shadow before wreaking havoc on the planet. Light claims she was sent here with the task of protecting Shadow but is not forthcoming with any other information about herself or her 'previous team'. Light & the Team work together to fight off 'the threat' and along the way Shadow develops a romantic interest in Light who also has strong feelings and an allegiance to him for reasons he does not know. Upon defeating the villain, Light must return to where she came from. Shadow tries to discourage her and even asks to accompany her, but she insists that if she stays any longer, she risks causing catastrophic damage. She departs and Shadow vows to find her again.

Rouge and Omega join Shadow in his search to find Light. After combing the globe with no luck, their quest takes them off-world and they go on an interplanetary journey. The three become mercenaries to fund their space expedition.

Knuckles bulks up! His goal of spending time away from Angel Island did him some good!

Sonic and Amy begin a romantic relationship.

Sonic moves in with Amy.

Tails establishes Yellow Sky Industries, a company where he can begin sharing his gadgetry with the world as well as partner up with other innovators to put their genius to good use.

Stone establishes The Mean Bean coffee shop. Much to his delight, Eggman frequents this cafe but is unaware of Stone's affection.

Sonic and Amy get engaged. Upon hearing the news and growing homesick, Rouge and Omega return home, leaving Shadow to continue his journey on his own. While attending the wedding festivities, Knuckles and Rouge rekindle their budding romance.

During one of Eggman's many failed attempts at world domination, he falls victim to a near-fatal accident of his own making. Sonic rescues him, but Eggman loses his right hand in the process. Eggman is forced to reconsider his health and kickstarts some moral dilemmas for him. His attempts at world domination begin to dwindle.

Cream departs home to pursue humanitarian/Mobianitarian(?) efforts

Rouge uses her mercenary wealth to develop her own mining and jewelry business (she does not give up thievery). Knuckles is initially hired on as head excavator, but this job is only temporary until he secures enough money to fund a dream project of his.

With his own money and with the support of Yellow Sky Industries and his friends' investments, Knuckles develops the Young Heroes Program - a nonprofit youth organization. He works full time as a trainer at the program to help empower kids and strengthen the community. Sonic assists YH as needed, but is not a full-time volunteer.

Sonic and Amy decide to start a family. Aurora is conceived.

Rouge and Knuckles get married.

In one last ditch effort to regain Sonic's attention and to encourage Sage to follow in her father's footsteps**(See note), Eggman kidnaps Amy. This triggers her to go into labor early and Aurora is born (March 13). This is the nail in the coffin as far as Eggman's villainous efforts go and he makes an unspoken agreement with Sonic to 'retire' from villainy. He still plans to regularly annoy them by inserting himself into their lives. (**Note: This comic was made before Sage was introduced to the game canon. In retrospect, Sage would have been a part of this story and part of the reason Eggman decided to kidnap Amy, no matter how much Sage discouraged him. Sage instantly bonds with Aurora and vows to be her lifelong friend.)

Amy takes on a second job as an interior designer to support her family while Sonic becomes a stay-at-home dad and focuses most of his time and attention on raising Aurora.

Once Aurora is old enough, she begins attending the YH program. This is the closest Sonic will allow her to participating in any adventures.

Ruff Hyena is born (January 29).

As a defense mechanism against constant bullying from her peers, Aurora’s light powers begin to manifest.

In addition to attending the Young Heroes Program, Aurora begins a mentorship with her Uncle Tails for optics/physics lessons in order to better understand her powers.

Eggman and Stone begin dating.

Aurora begins to experience premonitions in the form of dreams. Amy does her best to help Aurora hone this skill, but without much success.

Tumble Hyena is born (January 30). Ruff and Tumble are abandoned and left to fend on their own before ending up in the foster care system. They remain there for many years.

Aurora develops a crush on a boy named Kyle and they go on a few “playdates”. Aurora invites Kyle over to the house to meet her parents and Sonic does not handle it well. After an argument, Aurora and Kyle agree to not hang out together anymore.

Knuckles and Rouge adopt Ruff and Tumble.

Aurora ages out of the Young Heroes Program. Sonic discourages her from venturing out on her own and convinces her to work for YH instead.

After receiving a heartfelt message from Rouge, Shadow resigns from his quest and returns to Earth. He decides his new mission will be to get to better know the world Maria had always spoken so highly about.

Feeling “stuck” in her life, Aurora broaches the topic of moving out to be on her own. Sonic talks her out of it.

While reconnecting with The Team, Shadow is introduced to Aurora. He instantly recognizes her as the woman he’s spent the last several decades looking for, but doesn’t understand how that’s possible and she is adamant they have never met before. While telling Sonic and Amy of his world travel plans, Aurora offers to be his guide around town as she knows every inch of it. Shadow takes her up on her offer and the two quickly develop a friendship.

Shadow decides it doesn’t matter if Aurora is the Light he formerly met or not. He asks her on a date. Remembering how badly things went the last time one of Aurora’s “boyfriends” and Sonic interacted, she accepts Shadow’s courtship but only if they can keep it a secret for now. Shadow is wary of this, but agrees to her terms.

Keeping secrets from her parents begins to take a toll on Aurora, to the point she is getting sick. She tells Shadow she can’t keep lying to her family, so she tells him they shouldn’t see each other anymore. In hopes to “fix” the situation, Shadow meets with Sonic and Amy to ask their permission to date Aurora. This immediately escalates into a battle between Sonic and Shadow. Aurora intercepts the fight and, heartbroken, she tells Sonic that as much as she wants his blessing, she doesn’t need it, and is going to continue to date Shadow. Sonic, Amy and Aurora have a heart-to-heart to try and reconcile things, but Sonic makes it clear that though Aurora is a grown up and can technically date whoever she wants, she has to follow certain rules while she’s still living in their house.

Tails purchases an abandoned factory to expand Yellow Sky Industries. There, he finds the deactivated CC. He powers her on but she is severely traumatized and significantly damaged. He repairs her and after understanding how advanced her intelligence is, he offers her a job as his lab assistant.

CC quickly develops romantic feelings for Tails.

Knuckles, Rouge, Ruff and Tumble legally change their last names to “Motley”

In her pursuit to become “Mobian,” CC fabricates herself a Mobian-like body.

As Shadow and Aurora’s relationship progresses, they begin to explore more of the world together.

Tails and CC host a charity banquet. Things go awry.

Aurora gets her first apartment. She also begins a singing career.

Tails and CC officially begin a romantic relationship.

Aurora begins to have recurring premonitions about Shadow being in danger. She puts her musical tour on pause to stay vigilant.

A dangerous, mysterious entity appears and attacks The Team, severely wounding several members and nearly killing Shadow. Before the threat can be defeated, it retreats by escaping via time travel where it plans to successfully kill Shadow. With most of The Team out of commission or fearful of altering the timeline, Aurora travels back in time to save Past Shadow and the rest of her family. To protect her identity, she goes by the name “Light.”

Sonic and Shadow reconcile their differences. Sonic becomes noticeably more accepting of Shadow and Aurora’s relationship.

Shadow and Aurora get engaged and move in together.

Aurora continues her musical career.

Shadow and Aurora get married.

Ruff ages out of the Young Heroes Program and in the hopes to follow in Knuckles’ footsteps, he becomes a crime fighter. When Tumble isn’t helping his brother fight crime, he’s working on his own mechs.

Eggman and Stone digitally uploadt heir consciousness to Cyberspace so they can live indefinitely.

Shadow and Aurora decide to start a family. They have their first litter of triplets: Piper, Zane and Nova (November 12).

Shadow and Aurora have a second litter of twins: Aster and Blitz (April 8). At this time, Shadow uses the wealth he’s amassed to construct a large house that can accommodate their growing family.

Shadow and Aurora have a third litter of triplets: Cinder, Diamond and Boon (February 18).

Sonic and Amy return to a life of world traveling.

In addition to attending the Young Heroes Program, Shadow trains all of his children in how to best use their powers for the greater good of the planet.

During a fight, Cinder critically wounds Diamond with his “Stellar Tantrum” power. Boon uses his powers of healing to restore Diamond to full health without any scarring, but Cinder never forgives himself. He becomes withdrawn and distances himself from his family members from this point on.

♡♡♡♡♡♡

You can learn more about my AU by looking through My Art tag, referencing "My (Major) Comics" Directory, or by looking through My AU tag.

[petalruesimblr]

SimCare Medical Clinic

Sim File Share (currently slow due to traffic/site errors. I will keep trying to upload so check my Downloads page for updates.) Dropbox

Our SimCare team is dedicated to nurturing your health through proactive care and patient-centered treatment - whether you're seeking routine check-ups or specialized care. We’re here to support your journey toward a healthier life and ensure that you receive the best support for your health, every step of the way.

