#art/fic trade

[alpydk]

Fire and Ice

My contribution to the art/fic trade with @orangekittyenergy - Tav's can be very personal, so I'm praying that this is okay. I really enjoyed this and let it all just go where it needed which probably explains the length written in the last few hours... I like writing, it's productive daydreaming.

Word Count - 3339 words - Angst/Comfort, happy ending

Fawn cursed the depth of the wizard’s chest as they squeezed into the alleyway, her half-elf body forced so closed to him she could feel the tensed pectoral muscles against her own slight frame. He’d gone to talk only for her to place her palm against his mouth, her eyes a glaring signal that now was not the time for a lecture on the making of deals you did not plan to keep.

The Zhentarim mercenary ran past, his footsteps heavy on the sundried cobbles of the city streets. Baldur’s Gate was no longer their potential turf, all because of the involvement of a group of meddling adventurers. She’d known what was going to happen, her dealings with them all those years ago not allowing her the true freedom she desired, but after all this time, after Gale’s belief that she was a noble person, she couldn’t go back into negotiations with them. Her brother would be disappointed, but this was for the best and maybe, with luck, one day she could save him from them as well.

She felt the moistened heat of Gale’s breath upon her hand, his eyes growing impatient, his own hands fidgety around her waist. They crept around to the base of her back, pulling her in a little closer, and she felt the effects their perilous situation was having on her wanting companion. He’d once read a book, he’d explained, and she’d believed him wholeheartedly after that night, what the effects of danger had on desire. What had once been her quiet, well-spoken wizard had become as unrestrained as the magical energies at her own command.

Her hand lowered from his mouth as the danger passed, a hunger in her own eyes spurred by the closeness of his physique. The sweat from his brow brought strands of hair to stick, his sandalwood scent merged with her own, his lips would taste of the morning’s fresh bread.

“Fuckin’ magic users. They’ve probably gone and cast some invisibility or some other bullshit.” “Yeah, but they can’t have got too far. You check the sewers; I’ll try the park.” “Why do I get the sewers?” “Because you already smell like shit. Quite complaining.”

The elf listened as the two mercenaries parted ways, leaving her and Gale with the chance to escape. Her shoulders wanted to relax, but the playful smirk of the wizard, the hand that gripped her hip a little too tightly, would not allow her the possibility. “Gale… We both know this isn’t the right time.”

He brought his face to her neck; heated breaths merged with soft kisses. “Maybe, but how many more opportunities will we get like this?”

She sighed at his words. She knew he was right, as usual. The upcoming battles would grow more difficult: Orin, Gortash, The Netherbrain. There were so many that one or both of them might not come back from, so many moments where they could be torn apart from one another, where she could lose him, as she had so many others before. His fervent kisses became more eager the longer she took to resist. His tongue ran up the arch of her neck, her hips pushing instinctively into his within the confines of the shadowed alleyway, her hands beginning their own dance trapped between their compressed bodies.

“Oh shit, sorry.” A child stumbled upon them, trying to use the alleyway as a shortcut home.

Fawn tensed and used the momentary distraction to pull herself from Gale’s grasp, her heartbeat raised, her own sweat beading under her russet tones, joining the scarred line across her eye. She slid herself from his hands, out from under the shaded canopy of the buildings and into the stifling city sun. The child gave a small laugh and squeezed past Gale with ease, running down the alley to their unknown destination. 

---

He tensed up, running his hands down his robes, a combination of patting off the dust from the brick wall behind him and making himself look like the presentable magic user he was and not the desperate sack of physical urges she always turned him into. He patted his side once, twice, before looking down. “The child has pilfered my gold pouch…”

She chuckled at his misfortune. “Yeah, they’ll do that if you’re not paying attention. You need to keep your wits up about you. Try to focus on less pressing matters.”

Her playful smile did not go unnoticed as he emerged into the sunlight, his lips moistened from yearned kisses, cheeks blushed as Elverquisst. He didn’t know what it was about her that drove him to these uncharacteristic moments of insanity. He’d suspected it was the Weave coursing through her veins, binding the two of them together, trying to entwine as it naturally would, or maybe it was the way her glance always saw through him. Ever since the portal incident, it was as if she’d read him like he was one of the simplest tomes known to man, and he’d happily let her trace her fingers over every weathered page.  

He sighed, knowing there was little point in chasing the urchin. A few measly gold to him would mean a week’s worth of food for the child, most likely a refugee of the city, or one of the many orphans growing up into a world of thievery and the Guild’s politics. Taking Fawn’s delicate hand into his own, he stepped forward. He saw the gentle dusting of ash, the crackling of a lightning bolt leaving its reminder on her ivory skin, and he ran his thumb over it, revealing the beauty that lay beneath. He made a note to place a kiss there later in the evening, a starting point of the map he planned to use on an awaited exploration of mounds and crevices.

