#though she hasn't been drawing much of it lately

[luveline]

a halloween june baby drabble mom!reader, 1k.

"Sweetheart," Eddie says, closing your door behind him with a resounding click, "you are not gonna believe this."

"Eddie!" 

He spins on his heel, stopped. "Hi." 

Junie looks at him like she hasn't just said his name, little chin tucked toward her neck, hesitant where she stands by her overturned toy box. You laugh from somewhere behind him in the kitchenette as she smiles at him and asks, "Present?" 

"Present!" He agrees, the plastic bag in his hand crinkling as it twists on itself.  "But after dinner, okay?" 

She nods seriously. 

"What, you're not saying hello anymore?" he asks, bending down with an arm extended. "Come say hello to me, lovely girl."  

Junie giggles and races for his legs. "Hello," she says dramatically, almost with the drama of a frustrated teenager. "Kiss." 

He kisses her forehead obediently. She preens under his gentle touch and rubs her soft cheek into his, but the scrub of his stubble is too much for her and she runs away again before he can give her a proper hug. 

"What am I not going to believe?" you ask as he stands straight.

"How beautifully gorgeous you are, for starters." He offers you the plastic bag, shortening the gap between you so he can kiss you chastely in greeting. "How much I adore you." 

You touch a hand to his chest lightly. "Where have you been?" 

He told you he'd be around to see you hours ago, and he's sorry to make you wait. He tells you this, and explains his reason for being late as he slides a hand under the back of your shirt, rubbing at the small of your back. You do your melting thing into his chest like a deflated balloon.

His present pokes out of the bag, but you're not interested. You're not uninterested, you ask him what it is, but when he says he can't show you, you snort and drive your face into his chest. You're more than pleased with him alone. 

Eddie likes that about you. He shows up with presents often (though he doesn't see them as presents as you would, or as Junie does, it's just one of those things, buying stuff for your family), but he could show up empty handed as he does the majority of the time and you wouldn't bat an eyelash. 

Your arms around his neck, twining one of his curls between your fingers. The sensation sends shivers down his arms, his hair standing on end. "I really missed you," you say under your breath, your cheek resting on his shoulder. 

"I really missed you," he says, not because he has to, but because he truly means it. Being away from you is the main torture of his job. "Hard to explain, right? Spent all those years without you and now…" He draws a line down your curved neck with his knuckle, a slow drag. You turn into him like you're hiding, though you don't tell him to stop. "I miss you all the time." 

"Love you," you murmur.

"How awful would it be if I just said ditto?" he asks with a sticky smile. You pinch his waist in warning. "I love you, sweetheart. You know that." 

"Mm," you hum in agreement. "Kinda made me beg for it, though, didn't you?" 

"No I did not." 

"Did too." You sigh with pleasure as he hugs you as tightly as he can, happy to be crushed by his arms. "Rough, mean guy." 

"I love you so much," he says. 

Eddie insists it. He likes to think of it as his happy beginning, you and him together. How lucky he was to fall in love with you, how lucky he was that you did the same with him. Maybe there are universes where you never met, where you take June to start a new life somewhere else, just you and her in Sacramento, or Williamsburg, or Palm Beach. Kind of breaks his heart thinking about it… all those Eddie's without his girls, missing out on the great loves of his life. 

But there's time for them, as there's time for him and you here. "I love you," he says again. 

"I love you too." 

A little while later he takes his mystery present into the living room with Juniee. "Don't look!" he tells you, turning to Junie with a big smile. "It's a costume, okay?" he whispers. "For Halloween." 

"Costume?" she asks too loudly. 

Your laugh is a breathy sound. He throws a quick glare at you from over his shoulder. "You could at least pretend you didn't hear." 

"What's a costume?" Junie asks. 

"Dress up, pretty girl. It's dress up, like your teddy bear costume. Sound fun?" 

She raises her arms. Eddie bunches the sleeves and body of the costume, pushing it gently over her head and needling in her little arms. She's patient for once and he's getting better at dressing her, so it's only a matter of seconds before it's on and velcroed shut around her tummy. 

Eddie pulls up her hood before walking on knees to give you an unhindered view. 

"Oh my gosh." You cross your legs where you're sitting on the couch and lean forward. "Junie, honey, you look so cute!" 

She grits her teeth at you. "Rah!" 

"And so scary!" you breathe, hiding your face behind your hands. 

Eddie beams at Junie and her eight arms, her spider costume pitch black with red eyed baubles on her head. You peek at them between your fingers.

"I'm a 'pider!" 

"Yeah, baby, you're a spider!" you cheer. "She's so smart." 

"Scary!" Junie corrects, holding her hands up like Eddie does when he's telling ghost stories, claws extended. 

"She's Junipider," he says smugly. 

He thought of it before he bought the costume. 

[thefanficmonster]

Beautiful Things

Benedict Bridgerton x Reader (Female)

Warnings: SPOILERS for Bridgerton S3 part 1, Minor Period-typical sexism

Genre: Romance, Rivals to Lovers, Fluff

Summary: They're both brilliant, and brilliantly stubborn. What a pair they'd make.

Benedict tends to thread through life without as much as a worried crease on his features. There are very few matters he doesn't take to lightheartedly. That being said, it came as quite the surprise the sharp current of uncertainty that ran down his spine when he found himself standing in front of the monstrosity of a building that is the Royal Academy of Arts on his first day in attendance.

It took him and his charm less than a week to woo and work his way through the crowd of ambitious up-and-coming artists. He's always been an easy person to converse and unwind with. That aura around him naturally draws people to him like a magnet. It is a miracle the man hasn't been hunted down by a debutant already.

Not for a lack of trying, of course. The young ladies of the ton, especially the ones who have been freshy introduced into society have had their sights set on him since he himself made his way into the rhythm of the ton.

Nothing's ever fulfilled him, though.

Being the child of a marriage filled with love that has extended long past the death of his late father, he holds love to a high standard. A standard no one has even come close to reaching.

Watching his siblings find that very sort of love his parents had is a bittersweet sight to observe. It leaves him filled with joy on the behalf of his beloved siblings and it gives him a sense of hope that eventually he too might find what they managed to obtain - not without obstacles, though.

On the other edge of the sword, however, is the never ceasing worry that the problem might be his. That his lack of seriousness bordering into blatant avoidance of the ladies of the ton is to blame for his unmarried status. Perhaps it may be his overly romanticized view of love which he'd like to believe isn't the case. He's seen love of that caliber blossom time and time again in his own home. There's no reason to believe that his turn won't eventually come.

That his standard won't eventually be reached.

Speaking of standards on a lighter note, this painting he's currently standing in front of is disappointing even his lowest requirements for a decent painting.

It is absolutely atrocious, he voices his distaste only briefly and only mentally, never one to voice such critique unless it is cushioned by a smile and a quick-to-follow lighthearted remark.

"It is absolutely atrocious." There is a sharp edge to the voice that does opt to voice the very same thought out loud with far less regard for the negative attention it might garner.

Turning his head to the side, Benedict can't help the smile that immediately tugs at the corners of his mouth.

There, a mere meter from him, stands the ever so cutthroat, no-nonsense, ambitious beast of a woman that is Miss Y/N L/N. A smile rarely grazes her features, her eyes are always icy with an emotion bordering into boredom and a stature that screams authority.

And bloody hell does Benedict enjoy himself in her company.

She is the only student in The Academy he hasn't yet swayed, nor does he believe that he ever will. There are too many walls around her for him to even attempt to start breaking them down. He believes he'll sooner die of old age than succeed in reaching whatever human emotions she might exhibit around people she doesn't dislike.

When it comes to expressing distaste, however, she's not at all hesitant to share it.

"Oh, show the piece some mercy, Miss L/N. It deserves the grace of at least a spec of your kindness." Apart from perfecting his art, one of Benedict's favorite hobbies these past seven months would most certainly be pulling on Y/N's strings. Although it hasn't helped him form anything close to a friendship with her, it has aided him on the mission to get to know her better despite her being a sealed envelope of a person.

"I unfortunately do not possess plenty of it, therefore I can not be generous with it." She barely spares him a look as she speaks. That has been the case for half a year with no progress.

Still, he's willing to weld at the wax until he can pluck and read the letter inside. It is, after all, the bare minimum. He'd at the very least like to make her time at The Academy slightly more enjoyable. Being the only woman in the arts department, she's been rather ostracized which is typically the best case scenario. On the far worse end of the spectrum are the manner-less and, quite frankly, brainless 'gentlemen' who vary from not being able to keep it in their trousers to putting down her and her art which far surpasses their own.

If only they had that aforementioned missing brain intact, they'd see they're not even a quarter of the artist Y/N is.

That is one of the few things Benedict does not shy away from proclaiming with his whole chest. Although well aware that Miss L/N can handle herself gracefully and sharply as always, he never misses an opportunity to put the filthy men in The Academy in their place.

"I believe you possess far more kindness than you let on. Though, I understand completely why you'd rather not show it. None of these lovely gentlemen are deserving of it." The inflection of his tone on those two specific words wins him a scoff from her tightly pressed together lips.

A small win. Baby steps.

"I hope you are factoring yourself in when you use general terms of such sort. I have no evidence you are any better than them." She says, subtly motioning to the crowd of self-titled art experts around the venue where their final works have been displayed for renowned artists to come and rate in precisely half an hour.

Benedict had recognized her painting the second he stepped foot in the ballroom like gallery of The Academy. Needless to say, it put the rest to shame. Even his own, he has no problem admitting that. The emotions relayed in the painting, each brushstroke, every color, every line - they pulled him in the second he laid eyes on it.

And no, he most certainly is not biased. He's a very objective man when it comes to art. It might be considered a conflict of interest, though, because to him she is art.

"Believe me, my lady, I would hate nothing more than to boast myself but I still do believe I stand out from this pleasant crowd. For, as I was told, mine was the only painting you gave a stellar review for."

Professor Hedingale, although a man in his late fifties with a rather intimidating exterior and a permanent frown etched into his forehead, is a major gossip. He has taken a great favor to Benedict for his warm nature and shared love of observing drama as it unfolds. That being said, it took him a total of three seconds before he informed his student of Miss L/N's surprising review. She had not given the other paintings as much as a second glance, opting to say nothing rather than tarnish them the way they honestly deserved.

Had he not been paying such close attention to each line of her face, he could've missed it. Luckily for him, he did not. That brief fleeting moment of surprise widening Y/N's did not manage to go by unnoticed.