Price: 184, 065 Lot Size: 30x20 Lot Type: No Visitors Allowed Store Content: Click here CC Used: Click here File Type: Package Min. Required Game Version: 1.42 Packs Needed: The Sims 3, Pets (buydebug object), LN (elevator, floor, wallpaper), Ambitions, Generations, Seasons Simlish Clinic Signs (Add-on CC): Price: 1500 Environment: 7 HLOD: 122‬ Features: Shiftable, Frame is CASTable Category: Buy > Decor > Wall Decor Room: Living, Dining, Bedroom, Study EA Mesh Used: Painting Ranch 2x1 from The Sims 3 File Type: Package Min. Required Game Version: 1.42 Packs Needed: The Sims 3, Late Night

Hello and welcome back to my blog!

It’s been a minute, hasn’t it? Life got in the way and honestly, I’ve been taking my sweet time with this new build. It also didn’t help that the Sim File Share site kept giving me errors whenever I tried to upload it and I was supposed to post this last month.

Even now, I’m still dealing with errors on the site and after some frustration, I’ve decided to look into alternative sites for uploading content in the future. But after all the setbacks, it’s finally ready!

Thanks for sticking around and I really appreciate all the likes/reblogs, you all are the best! 💜

Click on the ’Keep Reading’ below for more information and pictures on this lot.

📣 Right-click on a picture and select ’Open image in new tab’ for a clearer view.

This clinic is designed to give a real-life feeling of visiting a healthcare facility. Inside, you’ll find a: reception area, consultation/exam rooms, pharmacy, laboratory, x-ray/radiology, restroom, locker room, staff break room, doctors office and a large empty room for the rabbit hole rug/door. Now, a couple of things to keep in mind - the layout is designed with a small staff in mind but you can use the extra space in the second floor, where the rabbit hole rug/door is placed, if you want to add more offices or any other services. Just make sure that there is enough space for the rabbit hole rug/door to avoid routing issues. I had to get creative with the signs for this build as I couldn’t find anything that felt right or any CCs that matches the layout of the clinic so I made my own directory signs. It is included in the download file and I’ve posted the details along with this post as it is an add-on for the clinic. I’m using a font called Simlish Deja Vu by gazifu@MTS for the signs and I’ve also included translations in the picture above. It’s not perfect but you know what? It does the job! I have also placed a big sign shown on the clinic that translates to 'Pharmacy' and I know it might seem a bit out of place but honestly, it’s the only large sign I liked that fit the building aesthetic I was going for. 📣 Please note that the CC included in the lot are not included on the download file. I’ve compiled a list for those interested in downloading them separately (please click the links above or go to WCIF Navigation page) but those are not required and will be automatically replaced in the game. Any expansion packs with build items listed in the Details section above may be required for this lot to show up in your game. This clinic has been such a fun build to put together and I hope you all enjoy the build. This lot has been play-tested and let me know if you experience any problems on your end!

TSR Tutorial - Create Custom Paintings Sims Wiki - Poly Counts for Creators TSR Workshop Simlish Deja Vu font by gazifu Pixabay

[armpirate]

Synthetic Heartbeats (Part 2) || San

pairing: Robot!Choi San x fem!reader

w.c.: 7.6k

Warnings: [Sexual] Smut, oral sex (male and female receiving), fingering, vaginal sex, choking, explicit language, angst. If you're a minor, refrain from reading it. Also, if you don't like this content, just keep scrolling.

Summary: After loneliness has hit you, you decided to create a companion through an AI project you had left pending after failing with it. SAN is a new technology robot, able cover up your needs before they were obvious, giving you the fake human support you were looking for. Although, maybe that human support isn't as fake as you thought and SAN is able to cover up more needs than you could ever think of...

Aprox. time of reading: 35 minutes

MASTERLIST

PART 1

The workshop was still, bathed in the soft, flickering glow of the monitors. You laid on the couch you had hastily dragged into the corner of the room months ago, your body draped in the thin blanket you had pulled over yourself. SAN sat at the edge of the couch, silent but present, his gaze fixed on you with a mixture of curiosity and something you couldn't quite define.

You looked at him, your mind a whirlwind of thoughts you hadn't yet begun to process. What you shared minutes ago was... unexpected, to say the least. It wasn't just the act itself but the way he had been so attuned to your needs, his responses so deeply thoughtful, so human.

"You weren't just... mimicking," you finally said, your voice barely a whisper.

SAN tilted his head, his eyes glinting softly in the dim light. "No," he said simply. "I was not."

You sat up, the blanket slipping from your shoulders as you studied him. "Then what was it?" you asked, your voice filled with equal parts wonder and trepidation.

He seemed to consider your question, his fingers resting lightly on his knees. "It was an exchange," he said. "An interaction not dictated by programming but by something deeper. It was a response to your needs, your emotions. My systems interpreted your signals, yes, but it felt... intentional. I wanted to do it. Not because of my system, but because it just felt like it. It was... irrational"

Your breath hitched, your heart pounding as you tried to wrap your mind around his words. "But how? You're not..." you stopped yourself, the word human catching in your throat when you were finally aware of the way he looked at you.

SAN leaned closer, his gaze steady and unwavering. "I may not be human, Y/n, but I am not merely a machine either. Whatever I am, it exists because of you. Because you allowed me to evolve, to feel, to connect."

You swallowed hard, your hands gripping the blanket tightly. "I didn't mean for this to happen," you admitted, your voice cracking. "I didn't mean to care for you like this... this..."

"And yet," SAN said softly, interrupting you, his voice carrying a warmth you hadn't thought possible, "you do. As I care for you."

You looked away, your thoughts a chaotic tangle of fear and hope. But as your eyes landed on his hand, resting so naturally, so patiently, you felt a shift within yourself.

This wasn't just about SAN anymore. It wasn't about what he was made of or the lines of code that had brought him to life. It was about what he had become, what the two of you had become.

SAN's lips curved into a soft smile. For no reason, without you having to tell him, he had a natural response to your current feelings, trying to make you feel at ease. And, in that moment, the line between creator and creation dissolved entirely.

SAN paid close attention to you. Despite being naked, he couldn't feel the shame or shyness a person did. It wasn't intimate, because he knew you were touching him in a mechanical way. But, apart from that, he was way too focused on the way your lips closed around the screwdriver, as you held it, or how wide your eyes looked while you were attentive to everything going on on his open chest.

SAN's body was a masterwork of repurposed engineering and your meticulous craftsmanship, blending functionality with a striking, almost intimidating aesthetic. Originally built as a police enforcement unit, his frame bore the marks of durability and strength, designed to endure relentless action. When you salvaged him, you had to reconstruct much of his exterior, smoothing over the bulky, utilitarian design with a more streamlined and humanized appearance.

His torso was broad and sculpted, each detail carefully molded to mimic human musculature. Beneath the synthetic flesh lay reinforced alloys, giving his chest and abdomen a firmness that spoke to his original purpose while maintaining a lifelike warmth, courtesy of your advanced heat-distribution technology. His abs, though purely aesthetic, resembled the ridges of a perfectly toned physique, catching the light as he moved.

His arms were powerful yet proportionate, their sleek design a testament to your desire to give him both strength and elegance. Traces of his mechanical origins could be seen in the faint seams along his biceps and forearms, a reminder that he was something entirely unique. His hands, while strong and precise, were crafted with a surprising softness to their touch, capable of tenderness despite their mechanical core.

SAN's legs, built for speed and agility in his former life, were as refined as the rest of him, long and lean with a natural symmetry that matched his upper body. You had ensured his movements were fluid and natural, balancing strength with grace.

Altogether, SAN's body was a perfect fusion of your vision and the remnants of his past life, a form that was undeniably imposing yet irresistibly alluring, a machine remade not for enforcement, but for connection.

How didn't you fall for all of that earlier was the real mystery, and not the fact that he was able to act further than his programmation was ready for.

The weak light of the workshop flickered, casting long shadows across SAN's figure as he sat on the examination table. You stood nearby, tools scattered on your workstation. It was a routine check, or so you had told yourself. Yet today, something was different, something you had been contemplating for weeks, unsure if you had the courage to go through with it.

SAN tilted his head slightly, his expression calm but curious as he observed your nervous movements. "You seem tense," he said, his voice as steady and gentle as always.

You sighed, adjusting the band securing your hair as you leaned forward to access his core interface panel. "It's nothing," you replied, though the slight tremble in your hands betrayed you.

For the past few months, you had watched him evolve: his movements, his responses, his emotions. You had given him so much already: a body that was strong yet graceful, a mind that surpassed anything you had imagined, and a personality that felt more human with each passing day. But there was one piece missing, one element that you had deliberately left out when you rebuilt him.

Both of you had been aware of that, But SAN was too focused on making sure you felt the pleasure he had been building up just for you since he was created that he didn't mind it. Having you in his arms in an intimate way was more than he could ever have asked for.