As they walked through the streets back to camp, their attentions split between each other and the potential lookouts trying to find them, Gale spoke. “A friend of the family… I always was curious why Roah said that to you.”

The half-elf lifted her hazel eyes to him, and he could see the calculations going on, the wall she kept up so readily now being further supported with a cold distance. “That’s just the phrase the Zhentarim use. She meant nothing by it.” Her voice wavered a little, an uncertainty in the strength of her lie, and he felt her pace quicken a little as if she were trying to escape the situation she found herself in.

“My love, I know there have been many a moment my propensity to read into behaviours has led to disorder, but I cannot help but notice your aversion to this line of questioning.”

“You wizards…” She sighed deeply, releasing his hand as she walked further ahead of him.

He stopped for a moment, trying to register her words. Again, this would be the argument of the evening, as it had been a few times before when things became uncomfortable for her. She would claim that all wizards were too curious for their own good, that their unnatural abilities with magic are what lead them to unbridled ambition. Once, she had stumbled over her words and inadvertently blamed him for his own folly, and only once had he blamed her reckless use of magic for the reason she had no loved ones to speak of. This was not the way he wanted things to continue going.

“Fawn, wait.” He took a few quick steps forward and kept pace with her, trying to quench the rising flames as quickly as he could. “You know I meant no harm with my line of reasoning. I simply wish to understand why the Zhentarim have turned on us as ardently as they appear to have.”

“And you expect me to know? As if I’m some omnipotent goddess watching over all?”

He shook his head at her words. Clearly, time would be the best solution to remedy the matter at hand. He considered his options: continue with her in stony silence, or take a different route, allowing them both the chance to clear their heads. There was little distance until the campsite and the risk of being captured was practically zero now that they were out of the busy city streets. “You make it very clear sometimes that you are not a goddess. I apologise for my blind devotion.” His words hurt as he spoke them, too final, too reminiscent of words he had wanted to utter during his year alone.

---

Fawn watched as he turned from her, his footsteps growing quieter as he took the eastern path from her. She wanted to run after him, to apologise and explain everything, but it had always been easier to push those around her away. To protect them and herself. She thought of her brother when she was a young girl, how he had left the first moment he could. She hadn’t understood fully at the time, but as she grew and trained under their father, it became clearer. Their mother was gone, leaving nothing but ex-military routine and training, her sorcerer blood a disappointment in her father’s cold eyes.

She walked the path to camp alone, knowing she had been wrong to speak as she had done. She longed to be back in that alleyway, lustfully bound to Gale, his body pressed against hers, and only the present moment existing between them. No tragic pasts, no doomed futures. The tents fell into view with the setting of the sun, shadows extending like creeping tendrils. She was thankful that they grew no further than permitted; the Shadowlands finally resolved of its dreadful curse that took so many lives.

Gale sat outside his tent, a book in hand, the pages turning with a little more agitation than either of them liked. Soon he would begin to cook, and with it, calm down enough for her to approach him, restarting the cycle of their relationship once again. She thought not of the future, instead finding comfort in the recent past, of Moonrise Towers, and royal blue sheets beneath her, of words of love and comfort.

---

He saw her come back to camp, her quick glance placed over him, but he refused to lift his head to her. He was angry, though he was unsure at which of them it was directed at. She had yet again pushed him away, but again he had questioned her motives rather than trusting her. Fawn had believed him from the start of his history with Mystra and the orb. She’d granted magic items without reservation, had held his hand softly as the pain had been too much for him, and then there had been Moonrise; a night that he believed would be his last. Long before that starlit evening he had realised his love for her, but it was only then that he had summoned the courage to admit it to her, and she had replied in kind. From that night he’d given her everything he could of himself, his honesty, love, body. If she requested it, he would happily give his life for her.

Now though she departed for her tent, an armour put up that he was unsure he could break through. He moved to the campfire, his hands mindlessly preparing the evening meal, his eyes watching the flickering flames that danced over the firewood. Gale sat alone for some time; his mind lost in thoughts of how he could remedy the situation. The pot boiled away, the savoury broth releasing the homely aroma into the air. His shoulders relaxed and his jaw unclenched from its involuntary position.

Quietly placing herself beside him, he noticed Fawn lift the wooden spoon and stir. “Smells nice,” she said softly, testing the waters of conversation.

“Well, I always strive for the best. In both magic and cooking.”

The silence hung heavily around them, neither knowing what to say nor how to apologise, if they should apologise.

Fawn brought the spoon to her lips, giving the broth a silenced blow before taking it into her reddened lips. “It tastes nice, too. Could use a little salt, though.”

“Always the food critic, never the cook.” He smirked at her, trying to ignore the pleasure he felt on seeing her tongue licking at the tip of the wooden spoon. Easily distracted by the movements, the cookery, and her presence, he found it difficult to focus on the matters he wanted to discuss with her. He coughed nervously, bringing himself back on track. “Are we going to discuss earlier or refrain from the topic altogether?”