"I have a very high standard for beauty and would never stoop so low as to give a biased and unjust review. If I find something abhorrent, I say so. If I find something beautiful, I'd never not compliment it the way it deserves." Benedict almost flinches when she turns to face him, establishing intense and quite entrancing eye contact. "I am not mean, Bridgerton. I am simply honest."

Words burn dry on his tongue, his breath dissipating in his lungs. Had she still not been facing him, he could have come up with a timely response. But something about her gaze being so focused on him has turned his brain to a pile of pebbles. Not a single thought is passing through his head other than a fact he's long established. In fact, he came to learn it the very first at The Academy. Every day since it has only been confirmed time and time again.

She's absolutely enamoring.

The moment dissolves with the loud bang of the grand doors to the gallery being pulled open, allowing in the crowd of world renowned artists that now hold the students' futures in their gloved hands.

Benedict is not surprised by the fact that all these critical artists are men. He's grateful no artist's name has been listed by the displayed paintings, otherwise Y/N would have no chance at winning their favor. Not objectively anyway. At least one would have undermined her because, although talented artists, that doesn't exclude them from being close-minded fools. And at least one would try to butter her up for a potential courtship.

Yeah, that's not happening

Upon getting a better look, he finds himself pleasantly surprised by a head of long blonde hair, undoubtedly belonging to a woman. A woman whose work he's become very familiar with knowing Y/N is quite an admirer of hers.

"Eleanor Easton." The name comes out almost breathlessly, barely getting past Y/N's lips.

Turning his attention back to her, he's rather shocked to see what the nerves have done to her. She's shaking like a leaf, all the confidence she typically exhibits has drained from her body into a puddle on the tiled floor.

"You should go talk to her, express your admiration for her work." It is more an attempt at vexing her than a suggestion but it's in no way bad advice. Even though Lady Eleanor doesn't look like she'd take kindly to the gesture, it would be a noble attempt.

"Are you mad?!" Y/N whisper-yells, her eyes wide in panic as she spreads open the hand-held fan she's carrying to provide a soft breeze to her extremely heated face. "I could never possibly do such a thing!"

"Why could you not? It w....oh, she's looking right at us....." Benedict has barely finished his sentence before he feels a gust of wind rush past him in a blur of sparkling fabric, lace and silk.

For a solid second or two, he's torn on what to do. Although his initial intention was to vex her, he's now worried she might actually be dissolving in a nervous frenzy and he can't let her tarnish months of work because of some jitters. He too would be a wreck of similar caliber if any of the artists he idolizes were to show up and he too would prefer someone snap him out of it.

So, he follows her out the wooden doors that lead to a maze of intertwined halls, the walls of which are immaculately hand painted. For a moment, he panics, worried he won't be able to find her on time in the chaos of intertwining hallways and painting rooms. But then, he remembers that he indeed knows her better than he thought.

He finds her exactly where he thought he would - standing in front of the wall painting he often finds her looking at in awe. She's never explicitly stated so, but he knows it's her favorite.

To say Y/N is not happy when she spots him would be an understatement, "Oh. for heaven's sake, can I not get a moment without you pestering me?"

He takes her words with an eye roll, "No. I am bringing you back in that gallery. You are going to stand tall and remain collected when they announce your painting to be the equivalent of the Diamond of the season. Do you understand?" He surprises himself with the tone of seriousness his voice has taken on.

See? He can be serious when he wants to be.

She lets out a frustrated sigh, vigorously waving the red fan in her hand in a pointless attempt to collect herself, "Bridgerton..." She closes her eyes for a second as to not spit everything she'd very much like to say. Still, she is a lady, though. "I am asking you to leave my sight in the next five seconds, for you are getting on my nerves."

With two long strides, Benedict minimizes the distance between them, passing the social boundary for respectful space and bordering onto a scandal if someone were to see them. He doesn't care, though. Most romances he's witnessed, if not all, began with a scandal.

Now it's his turn.

"Oh, is that so? Am I getting on your nerves, Y/N?"

"You're getting on my nerves, Benedict-" Her words come to a sharp end when he swipes the fan from her hand, halting the consistent motion. That seems to have been her last straw of composure, seeing as how the hand that formerly held said fan is now clenched in a tight fist and her eyes are squeezing shut. "You pesky, vex...-"

How rude of Benedict to interrupt the lady yet again, is it not? This time he does so by busying her lips with his own. He braced himself for a potential slap on the cheek before even leaning in but the impact never comes.

What he did not prepare himself for was her rather welcoming response, allowing herself to momentarily forget everything else and melt into the rhythm of the kiss. Melt into him. Her arms instinctively wrap around his neck while his hold her waist, fearful of her dissipating like a dream before his eyes.

It pains him that he has to end a moment of such culmination. A moment that the seven months they've known each other inevitably led to. However, they can always pick up this conversation later. For now, Y/N has credits to earn and a painting to be prized.

So, against his instincts, he pulls away.

"This isn't over." He says, his lungs catching up on minutes worth of air they didn't properly receive, "But for now, we have other matters at hand." With a tilt of his head, he motions down the hall - a clear insinuation.

With a similarly disappointed expression and an even more disappointed sigh, Y/N brings herself to nod. She reaches out to retrieve the fan from him which gives him the opportunity to sneak one more quick kiss just as a door opens further down the hall, rudely tearing them apart from one another.

Smacking him lightly with her fan, Miss L/N can't suppress the laugh that Benedict's smug prideful expression provoked from her. She accepts the arm he's offered her and allows him to lead her back the way they came from.

"What you said about beauty and how it should never go uncomplimented..."

"Yes?"

"Oh, nothing. I just wanted to say you're ravishing."

Another laugh breaks the illusion of her icy demeanor, "Why, thank you, Mister Bridgerton. Your painting was quite easy on the eyes as well. Professor Hedingale did not lie. I must say I'm impressed."

"Although I will accept the compliment, I'll have you know there's plenty you are yet to see. This is nothing. Prepare yourself to be truly impressed."

Giving his arm a subtle squeeze, she flashes him one last smile before they enter the gallery once more, "Doubtful."

That's the thing about rivalry, dear reader, it brings out the good, the bad and the beautiful.

The rest is best kept behind a close door, if you know what this author is alluding to.

[totalswag]

the last anon gave me an idea, so I'm requesting you

How Drew asks actress y/n to go out on a date, without the friends, only with him this time? How the first date goes? How he/she confesses his/her feelings for each other, without kiss? I mean, we don't kiss at the first date, it's like "see you soon" right?

Also love ur writing! <3

first date gone well — DREW STARKEY

authors note ooo i really like your thinking! definitely see drew being the type to kiss maybe on the second or third date for sure. super sorry that your request is coming out late. so close to 900 followers!!

summary actress!reader and drew go on their first date.

warnings drinking, flirting, shyness, soft!drew

Drew and you exchanged numbers after the party. You haven't stopped texting each other since.

Drew asked you out on a date after a week of texting. He maintained an interest in getting to know you more, and you reciprocated. It's been a while since you've felt this way about a guy.

You were instructed to dress casually for dinner, since he is taking you to an Italian restaurant. There's a surprise at the end that he thinks you'll enjoy.

Drew knocks on the front door; you grab your belongings as you walk to unlock it. When you see each other, you both smile.

"Hey, how are you?" Drew asks, drawing you in for a tight hug; "You look really beautiful too," he says, pausing to admire you.

He smells so wonderful, holy moly!

Blushing so hard right now.

"I'm doing well, and thank you; you look handsome," you say, blushing quickly, hoping he doesn't notice how he's already influencing you, even though the date hasn't even begun.

By the time you arrived at the restaurant, Drew had parked his car and walked around to open the passenger door like a gentleman. He let you walk in front of him, placing his hand softly on your back as you entered.

Drew and you sat in a two-person booth near the bar. You both ordered a glass of champagne with a side of iced water. There were several options on the menu. 

"This place is wonderful Drew, thank you," you exclaimed, your gaze fixed on everything in the restaurant.

He smiles, "I'm happy you like it. I was browsing for places to eat and remembered you saying this type of restaurant was your favorite, so I thought this would be an ideal spot to take you."

Everything in your body slid down to your feet. Knowing that he paid attention to every detail you told him indicates his character and good intentions. You felt your cheeks turn red and butterflies in your tummy.

The two of you spoke about work. At the moment you are starting to work on a new rom come movie; you cannot wait to start filming. Drew has been working on season four of Outer Banks and leaving in two weeks to film in Marco.

After dinner, Drew and you returned to his car. He let you choose the music for the short drive you were about to take. You plugged your phone to the car, scrolled through your playlists, and chose the more relaxed option.

Lana Del Rey, West Coast.

You begin humming the melody while closing your eyes and moving your head side to side. 

Drew begins singing a few words, taking you off guard. You turn to face him, surprised that he is singing Lana Del Rey, one of your favorite artists.

"I didn't know you listen to Lana," you say out loud, pointing to the screen.

Drew grins, "Well, I have sisters who listen to her, and the more I listened, the more I liked her music," he adds as he turns the corner leading to downtown.

You feel yourself liking this man even more.

The two of you continue to discuss your favorite artists. Tonight you've learnt a lot about each other and will continue.

"Would you like to grab ice cream and take a nice walk on the beach?" Drew asks with a suggestive tone, secretly hoping you'd say yes to his question.

"That sounds like a good idea, I'd like that" you smile, "I love the beach so much, it's a safe place for me" you explain.

"The beach is somewhere to let go and relax your mind, no worries, no distractions, just peace and quiet" Drew replies.

"Exactly!"

Drew made careful to park near the ice cream business; there was a parking lot. It's going to be a busy Friday night in the summer. You both knew what you were getting into when you walked out together.

You walked close to each other, chatting rather than strolling silently. Throughout the evening, you found that you two can communicate without being awkward or bring up unexpected topics. You enjoy that about him.

A couple fans spotted you coming down the sidewalk and approached you for a photo. You politely snapped pictures and parted ways. They looked astonished to see you two out together.

"My favorite flavor is mint chip," you remark, pointing at the ice cream flavor through the glass.

"That's crazy you say that because thats my favorite flavor" Drew responds, smiling.

Drew paid for the ice cream, leaving a tip for the nice workers. You two could tell it made their day. They kindly asked for pictures too.

The sun began to set as you walked along the beach and ate your ice cream. The cool breeze, the sound of the waves, and the people looking out into the ocean; the scenery was breathtaking.

You pause to bring out your phone and take a couple photos of the scene in front of you. When you walk on the beach or visit the beach in general, you always take pictures.

When you arrived home, Drew walked you up to your front door.

"You know, I had a great night tonight, Y/N. "I'm glad you said yes to tonight and getting to know you better," Drew says, seeming anxious.