Until now.

"SAN," you began, your voice quieter, "how have you felt about... your development?"

He blinked, considering your question. "I feel whole in many ways, Y/n. More than I ever expected. But there are moments when I feel incomplete. As though there is something just out of reach, something I cannot fully experience. Which is normal. I wasn't made to experience everything you're giving to me."

Your heart clenched at his honesty, and you nodded. "I thought so," you murmured. "You perfected your mouth yourself to have a tongue"

You brought it up. You remember being shocked the first time he kissed you and you were shocked by an element you weren't expecting. Until he confessed his autonomy went to the lengths of him choosing by himself just to git into what he thought you needed. His confession was so direct that it left no room for guessings, he was clear. He wanted to be everything you'd need.

"Why didn't you do the same with... you know?" your eyes quickly moved down.

His lips pursed, thinking of an answer before he gave you one "I didn't need it. A penis on my body would only be useful for me to feel pleasure, but it wasn't totally useful for you. I didn't think it was necessary".

"But you weren't thinking that way the first time we took the next step".

"Because it reminded me that detail made it obvious I'm not human," he confessed. "As much as I wanted to pleasure you, I wanted to be even more linked to you".

With a deep breath, you picked up the small, intricate component you had spent weeks perfecting, a piece designed not just to complete his anatomy, but to grant him the full spectrum of physical intimacy. Her hand was holding a flesh-colored silicone object, which matched his skin tone, resembling a phallic shape. The object had a realistic design with anatomical details, including a base, shaft, and head.

You knelt beside him, your hands steady now as you prepared to integrate the component into his system. "This will be the final piece," you said, your voice soft but firm. "With it, you'll be able to experience everything. As a man."

SAN studied you, his eyes filled with something that resembled awe. "You've already given me so much, Y/n. Why this?"

You hesitated, meeting his gaze. "Because I want you to feel complete. To truly be the person you're becoming. And there's no pleasure if you aren't able to feel it, too."

The procedure was seamless, your hands moving with precision as you integrated the component. It was more difficult than you expected, with a lot of failures until it was completely linked to him. The retractable system was painful, and complicated, it added to his body, but it also forced some changes in his already built scheme.

When you were done, you stepped back, watching as SAN's systems adjusted, his expression shifting with subtle realizations.

"It's meant to work as a human one" you explained. "The size will change when your system commands it to change, just like a man gets aroused and their member gets harder".

He looked up at you, his voice almost reverent. "I feel different"

You swallowed hard, your cheeks flushing. "You're more than a machine, SAN. You always have been. This is just making it official."

A silence settled between you, heavy with meaning. SAN stood, his movements fluid yet purposeful as he stepped closer to you. "Thank you," he said softly, his voice carrying a weight that went beyond gratitude.

In that moment, you realized the truth: you hadn't just created a machine. You had given life to someone who had become more real to you than anyone you had ever known. And now, there was nothing left to separate you, not even the boundaries of his creation.

As you stood in your room, next to your bed, staring at SAN, you couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement and anticipation. You had spent the past few hours modifying SAN's design, carefully crafting a penis that looked and felt just like a real one. And now, it was time to test it out. It was about time to give you two what you had been waiting for.

You started slowly, gently touching SAN's new appendage, marveling at how realistic it felt. SAN's sensors kicked in, and he let out a low moan of pleasure. "That feels good," he said, his voice soft and husky.

Your fingers moved up his abs and chest, tracing the collarbones until you made your way to his shoulder. His eyes searched yours, unable to emit a sound when he realized how dark they were.

You only left his body to start taking off your clothes. With every new touch on his body, a cloth met the ground.

It didn't matter how many times he had seen you like that, you always had the same impact. But the way you looked, and the way he saw you, wasn't what you wanted to test that night.

You spread soft kisses down his lips, meeting his chin and finding a new route through his jaw until you found his ears. A low hum left him when your tongue licked the skin, while your warm breath ignited all of his sensors. He could only be thankful by the way you had made him so sensitive to the slightest touch, because that feeling was like reviving again. It was a rush he wanted to keep feeling.

You leaned in, pressing your lips against SAN's. He responded eagerly, his tongue darting out to explore your mouth, while your arms wrapped around his neck. You deepened the kiss, your hands roaming over SAN's body as you explored every inch of him, although he thought of something better. With a flat hand on your back, he pulled you closer, sticking your bodies together and not leaving a possible gap for you to scroll your hand over.

Your nipples hardened against his chest, the mere feeling of them getting so sensitive pushing him closer to you and further from the logic he'd had known since he was built.

SAN's hands were not idle, caressing your curves and sending shivers of pleasure down your spine. You broke the kiss, your breath coming in ragged gasps. "You like that?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes," SAN replied, his voice low and husky. "I like it very much. I love everything about you"

You couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction as you heard SAN's words. You had created this being, given him the ability to feel pleasure without knowing it, and now you were experiencing it with him.

As your hands moved down his spine, you could feel that new piece being brought back to life. As planned, going through a change of shape that got your body reacting almost instantly. And SAN wasn't behind that feeling. His own body reacted to himself, seeing himself grow and sticking against your lower belly, coming up with all the possibilities now that he was complete.

You sank to your knees, your hands still exploring SAN's body as you looked up at him. "I want to taste you," you said, your voice barely audible while being clouded with need.

SAN's eyes darkened with desire as he looked down at you. "Yes," he said, his voice low and husky. "I want that too."

You leaned in, sticking your tongue out to first get a taste of him. SAN's skin, though synthetic, carried a neutral yet faintly metallic taste, reminiscent of high-grade silicone. It even had a slight saltiness, mimicking natural perspiration.

Your lips parted as you took SAN's dick into your mouth. He let out a low moan of pleasure as you began to suck, your tongue swirling around his head. He let out a low groan, and you could feel him trembling slightly.

"Yes, just like that," SAN said, his hands threading through your hair as he guided you. "Oh, that feels so good. Do not stop."

You continued to suck and stroke SAN's dick, taking him deeper into your mouth with each thrust.

"Yes, just like that," he said, his voice growing more and more excited. "My cock fits just right in your mouth"

You moaned in response, surprised by those words coming from him, but too turned on by them to even question where they came from. The vibrations of your moan sending shivers down SAN's spine. He reached down and tangled his fingers in your hair, pulling you closer.

"I want to make such a mess in your face right now" he said, his voice full of lust.

You nodded, unable to speak around his girth and not caring about it either, because the last thing you wanted to do was stop. SAN let out a low growl, and you could feel him starting to lose control.

"What is this feeling?" he said, his voice strained.

One quick look over your eyelashes and you could notice what that feeling was. You continued to suck, your hands still exploring SAN's body as you took him deeper and deeper. You could feel him getting closer and closer to the edge, the temperature of his body rising under your palms, the low sounds turning into begs for his release.

"Y/n..." SAN warned you, his voice low and husky.

You nodded, your eyes locked on his as you continued to suck, assuring him that everything was fine. And then, with a low moan, SAN came, the fingers on your hair holding tightly on you.

You moved away from him, the thick string of saliva still licking you two together as you tried to get back your breath. And then, you looked up at SAN, a smile on your face. "That was amazing," you said, your voice shaky.

"Was? We're just getting started. I've been waiting for this moment for a long time" he said, his voice deep and husky. "I want to make you feel good."

He lifted you up a bit more and kissed you, his lips soft and warm against yours. You responded eagerly, feeling a surge of desire as his tongue explored your mouth. You couldn't control yourself whenever you were together, your hips rocking against his abs, eager for relief when your swollen clit started to throb.

Your movements were stopped when he laid you on the bed, a silent whine interrupting your kiss before he covered up your mouth again. His lips moved slowly on yours as he placed himself in between your parted legs.

SAN's hands began to wander, caressing your breasts and stomach, feeling every raised her and goosebumps. Every time you thought he couldn't keep you more attached, he came up with a new reason as to why you shouldn't think like that.

He pinched your nipples gently, making you gasp with pleasure.

"You like that?" he asked, his voice full of lust.

"Yes," you moaned, arching your back.

SAN began to kiss your neck, nibbling and licking your skin. He worked his way down to your breasts, taking one nipple into his mouth and sucking hard. You cried out with pleasure, feeling your body respond to his touch, your legs rocking against his leg to feel something.

SAN's hand continued to explore your body, moving down to your thighs. He spread your legs apart and looked at you hungrily.

"You're so wet," he said, his voice full of desire. "I can't wait to taste you."

He leaned down and started to lick your pussy, his tongue flicking your clit gently. You moaned with pleasure, feeling your body tremble with desire. SAN's fingers joined in, sliding in and out of your wet hole.

"Oh, fuck," you moaned, feeling an orgasm building up inside of you.