She shuffled awkwardly, placing the utensil back in the pot sharply. “And say what, Gale? That again, you have sought answers for questions you yourself have made?”

“I seek answers to the secrets you hide from me.” His voice came out more exasperated than he wished, and he took the momentary silence to compose himself. “When I was a young wizard, and not the fallen Chosen you witness before you, I had a Drow elf as a… Well, a close friend. She would often chastise me similarly to how you do and always strived to do better than me, as if it was a competition.” He took a pinch of salt and added it to the cooking pot that lay between them both. “She often spoke of khaless, trust, but especially misplaced or foolish trust; something she saw in me so often as I worked to become the best I could be. And she was right in what she observed. I do trust too easily, and I certainly love far easier and with more of my heart than is wise.”

He hoped she understood his words, his long-winded explanation, an apology for who he was as a person, for the pressure he placed on her simply by being honest with her. He watched as she exhaled; her gaze focussing softly on him. He was unsure where this conversation would lead, but the balance needed to be disrupted. He had given all, and now it was her turn.

---

Fawn knew she had pushed and pushed, but it had now gone too far. Emotionally closed off was the term her brother had used in mockery so many years ago. She may have struggled to wield a sword as much as father had wished, but she had mastered the concept of psychological warfare. “Do not share yourself or else they see your weakness. Do not let your mental guard down or your heart be pierced.”

Gale spoke, and she listened. Together they had been as fire and ice and slowly her heart had begun to melt. “We have a similar word in Elvish, kessuk. It translates to stupid,” she said, trying to hold on to her walls so desperately.

Gale gave an awkward chuckle. “Maybe it is that which she was truly insinuating.” He lowered his head, the heart of the subject now approaching. “I suppose what I poorly attempt to articulate to you is that maybe I have been kessuk, as you so bluntly put it.”

Her mouth fell open at his words, the belief that he was in the wrong almost an insult which hurt her. “No. No. How can you even think that?”

“My dear, I love you and you know I would offer my love to you for a thousand more nights to come should the opportunity unveil itself, but, and I say this with nothing but the starlight of my heart that shines for you, I do not know how much more I can give. There are times I feel you may not be on the same proverbial page as me, and in some lonelier moments, even in the same book.”

Her heart broke at his words; that this was possibly the end for them, now nothing but starlit nights fading to dawn, of darkened alleys bathed in sunlight. “But…” The tears built up in her eyes and she looked away before Gale could see her weakness.

His voice was soft as he spoke, not demands but innocent questions that she couldn’t ignore. “This is what I speak of, Fawn. You shut me out, all of us. What will it take for me to see the heart that has beaten in tandem with mine? To feel the selfless love that I know is buried deep beneath the surface.”

Her hands sat in her lap, struggling to find a place of rest. The sorcerer rarely felt fear in the face of danger, had stood against the gods and their orders, but at this moment she felt vulnerable, as if Gale was seeing every crack in her armour as clearly as the scar on her face. “I left Baldur’s Gate before things got too bad, but until then, I was in a rough situation.”

She went on for some time telling him of her childhood, of the mother she never knew and the father who couldn’t accept what she was, of her brother who introduced her to the Zhentarim and the odd jobs she unknowingly did for them before understanding who they truly were. She spoke of Roah and their passing acquaintance, of how she had left the city and begun to build a life of her own, wielding her magic that flowed so naturally. As her tale continued, Gale grew closer to her, his hand resting on hers, a weight that brought her calm. The fire dimmed, and the food cooled, but every secret was told, every emotion bared for him to see and reject if he so wished.

---

He looked at her with sympathy, understanding all too well how a childhood under a soldier could be; training schedules and emotions hidden being the law of the home. Their lives had run similar paths at the beginning, but turned out differently. Both, though, had been ones of loneliness and finding their own way. Whilst hers had been one of potential crime, his had been of isolated study. He had grown to love too easily; she struggled to love. His magic had led him into the arms of a goddess; hers had driven her away from the arms of her father.

As she fell quiet, he knew there was little he could say. All questions had been answered, and the truth finally revealed to him. The woman who sat in front of him glowed brighter than she ever had. Under the mask had been revealed a strength and reliance that only made him love her more. He brought his arms around her and pulled her in close, no longer lustful hands of trailing desire yearning for her, but a desperate need to protect her and love her as she was in that moment. He felt her warm breath on his chest, smelt the floral aroma as he nestled his face in her hair.

--- 

A small part of her felt exhausted, as if she had endured a battle and emerged from the rubble battered and bruised. His arms around her felt like a home she had never had, a safety and connection with another person she had only ever dreamt of. He’d listened to her, accepted the past she had run from and now still embraced her as fondly, if not more so. She lifted her head to his, her soft lips brushing up against his, wanting in her eyes to give him everything, to no longer hold back from him in any aspect of their relationship. “I love you, Gale.”