"I had a fantastic night, Drew, and you made it ten times better. You are quite something," you end your sentence in a flirtatious tone, hoping he will catch on.

Drew raises his brows in delight, smirking.

"Oh, really now?" "How about I take you out next week?" He speaks quietly, touching your free hand nearest to his.

"Yes, Drew." You are an excellent young gentleman who made me feel special today, and I would love to go out with you next week," you say, staring at his facial features and seeing how lovely he is standing in front of you on your porch.

"It was a pleasure tonight, Y/N; I'll text you when I get home." "Get some rest tonight, beautiful." He leans down and kisses your cheek before walking back to his car.

After closing and locking your door, you lean against the front door and reflect on what occurred tonight. You smile as you glide your body down onto the tile.

What an amazing night.

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[softpine]

shows up extremely late to the @tricoufamily cas challenge with a half baked mafia concept like just hear me out guys hear me out....

dynamic: mentor/mentee genre: crime

sim 1: DONNA trait: boisterous hair color: platinum blonde hair length: medium extra: glasses

sim 2: CHIARRA trait: jealous hair color: dark brown hair length: extra long extra: freckles

i don't know a single goddamn thing about the mob, i've never even watched the sopranos ❗❗ now that we've gotten that out of the way

it's the late 80s, and chiarra (brunette) is fresh out of cosmetology school and looking for a job as a hair stylist. she ends up renting a booth at a salon on one condition: the property owner, a man with major ties to the mob, wants to take her on a date first. she's charmed by his charisma and loves how close he is with his family, something chiarra never had much of. within a year, the two are married and chiarra has ingratiated herself in the community, however she's quite unpopular with the other ladies. she's seen as a gold digger and an outsider because she didn't grow up in this life. but her job as a hair stylist is secured permanently thanks to her husband.

this is how she meets donna (blonde). donna is kind of a big fucking deal from what chiarra has heard through the grapevine, so she gets nervous and ends up badlyyy messing up her hair the first time she comes in to the salon. she's surprised to find that donna thinks it's hilarious – but she warns her that not everyone would've taken it so lightly, especially because chiarra's husband is not an incredibly influential person to begin with, unlike donna's husband who's like. the boss. but donna takes a liking to her, something the other wives find equal parts annoying and frightening.

through the early years of chiarra's marriage, donna acts as a mentor figure and a listening ear because she's been through it many years ago. but there comes a point where chiarra discovers her husband has been cheating on her, and she's shocked when donna waves it off as something that just sort of happens to all of them. chiarra becomes furious and refuses to accept this when she's been nothing but loyal to him. but instead of confronting her husband, possibly losing her marriage and the new family she's gained, she makes the decision to follow in his footsteps. she carries out secret affairs for a while; just one night stands and brief flings, so her husband won't get suspicious. donna finds it entertaining and turns it into a game, often covering for her. she's always been a gossip, so it's easy for her to keep an ear out for what people are saying about chiarra and deflect suspicion if she needs to.

one night, while their husbands are away, the wine starts flowing and the two of them just go for it. it's quick and they don't even particularly enjoy it because the guilt creeps in almost immediately. in decades of marriage, donna has never betrayed her husband no matter how many times he's done the same. and though chiarra is no stranger to stepping out of her marriage, she hasn't had romantic feelings for anyone but him since they've been together, let alone feelings for another woman.

donna and chiarra try to put some space between themselves, but they both know it's too little too late – and considering they've been inseparable since they met, their distance draws more suspicion than their closeness ever had. without donna there to protect her, chiarra is forced to realize just how disliked she is in her community, and how much donna had been doing to bolster her image. but she doesn't just want everything to go back to normal, she wants more than that. she's determined to make sure donna knows what she's missing out on, taking every opportunity to make her jealous and push her buttons.

this push and pull between them continues until donna learns that her husband has been arrested for racketeering and other crimes -- and it seems that the charges are actually going to stick this time. worst of all, the latest gossip is that chiarra had something to do with it. but is this just chiarra's bad reputation preceding her? would she really do something so dangerous and hurtful just to get donna back? and if it's true, what is donna going to do in retaliation?

thanks for reading my wattpad story :3 r&r plz xDD

[delusionalbitchinthehouse]

Ifrit and Phantom. You get me ? Ifrit and Phantom.

The first time Phantom met Ifrit, freshly summoned, he hadn't been ready at all.

The fire ghoul took up space, a lot of it, loud and bright in a way that made him seem twice as big as he was. His had was warm, his grip firm when he shook Phantom's. The quint made sure to avoid him after that. Too overwhelmed to subject himself to Ifrit's presence.

But it's been a while since he's been brought topside now, and Phantom starts regretting his avoidance, worried it sent the wrong signals. He doesn't dislike Ifrit, not at all, he's even growing curious about him. Berates himself for pushing away such a ghoul, when he was too afraid by his own emotions to admit to himself that Ifrit had snatched his attention.

Thankfully, it gets resolved in the most natural way. Phantom's in the gardens one late afternoon, doing cartwheel on a low wall fence circling a small pond. He's always loved acrobatics, and is fairly good at them ; this dance with relative danger, the possibility of slipping from his narrow landing point and ending up drenched only makes it more thrilling. He's interrupted by a soft clearing of throat.

"That's impressive."

Heat rushes in Phantom's cheeks as his head snaps toward Ifrit in a white tank top and baggy jeans sitting obscenely low on his hips, orange eyes trained on Phantom with gentle fascination.

"I- uh, not really. 's just cartwheels."

Ifrit shits his weight, adjusts his stance, hips jutting to one side which only draws more attention to his proeminent hip bones, the v line disapearing under his waistband, the trail of dark hair leading down there too. Satan below, Phantom needs to get it together.

"Perfect form though. And impecable balance as well - you didn't fall once."

So he's been watching for a while. Phantom's traitorous tail starts wagging at the praise.

"Oh, well, I...i practise a lot, I guess."

Lucifer, Ifrit looks gorgeous. The golden light makes a thin sheen of sweat shine on so, so much exposed skin - lower stomach, arms, neck, what can only be described as a cleavage with how big his fucking chest is. And that smile - a bit crooked, almost bashful. Phantom understands why almost every ghoul seems to be smitten with him.

"Heard about that. Sunshine took you to the roof yet ? She might be the one that knows it best, you'd have a lot of fun up there."

Phantom sits crossed-legged on the wall, pulling a face.

"Yeah, we tried but we got shooed by a very pissed Alpha. Said he needed to be alone - like the freaking roof belonged to him."

Ifrit winces, dropping next to Phantom uninvited, but not unwanted.

"Sorry about that. I swear he's not always that bad."

Phantom dares to turn fully toward him, to openly watch Ifrit as the fire ghoul watched him earlier.

"You were his mentee, right ? How was it ?"

Ifrit laughs, eyes growing a bit distant, though still bright.

"Pretty fun, actually. Al's a good teacher, blunt honesty and smidge of impatience aside."

"Smidge of impatience ?"

Oh, the way Ifrit throws his head back while laughing, it shouldn't be as endearing as it is. The fire ghoul's thigh brushes against Phantom's as he leans back, arms crossing in front of his chest.

"Yes, well. Tell you a secret - even he isn't immune to big wet puppy eyes. 'S how I got him to go easy on me."

It could be an accident, the way Phantom leans against Ifrit's shoulder as he reajusts his position, except it isn't and they both know it. As every fire ghouls do, Ifrit radiates warmth, which isn't unpleasant. Phantom's eyes trail toward details he didn't notice before ; freckles on his shoulders, a thick scar on the buzzed side of his skull, moles on his neck next to- oh. Phantom can't resist poking the bite mark Ifrit hasn't even bothered to hide.

"Let me guess. Swiss."

Ifrit throws him a surprised look, orange eyes sparkling.

"How did you know ?"

Phantom hums, leaning more toward the bite - and if that means he has to brace himself on Ifrit's thigh in the process, well, that's just a nice bonus.

"Too wide to be Dew, too big fang marks to be Rain. Could be one of the older ghouls, but that's Swiss' favorite spot to bite, so."

Ifrit's tail wraps around Phantom's waist then, keeping him here, leaned over him, one hand on his thigh, the other coming up to his wide shoulder for balance.

"Heard you were pretty bitey too. Apparently chewed on Mountain's tail for a whole movie night, that true ?"

"Hey, he said it was okay !"

Another of Ifrit's beautiful laugh, but this time it's lower, kept withing the - frankly impressive - confine of his chest, rumbling through both their bodies. Phantom yelps when the fire ghoul grabs him by his narrow hips and hauls him up on his lap. Oh. Strong. Not that Phantom didn't expect him to be, but. It's one thing to know it, another entirely different one to feel it first hand.

"You're cute," Ifrit hums, and he has the audacity to look at Phantom through dark lashes like the unfairly pretty fuck he is, "why haven't we hung out before ?"

Well, it's pretty much all on Phantom, to be honest. He ducks his head, smiling bashfully.

"You, uh. Intimidated me."

With a surprised noise, Ifrit tilts his own head, trying to catch Phantom's eyes.

"Me ? Why ?"

Oh, there's a small scar in his left eyebrow as well, Phantom notices. He doesn't realize he's reached out for it until he feels the texture of it under the pad of his thumb. Ifrit's only reaction is a flutter of eyelashes.

"I guess..." Phantom's fingers slide toward the bridge of the fire ghoul's nose, arboring an almost healed sunburn, "you're so...lively. I didn't know how to approach you."

"Well..." Ifrit leans in, chin resting against Phantom's sternum, "we're here now. I'm glad."

Sparkling smile, directed full force at Phantom. Yeah. He's glad too.

[autismprotocol]

TMAG Theory Board Update (EP 11-12)

Hi guys sorry about the late posting I've just started a new quarter of college and its been pretty hectic. also got into my school design BFA program so pretty stoked about that! Anyways lets get into the Episode Breakdowns because even though not a lot of lore related things happened I still have a lot to talk about

For the breakdown I'll separate each by episode in sequential order

What Happened in Episode 11: Marked

Celias Rude Awakening- we jump right into the weirdness straight away with Celia waking up on the side of the interstate. she indicates that this is not a weird occurrence and ends the scene by telling someone named Jack that she's "on her way." If you remember episode 8 after Celia and Sam talk to Gerry and Gertrude, she mentions stuff about wanting help with her own mystery. When Sam asks about it she says she's looking into Time travel, other dimentions and teleportation. Many people have theorized that maybe Celia is just a super heavy sleepwalker, but I think the she teleports random places out of nowhere. This could be a side effect of her reality hopping if this Celia is originally from The archives universe.