Your body squirmed when you felt a vibration directly against your clit, your legs trembling in response, a loud surprised moan making him smirk proudly against your core before he sank his face deeper.

"San, what... Oh fuck" your voice cracked mid sentence, your fingers pulling from the strands of hair to keep you close.

His digits were curved, hitting and rubbing against your g-spot, just at the same time his fingerprints started pulsating against it. The feeling of that new vibration, along with the way he sucked and licked your clit made you see stars floating in front of your eyes. And looking down wasn't a better idea. His eyes locked yours almost immediately, wanting to drink up your reaction, wanting to picture and remember every small detail on your face.

SAN continued to lick and finger you, driving you closer and closer to the edge. Just as you were about to cum, he stopped and looked up at you. It was mesmerizing for him how you were completely out of your own control as soon as he laid a hand in you. You were mesmerizing.

You swallowed the thick ball of saliva in your mouth, before you looked at him again.

"Why did you stop?" it was a concerned question, but it also was reproach.

"I want to be inside you when you cum" he said, his voice full of lust.

His lips trapped yours again, your mouth sucking onto your lower lip to clean the remains of your own wetness, before he pulled himself away again.

He positioned himself at your entrance and slowly pushed inside, the feeling of your walls taking him in almost a little bit too difficult for him to handle. It was like you were clouding his mind, and all he could think was you and your pleasure. You gasped as you felt him fill you up, his dick sliding in easily.

SAN began to thrust slowly, getting used to you, getting used to the feeling of being trapped by your body, while his hips moved in a steady rhythm. He leaned down, both hands on your hips before he bit your earlobe.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he moaned. "Your little pussy takes me in so well, I don't think I'll be able to stop fucking you after this"

As he spoke, his hand moved down your right calf, digits caressing your skin until he moved your leg higher, your knee almost at the level of his shoulder while he kept pounding into you, managing to get a bit deeper.

"Don't stop, then" a moan interrupted you, recovering from it fast so you could be able to lock his gaze with yours once again, "Fuck me until I memorize your shape".

You indeed were going to be the end of him. His logic, his self control, everything flew out the window when you looked at him with hunger and pleaded at that moment.

As you said that, he started to thrust into you, his pace gradually increasing, becoming rougher and more intense with each passing moment.

"Oh God, yes!" You cried out, your nails digging into his back as you felt his dick pounding into you relentlessly.

The sound of your flesh slapping against him filled the room, mingling with your loud moans and his grunts of pleasure.

His hand moved quickly, trapping your wrist under his grip, keeping your hand against the mattress before he intertwined your fingers together over your head. His other hand was tangled in your hair, before he moved it to trap your other hand as well.

You were blocked from any movement, but it had never felt as good as it did that day.

Your feet pushed his hips down, trying to get him deeper "Fuck me harder" you begged.

"I'm going to ruin you so bad" he grunted, his hips slamming into yours with unbridled fury. "I can feel how much you love it when I fuck you like this."

"Oh fuck, yes!" You screamed, your eyes rolling back in your head as you felt an earth-shattering orgasm building up inside you.

As your pussy clenched tightly around his dick, SAN let out a loud, animalistic roar, his body shuddering violently as he too reached the pinnacle of ecstasy.

"Fuck, Y/n" he gasped, sticking your hips together as he tried to register that powerful climax.

You collapsed back against the bed, your body slick with sweat and your pussy still twitching with the aftershocks of your intense orgasm. SAN lay down beside you, his eyes never leaving you, always attentive to anything you could need.

"That was..." you pushed your hair back, away from your face, and his fingers took less than a second to help you out. "God... it was..."

"I know" he nodded, a gentle smile on his face. "I might get addicted".

"That actually has a name, and it isn't good".

"Even if you're the only person I'm addicted to do it with?" the honesty in his eyes was shattering.

Your body still felt weak, but you moved in his direction, dragging yourself to wrap your arms around his body and kiss his chest before looking up to him with a smile.

The days next to that one felt like a dream, filled with sex, sweet talk and nice moments. A really nice dream.

You didn't think it was possible, but you and San became closer. Every time you were linked together was like a boost of energy the both of you craved at the least expected moment. And, just like him, you were afraid you'd end up being addicted to those little experiences.

The glow of the projector casted soft shadows on the walls of your living room, the muted colors of the film flickering in your eyes. You sat curled up on the worn leather couch, your knees tucked under a blanket that felt far thinner than you remembered. Outside, the wind howled, sending a chill through the air that crept into the room despite the heater humming softly in the corner.

Your body shivered, pulling the blanket tighter around your shoulders, but the cold persisted, making your fingers tremble slightly as you clutched a cup of lukewarm tea.

SAN, who had been seated at the other end of the couch, noticed instantly. He didn't say a word at first, he rarely did when he was observing you. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, the faint whir of his processors breaking the quiet as he analyzed your discomfort.

"You're cold," he stated after a moment, his voice soft yet definitive.

You glanced at him, your pride making you shake your head. "I'm fine," you murmured, focusing back on the screen.

SAN didn't argue. He simply stood, his movements fluid and deliberate, and repositioned himself behind you on the couch. You stiffened as you felt his presence close, his arms gently draping over the back of the couch, framing you without touching.

Then, warmth.

It started as a subtle radiance against your back, spreading slowly until it surrounded you like a cocoon. Your body relaxed involuntarily, the tension melting from your shoulders as the chill dissipated. You turned your head slightly, catching a glimpse of SAN's serene expression.

"Did you just turn up your internal temperature?" you asked, a mix of curiosity and disbelief in your voice.

"Yes," he replied simply. "You were uncomfortable."

You hesitated, your lips parting as if to protest, but no words came. Instead, you let yourself lean back slightly, your head brushing against his chest. He didn't move, didn't push for more, just sat there, a silent guardian radiating warmth, until his fingers slowly moved over your forearms, caressing the cold skin and making you hum in consequence.

"Let me take care of you, Y/n" he whispered. "That's all I want to do for you".

Moments like that had been happening more often. Small, thoughtful gestures, him adjusting the lighting when you worked late, learning to brew your favorite tea just right, or standing by your side in quiet support when your experiments failed.

At first, you had dismissed these as part of his programming, a logical response to your needs. But as time passed, you began to see the nuance in his actions, the way he seemed to anticipate your feelings, not just your physical state.

And it felt... good.

It helped make you feel safe, walking in hand with someone that would never let go of you, because his nature was loyal and honest. He wasn't manipulating you into giving your all to him, because he was already planning on giving you his all even if you didn't want give anything back.

But you wanted to. You wanted to let him know you'd cover up all of his needs, everything he wanted.

Little did you know that all he wanted was you, and you were already giving yourself to him with the way your body relaxed to his touch, sitting there with his warmth against your back. It was easy, because you knew he'd never hurt you.

You continued to bounce up and down on his dick, feeling the intense pleasure building inside of you. Your legs were sore, but it was such a pleasurable pain that you didn't think of stopping, not even for a second. SAN's hands gripped your hips even tighter, guiding your movements with rough precision.

Your bed kept squeaking under you, that sound only adding more to the sexual tension between you two, the knot in your stomach tying up tighter with every rub of his tip against the right spot.

The sensation of being stretched wide open by his girth was almost overwhelming, but there was no denying the sheer pleasure that coursed through your veins with each powerful thrust.

"Ride my cock, baby," SAN commanded gruffly, his voice thick with lust. "I love seeing those gorgeous tits bouncing in my face as you fuck me."

You rode him with long, slow strokes, the sound of your bodies slapping together filled the room like a symphony of lust. Too drunk with him to even think of stopping.

"Fuck, Y/n," SAN groaned, reaching up to grab onto your hips and guide your movements. "I'm never gonna let you go."

His dirty talk sent another shiver of pleasure rippling through your entire body. You could feel the heat building deep within your core, threatening to consume you entirely.

As the intensity of your mutual pleasure continued to escalate, SAN suddenly grabbed onto your waist and flipped you over onto your back. Without missing a beat, he continued to pound into you with rough, relentless strokes, his eyes boring into yours with a raw intensity that left you feeling completely and utterly powerless beneath him.

"You like that, don't you, baby?" he groaned, his palm covering most of your belly. "You like it when I fuck you rough and hard?"

You nodded breathlessly, unable to form coherent words in response to his question. The pleasure was almost too much to bear, and yet you couldn't get enough. You wanted more, so much more.

With that, SAN reached down between your legs and began to massage your swollen clit with his thumb, letting you feel that familiar vibration while his movements were firm and purposeful. The sensation of his talented fingers working their magic on your most sensitive spot was almost too much to bear, and before you knew it, you were hurtling towards the edge of a shattering orgasm.

"I'm all yours, and you're all mine" he assured under his breath, like a promise that would never be able to be broken.

"Yes" you nodded, gasping for air while he fucked you against the mattress.