His hands drifted up her back as their lips met, as the stars shone just for them, and time halted its ever-journeying march. For a thousand nights more, they would share in moments like this, some frantic and passionate in darkened alleyways, some in the desperate eagerness of sun-drenched fields, others more leisurely from the sanctuary of Gale’s tower as the rains fell from the heavens. A thousand more nights of a future together; Gale and Fawn burning with starlight as one.

[moonbeam-dragon]

Buried (BoulGraham)

@frosty-tian

Here's my half of the trade.

[merry-andrews]

I'm willing to do art/fic trade if anyone is interested!💕

[moriaarts]

Cody gets sit reps from all his former units. He will not admit it but Boil and Waxers are his favourite.

This took me so long but i loved making it so much. Are they in their 30s or their 50s that is up to you but i needed them old and in love and living their best life with Numa and with a cameo from Wooley.

[tearystarz]

Drew lil scene from @missylink 's dbh fanfic she's currently writing >:3 will link when published!!🫶

[tillytilli]

art trade with @pajulammas of his au Chivalrous Devotion!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! old man yaoi

[fumble-art]

Art Trade response for @inky-does-art of her Palia OC Keira and Reth >:)

[scarredlove]

Just a sleepy lil cuddle among the stars~

A trade with @justfangirlstuffs, with @venomous-qwille's pretty boy Misuta <3

[fanaticsnail]

It's been a while

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 2,900+

Synopsis: Trafalgar Law has been missing his favorite courier, so at the encouragement of his first mate, he is prompted to do something about it.

Themes: Trafalgar Law x Box "Cottontail" Mila, fluff, long distance relationships, fluff, hurt / comfort, pining, longing from afar, den-den mushi, Law is tired, Law is missing his special person.

Notes: This is my half of the trade organized through the OC Discord Server for @bloglop and her beautiful OC, Mila. She gave me such a cute art piece for my Tobiuo x Heat 'Teat' ship, and I love it. I hope you like my half for your beautiful Mila! Divider by @/firefly-graphics.

Warmth swelled within the cool heart of the dark-haired captain, his chest ignited beneath the blaze of anticipated relief. Honey eyes briefly widening, they relax as his smile illuminated his cheeks with an emotion Trafalgar Law had not allowed himself to experience in so long. He knew it; he saw it every day of his life growing up in Flevance. His parents had it when their eyes met in the early hours of the day, he saw it in his sister’s eyes when she looked at her favorite desserts. 

Love.

Trafalgar Law was in love. 

Rolling on her heels to the balls of her feet, the twitching anxiousness was demonstrated within the grip of parchment clutched against her chest. Another delivery for the Tang: likely the recipe exchange Penguin set up between Sanji and Killer at the last meeting with Strawhat crew and the Victoria Punk.

“Mila,” Law sighed, his voice feeling foggy at the edges, echoing within the halls of the Polar Tang. He shook his head, shrugging off the tension and apprehension from his mind as he picked up speed. 

Trying not to seem overeager in seeing his lover so close to him fled his thoughts, he physically couldn’t contain it any longer. He needed Mila in his arms, embraced fully against his chest and lifted up into his arms. 

He wanted her, needed her, craved her in a way that felt like a part of him was missing: a part only she could fill with her presence. That little laugh, that soft stutter when she’s trying to hold her enthusiasm back, the way her ears would extend and tail would protrude when she was nervous, the buzz of life that illuminated and vibrated with excitable static. He craved to have all of that within his arms, lips touching so intimately close: sharing breaths and heartbeats as he entwined himself against her in an encumbering embrace. 

His feet carried him closer, further and faster than he could ever dream of. Ignoring the wind-smudged faces of his crew, Law simply sprung hurriedly towards Mila like an iron ball from a cannon barrel. 

Turning slowly towards her, the orange-hue of her widened orbs lit up and rose with her smile behind it. Expending her arms towards him, Law couldn't help but spring to close the distance between them. Hoisting her into the air, and with a large twirl to expel all the parchment from her tanned satchel. The pages seemed to float beside them as if meeting with water, held in stasis beside them while Law met his eyes against hers. 

Inked hands pressed at the back of her neck, toying with the finer hair growing at the base of her scalp, he drew her into his face. Lips finally colliding, he seared into her all emotion he craved to give her through his intense kiss. Expecting the common softness to her lips, his brows furrowed where all he could feel was a coarse scratch on his skin. Parting his mouth and deepening his kiss, her lips tasted of ink blotches and black coffee stains. He shook it from his thoughts, holding on tighter and refusing to be pried from her, her embrace felt different. 

“Law?” Mila’s voice ricocheted within his mind: sounding muffled as if forced to speak with a muzzle over her lips. Shaking his head, he gripped her tighter and more intently. Hands roaming and wandering, her skin felt cool to the touch and almost like steel. 

“Law?” her voice sounded several tones too deep, prompting Law to almost break away from her lips pressed against his and look up into her eyes. But he couldn’t, he was too overwhelmed by the fact she was hare, and she was finally back, to care about anything else. 