As for the identity of Jack I'm not quite sure about that yet. I cross referenced the name Jack with past episodes of TMA. The only thing that came up was Jack Barnabas from the statement about dating Agnes Montague (aka an avatar of the desolation and Jesus-like figure for the cult of the lightless flame) So Unless Celia is secretly Agnes of Agnes reincarnated , I can't find any way to link Barnabas to Celia. (if anyone has a theory feel free to send it my way.)

Sam Lore- this one is pretty minor story-wise but I thought it was interesting. Before the statement for the episode is presented we get some classic Sam and Alice Banter ™ most of it is pretty lighthearted but I noticed Sam mention something that could indicate he might be an amputee.

These could not mean anything and I find it weird that it hasn't been mentioned until now but thought it was kind of cool and I will probably be drawing sam with a prothetic leg in the future cause I really like this head-canon. It also begs to question if he is missing a leg. it might have anything to do with his past as a Magnus institute test subject but then again could just be a fun character detail added by Jonny and/or Alex .

The Statement- Getting into the statement we get another Ink5oul appearance. Also possible Ink5oul identifying as she/they. (and lets be honest being a fear avatar is pretty non binary core). I found this Episode gave me a feeling of a hybrid between the Vast, Buried and the Flesh some people are theorizing that is might be a new entity called the Deep but I think that the fear of the ocean could easily apply to the vast or buried. Not much to say about this story though pretty standard Magnus horror that also gave us a hint to what Ink5oul's goal could be/which entity they serve.

Post Bonzo- Gwen has a debrief with Lena after her first Externals Liason assignment and her meeting with Mr. Bonzo. Undoubtedly Gwen is still pretty shaken from her encounter, even arriving late to work due to sleeplessness. Gwen is able to ask Lena a few questions mainly she wanted to know who's name was written on the letter given to Bonzo

Lena is largely unhelpful but tells Gwen she should have worked it out by now and if not to pay close attention to the case load for the next couple of days. before the latest episode my guess was Klaus because that is the only person mentioned so far that the OIAR intends to kill. but more on that later

Marked- Now were getting to my favorite thing about this episode. This episode title can have two meanings. The first is the more literal interpretation. Tattoos are marking of the body and the case this episode was all about tattoos so easily a good name would be marked. But I believe this is a red herring meant to misguide listeners who have not consumed all 200 episodes of TMA because if you know the world of Magnus Archives the term Marked takes on a entirely different meaning.

In TMA the term marked is used to indicate that somebody has been influenced by one or more or the fears and are one their way to becoming an Avatar. I think this could be a coded way to tell the audience someone in the OIAR has been marked. I have two potential candidates

Alice Dyer- Alice has been having dreams about the Institute after her and Sam's adventure into the ruins. also she mentions feeling like someone's watching her (common to people influenced or fed upon by the Ceaseless Watcher/The Eye) My guess if she is marked it would be by the Eye.

Gwendolyn Bouchard: Probably the most likely culprit. The main way an entitly tends to mark people is through encounters with other avatars. Gwen has just had an encounter with Mr Bonzo last episode who I strongly believe must be an avatar of some sort.

What Happened in Episode 12: Getting Off

Aww Sam!!- Sam asked Celia out and it was adorably awkward. not much to say I just loved this interaction and I'm longing for a new Magnus brand office romance hopefully is wont be an agonizing slowburn that ends tragically like a certain pair of morons from Archives (I love you Jon and Martin but Jesus christ)

It's Bonzo time bitches!!- Probably one of the most gruesome Magnus statement I've ever listened to (good work Alex) Mr Bonzo completely annihilated some poor dude at his bachelor party. Based on the date of the Incident the I can confidently say that whoever Baz (the groom) was he was our mystery person the OIAR sent Mr Bonzo to get rid of. Along with some of the bloodiest imagery we learned a few things about Bonzo. The most interesting detail is that Bonzo has to be summoned by playing his theme song I think the CD of his theme song acts somewhat like the tapes did in TMA by materialising out of nowhere. Also fun fact you know that torn seam that is right down Bonzo's middle? that is actually is his mouth lined with rows sharp teeth so I guess I know that now (so fun) Moral of the story dont f*ck with Mr. Bonzo

Alice knows something: Theres been this recurring audio glitch throughout TMAGP thatnks to a few extremly observent fans we have started to relize that these glitches are not at all random and are actually letting the audience know when a character is lying (i actually reposted somones deepdive into all the istances of this glitch so far if you guys are intrested in knowing more) why i bring this up now is becuase since we know when any charater is lying we also know when they are being truthful if there is no glitch when they say somthing and at the end of this episode this interaction occurs

Alice goes ahead and makes a joke about this to annoy Gwen but the fact theres no audio glitch when she says "I know" means she does actually know who is behind the OIAR and is activly refusing to share it with Gwen or the others. What do you know Alice!?

and that's about it im already loving these next batch of episodes and am so excited to learn more (ERROR has to show up somtime )

thanks to everyone who resonded the poll on the last update I will continue to include drawings into the breakdown even if it takes me a little bit of time to post. anyways I wrote this all in one sitting and I'm about ready to pass out so thanks again and the ask box and comments are always open for discussion and theory crafting.

-Echo

[spaceclefairy]

Ain't No Sunshine

The Ghoul's back in town. Maybe not for long, but you'll take him for as long as you've got him.

Act I | Act II | Act III | Act IV | Act V | Ao3 Compilation

You're outside on the front porch of your office when you hear a gunshot in the distance. You drain the rest of your drink and watch the sun slip down past the horizon. You’d originally come outside to enjoy a stiff drink in your rickety old rocking chair and wound up nursing your drink well into the evening, far longer than you’d intended. Most of your nights are spent like this, though, rocking on your porch and watching the sunset after you close up shop. It’s as close to relaxation as you get out here in the wasteland.

You don't think much of the gunshot - they pop off like popcorn in this town, day in and day out. It's as commonplace as the morning screeching of those horrible little mutated roosters your neighbor keeps (they're the size of dogs and have teeth like butcher knives). It's probably wastelanders taking out a radroach. Or each other. Or some kind of hybrid of the two (things have been weird around here lately).

Off down the dirt path, just barely within your line of sight, a cloud of dust picks up on the breeze. You shield your eyes from the haze rolling through, and in the waning evening light, you can just barely make out two shapes in the distance. It’s odd for any of the townsfolk to be out past sundown, but they’re too far away to make out any real defining features. It’s likely a pair of bounty hunters, anyway; bounty hunters coming in late in the day for payout are usually the only ones brave enough to walk these streets in the dark.

As they draw closer, you start to make them out. One of the shapes is small and slight, waifish almost, wearing a jumpsuit that might once have been bright and blue but was now a faded, dirty navy. The other… well, you already know the other one.

Your Ghoul clearly remembers where you live.

When he struts up onto your front porch, spurs clinking against the wood, he gives you what would almost, on any other face but his, be a sheepish grin. It hasn't been long since Filly - about a month. Actually, you expected him to be gone longer, but it’s been long enough for you. You don’t want to know what he’s been doing to be dragging the woman around with him, though.

You do, however, want to know why the woman with him looks like she's been through hell and back, though. She’s barely even standing up straight at this point and seems borderline shell-shocked, and you don't blame her. Even you don't want to know what your Ghoul gets up to during the day, but it seems like she's found out.

The Ghoul nods off back into the distance. “Radroach. Nasty fucker. Killed a couple of those roosters.”

You raise an eyebrow, fighting a grin. “You get it?”

“Mhm,” he hums. “Blew a hole right through it.”

The woman lets out a shaky breath, her already-wide doe eyes expanding even further. “It exploded.”

The Ghoul takes a step closer to you, boots clunking on the wooden porch. “Got room?”

You nod. “Always.”

You usher them inside as night finally falls, snuffing out the front porch lights as you pass.

The Ghoul walks upstairs without a word, every step of his boots and spurs echoing down the wooden staircase. He already knows where he’s sleeping.

The woman stares after them, then looks at you and sticks out her hand to shake yours. “I'm Lucy.”

It finally hits you that she's wearing a Vault-Tec jumpsuit. The Ghoul’s dragging around an honest-to-God vault dweller. You would have figured it out by her mannerisms even if you hadn't recognized the jumpsuit. Wastelanders don't shake hands and introduce themselves. 

You're not unfamiliar with the practice, though. You take Lucy’s hand and tell her your name. “I've got a room down here and a place you can wash up.”

Lucy looks like she might cry. “A shower?”

You grin with sympathy. “No, not quite. But there's a sink with clean water.”

“Please, thank you,” Lucy says, and with those doe eyes blinking at you, you get the distinct feeling you'd probably give her your kidney if she asked for it. She looks like she's been through the ringer. “Any water at all.”

“Whatever you need - just don't tell anyone it's here. We keep clean water a secret around here.”

Lucy nods enthusiastically, and you lead her off into the back washroom with the promise of finding her a pallet to sleep on. You drag a little cot in your backroom along with a flat pillow and threadbare blanket. It's not much better than sleeping on the floor, but you're quite sure it's better than anywhere else the poor girl has slept in a while.

You show her to the backroom. “It's not great.”

“It's just fine, thank you.”

You glance at her windburned cheeks and chapped lips. Her skin hasn’t toughened up against the elements up top yet. You can empathize. “I grew up in a vault, too. Topside was quite the shellshock.”

“Really?” Lucy asks, sitting down on the cot. “Why did you leave?”

“Well, my mom fell in love with a wastelander she found topside - she was a courier - and took me with her. I was 14,” you start, leaning against the door frame. “Nice guy. Bounty hunter. He killed her and left me outside a bounty agency.”

Lucy's mouth hangs open, and she starts to form the words I'm so sorry, but you wave your hand dismissively. It’s been a long time. That’s just the way the world works.

“I don't know what he's-” you motion behind you back towards the staircase, “put you through, but since you’re alive, I'm guessing you're not a bounty,” you say gently. “You'll be okay. We vaulties are tougher than we look.”

Lucy nods and sighs. “Thank you.”

You start to close the backroom door behind you, but pause and stick your head back in the doorway. “By the way, you're gonna want to keep this door shut tonight.”

She blinks in confusion, then blinks with realization, and nods profusely. “Got it.”

You shut the door with a click, then head upstairs.

You find your Ghoul reclining back on your bed, back resting against the creaky headboard. He'd discarded the duster and vest on the back of your single chair, bandolier and belt in the seat, and kicked off his boots next to your bed. His gloves and gun lay ready on your nightstand, never far from his hand. He'd found another crusty old paperback - a different one, newer but still decrepit - and taken to reading it.