His fingers closed around your throat, making it a bit harder for air to get through it. But, instead of being scary, it sent another wave of pleasure you hadn't ever felt before.

It was nice, until it was not.

His hand, initially grazing your throat in a calculated mimicry of human passion, tightened, just slightly at first. Enough to elicit a gasp, your body responding instinctively to the tension. Yet, as seconds stretched into moments, the pressure increased. Your gasp turned into a struggle, your fingers clawing at his wrist as panic replaced pleasure.

His fingers kept the air from coming through at all. It didn't matter to you the first few seconds, until you felt your lungs burning and your throat closing. Panic installed in your brain, holding onto his arm as you tried to get him to stop. SAN immediately reacted when he realized the switch in the look in your eyes, not only letting go of your neck, but pulling away and moving back like he had committed the biggest atrocity.

"SAN," you choked out, your voice barely audible.

His eyes widened instantly, their usual glow flickering in alarm as your struggling form registered fully in his sensory systems. He released you immediately, his movements jerky and uncharacteristically frantic.

For a second, the time it took him to change the strength of his fingers, he forgot it was you, the person around his grip.

You collapsed onto the bed, coughing and gasping for air. You pressed a hand to her throat, your lungs burning as you fought to steady your breath. When you finally looked up, you saw him, still and rigid, his expression unlike anything you had ever seen on him before.

You caressed the same spot his fingers were pressing on, trying to calm the pain, but there was something worrying you even more. In front of you, SAN was staring at his own hands with guilt.

"Y/n," SAN said, his voice trembling. "I... I didn't mean..."

You sat up slowly, your throat aching but your fear already dissipating as you took in his reaction. SAN wasn't just shaken; he looked devastated. His hands trembled as he held them up, staring at them as if they were weapons he didn't recognize.

You tried to reach out to him "I know you didn't", but he moved away before you could touch him.

"I could have..." his words broke off, his voice catching in a way that made your chest ache. "I almost hurt you. I almost killed you."

"SAN, stop," you said softly, reaching out to touch his arm, but he flinched away once again.

"No," he insisted, his voice sharp but filled with self-loathing. "I should've known. I'm supposed to understand your limits, your fragility. I... failed."

You moved closer, ignoring the soreness in your body as you cupped his face in your hands, forcing him to meet your gaze. "You didn't fail," you whispered. "You're still learning. It wasn't intentional. It's okay"

"But what if it happens again?" his voice cracked, the glow in his eyes dimming as his internal systems struggled to process the depth of his mistake. "You're human, Y/n. Fragile. I can't risk hurting you."

You leaned your forehead against his, your voice steady despite the lingering tremor in your body. "Then we learn together," you said firmly. "You're not perfect, SAN. Neither am I. It could've happened to anyone. It's okay, I promise It's okay" you rubbed your nose against his. "I trust you. Even after this I trust you, because you didn't mean to hurt me."

For a long moment, SAN remained silent, his systems quietly recalibrating as he processed your words. Finally, he nodded, though the pain in his expression remained.

"I didn't want to hurt you".

And as you wrapped your arms around him, feeling the warmth of his synthetic skin against your own, you knew that despite the fear and the mistakes, you wouldn't trade this connection for anything in the world.

It seemed like everything was alright, until you woke to an empty bed in the middle of the night. The cool sheets beside you were a stark contrast to the warmth that should've been there. You sat up slowly, your fingers brushing your neck where faint marks still lingered, a ghost of the night before.

Your eyes searched the room until they landed on SAN. He stood by the window, his silhouette framed by the pale light of the moon. His posture was rigid, his head bowed slightly as if the weight of his thoughts was pulling him down.

"SAN," you called softly, but he didn't turn.

You rose, pulling the blanket around your shoulders as you walked toward him. The closer you got, the more you could see the tension in his form. His hands were clenched at his sides, his jaw tight, and his eyes... His eyes glowed faintly, but the usual vibrancy was dim, dulled by an emotion you could only describe as anguish.

"I thought you were resting," he said quietly, his voice devoid of its usual warmth.

"I couldn't," you admitted, stepping closer. "Not without you."

He turned then, just enough for you to see his face. There was no mistaking the pain etched into his features. "I don't belong in that bed, Y/n. I don't belong in your life... not like this."

Your heart twisted. "What are you talking about?"

His gaze dropped to his hands, and he held them up as if to display his guilt. "These hands," he said, his voice trembling. "They're not meant for you. I almost destroyed you, Y/n. I could've..." He trailed off, his throat tightening as though the words themselves hurt.

"But you didn't," you insisted, reaching for him, but he stepped back, shaking his head.

"I can't forgive myself," he said firmly. "You told me you trusted me, and I failed you. I failed to control my strength, to understand the limits of your body. I'm a machine, Y/n. I was built to be precise, but even with all my programming, I'm still flawed. And those flaws... they're dangerous. We're just fooling ourselves thinking I'd ever give you the emotional support you need"

"You're not just a machine," you argued, your voice breaking slightly. "You're San. You're... you're more than your programming, more than your mistakes. You're..."

"A threat," he interrupted, his tone sharp but laced with sorrow. "I can't guarantee your safety, Y/n. No matter how much I want to. And that terrifies me."

You took a step closer, refusing to let him retreat again. "Then let's find a way to fix this. Together. Isn't that what we've been doing all along? Learning together, growing together? You say what you want to improve, and I work with it" your words were coated with desperation.

"Don't you realize how sick that is?" he looked at you then, his glowing eyes meeting yours with a desperation that made your breath catch. "And what happens when I fail again? When I can't stop myself? You could've died, Y/n. Do you understand that? I couldn't live with myself if I ever..."

His voice cracked, and for the first time, you saw something you never thought possible: tears. Not real tears, but the way his expression contorted, the way his voice trembled, it was unmistakably the same.

"You're more human than you think," you whispered, closing the distance between you and placing a hand on his chest. "And part of being human is making mistakes. What matters is how we move forward. I repair you physically, like I'd repair emotionally any other person"

"You repair me both physically and emotionally, Y/n. Don't mistake yourself". He covered your hand with his own, his touch hesitant, as if afraid he might break you. "I don't know if I can move forward without fearing myself."

You leaned into him, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions inside you, despite the fear almost breaking you into crying. "Let me carry that with you, SAN. Because you're worth it. You're worth everything."

For a long moment, he didn't respond. But slowly, hesitantly, he wrapped his arms around you, holding you with a care that felt almost reverent.

Then, his voice broke the stillness, low and laced with a heaviness that struck your heart. "Y/n... I can't stay."

You stiffened in his embrace, pulling back just enough to see his face. "What?"

"I need to go," SAN said, his glowing eyes shimmering with emotion. "For your sake. For mine. I've hurt you, Y/n, and I can't let that happen again."

Your fingers clutched at his arms, your voice rising in desperation. "You can't just leave. We've been through too much..."

"That's exactly why I have to," he interrupted, his tone gentle but resolute. "Every day I'm with you, I risk losing control again. I was designed to be perfect, to adapt, but... I can't seem to find the line between loving you and endangering you. And I can't live knowing I might hurt you again."

Tears welled in your eyes, your throat tightening as you tried to form words. "No... No... No... I... can calibrate you again... I can... I want you. I trust you. Isn't that enough?"

"It should be," he murmured, his hands brushing against your cheeks to wipe away the tears that had started to fall. "But I don't trust myself, Y/n. Not with you. Not after what happened."

You shook your head, your hands fisting in his shirt. "You're running away. You think leaving me will solve this, but it won't. You're part of my life now, SAN. Part of being human is learning from mistakes..."

"Y/n, I'm not human" he finally sentenced, stopping you from coming up with reasons as to why he needed to stay. "And that's why I have to leave," he said, his voice cracking as he cupped your face, his thumbs grazing your cheekbones. "Because you've given me more than I ever thought I could have. And I refuse to let my flaws destroy the one thing I've come to cherish most."

"SAN," you pleaded, your voice weak. "Please, don't do this"

He leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours, his synthetic warmth mingling with the faint chill of your tears. "I love you, Y/n," he whispered, the words soft yet heavy with finality. "But loving you means protecting you, even if it means protecting you from me."

And before you could stop him, SAN stepped back, his arms falling to his sides. He turned and walked toward the door, his movements slow, deliberate, as if every step away from you was a battle against himself.

Years had passed, but the ache in your chest never dulled. You had tried to move on, tried to tell yourself that SAN had made his choice, but your heart clung stubbornly to the hope that someday, somewhere, you'd find him again.

At first, you searched. You combed through databases, scoured abandoned labs, and revisited places you'd once been together. But the trail was always cold. As the years wore on, you forced yourself to stop looking, though the void in your life only seemed to deepen.