Mila’s hand gently reached up and grasped his shoulder, pinching and rolling the flesh between her perched digits. Shaking him from her, her strength managed to pull him away from her and force his eyes to fall on hers. 

“Mila?”

All he could see in lieu of his lover was a sheet of pale paper with stains of ink and black coffee. 

He had fallen asleep at his desk once again. After too many sleepless nights of peering over the edge of the Polar Tang, hoping the figure beyond the horizon was a small blotch of pink blur, he finally fell prone to the melody of sleep. Thin, paper pages stuck to his face as he jolted upright, looking immediately to the large, white fur that clutched onto his shoulders. 

“Just me, Captain,” Bepo sighed softly, a small amount of sorrow caged at the corner of his tone, “I'm sorry I'm not Mila. It's-... It's been a while, hasn't it, sir?” The Polar bear mink gently reached for the page affixed to Law's face, peeling it from his skin and placing it back down in a neat pile in front of him. Several words from the parchment transported onto his skin, words in reverse staining his pores by marking his face with its blotches. 

“It's… it's been a while, yeah,” he chuckled dryly, drawing his thumb and index finger up to pinch his eyes in a bid to pry the sleep from them, “M’sorry, Bepo. How long was I-?”

“-You need to call her, sir,” the first-mate spoke over his Captain. Bepo’s dark eyes seemed to command him, prompting Law to feel taken aback by the notion. He was not used to the large bear giving him commands, and making a call to his lover seemed an odd thing for him to get up in arms about. 

Law sighed, smearing his hand down his face before taking his chin in his hands. Although Law seemed to raise a smile to his lips, there was no real joy in his expression. He was truly lost, a man without direction and plagued with more sleep deprivation than he was truly able to withstand. 

“Look, Bepo,” Law chuckled, drawing his hand down to the desk in front of him, “I don't even know where she is right now. She could be legions away-.”

“-She’s on Komugi Island, delivering the outcome of a contract for intention for betrothal,” Bepo stated in a matter of fact way, fishing up the slumbering transponder snail and placing it on Law’s desk, “She’s staying at an accommodation close to the Charlotte’s. Call her. Please call her, sir.”

Law groaned at the pushiness of his first mate, rolling his eyes and reaching for the transponder. Tapping the shell awake, he offered it a small piece of lettuce he kept on his desk for it in payment for being awakened so abruptly. Looking up at Bepo, he shook his head with his exhaustion hanging on the small puffs of his elevated eye-bags. 

“There a number I need to dial?” Law asked Bepo, who hastily spat the digits immediately. With a small grunt in gratitude with a hidden and flustered smile, Law waved Bepo away from the room and excused himself to the company of himself and the snail. 

Gently rolling onto her back, Mila toyed anxiously with the ends of her blush-colored hair. The accommodation on Komugi Island made her feel more dwarfed than ever, and she was relatively tall. The land of giants, with a tyrant overlord that could potentially lose their temper with the outcome of Mila’s delivery, was otherwise quite welcoming. The minister of flour ensured her safety, the room was comfortable, and the food was incredibly sweet and playful. 

The one thing that she felt truly absent from this experience was her friend and lover, the captain of the Heart Pirates. She wanted to be with him a little more often lately, but she wasn't quite sure why. There was something in the way her heart sang to him in the quiet hours.

Her body became rigid as she rolled over to her side to move within a curled position beneath the blankets. She drew up the linen material in a bid to press more weight into her. The warmth provided beneath the blankets was comforting, but it wasn't what she truly wanted. 

She wanted Law. 

Her job had her darting her lanky legs around all of the blues and beyond: hopping between ports within the grand line, and sprinting as a courier to deliver packages in a timely manner. She had formed connections, made bonds, curated an eclectic assortment of clients, and was a trusted ally to all those who depended on her services. She was good at her job, and her reputation by word of mouth shepherded her everywhere. 

But it didn't manage to take her to the Polar Tang for some time. She missed it. The yellow submarine piloted by her beloved, hat-wearing, broody captain that she hoped cherished her as much as she did him. She loved him, and wanted to stay with him and hold him within his quarters and his office until she was certain he would eventually become sick of her. 

It had been a while since Mila had experienced love in her heart, and when she met and learned about Law, it hit her like the reputable ‘gum-gum-pistol’ from their Straw-Hat ally. Love hit her so hard, she almost felt like her legs would buckle beneath its weight every time she saw him. 

But, unfortunately for the both of them, she still had a job to do. She hoped she would come across someone who was in need of a courier to deliver a package to the Tang, but for now, she lay quietly buzzing with energy beneath the weight of the heavy duvet. 

The Zoan-Fruit user always had trouble sleeping when facing a trial like this. A client may be disgruntled by a letter, and often want to keep her around to formulate an appropriate response to send back. Mila would get stuck in the crossfires often, and remind them softly: ‘I am just the courier, but I will ensure to relay your objectives when I deliver your response.’ She was nothing if not professional, and professional, she was. 