When you approach, he holds out a hand for you to take and pulls you down into his lap, back to his chest, and situates you between his outstretched legs. He wraps an arm around your stomach and rests his chin on your shoulder as he reads, breathing slow and even. 

You let him read for a while in silence, enjoying the simple touch. You don't really want to break the silence, but eventually you do.

“Where'd you find the vaultie?”

The Ghoul hums next to your ear. “Filly first, right after you left. Then the New California Republic.”

You open your mouth, then shut it, then open it again. You haven't heard anything about the NCR in years, not since it was nuked. You’d seen smoke billowing up recently but would have never considered it was coming from the NCR. You want to ask why he’s been out that way, but you really, really don't want to know what he's been getting up to lately if that’s where he’s been. (You don’t want to admit to yourself it worries you where he’s been.)

“I don't want to know, do I?”

He chuckles. “Probably not.”

“Noted.”

The hand crossing your stomach moves to the hem of your shirt and dips just under the fabric to trace your skin. He continues reading the book over your shoulder, and you relax back into him.

“Didn't know you were a vaultie,” the Ghoul says slowly, carefully.

Ah, well, clearly he was listening. You didn’t think he’d be able to hear you all the way downstairs.

“Oh, yeah, a long, long time ago,” you reply. “Been topside longer than I was ever in a vault.”

His hand slides lower, fingertips just barely tickling the soft skin up under the waistband of your pants. It tickles something fierce, but his touch is so, so nice, you can’t bring yourself to swat his hand.

“Did you ever find that bounty hunter?”

“Sure did,” you reply, leaning your head back against his shoulder. “You know, they say revenge doesn't make you feel any better.”

His hand dips lower, past your underwear, the motion of his fingers languid as he trails his fingertips softly through coarse hair. Not wasting time tonight, it seems. You’re pleased.

“Did it?”

He slides a finger down your slit, catching on your clit, and rubs light circles with his fingertip.

You smile. “Never felt better.”

The Ghoul's mouth rests against the shell of your ear; you can feel him smirking against your skin. “That's my girl.”

He slips a finger into you as he reads, then a second, tortuously slowly, but it makes you sigh. It's not quite the feeling of fullness you want, but his fingers are so pleasantly heavy inside you, and his thumb pressing down on your clit makes you squirm.

You stop yourself from grabbing his wrist and relax back against him. This seems to garner his approval because he presses his fingers a little deeper, giving you more pressure against your clit. His breath in your ear is deceptively calm, like he's not pulling you apart with just a hand. 

“Hold it,” the Ghoul says, passing you the book. “This is the good part.”

The occupied hand, now free, makes quick work of unbuttoning just enough of your shirt to slip into. You close your eyes while he plays with your nipple, trailing a fingertip over it so lightly it makes you want to crawl out of your skin. His blunt nails scrape over your skin, and you can't stop the whimper that spills out of your mouth. You can feel him smirking against your ear, so smug,  but he continues on as if he's doing nothing but reading that stupid book.

You squeeze your thighs together, trapping his hand while his fingers are knuckle-deep, but he pinches your nipple as soon as you do.

“Nope. Spread ‘em.”

You spread ‘em, as instructed. He drapes a leg over your knee so you can't trap his hand again. You've come to learn he likes it when you open up for him.

“Next page.”

You oblige, and your reward is his third finger pushing past your entrance to join the others. He switches to your unattended breast, rolling your neglected nipple between his fingers. 

“Coop,” you warn, and your voice sounds broken even to your own ears. You can barely breathe, and the book shakes in your hands. 

He hums, and you can hear the satisfaction dripping from his words. “Next page.”

“Cooper,” you say, and he says your name in response, and his voice in your ear makes you feel fucking strung out. 

“Relax and focus,” he says softly. He thrusts his fingers, and you can hear every movement he makes. “Now, next page, or I’ll stop.”

You take a deep breath and turn the page, fully intending to relax back against his chest (when had you tensed up?), but he picks that moment to press his thumb down on your clit and roll it around the pad of his thumb. You hiss, and he laughs, and oh payback will be sweet.

The hand that’s been playing so diligently with your nipple abandons the task, and you almost whine, but you don’t want to give him any more satisfaction at the present moment. He runs his hand up your sternum and rests it against your chest just above your collarbone. He doesn’t move to wrap his hand around your throat, but it’s close by, just resting against your chest, and the weight is comforting. 

“I know you’re trying to be quiet,” he says, “but I’m sure Vaultie’s heard worse.”

You huff. “Warned her to keep the door shut anyway.”

“Well, then, don’t keep those pretty sounds all to yourself,” he replies, punctuating his words by pressing right on that spot inside you that’s absolutely made you scream before. “Or I’ll make you read the next page out loud for me.”

“You’re so in for it,” you gasp, and oh, he likes that. You can feel his cock twitch against your back, even through his pants and your shirt. “Your hand’s gonna get tired eventually, and then it’s my turn.”

“Threats like that, maybe I’ll stop and see what you do about it,” the Ghoul says. He makes you tilt your head back against his shoulder with the hand now actively around your throat and presses a kiss to your temple that’s a whole lot more teeth and tongue than lips. “Now, why don’t you be good and come for me? Then I’ll let you have your turn.”

“Can I put the book down? Sure would make things go quicker.”

“No,” he snorts. “Next page, babydoll.”

“Fuck, you’re mean sometimes.”

The threats to stop don’t matter much in the end. You come on his fingers, orgasm popping along your spine like static shock. He pumps his fingers slower, more gently, and lets go of your throat to wrap his arm around your waist, keeping you tight to him. You pant, struggling to catch your breath, and let him work you down through your high. 

His nose would be in your hair if he had one, so his forehead rests against the side of your head. You can feel him grinning smugly against your ear when he says, “Not so mean now, am I?”

You extricate yourself from his grip, turning around in his arms and kneeling between his outstretched legs before he can get a good hold on you. With his face in your hands, you kiss him hard enough to knock your teeth together. He fists his hands in your hair and holds you close, nails scraping at the back of your neck. You let go of his face, unwilling to break contact with his mouth (you don’t think he would have let you if you’d tried anyway), and yank open his belt and zipper.

When you do pull back, it’s only because you’ve all but run out of air. You take his heavy cock in hand and kiss him again because fuck he’s good at that. “I fuckin’ missed you.”

“Seems like it-”

He’s cut off when you wrap your lips around his shaft and take him all the way down to the hilt. It’s a strangled half-moan he makes that cuts off his words, and it goes straight down your spine like lightning. You’ve never heard him make that noise before - he’s usually pretty quiet at first. You aim to make him do it again.

You wrap your tongue around the head of his cock, licking along the slit, before taking him all the way back down and hollowing out your cheeks. That does the trick; he moans again, and it’s all you can do to keep yourself from giving in and just jumping on him. That noise is worth it, though, and you busy yourself with a game of how many times you can get him to do it.

“Fuck - easy,” your Ghoul breathes, pushing your hair back away from your face. It’s not out of an attempt to be sweet - he doesn’t want to miss a second of watching your lips around his cock. “You only get one shot, sweetheart-”

You pull off of him with an audible pop. “Well, let’s see how long you can last, then.”

He grins, and you match him. You take him back in your mouth, all the way down until your nose hits smooth skin. The tip of him sits heavy in the back of your throat, pitted and raw-looking like the rest of him, but surprisingly smooth. You scrape your teeth lightly up the length of him. His head smacks audibly against your headboard, and you giggle around him, the vibration of which only makes him groan and buck up into your mouth.

The Ghoul tightens his grip on your hair, pulling you back just enough to give him some wiggle room. You take that as your clue to unclench your jaw, and he fucks your mouth with the same calculated intensity that he does everything else. Your eyes water, and you can feel sweat dripping down your cheek in the heat, but he swipes away both with his thumb.

Dry humping the mattress isn’t giving you any relief, so you slide your hand down to your cunt. There’s not much room pressed down against the mattress, but you make do as best you can, fingers circling your own clit desperate for any amount of stimulation. It’s what you need though, and between the slide of the Ghoul’s cock in your mouth and your fingers at your clit, you get yourself right there.

The Ghoul notices. He stops moving and taps your chin, half-laughing and half-breathless. “Come here, darlin’, I’ll take care of that.”

You scramble into his lap, legs bracketing his thighs, and sink down onto his cock while he holds himself steady. He scoots you closer, hands on your hips, and holds you down so your pelvis is flush to his. You think he likes the closeness and the feeling of you so full of him, but you don’t mention it. 

When you finally start to move, you don’t bother to keep quiet. The Ghoul cuts you off with a kiss. “Think we’ve traumatized Vaultie enough yet?”

“She’s an adult,” you shrug, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Besides, do you know what Vaulties do to each other down there?”

He grimaces, “Ugh… Don’t want to.”

“Lotta weird shit, Coop.”

He closes his eyes and huffs. “Just kiss me.”

You kiss him, clasping his face in your hands while you grind down on him. His hands blaze a path up and down your back like he can’t make up his mind where to put them. He finally settles on your ass, mostly so he can get some leverage to control your pace. 

You don’t last long, and neither does your Ghoul. You come with his fingers at your clit and his face pressed into the crook of your neck. He comes right after you with a soft groan muffled by your skin, the heat of him filling you up somehow comforting.

When you finally choose to climb off of him, he doesn’t let you get far. You wind up in much the same position as when you first climbed into bed, with your back to his chest and his arms wrapped around your middle. You relax back against him, sticky and sweaty from the heat of the room and your combined body heat, but unwilling to move anywhere cooler.

The Ghoul rests his chin on top of your shoulder. You think, for a moment, he wants to say something, but he instead busies himself pressing his lips to your shoulder. He may be able to turn a phrase, but you suppose that doesn��t include talking about things.

You don’t want to ask because you already know the answer, but finally, you do. “Are you leaving in the morning?”

“Pillow talk isn't really your thing, is it?”

You give him a look out of the corner of your eye.

He bumps his chin against your shoulder. “Yeah.”

You don’t want him to leave - you really, really don’t. “Okay.”

He says your name softly. “Come with us.”

You don’t know what’s going on, why the Ghoul is dragging Lucy around behind him, why there’s constantly smoke filling the sky and Vertibirds tearing through the clouds, or why this all feels so fatalist, but you know there’s not much you can do other than shoot a gun or get in the way. What you can do is provide a place to come home to for a man who’s wandered the desert longer than anything else currently walking around.