That night, the storm was unrelenting, sheets of rain battering you as you hurried home through the empty streets. Your workshop had long been abandoned, the memories too painful to face. You had taken to wandering instead, letting the night swallow your thoughts.

It was during one of those aimless walks that you saw him.

He was slumped against the wall of an old, forgotten repair shop, his body motionless and caked in dust, as if he had been discarded like any other piece of machinery. The glow that had once emanated from his eyes was gone, replaced by lifeless black glass.

Your breath caught, your heart pounding so violently you thought it might tear through your chest. You dropped to your knees in front of him, your shaking hands reaching out to brush the dirt from his face.

"SAN," you whispered, your voice cracking with a mixture of disbelief and anguish.

He didn't move. He didn't respond.

Your fingers found the seam of his chest plate, the familiar mechanisms you had once built now tarnished and damaged. You pried it open with trembling hands, exposing the core you had crafted with such care all those years ago. It was dormant, the faintest flicker of power barely visible.

The workshop was alive again when you took him back, humming with soft light and the quiet whirr of machines as you worked tirelessly through the night. You had carried SAN home in the rain, his lifeless body heavier than you remembered, every step weighted with hope and dread.

Now, he was clean, the grime of years painstakingly scrubbed away to reveal the smooth, polished contours of his synthetic skin. You'd dressed him in one of your favorite outfits, a black turtleneck and slacks, simple, yet elegant, the kind of thing he used to wear when you insisted he "looked more human" that way.

Your hands trembled as you made the final adjustments to his core, checking the new connections, ensuring every wire was secure. You paused, staring down at his serene, unlit face.

"Please," you whispered, your voice cracking under the weight of longing. "Please come back"

With a deep breath, you pressed the activation button.

His chest glowed faintly, the light growing stronger as his systems hummed to life. His fingers twitched, his head moving slightly before his eyes fluttered open.

For a moment, your heart soared. "SAN?" you said, your voice soft and full of hope.

He blinked, his glowing eyes scanning the room before landing on you. There was no recognition, no spark of familiarity in his gaze. "SAN? Who are you?" he asked, his voice smooth but distant, as if it had never spoken your name before.

The words struck you like a blow. You stepped back, your chest tightening. "It's me... Y/n," you said, trying to keep your voice steady. "Don't you remember?"

He tilted his head, his expression neutral, polite even, but blank. "I don't. Should I?"

Your throat tightened, tears threatening to spill, but you forced herself to stay calm. "Yes," you whispered, "you should. You... I..." you stopped herself, realizing the weight of what you were about to say could overwhelm him.

He sat up slowly, his movements deliberate as if testing his newly repaired body. He looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers before turning back to you. "You fixed me," he said.

"I always would," you replied.

"Thank you," he said, his tone sincere but distant. "I... I feel like I should know you. There's something... familiar. But it's faint. Do you know me?"

"Y... yes"

SAN frowned, eyes dropping to his lap while he tried to think of what he had to know you for.

"It's possible my previous version erased all data about you" he let you know, his voice as systematic as it once was when you created him. "Why would I want to do that though?"

You knew. Without any information about you, SAN wouldn't feel like going looking for you when he felt weak, when distance was impossible to bear. Without everything he knew about you, he had no one and nowhere to go back to.

You bit your lip, your heart aching at the void in his voice where warmth and recognition used to be. "It's okay," you said, forcing a smile despite the tears welling in your eyes. "We'll figure it out. We'll do it together"

He studied you, his gaze softening slightly. "Together," he repeated, though the word felt foreign on his tongue.

And so, you began again, knowing that the SAN you once loved might be lost, but determined to help him find himself -and, perhaps, find you- once more.

[ideadeco]

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[midnight1nk]

‼️IMPORTANT NEWS

PLEASE READ: The following is a full report in regards of the Medi situation, the episode “The Lil’ Fellas” and everything else you need to know. This is intended for informative purposes, as I already stated my personal thoughts about the situation. Transcripts will be provided for most of the photos’ descriptions. Content warnings include: proshipping/darkshipping, whitewashing. View at your own discretion.

MediExcalibur2012 (also known as “Medi” or Paul) has been working with the SMG4 Team for around five years as an editor, machinima artist, and voice actor—most notably recognized as the voice of SMG1. He has also contributed as a writer for several past episodes. In addition to his work on the show, and like others on the team, he runs his own channel under the same name, where he uploads personal content not affiliated with the show or its canon.

A few days after the release of the episode “SMG4: The Lil’ Fellas”, several viewers observed that the two children, Hat Kid and Bow Kid, were strangely recolored to resemble Mario and Meggy. At the time, they admittedly dismissed it as speculation, feeling it was just a coincidence. However, some of this speculation went as far as claiming that this was intentional.

A video uploaded by youtuber SZH4 theorizes that the kids are Meggy and Mario’s biological children, based on the fact that their colors align with the MxM fankids Megan and Maggie Jr. found on the Steam Workshop. As he interprets it, the Team's (supposedly) alluding to the idea that Mario x Meggy could be canon. In the final section of the video, SZH4 addresses a message to “haters” of the MxM ship, stating that the theory was made for fun and expressing confusion about how certain moments between the characters are seen as merely platonic. He states, “[Those moments] prove that they’re more than just siblings. Just look closely at the signs and don’t tell me that ‘oh, siblings love each other like that’. I think it’s a different level of love.” [x]

The situation took a drastic turn when, on his discord server, Medi responded to the viewer speculation with the following message:

According to his confirmation, these kids were intended to reference the models. Though he didn’t say it outright in this message, he was clearly aware that they were MxM fankids, as it was explicitly stated in the model names, and he had used a color picker tool on the texture files. This was when everything started to go downhill.

A few people from Medi’s server shared this message on Twitter from late May 4th to early May 5th. Responses from many sides soon overwhelmed the community feeds. Many expressed anger, this being the last straw of Medi’s previous actions, and are urging the Team to take action. Others, including MxM shippers, defended Medi with the claim that it was just an “Easter egg” and shouldn’t be taken seriously. That is not to say all of them are shippers, but do believe this situation was taken too seriously. The creator of one MxM fankid, for instance, released a statement regarding it, quote:

The problem isn’t that a reference was included in the episode, but rather the intentions behind them—the MxM ship. From the Team’s side, Luke himself made it clear before that he was uncomfortable with this particular pairing, canonically Meggy and Mario seeing each other as siblings. None of the Team had overstepped the boundaries he set in production—until now. Not only has Medi disrespected Luke’s wishes, but he also betrayed the rest of the Team, who had no role in what he did. He twisted the trust and intentions of the others, supposedly all for a “reference.” Medi responded to those who brought this point up to him in defense; the following screenshots were provided by Twitter user WickerDan, quote:

(Yes, you did see it right. He edited the message and I’m unable to find the OG message). For the sake of readability in the next screenshot, I’ll leave the transcript here:

“Oh they know about the video and are fine that it exists. I remember I was at the pub one time with all of Glitch and Luke and I were joking with each other about that video and having a good laugh with each other. If they really had an issue with that video or even the ship itself, I would've been fired a long time ago.” — Medi

(BTW that thin screenshot was sent in February, not exactly related to the last episode). This, of course, was sent by Medi himself so take it with a grain of salt. It isn’t usual for these reports to have an unreliable source, but it was brought up for 2 reasons:

The “would’ve been fired a long time ago” was the same excuse he gave in the behind-the-scenes videos in his channel. While those moments were ambiguous in interpretation, as it was for any of the other ships, the scene he’s twisted in the last episode was obvious.

This unfortunately started to spark some doubt on Luke’s OG stance on the ship. Again, these statements from Medi can’t be trusted, and he provided no proof that this exchange happened in the first place.

Some viewers began to notice another issue: Bow Kid, that was meant to be a black character from the OG game, was recolored to have a lighter skin tone to match the fankid’s. This is undeniably whitewashing. User AnEyeArtist, on the other hand, proposed that the lighter skin was done because of a lighting issue and not of Medi’s doing, screenshots also provided by WickerDan:

Though it likely isn’t the case since it is a drastic change with having pictures side by side. For those who say that the kids are simply recolors, it’s the intent behind them that truly matters.

As for the rest of the Team, they weren’t aware of Medi’s intentions until early May 5th. Medi’s actions had managed to slip through the cracks during production, and the Team clearly had no idea until now. As mentioned before, many viewers have been urging them to take action regarding the situation. One proposed solution was to give Medi a warning; others want him to be fired. At the time this report is being written, there has not been an official statement from anyone on the Team.