Struggling to find rest, Mila scrunched her eyes shut and focussed on the sounds of her environment. Sizzling plates from the restaurant outside, the chirp of sweet bug song, the thumping of her anxious blood flooding her face, the soft purr of her carrier snail ringing on her desk-.

-Mila jolted upright, throwing the duvet off her body with the expectation that her client was calling her into the main keep to relay her response to the outcome of the betrothal. Putting on her best ‘professional’ voice, Mila took a deep breath as her lips curled around her words. Just as she tasted those first syllables on her tongue, she halted at the voice on the other end. 

“Cottontail? You there?” 

She froze. Her skin almost buzzed with the haste her shock managed to sizzle beneath her flesh. Each follicle stood like static ignited the ends of her pink tufts as her eyes flew wide. Lip quivering, hastily split her lips up into a radiant and broad grin. 

“Law?” She almost squeaked, managing to compose herself enough to answer tastefully, “I’m here. I was just about to turn in for the night.” She heard Law gently huff out a curse alongside a subtle whisper of ‘time difference, I'm an idiot,’ which rose a flutter in her chest. 

Silence fled from the Den-Den, an awkwardness once again present between the two of them. Neither spoke, nor made a single sound to alert the other was present. The only knowledge that another person was on the end of the transceiver was the fact that it was their snails we're awake. 

As Mila plopped down on her bed once more, the snail tucked against her pillow and laying comfortably on the heavy linen, Law had managed to sneak into his personal quarters from his office, gently doing the same. 

Law’s personal Den-Den buzzed gently as he lay his head down on the pale cerulean silks of his firm pillow. Considering his earlier doze, he was still feeling groggy and lethargic while his head felt heavier than what his neck could truly carry. Rolling onto his side, he blinked his heavy eyelids and spoke softly into it. 

“What are…? What are you up to right now?” Law asked barely with a breath, his inhale and exhale softening out at the corners. He could almost feel Mila’s smile through the snail, picturing her face as his eyelids finally grew too heavy to remain open. 

“I'm in bed, talking with you,” Mila offered gently in return, lulling him into a soft tranquility with her voice. Law smiled, nuzzling against the bedsheets and drawing up his legs to become more comfortable. He hummed a small chuckle in return with a light flush rising in his dark cheeks. 

“You're right here with me, are you?” Law’s question ignited Mila’s cheeks with that rosy tint he loved to see with her fluster. 

“I'm right there,” she confessed with a little shrug in her shoulders, neatly tucking herself within her blankets and nestling them around herself. Gently rising her question in her chest, she felt the small amount of fluttering anxiety swelling her heart, truly wanting him to answer honestly and truthfully. “Are you…? Are you here with me too?” 

Not even a beat of a butterfly's wing passed between them as Law graced her with his answer. 

“I'm there. I'm right there beside you, and,” Law halted his words, taking his time to stretch his lips through a yawn of exhaustion, “I'm gonna be there with you until the morning. Are you tired?” 

“I'm not tired at all, are you?” Mila asked in response, trying to choke down the emotion at the ease his response gave to her. Through this trip, this trial of delivering such an important contract with the Charlotte's and the response they got from the recipient, it truly weighed on her. The exhaustion that came from it, the sorrow she felt at the lack of deliveries with the Tang, the way she truly wanted nothing more to be curled up in Law's quarters and listening to him talk about the latest addition to his coin collection - everything felt so raw at this moment. 

At such an innocent and easy question, and hers in return, she felt the well of emotions rise up in her chest and swell behind the closed dam of her teeth. 

Almost in a sense only captain's and doctors seemed to comprehend, and in the comfort Law truly wanted to receive from his beautiful courier, he whispered against the microphoned end of the snail. 

“Mila, I need you to talk,” he confessed to her, feeling the weight of his own release, “I need to hear your voice, I need to hear about your day, and I need to-...” He choked on his admission, feeling heavy and vulnerable as he laid in his bed, “...I haven't been able to sleep properly. I need to sleep, and you… You always seem to be able to help me switch off. Can you do that for me? I promise it won't take long-.”

“-I’ll do it, Captain,” she cut him off, her eagerness causing Law to chuckle in a low tone. “I'll talk your ear off, and I won't stop even if you beg me to.” Mila tucked herself completely in, laying on her back, and thinking where in her journey she should start her tale.

Recounting the initial retrieval of the response from the recipient of the Charlotte family’s proposal, she began spurting a relay of every event that transpired from there. Traveling the seas, running as fast as her legs could take her, meeting Charlotte Linlin and her sons: Oven, Cracker, and Katakuri, she spoke on it all. 

Every syllable the pink-haired Zoan-Fruit user was a sweet melody to the exhausted captain. Mila would ask questions to gauge where he was in his exhaustion, and Law would go from asking a question in return, to a one-worded answer, to a small grunt or moan in response. 