“You want me to come with you, but you could make this your home,” you say. You turn around in his lap so you’re facing him and find him watching you with something in those hazel eyes. “I’ll be right here when you get back. Not if you get back, Cooper. When.”

Your Ghoul nods. “When I get back, then.”

[imagine-knowing-a-name]

here we are, no one else

Summary: Wanda and R finally get a moment alone

Word Count: 1768 Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Reader Part 6 of 'Half of My Hometown' series masterlist <- previous part | next part ->

»»————-　★　————-««

“No Vision tonight?”

Your voice breaks Wanda out of her mindless stare at the floor. She looks up, smiling as she meets your eyes, while slightly shaking her head.

“No. He’s not even in the country, Tony needed him for some intelligence mission.”

“Shame,” you mumble. The woman across from you smirks and raises an eyebrow in amusement at your sarcastic tone, and it’s only then that you catch what you said. Even though you’ve clearly been caught, you clear your throat and quickly try to change the subject to distract her. “You know… it’s been years, but I still feel weird calling him ‘Tony’.”

“Do you still remember all the names we used to call him?” Wanda asks and, though it's light-hearted, you pick up on the slight edge to her tone. 

You sheepishly nod, floods of former nicknames for your current boss resurfacing in your mind. Across from you, Wanda’s tight posture loosens slightly, and you realise the implicit meaning behind her question – testing where you stood with Stark, and whether you'd judge the decisions she had made in your absence.

“I can’t really mention those to Vision,” she adds shyly. Your gaze snaps back up to hers with wide eyes and an open-mouthed expression at the thought, just to see her grinning widely.

“Definitely not,” you laugh, surprised by how at ease you feel again tonight, “those names should… well… they should not leave Sokovia.”

“Probably where Stark would ship me back to if he found out.”

“You and me both,” you hum, “though it would be nice to go back home.”

“Not much left of it though.” Wanda frowns and drops her eyes to the ground, the mood sobering quickly.

Seeing her this dejected is enough to make you frown too, so you bump her shoulder with your own and shoot her a toothy grin once she meets your eyes, “I’d have you though, wouldn’t I? The two of us back in former Sokovian land? That’s home enough for me anyday.” She smiles at that, and you feel a warm sense of satisfaction in your chest with the knowledge that you caused that.

“What about right here? It’s got us back together again, maybe we could call this New Sokovia.”

“Right here? This little patch of corridor?”

Wanda nods, “Yes, exactly! We meet here often enough, it’s basically our spot, and if home is where the two of us are…”

“I’ll bring a sign next time. ‘Welcome to New Sokovia. Population: 2 (only at 2am)’, sound good?”

“Sounds perfect.”

Wanda laughs again with a wide and carefree smile on her face; a small noise which somehow has the power to warm you so completely from the inside out, as well as draw happiness to your own lips. You've missed this. You've missed her.

But then, quickly, your expression drops – something you only notice you've done when you see it mirrored by Wanda, whose face now shifts to concern over your disheartened look. Before she can ask what's wrong, you blurt out what it is that you've just remembered. 

“I won't be here tomorrow.”

Typically, agents only work the night shift a few days a week, at the most. You had volunteered yourself to take the hours permanently – you enjoy the late nights, and it spared a few of your coworkers who prefer to have proper sleep schedules – but even with that, you'd worked every night for over two weeks. A break was long overdue.

Wanda still hasn't answered, and you begin to thrum your fingers against your leg. The ease of your previous conversation is now long gone, replaced by pounding nerves for her reaction. It was only one night, that shouldn't be a big deal, but it hasn't happened yet since your reunion with Wanda, due to the unusual scheduling.

“What?”

Her question gives little away.

“I, uh… I won't be here tomorrow,” you repeat redundantly – clearly she heard you. “I have the day off so… well, you know, if you're waiting here then it'll probably be someone else who comes past at 2am. Not that it will be any problem! Of course you're allowed to be here so they won't have an issue, but… just…”

You trail off, after finally noticing that Wanda hasn't said a word – nor even been able to say a word – amid your rambling. Once you stop talking, the lingering silence is enough to make you squirm, bouncing on the balls of your feet and swinging your arms as you refuse to make eye contact.

“Oh,” is all Wanda finally says.

You force your eyes upwards, daring to read Wanda’s face even while you fear the expression you might see; but hers only matches yours, eyes down towards her hands and lower lip ever so slightly caught between her teeth. She's disappointed, but not with you. There’s a question that’s been dying on your lips nearly every night for two weeks, and a wave of realisation washes over you that this is your opportunity to ask it, the best opportunity you’ll ever have.

“Would you meet during day? With me. During the day. Meet with me during the day. Would you want to meet up during the day instead?” You had to blurt the words out quickly before self-doubts could silence you, but as your cheeks burn, hindsight tells you that waiting a little longer to talk wouldn’t have hurt. At least just long enough to form the sentence. Regardless, your embarrassment from the situation now only served to aid the self-doubt which had finally caught up from your actions, and you quickly stutter over your next words while seeking to give Wanda a get-out clause, if she wanted to take it. “Obviously you don't have to, especially if you've got training or-”

“I'd love to.” Wanda cuts you off with a teasing smirk, well aware of how much you would have continued to talk had she not interrupted. “I finish training at 1.”

“I’ll meet you at 2?” you offer, “2pm. I’ll bring lunch, and you can take some time to wind down and get out of that uncomfortable looking outfit you have to wear.”

“My costume?” Wanda gasps in mock offence, while you struggle to contain your laughter – your teasing comment getting exactly the reaction you knew it would. “It looks very cool! Admit it looks cool!”

You hum, resting a hand on your chin in thought and drawing out the wait for as long as you can. “I did hear the full leather look is the next big trend,” you shrug with a devilish smile that Wanda would have seen had she not started celebrating the admission early. So you continue, “...if you’re in The Matrix.”

Her victory is swiftly ended; her arms drop to her sides and a pout overtakes the prior smugness while a deadpan gaze bores into you. 

There’s a familiarity to her expression that sends you hurtling into your memories, stabbing at your heart when you remember the giggles of you and your accomplice, celebrating to yourselves everytime you managed to lure a young Wanda into your verbal (or even sometimes physical) traps. Over a decade later, you catch yourself before you can turn to share your joy with Pietro. He’s just another face you won’t ever see again. 

Wanda doesn’t see the way your smile falls, something you're glad for. So when she turns to you with a renewed spark in her eye, even when you know that means she has a retaliation incoming, you coerce the prior amusement back into your expression.

“You’re just jealous,” she says with a light shove to your shoulder, and sticking out her tongue too for good measure, “because you used to wear your homemade costume everywhere, but I’m the one with the real one! Didn’t you wear that thing to bed?”

You gasp now, surprised that she not only remembered it, but also decided to use it against you.

“You're going to bring my costume into this?”

“Mmmmhm.”

“Alright, бубамара (ladybug)…” you trail off, grinning wildly as her face flushes redder than the aforementioned costume. “I should have known that’s where the red theme comes from.”

Scare resources forced you down creative routes to stay entertained in your childhoods – one such time involved cobbling together various clothing scraps and other well-worn items into costumes to imagine yourselves in lives that weren’t your own. You pictured yourself as a hero, strong enough to stop the onslaught of missiles raining down in Sokovia. Wanda, meanwhile, became a ladybug.

“It’s the colour of my powers,” Wanda whines, bashfully defending herself. But you still have thirteen years worth of teasing to unleash.

“Which is coincidentally the same colour? Or were you subconsciously channelling the bug all along?”

“...I don't even know why I missed you.”

Your face softens a little, taking in her words as the confession they are, that she’d missed you. Despite the demons in your brain, you find that you aren’t surprised by it – she’s already shown you that she’s missed you beyond a doubt, and those feelings don’t go unreciprocated. Still, the explicit reassurance of your friendship always manages to bring a warmth to your heart and this time is no different. Wanda clearly takes in your expression because she relaxes too, her shoulders sagging and a slight upwards turn appearing on her lips.

…It’s the perfect time to double down.

“The costume memories were a big gap! It’s understandable to miss them, Wands! But don’t you worry, I’ll just tell your team about it and make sure they give you plenty of reminders.”

“You wouldn't-” 

You really wouldn't. Your lack of communication with the Avengers aside, the moments between you and Wanda – the shared memories, experiences, and jokes – they're something you're fiercely protective of. A feeling only comparable to jealousy sets in when you imagine one of Wanda's new friends calling her ‘ladybug’ the way you do. It's your nickname for her, a term for only you to use and nobody else should even get to know it. Not that you'll ever let Wanda know that.

Instead, you look down at the watch on your wrist, flashing the display to her as you grin and begin to walk backwards. Her head tilts in confusion and you almost hesitate to go. Almost. “Oh, would you look at the time? I better get back to my patrol. Got a lot to discuss with any Avengers I run into, afterall.”

Wanda's eyes darken, squinting and daring you to say anything about your childhood nickname for her. You smile innocently in return.

“See you at 2pm, бубамара! Dress comfy!”

»»————-　★　————-««

General Taglist: @canvascoloredin @fxckmiup @wizardofstories

Series Taglist: @holiday-house-of-m @emiliaisdead @wonderingnerd @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @chasethemoon @alexawynters @username23345 @marvelogic

A/N: went home for Easter and lost absolutely all my motivation to write, but it's here now 😭 anyway, comment/reblog with your thoughts on this one and what you want to see in future! :)

[brain-rot-central]

Sonnet of the Lone Cardinal, Ch. 7

A/N: *Full warning: we have depictions of nail picking and a panic attack in this chapter.* Alright everyone, we gettin' into it now. This chapter is how Tav feels about Astarion and the entire situation, thus far. She also pieces together a lot about what's going on and starts planning ahead. Happy reading! Rating: Mature Word count: 3.6k Pairing: Ascended Astarion x Female Tav (DU, named) Warnings: 18+, nail picking, panic attacks, unhealthy relationship Summary: Tav returns to her room to begin preparing for the evening's event with Magdalena waiting for her at her door. Tav quickly realizes that not everything is quite as it seems.

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It's late afternoon by the time the tailor finishes the dress. He heeds Tav’s request to keep extra fabric around the waist and with the dress in hand, she returns to her room to prepare for the ball. 

As she rounds the corner, Tav is surprised to see Magdalena waiting for her by the door. The woman holds two boxes within her hands: a velvet jewelry box and a shoebox. Somewhat unsettled, Tav gives the woman a warm greeting as she ushers her inside, closing the door behind them.