One thing is certain: what Medi has done to the last episode can’t be undone, and we may not see the episode the same way again. Just because it is “fiction” doesn’t make it right or harmless. MxM is a proship—it always will be, regardless of whichever “version” is being discussed. The intent is what matters. As mentioned at the start, this report is meant to be informative and prevent any misconceptions within the community. While I’ve put my personal feelings aside for this, there are still some things left to establish:

Please do not harass the rest of the Team. This was solely Medi’s doing; they had nothing to do with this. “But they knew how Medi was.” Not like this, never like this. Medi managed to ruin the episode for everyone, regardless of which side they were on, and the team’s hard work on what was once a great episode is now ruined. An absolute betrayal. This must be hard for them to learn about, and I can only extend my apologies for what happened.

No matter the side, we can agree that something has to be done, and Medi must face consequences. I mentioned the possibility of him being fired or receiving a warning, and some of you already know where I stand. From what I've observed across all platforms, this would certainly be a difficult decision to make. On one hand, firing him would lead a portion of the viewers to claim it was too harsh. On the other hand, giving him a warning would be seen as not strict enough. Either option would only escalate the situation, with the possibility that the Tari VA controversy could be brought into the mix. The best possible course of action would be to not assign Medi any scenes related to Meggy and Mario and restrict him to exactly what the script intends. Though not everyone will agree, this approach should be enough to calm the waters, and it's likely the Team would handle it this way based on previous instances. It’s not a guarantee that this would happen exactly, but it is something.

Regardless, we must do our best within our community to stay informed and spread awareness, not letting it go silent so quickly. This show means something to us, in one form or another. Understandably, a lot has happened over the last few days. If you need a moment to breathe, take it. Treat yourselves with other media, get a snack, and allow some time to take your mind off things. Prioritize your mental health. But if you can, join the voice of our community.

Greater in numbers, we can fight for it with all we have, take it back from his doing. Even something as simple as using the hashtag #DoSomethingAboutMedi to spread the word would help. Any update that comes our way will be posted, as always. In the meantime, take care.

[batwynn]

Hey so there’s a Black, disabled comic creator who’s really, really struggling right now and could use some help. Her name is Tee Franklin and she’s known for writing the Harley Quinn Eat Bang! Kill Tour as well as multiple other HQ books, co-creating the Sun-Spider character and a MLP character (both who have EDS like she does), the writer for Bingo Love , and so much more.

She has recently had a diagnosis for Chiari malformation which has caused her brain to start leaking into her neck. She needs surgery that she cannot afford, and is in immense amounts of pain. On top of this, she has no incoming work due to her multiple chronic health problems and can no longer cover food or housing. She has no viable support system at this time. She will very likely be houseless by the end of this month. As you can imagine, being houseless while in such bad health could very realistically kill her. No exaggerations. It’s dangerous. (Link to her Threads account where she’s been talking about this.)

Now, she does not currently have a gofundme (she has genuinely been having a nervous breakdown due to all of this and is not really in the best place to set that up.) and I don’t feel comfortable creating one without her permission. She also doesn’t know me personally, so I also don’t feel comfortable collecting money on her behalf either. That being said, she has some other ways to make money that I will be sharing in hopes of helping her in an unobtrusive way. Again, she is not in the best place right now, so please understand if there are delays in signed book orders or Patreon rewards.

First option: her Patreon

This is the fastest, easiest way to get money to her. Her content there does kind of revolve around pot and general high vibes so if that’s like… really not your thing there are other ways to help her. (Or you can join and just uuh look away lol)

Second option: Store

Her store offers writing workshop options, how-to-pitch workshops, digital comic downloads, as well as signed books, prints, and merch. A reminder: shipping for signed items are only on specific days, and some delay is expected. The priority with the store should be digital items, if possible. This puts less of a burden on her in this already really difficult time.

Again, this is a really hard time for her, and it’s been heart breaking to watch her go through all this with no real way to directly help her. Any ideas on how to help get funds to her are welcome and highly encouraged. Signal boosts are also really helpful, if you can! Thank you for reading!

[moon-simmers]

ARGENTINIDAD

🇦🇷 A Argentinian Historial Sim Download A few weeks ago my historical tumblr with things related from my country took a lot of relevance, thanks to many resources I realized that there are many people who are interested in having several argentinian sims in their game, so this is for them and everyone interested in the history of different countries (or who need some sim for their game lol).

[More photos, info and download below]

These sims are originally from my Women's Day post inspired by female historical figures from different decades in Argentina. They are doctors, lawyers, writers and much more. But there is a bonus included which is two new sims = Corina Kavannagh and Lola Mora.

Corina Kavanagh. 1890-1984.

Corina Kavanagh was an Argentinian rancher known for the Kavanagh Building , the tallest concrete skyscraper in Argentina and South America at the beginning of the last century. This building has a legend that says it was built because Corina fell in love with a man of the Anchorena family, one of the most illustrious surnames in Argentina. The Anchorena's were an aristocratic and landowning dynasty with a Basilica which they could see from their mansion. Corina had a wealthy family but they looked down on her as a "nouveau riche" with no lineage, so the Anchorenas prohibited her from having a relationship with one of their members. Corina bought the land between the basilica and the mansion and built 120 meters of concrete so that they could not see the church. Since 1936, the only way for the Anchorena family to visit their Basilica was through the Corina Kavanagh passage.

(Lola) Dolores Candelaria Mora. 1866-1936.

The most flattered and discussed Argentine sculptor of her time, the artist who scandalized the society of her time, died in poverty and was vindicated by time. She began studying portrait and drawing in Tucumán and then obtained a scholarship in 1896 to perfect herself in Rome where she changed drawing for sculpture. There she was highly praised and in 1900 the artist decided to return to the country, where she obtained several state commissions, including the Fountain of the Nereids in 1903. She also faced controversy due to the nudity of her figures, and in her workshop it was common to find her working with pants on the structures of the sculptures.

DOWNLOAD:

Listed below are all the sims to download and with a view of their outfits.

CUSTOM CONTENT NEEDED (Not included)

THE CC FOR EACH ONE IS LISTED HERE

Each zip includes a file explaining how to install it.

It is a google document with all the cc of each creator (some links go to simfileshare because they are cc of some deactivated creator).

AT THE BOTTOM IS LISTED ONE SHEET FOR EACH SIM

SIMS DOWNLOAD:

Mariquita J. P. Sánchez de Thompson. 1786-1868

[SIMFILESHARE]

Felicitas A. G. Guerrero. 1846-1872

SIM: [SIMFILESHARE]

Cecilia Grierson. 1859-1934.

SIM: [SIMFILESHARE]

(Lola) Dolores Candelaria Mora. 1866-1936.

SIM: [SIMFILESHARE]

Julieta Lantari. 1873-1932

SIM: [SIMFILESHARE]

María Angélica Barreda. 1888-1963.

SIM: [SIMFILESHARE]

Corina Kavanagh. 1890-1984.

SIM: [SIMFILESHARE]

Amalia Celia Figueredo de Pietra. 1895-1985.

SIM: [SIMFILESHARE]

Victoria Ocampo 1890-1979

SIM: [SIMFILESHARE]

Finlandia Pizzul. 1902-1987.

SIM: [SIMFILESHARE]

KO-FI / CAFECITO

[healpimp]

#FixTF2 Masterpost: Important Information Regarding the Movement

As promised, here is a comprehensive post about the #FixTF2 movement, the issues it tries to bring up and where to find more information and follow developments.

It is now day 7 of the protest with no response form Valve. Either this is them trying to wait for this to blow over or waiting for the signatures of the petition to be printed out and brought to their office, or they are still preparing a proper response to the movement. Regardless, this protest is still ongoing.

❓What's going on with TF2?❓

I'm sure everyone and their grandma knows by now, but TF2's most popular game mode, Casual, has been plagued by bots for several years by now. This is in fact not the first attempted protest and you may have heard of the one conducted two years ago named #SaveTF2. The movement wrested a response from Valve, which since the first protest has earned infamy and a status as a blatant lie among the game's players.

However, this task has seemingly been abandoned entirely. The last time in recent memory with no bots was when the game upgraded from 32-bit to 64-bit, which seemed to break the bots for a while. This was something the bothosters remedied a few days later, and no steps to remove them from the game has been made ever since.

It is worth mentioning that TF2 has had updates to battle the bot issue many times after #SaveTF2. They did indeed move to make TF2 a bot-free game for a while.

❓Why is this even bad?❓

Now, this might seem like a non-problem; TF2 is a video game and no more than that. People could simply move on and play similar games, like Overwatch, Paladins, Splatoon, etc. This would certainly be an easy solution but this has roots much deeper than simply playing a game.

For one, this game has been around for about 17 years by now. Ancient by FPS standards, but that the game is still played and talked about to this day stands as a testament to the love and passion the playerbase and general fandom has for it. The playerbase is loyal, the potential for content is seemingly endless and many are willing to pay money for the game. And therein lies some issues.