As Mila spoke on, the slow blinks from Law’s eyes opening a crack would reveal his Den-Den shell in one moment, before dissipating to see Mila in all her cottontail glory beside him in the next. She was there, truly there, and he felt every second of it. The scent of her perfume, the warmth of her skin, the softness of her hair, the smile on her lips: she was right there as she spoke within his mind’s eye.

Smiling, his chest rose and fell with each passing moment Mila would speak to him. He was prompted to set internal reminders to order some flour and sweets from Komugi island for the crew, utilizing Mila's service and giving her a reason to be with him. His rationale dictated it would be good for morale, and Penguin would appreciate the fresh produce.

Whereas all Law wanted was Mila.  As he drempt, all he pictured was the waves of lengthy pink hair from the back of Mila, holding her close in his dreams as she spoke. 

The next morning, he woke to hearing the soft rustle of Mila’s snores from the disgruntled and sleep deprived Den-Den snail, prompting him to give it a look of softened pity. A few small gentle taps to the eyeballs of the snail seemed to cause it comfort, so he continued to do so while he moved it over to the desk in the corner of his quarters. 

He waited until she woke naturally, truly reveling in the way her little sleep sounds were truly and distinctively hers. This only spurred him on to craft a finer arrangement of items he invented to guide her home to him. He wanted her home with him.

Their home, together, right there on the Polar Tang.

[kucho04]

Art trade! It has two artworks. I will post one today.

[liketheletter-l]

GUYS GUYS GUYS. ART TRADE WITH @bluesgras THEY DREW MY BOY!! LEO FROM MY FIC COULDN’T KEEP ANYONE FROM HARM (in which leo keeps logs in the prison dimension)

WAS SUCH A TREAT TO COLOR THEIR LINEART I LOVE DOING ART TRADES :DDD

Go check out blue’s page for the other half where i drew/they colored the incomparable lovely snapdragon leo!!!! WOOOOO

[sysig]

can i ask for larry and kabu.... is it allowed......... if not i can ask for something else lol

Day 2 - Warm feelings

[crybaby-bkg]

cw: this got long sorry 😔 but creepy/perv bakugou, recording, film major bkg x art major reader, masturbation, coercion, dubcon before it just becomes con, voyeurism/exhibitionism

as an art major, you typically did some works for a few students on campus; for their plays, as background pieces while they danced, a cover for their released songs. it wasn’t out of the ordinary for people to ask you to create something for them, and you enjoyed it more often than not. but, you weren’t usually the art itself.

Bakugou is a friend’s friend that you’ve seen a few times, ran into at the library or at coffee shops. he’s a film major, and always looks so unhappy about the whole thing, as if he didn’t choose it himself. you joke to Mina that you think he’ll graduate and become one of those directors that hate everything and yell at the actors constantly and later on get sued for being a dickhead. you never say it to him though—you’ve never spoken more than a couple words to the man.

it’s why it shocks you when he approaches you one day. it’s after one of your painting classes, and he stands outside the door with a frown and his hands shoved in his pockets, his eyebrows scrunched as if pissed at the mere sight of you. he asks you, in that low and gruff tone of his, if you could star in his final project for the semester. says it’s supposed to be a film made with this criteria and that, but, you’ve kind of checked out on the conversation after the first sentence.

“You mean, you want me to create something and that be the star of your film?” you ask him, feeling so intimidated at his stature. he always seems to loom, his hair shadowing the lights above, creates a cast over a portion of his face, makes his eyes look…unsettling. like they’re looking straight through your flesh, can find the marrow in your bones. he scoffs like you’ve offended him, rolling his eyes into his skull, mouth pulled tight.

“No.” his voice is firm, gaze concentrated only on you, like the halls are empty and you’re the focus of his lens. “I want you to star in it.”

his words confuse you—you’ve never presented yourself as an actor before, never alluded to wanting to be in the spotlight if not for what you create with your hands. but he shuffles on his feet, looks desperate even. there’s some hemming and hawing for a minute or so—why not choose Mina?—she’s busy—why choose me?—‘cause you’d be perfect for my short film—what’s it about?—you’ll find out once you get the script.

and even after you hesitantly agree and get the script—you still don’t understand what you’re doing. why you’re here, why you’re the only person, why it has to be a solo film, why there’s damn near zero lines in the entirety of the have-to-be forty five minute film.

the scenes are all so long, and maybe it’s because movies aren’t your forte or chosen major, but you just don’t get it. one scene; you’re staring at yourself in the mirror while Bakugou holds a small, black camera over your shoulder. he’s eerily quiet behind you, whispers out a faint fuckin’ go when you have to wash your face in the sink, makes you do it over because your movements are too jerky and unnatural.

the rest of the scenes go that way; you doing regular at home activities, being put under a lens, quietly barked at to do this and move that way and fix your hair and remember to frown.