As Tav rests the dress over the back of a chair, Magdalena suddenly rushes to her. “Oh, I simply adore the color!” she exclaims. Magdalena places the boxes atop the vanity and picks up the dress, holding it out before her. Light dances over the rich green hue of the satin fabric, and Magdalena is simply in awe. “It matches your eyes, my lady,” she adds, looking over her shoulder.

She tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, giving a soft chuckle. “Yes,” Tav agrees shyly, “so I've been told. Astarion insisted on the color for that reason.”

“Well, the young Master has always had a keen sense of fashion. This dress will pair wonderfully with the accessories he’s chosen,” declares Magdalena with a confident nod of her head.

Raising her hands to her head, Tav gives the older woman a questioning glance. Auburn locks cascade down Tav’s shoulders as she unravels her hair tie. She takes a moment to run a hand through her hair, shaking it between her fingers. Tav tosses her hair to the other side of her face as she meets Magdalena’s eyes. “More gifts from Astarion?” she inquires, tilting her head in the direction of the boxes.

“Indeed they are,” Magdalena says, carefully laying the dress on the back of the chair. She gathers the accessory boxes and makes her way to Tav, who is now sitting on the bed. “Earrings with a matching necklace,” she explains jovially, “and a pair of shoes to complete the ensemble.”

Tav stares at the boxes and her mouth turns upwards. He means to doll me up further? she relents, mood deflating. 

Astarion knows how much she dislikes this type of thing, so why bother? The gaudy, flashy jewelry. The clothing, shoes, handbags, hats… She'd feel more at ease in a suit of armor, pulling a sword off her back. 

That's probably not the most appropriate attire for a gala, however. 

She prays Magdalena hasn't brought makeup – Tav simply loathes the feeling of her skin suffocating under layers of concealer and powder. She bites her inner lip as she continues gazing at the accessories, contemplating. 

Well, perhaps a little mascara wouldn't hurt, she concedes. Eyeliner, too. So long as her freckles remain visible, she's satisfied. 

They pepper the tops of her shoulders and her breasts, as well as stretch across the bridge of her nose. A compliment to the permanent summer tan of her complexion, and it often leaves Tav pondering her origins. Though, the thought usually fades as fast as it forms.

Astarion noticed them not long after they started their affair. The nights they'd spend in his tent often left one, or both of them, shirtless and bare from the waist down.

He traces a pattern into her back with a single digit. The pressure isn't too much, really. Yet, it's enough to draw her out of her concentration from the journal in her lap. 

‘What are you doing?’ she asks, coarsely. Curse her short temper; Tav has no reason to anger at this situation, yet she feels the embers being stoked from below.

Astarion sits behind her, having just recently fed. There's a bloodstained rag laying next to his pile of throw pillows, and a throb deep in her neck.

‘Your skin, dear,’ Astarion says while dragging a finger across her bare shoulder, ‘is entirely covered with freckles.’

Tav quirks her brow, looking over her shoulder at him. ‘You have them too, you know. Across your face. And a little on your shoulders.’ Her neck protests the movement, but she'll live.

‘So I've been told,’ he agrees, ‘but you have enough to trace patterns with.’

She doesn't answer. Tav simply chuckles and resumes writing in her journal, adjusting her posture slightly. The violent urges are subsiding. She finds comfort in the fact that he means only to appreciate her form, not turn it into a spectacle.

After a moment, Astarion asks, ‘Would you like me to stop?’

‘Of course not,’ she answers, affectionately. ‘It feels good, actually.’

Astarion smiles and resumes his tracing, now with two fingers instead of one.

Tav never realizes what he etched into her skin until much, much later. She'd already lost him, by then. As she closes her eyes, she feels the ghost of his fingers passing over her shoulder even now.

I love you.

She stands in the bedroom, lost in thought. The fingers of one hand find a hangnail on the other.

Pick.

Would he have resisted, had she realized his feelings sooner? Would she have been stronger in her efforts to stop him? Could she have saved him? 

The far-from-innocent but budding man he was becoming, just starting to see how much light there is in the world. Only to end up swallowed whole by the depths of his own despair, his own lust for power blinding him. His fear, his desire for control.

Tav begins to chew the inside of her cheek.

Pick, pick.

Ultimately… she failed him. Stood there, frozen, watching helplessly as he let himself be consumed by all he fought so hard to escape.

I'm doing this for us, too, you know, Astarion had told her. 

He destroyed himself for them. For her.

The intensity of her finger picking increases, succeeding in ripping the hangnail out from the bed. The faint scent of blood fills her nostrils and she looks down, watching a small well of crimson pools within her cuticle.

Tav should have stopped him. Should have extended a hand to him sooner. She should have been more aware of his internal struggle. Because if she did, she could have pulled him back from the edge. Told him how much she cared for the man he was. If she did, they wouldn't be in this situation. Things wouldn't be like this, and they'd be happy. They'd be together, in love, and rejoicing over becoming parents, and–

“Lady Tavaria?”

The voice is Magdalena's, and suddenly the world snaps back into focus. She doesn't remember when she veered off, but she's thankful for the redirection. 

“I'm sorry,” Tav offers as she gathers herself. She sucks the bloodied finger against her mouth, extending her opposite hand toward the woman. “May I see the jewelry box, please?” she asks.

Magdalena hesitates as though to ask a question, but places the velvet box in Tav’s hand without further discussion. Tav opens the long, rectangular box; a gasp escapes her as she looks inside.

A diamond gold tennis necklace, with a pair of matching diamond earrings, lies within. Tav rotates the box, watching intently as the gems shimmer against the candlelight. Solid white reflects off the diamonds.

They're real.

Not only are they real, but their quality is about the highest one could find.

“He… He can't expect me to wear these, can he?” Tav asks, lifting her head to Magdalena. “These cost tens of thousands of gold!” Her chest burns; an uneasiness begins to take root within her. Something feels wrong about this, but she can't quite place her finger on why.

“I believe he does,” answers Magdalena, seemingly unbothered. She places the shoebox next to Tav, removing the lid. “I had a peak at everything before coming in,” she admits with a short laugh. “Lord Ancunín truly has such wonderful taste.”

The shoes are golden in color with a slight sparkle. Not too blinding, but it's noticeable when held up to the light. There are no elaborate straps or designs; they're a simple pair of slip-on dress shoes with a modest heel, no higher than two inches.

“Doesn't want me to be taller than him, does he?” Tav remarks between a chuckle of her own, desperate to hide some of the building tension. Both her and Magdalena exchange a strained smile as Tav reaches into the shoebox, grabbing a single shoe. She then takes the jewelry box with her opposite hand and heads to the mirror over the vanity.

The uneasiness in her chest is beginning to make sense. Why all of this seems… tainted. Almost soul-less. This should bring her insurmountable amounts of joy, to have someone treat her so well. But as she opens the jewelry box and pulls out the tennis necklace, placing it to her chest, she understands.

‘He's trying to buy my affections.’

Instead of having the difficult conversation about what happened the evening before, Astarion means to express all he cannot say through lavish gifts. It all feels rather… cheap, to Tav. A cop-out. Disrespectful, even, that she isn't worth the effort of having such a heavy conversation.

However, it dawns on her that Astarion may not be capable of having that discussion with her. That he lacks the emotional competency to navigate those feelings appropriately. So, instead, he places those feelings into gifts or actions, constantly skirting around vulnerability of any kind.

Her heart falls a bit deeper in her chest, and she rests the jewelry and the shoe on the vanity before turning to Magdalena. “They're all rather lovely,” Tav remarks, painting her best smile widely across her face.

The servant smirks and narrows her gaze. She clasps her hands over her lower abdomen, and says, “Yet something still troubles you?”

The metaphorical weight on her chest is crushing, and Tav contemplates expressing all in that very moment. Yet, a quick flash of her memory reminds her of Astarion's influence over the woman. 

“These past few days have given me much to consider,” Tav expresses, modestly. She longs for the ability to speak plainly, but knows better than to do so here. Not when Astarion has such strong influence over this woman.

Almost as expected, Magdalena's eyes glow, signaling her communing with Astarion. The light fades just as quickly as it appeared, and Magdalena then walks toward the washroom. “I’m sure you have much to discuss with Lord Ancunín,” she offers in acknowledgement. Yet, she’s unphased by Tav’s admission, quickly brushing it off as she says, “But right now, we absolutely must get you ready!”

The woman's aloofness is baffling to Tav. It's inconsistent with her prior behavior. But as Tav settles her gaze on Magdalena’s face, she finds the maid’s signature smile on display. 

And like the spark of a flame igniting, the puzzle pieces finally come together. Her stomach sinks. Her heart races.

He instructed Magdalena to drop the matter. 

He directed Magdalena to continue getting her ready.

Magdalena's kindness is a veil, subject to Astarion's whims. She will be as cold or as warm as Astarion commands. None of this is honest. As long as she stays within the manor, Tav will never be free. She will always be under Astarion's watchful gaze, directly or through surrogate means.

He will always know everything.

The gears in her head begin turning, almost on pure instinct. As if searching through an archive, Tav finally settles on something to challenge her current mindset.

‘But what is his greatest weakness?’ she asks herself.

“Of course,” Tav answers, sullenly, “though if you don't mind, I'd like to prepare on my own.” She looks intently at Magdalena.

‘His fear.’

Fear of the unknown, of lack of control. Fear that she will leave, reject him, despite all he's done thus far.

Tav knows Astarion; understands his heart as if it's a mirror image of her own. Fear drives almost everything he does, including his current treatment of her. It's an overcompensation for all he cannot do. Words he can never express.

The maid pauses for a brief moment, contemplating Tav’s request. Tav expects Magdalena's eyes to glow once again, but to her surprise, they never do. If Magdalena did speak with Astarion again, it was so subtle that she missed it. Her face only holds the stain of disappointment.

“As you wish, Lady Tavaria,” Magdalena says with a hint of uncertainty. “I'll be here to assist, have you any need of me.” She looks back toward Tav, taking a small bow, then exits the small bedroom.

As soon as Tav hears the door click shut, she sighs, clasping a hand over her chest. Her heart beats wildly against her ribcage, the adrenaline finally taking over. She can only remain stoic for so long before the panic sets in.

The cracks in her foundation are starting to grow, wider and fatter. The countdown to the collapse has begun.

Tav isn't being dishonest. These last few days have given her too much to consider. In fact, it's more like the last few weeks that have her head spinning. Months, even.

Astarion returning was enough to throw her off-kilter. All the effort she put in trying to right herself after the end of their relationship. The gaping wound it left within her chest, the scar still aching even now. 