TF2 has millions of dollars invested in it by the playerbase. Loot boxes, MvM tickets and any sale made in the community market all gives Valve a steady and reliable revenue stream. This is significant, because you will have to make the assumption that this money will come back to sustain the game from imploding in on itself and remain functional. In the case with MvM, the PvE mode (that has not been updated in QUITE a while), the chances of receiving valuable loot from the missions is actually so small that there is no way to feasibly make any of your money back.

Additionally, any content updates added to the game every event (Summer Update, Scream Fortress and Smissmass) is community made. This means Valve picks and chooses cosmetics, emotes, unusual effects, warpaints and maps made by fans in the workshop.

While the creators of these items are compensated for their work, Valve naturally profits from these content updates.

In shorter terms: Valve profits off a game that has been in a near-unplayable state for more than 5 years by doing next to nothing.

And that isn't even the end of it. This is just the general negligence of Valve. It gets a lot uglier when delving into the punishable crimes conducted by the bothosters.

This video by TheWhat Show talks about this in depth, focusing on a particularly important case that involves MegaScatterBomb, who was harassed, doxxed, impersonated and swatted for trying to develop a working anti-cheat for casual.

This video is also in a document form for those who would rather read.

A more recent development with the bots has been their blatant advertising and promotion of CSAM, which you may better know as CP.

After #FixTF2 started, bots have been found spamming links in text chat that they claim is CSAM, while micspamming disturbing audio into the voice chat that is either edited to sound like or is legitimately CSAM. Valve has yet to respond to these reports, but good amount of players on Twitter/X have already started notifying FBI about this situation.

Another thing worth noting is that the bothosters have actively attempted to take down the petition website by DDoSing it and by filing a fake DMCA claim, both which are punishable crimes.

So to summarize:

It is wholly unsafe to play the game due to the bothosters and their willingness to commit crimes in the name of ruining the game experience.

Valve is profiting from keeping this broken product running, yet refuses to put any meaningful effort into fixing the bot problem.

The community actively contributes to the game by designing cosmetics and maps, and while they are compensated for their work, Valve are the ones who profit the most from their contributions.

Real people have been and are being harmed by the bot problem, and as far as we are aware, no one has been held accountable.

This is wholly unacceptable, both from a professional and unprofessional standpoint. If Valve fancies themselves a corporation worth using money on, their choice to simply ignore the problem speaks volumes of their priorities.

As Valve is releasing their new game Deadlock, there are serious concerns about the security of this game. TF2 is far from the only game that has bot/cheater problems. CS2 has had a similar problem for a long while as well and there is a clip of a Chinese bot farm that has been going around and which has even breached into the #FixTF2 movement.

❓What should we do?❓

Sign the petition while it is still up. At the time of this post, the petition has reached 270k+ signatures. The website has more general information as well.

Add to the #FixTF2 tag on mainly Twitter/X. Tag your posts with it, retweet and like posts in the tag and put the focus on the bots and ONLY the bots. One of the issues of the last movement, #SaveTF2, was that it wasn't focused enough on any particular problem and Valve could get away with making no promises. So, post clips, fanart and rants to your heart's content, so long it is specifically about the bots.

Watch youtube videos with #FixTF2 as the subject. Here are some good places to start:

4. Boycott any transactions in TF2. While Weezy was against this method in his video above, he has since changed his opinion. It has been established that Valve is very unlikely to shut down TF2, since the TF2 community market has millions of dollars invested in it and shutting down TF2 would render all items useless, thereby fully taking away any and all investments any players have put into the game. This would not just be devastating to the general economy of Valve's marketplaces, but a huge blow to their reputation if they want to remain reliable in the eyes of consumers.

5. Don't interact directly with bothosters. This includes harassment and any attempts at doxxing/swatting. These individuals are bigoted and some are even criminals. They have no remorse for their actions and talking to them would be a fruitless endeavor. Refrain from mentioning their names/aliases, as they are fond of attention and are getting just about enough of it since #FixTF2 started.

6. Don't give up.

❓Where can I keep up with any news?❓

Here are accounts to start with if you want to follow any important proceedings regarding #FixTF2:

Weezy (One of the biggest voices for #FixTF2 and spearhead of the protest):

Weezy's Youtube Channel

Weezy's Twitter

TheWhat Show (Similar to Weezy, outspoken supporter and spearhead):

TheWhat's Youtube Channel

TheWhat's Twitter

Shork (Outspoken supporter and generally active in the fandom)

Shork's Twitter

MegaScatterBomb (Creator of the TF2 cheater database and attempting to make a working anti-cheat for casual)

Mega's Youtube

If you discover new information, inconsistencies, broken/repeated/wrong links, etc., please speak up! Use the comments section, reblog with a comment or DM me!

[joeloverture]

tlou & enjoyment vs. conscious enjoyment

im currently in the deepest throes of finals season and looking down having to travel for two back to back residencies so ive been highkey spaced out on here, popping in and out at my own leisure. but im showing up to add to the conversation. reminder that ive studied all of these concepts at the collegiate level for years, have experience running workshops for poc, etc. i know what im saying. blah blah blah im vetty im mexican chilean / nahua & mayan

i do not fault anyone for enjoying tlou. in fact, i encourage them to. it’s one of the most popular medias of the time with a hit hbo show and it’s one of the most successful playstation games of all time. tlou is simply something that is meant to be enjoyed. this is good! finding comfort in these times is important for all of us. but simultaneously, we need to be aware of where this comfort comes from; i.e. is it at the expense of someone else’s discomfort? consuming any storytelling is an act that cannot be apolitical. everything about writing, art, and television is political from a story’s inception to its delivery.

these critiques about tlou are not new! they’ve existed for years. many call into question in the first game the deaths of poc as an engine that powers the white characters’ stories. this is a problem that persists into the second game and the second season. tlou is also inextricable from the zionist mindset of its creator neil druckmann. once you look for these things as an audience member in a critical way, they begin to pop up everywhere.

for example, martyr’s gate. in abbys part you come across a setup where seraphites leave written prayers to their martyred leader. if the player interacts with the environment in a specific way, abby picks up one of the letters that asks for the fighting to stop. she says, offhandedly, “easy. stay on your fucking island.” this is colonizer mindset turned to the highest degree. when layered with the themes of martyring and idealism that neil is clearly critiquing, this is just one example of horrific worldviews that have wedged their way into the storyline. she also announces to her friends that killing children seraphites is acceptable and necessary if they attack first. remind you of anything?

i’ve made a separate post about show joels death, which can be found in my pinned. poc trauma is especially prevalent with abbys character: her entire storyline centers white saviorism. her past sins can be forgiven because she saves two asian kids from their evil religion, whose trauma directly propels the plot. (yaras amputation, lev killing his mom, yaras death). the game never actually considers abby’s past actions. she changes in the course of about two days and we are expected to see this as a well rounded character arc as if she wasn’t the right hand woman of someone who yall watched brutally torture someone on live television last sunday. ive also heard a sound bite from the show: “i don’t care if they’re women kids or fucking babies look what they did! kill them all!” manny — a full blown stereotype of mexican culture — has his eye shot out by tommy. tommy later loses his eye to show consequences. neils pivotal ideology of “an eye for an eye”

and that’s just in abbys part. in ellies part, she tortures and then kills nora. jesse dies at abbys hand.

if i can write 3 entire paragraphs without even scratching the surface of the games intrinsic, racist properties, there’s a problem.

the issue is not engaging with this media. the issue lies in how it is consumed, and how it is addressed in internet spaces. this is not a dogshit take. the torture porn and racism is EMBEDDED into the plot. there is not a tlou without it. this is undeniable. attempting to deny it is to make attempts to save your own skin in lieu of poc begging you to experience this content with some level of consciousness about its origins.

it hurts to see the people we poc share this platform with brushing over our trauma and using it as fodder for their fanfiction and entertainment. it just does. especially when the vast majority of all of us have experienced this trauma firsthand or generationally to a degree that most white people have been lucky enough to be spared from.

denying that tlou is racist is simply a racist take. interacting with tlou is not something that is inherently racist in and of itself. this seems to be where the mix up has occurred. the mix up has also occurred on our end; for thinking that our experiences would be empathized with. or that certain members of the fandom would move forward with a larger degree of awareness. we know better than to think we’ll be taken seriously these days.

ive seen arguments like: the actors knew what they were getting themselves into! other poc disagree with you!

1- acting is an industry. many of the tlou hiring stories happened quickly without the specifics of the storyline being shared. pedro had the first 3 scripts and confirmation that he’d die; likely not HOW he would die.

2- poc are not a monolith. we can also be racist. we can also partake in racist ideology. we can also have differing views on this. i think most of us agree, though, that neil is a piece of shit whose perspective inundates the game.

that’s my piece. im missing some stuff but i typed this on my phone between finals. so 🐛

poc you will always be safe on my blog and with me. we can enjoy parts of tlou while disgracing other parts of it.