“Isn’t there another way to film this?” you ask him on the fifth day of shooting in his spacious loft. there’s a bubble bath scene coming up, one you dont understand the importance of, but Bakugou tells you it’s the most necessary part of the entire thing.

“No,” he grunts out, looking at you from under his lashes as he sits on the lid of the toilet. “But I’ll make it soapy, so the camera won’t see much.” the camera? much? you weren’t worried so much about what the camera captured as you were the man behind it. he looks at you with such intensity, you feel naked already despite the robe you wear that’s suspiciously already your size.

he leaves the bathroom when you sink in the hot water, returns before you can say it’s okay, hears the water splashing and thinks that’s good enough. he kneels on the floor beside you, camera pointed directly in your face, makes your chest hot and your skin feel prickly. the scene passes on regularly enough; you run the water over your arms, tilt your head back as you sigh, whisper the few lines scripted, lean back and close your eyes, sigh again. it’s almost relaxing, makes you forget about the friend of a friend recording you naked right now. almost.

“Touch yourself.” Bakugou suddenly demands, hushed and quiet behind the camera. your eyes immediately shoot open, looking to him in question, how he’s eerily still in his spot hovering over you.

“Huh?” you ask, unsure if you heard him correctly, looking around the rounded lens in your face, trying to ignore the red blinking light. but Bakugou only frowns.

“It’s a masturbation scene. Touch yourself.” he repeats, voice louder, more demanding this time. your stomach twists at the thought of doing something so intimate in front of him. he’s a handsome guy, for sure, even made you consider asking him out after this, figured he was just serious about his work and awkward about certain things. but…something had been off about this entire thing since the start.

“But—but I don’t, I’m not,” you stutter, sitting up a little, the bubbles covering your chest starting to disperse with your movements. but Bakugou only sits a little higher on his knees, finally pulling the camera away from his face for the first time since he’s asked you to do this for him.

“You want me to fail?” he asks, booming voice eerily quiet in the silent bathroom, carmine eyes dull, shaded over with something terrible. “Then do it.” he tells you when you shake your head quickly.

you stare at him until he gets back into position again, camera back pointed at you. when he doesn’t say anything else, you swallow thickly, wondering if the art that will come out of this will be worth it. so you listen, sneak a hand under the water, start touching yourself in a way you never have in front of anyone.

is it bad to say that it’s exhilarating? being watched and recorded by someone who breathes so heavily every time your voice hiccups? being directed to touch your chest next when the suds start to disappear and your nipples start to peek through? is it bad that you want him to send you this portion of his film, only, just so you can watch yourself again and again? make a portrait of yourself with your fingers on your nipples and your knees raising from the water and your head thrown back from the intensity in oil pastels?

“That’s a wrap.” Bakugou announces when you finish, head spinning and still panting. you look over to him, how he closes the camera, the obvious bulge in his pants. “I’ll get you a towel.”

you wonder when’s the next time he’ll need you. or better yet—maybe he could be the star in your final drawing project? you had finished it already but, what was the harm in starting over with him as your muse? as naked as you are? camera not blocking his face so you can paint the similarities of his blushing cheeks and eyes when you direct him to look at you? to touch his chest? to play with himself just like that?

[screwpinecaprice]

She's on a hospital bed, amnesiac after an accident and she's having a crush on this man who is apparently her husband.

@dragonuva's part on an art trade with them from last year! 🥰 It's based on the first chapter of Chiptune by Newlense.

Guys. This fanfic is my favorite FAVORITE connverse fic and I love it so much I don't care if the last update was in 2020 nor if it's never going to be continued. It's so tender and the angst whalloped my guts in the right places. 😭💕

[cryscendo]

Fic: Amantium irae: a quarrel of lovers

“If you want to be loved, love.”

Read Amantium irae, or “the royalty au”, on ao3!

HQ Version of Cover Art

Summary: Kurt never had his sights on being king, but it was always something of an inevitability. He would one day become king of Merula, and that day was approaching faster than he liked to admit. In that, his father insists on him taking a personal knight — something that he had always protested.

When his knight, Blaine Anderson, enters his life, he finds that things become much more conflicting than they once were. The prince finds himself having to navigate being a ruler and letting someone in that he never imagined that he would want around.

Art: Alice / @warblercore @mistyintherivers

Rating: E (for later chapters)

close ups of the cover art under the cut!

[eucacici]

"Wait, come'ere." Rhys says. Tim moves a bit closer but it's evidently not close enough because Rhys pulls at the front of his jacket until they're nearly toe-to-toe and presses his forehead to the glass front of Tim's helmet. "What—" "Yeah," Rhys breathes, fogging the glass, "I knew it'd be cool." He's close enough that Tim could count his eyelashes, close enough he could kiss him if the glass wasn't there, close enough he can probably hear Tim's unsteady breathing—

Trade with @snailpdf 💖Did a scene from chapter 4 of his lovely fic 'The Devil Doesn't Bargain'

Check out the fic here 👉: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45903100