But a few months of passion softened that scar and she found herself letting him back in, against her better judgment. She became accustomed to being deceitful when asked about her love life in order to hide her shame, only to fall pregnant with a child that could spell the ruin of all of Faerûn, if her Father demands it.

Tav rushes to the washroom, her throat tightening. Heat creeps up her face and her vision narrows. She sparks the flame to the oil lamp above the mirror and immediately opens the faucet. Gathering cold water in her palms, Tav splashes the flushed skin of her face. The water acts as a soothing balm, her mouth hanging open as she drags a hand down the front of her face.

It's not like her to play the fool for anyone. She’s usually the one with answers to everything. She's the fearless leader. She's in command.

Icy cold water drips from her brows, rolling down her cheeks, and she shuts off the water. As it drips onto her chest, she feels her heartbeat slowing.

But Astarion is different. She can hold him, but like a feral alley cat, he's skittish. Never staying in one place for too long. Divulging only choice pieces of a story to spin the type of narrative he wants to put forth. He wears so many different faces that it's hard to ascertain which is truly his. And it has her dipping her hands into the pot deeper each time, desperate to reach the bottom she knows exists.

Especially now.

Tav stares at herself in the mirror, her reflection looking back. Bags sit heavy under her eyes; a testament to her exhaustion. The bruise on her neck is better, though still visible up close. 

There was a time before all of this when she could easily admit to her beauty. Probably not winning any pageants, but she could hold her own just fine. Use it to her advantage, if the situation called for it. 

Tav doesn't remember much from before the Nautiloid, but she does see the drastic difference in her appearance now. Her hair is longer. Her bangs have grown out, the ringlets not as tight. Tav leans toward the mirror and tilts her head, wincing. She watches as crow's feet appear within the creases of her eyes.

She looks… older. Almost unrecognizable.

The Illithid War either aged her, or the child in her belly isn't shying away from having their fill. Which, given their paternity, is highly likely.

Tav stands straight, raising her hands to her head. She sections a part of her hair in the front and folds it over her forehead, replicating the bangs she had when they'd all first met. She sighs.

There's very little she can do about the passage of time. She's human, and is bound to show signs of aging at this point in her life. If asked, Tav would say she's in her late twenties, or perhaps even her early thirties. That part of her memory hasn't fully returned to her, though she can say with certainty that she's somewhere around that age.

The funny thing about time, she's learned, is that time marches ever forward to the beat of its own drum. There's little point in fighting it. All anyone can ever do is try their best to keep up.

Letting her hair fall back into place, Tav opens the cabinet behind the mirror. It's filled with various small dropper bottles, but on the middle shelf lay a pair of steel scissors. Her mouth shifts into a curious pout as she contemplates the shears. Tav closes the medicine cabinet, once again sectioning her hair and observing herself in the mirror.

In a split decision, she agrees to cut her hair. 

It's a risk, being so close to the event. But she cares not – she hears the direction as clear as someone's voice in her ear. And she follows the compulsion.

Tav dips her head into the sink basin and turns on the spout again. She wets the front of her hair, then parts it down the middle. Turning off the faucet, Tav then retrieves the scissors from the cabinet, slowly bringing them to her hair.

And with a breath, she begins to cut.

Strands of hair fall freely into the sink basin. She cuts perpendicular, creating a curtain-like effect. As she descends, Tav blends the bangs into the rest of her hair with face-framing layers.

She's suddenly met with a familiar face, of a woman she's seen before. One that she’s come to know very well. The lone warrior who faced countless foes without question, putting them to the sword and wearing their blood as ritualistic war paint.

The wicked child of Bhaal; a harbinger of murder.

A woman who fears no one.

Shaking out her hair, Tav smiles. A simple haircut isn’t enough to rid her of the deep ache in her chest, but it certainly soothes the burn. She lifts her face again, focusing her attention to her neck. The mark left by Astarion is fading, though it still screams loudly. Still boasts ownership, possession, of her.

Her stomach twists at the sight.

Concealer and foundation have their places, too, she realizes and she's ever grateful for their existence, at this moment.

She turns to the tub and opens the valve. Clean water flows endlessly into the basin and almost instantly, she's mesmerized. 

The palace hosts riches, plumbing, and an endless supply of fresh food. Servants who wait on you hand and foot, and is home to one of the most handsome bachelors in Baldur's Gate.

She could have everything, should she choose to stay here. She would never have to work again, never do a single thing for herself ever again.

But at what price? How much of a blind eye would she need to turn? 

Would it be expected of her to be seen and never heard? Is she to stand as a trophy on Astarion's arm, never to speak her mind again? Does he seek to extinguish her flame so he shines brightest?

The sound of water pounds loudly in her ears.

She would have everything, yes… but nothing that she wants. Her choices would be dictated solely by Astarion, as they are for Magdalena. As they are for every servant of the manor.

Exactly as he wants it.

She regains focus, shaking her head some, and reaches to shut off the tub’s valve. 

Astarion has changed, she realizes. He boasts an air of confidence, of a debonair. But within, he's frail. He now relies on the faux control that comes from the bottom of a wine bottle, forever a drink in hand. Without it, he's unstable. Out of place. She saw proof of it down in the crypts as his body began to warp before her eyes.

Awkward and struggling. He's desperate to hide that side of him – how the ascension may have done more than grant him insurmountable power. Of all that lay behind the mask he wears.

Quickly stripping herself of her garments, Tav steps into the tub. She lowers herself gently into the water and leans against the wall of the tub. Her hands rest over her stomach, rubbing up and down over the soft bump that grows with each passing day. The tension bleeds from her muscles as she gives into the warm embrace of the water.

Tav knows what needs to be done. 

She'll play along this evening. Act the part of the trophy wife, the bed warmer, the painted doll. She'll be as alluring as possible; even fuck him, if that's what he wants. Though, it’d be dishonest to say she doesn't want that, too.

Yet… she could always just leave. Avoid this entire ordeal. 

Astarion isn't keeping her here. In fact, he's left that as an option knowing she'd be less likely to entertain it, should he give it to her freely. It's a display of reverse psychology. An illusion of choice.

Once she speaks with Wyll, she'll be more confident in her decision. Tav knows the likely outcome is to leave, but perhaps her conversation with Wyll tonight reveals information she can use toward confronting Astarion directly. Hopefully she can drive some sense into that dastardly head of his.

And perhaps, depending on how their conversation goes… she’ll finally tell him about their child.

[genericpuff]

Hey so I have a question-

Is Rachel even contributing to LO's art anymore? Like, at all?

CAUTION: MILD FASTPASS SPOILERS AHEAD !!!

I've talked at length about the 'tells' of each assistant and artist, and while it doesn't guarantee that I can tell exactly who drew each panel, there's one thing there's been a lot less of in the most recent episodes that have caught my attention - things that I know Rachel would typically contribute.

And most of it comes down to her lineart.

The shading was always her, no doubt about that, you could tell with how consistently awful it is, how she would take actual decent flats from her assistants and proceed to butcher them with muddied shading.

AmyKim89's flats vs. after Rachel's gotten her hands on them:

(seriously Rachel why tf did you darken Persephone's legs here, it looked so much better before ??)

But there was also her lineart which, at first, I didn't realize who was drawing it. It didn't show up super often in LO but it was always very noticeable when it did so I knew it had to be someone on the team doing it:

The thickness of the lines and the extra little strokes added in along the knuckles and bends, that wasn't something that was really common in LO at this point... at least it hasn't been since S1:

And when comparing it to the lineart she used to do in The Doctor Pepper/Foxglove Show:

(look at the mouth in The Doctor Foxglove Show vs. Hera in the pilot version of LO, they're literally the same)

So yeah, it was certainly the revelation to discover that that one instance of "weirdly detailed lineart" wasn't one of her assistants having a little extra fun, it was Rachel herself. It was already so uncommon for her to contribute all the way back in S2 that her contributions seemed to be more of the exception rather than the norm.

And since seeing the art that's been in the newest FP episodes following the return of the series... is Rachel even drawing at all anymore? Because lately the lineart has felt very thin, in a way that I can't tell if it's her assistants just doing all the lineart now or if she's trying to emulate S1 LO more by using less lineart. But S1 didn't have thin lineart, it had very thick lineart, BUT only being used where necessary to emphasis shadows and depth.

Now the lineart feels very... dinky? Especially when you look at the eyelashes.

That said, there are moments from S1 that had similarly 'dinky' lineart, so take this with grains of salt. It still didn't feel as dinky though as it does today where the lines are practically non-existent in how thin they are.

There are also times when you can tell they're really trying to emulate that S1 look, the pieces are there but they aren't being put together very well:

So yeah at this point I wouldn't even be shocked if all Rachel's doing at this point is scripting and roughs. And considering there are definitely times where she'll just draw without knowing what to write, the 'scripting' is also practically non-existent. It's just her leaving her roughs off to the last second for her assistants to whip out with very little time to pay attention to what's being submitted.

Once again it's Rachel fundamentally missing the point of the criticism that's being made of her work. She's trying to forcefully emulate something that she didn't even have a process behind. I can attest as someone who's been trying to do studies of her past work to recreate it as faithfully as possible through Rekindled, it's very difficult to achieve the 'old LO' look because 'old LO' was literally just Rachel slapping down brush strokes until they looked good, there was no specific process or guidelines that she followed, she just made things look textured and colorful. Everything else was basically up to her figuring out what actually looked good, with panels often having their own vibes separate from others in isolation of one another.

Now she's trying to replicate that look while missing the point entirely that it's not something she can really replicate anymore. Though we do get the odd panel that's way closer to the point, those panels have one thing that she's clearly not putting into the comic as a whole anymore - love and effort.

(fr this panel is so gorgeous but I feel like at this point it was more sheer luck because of how rare it is to see panels like these nowadays, this feels like an accident LOL)

Case in point, this honorable mention towards Persephone's outfit which is literally just a color-swapped version of the sketch that Rachel posted to Blue Sky that got meme'd to death in the ULO sub:

Did you catch that though? The weird dark patch over her boob and the gap in the lineart of her cleavage?

That's because they copy pasted the first panel and then erased out the hands, but missed the part of the hand shading that was overlapping the breast and the gap in the lineart.

I shit you not, Rachel coming up with memes on Blue Sky that she's scraped out of shows she watched 20 years ago is basically the full extent of her writing at this point.

Haha take a thing and make it bigger! So funnyyyy!

(seriously Rachel's 'humor' feels like it's stuck in 2010)

Yep, you're really earning that #1 NYT Bestseller label that you haven't even gotten since Volume 3, Rachel. Put your hand down, there are no high fives for you here.

[blooming-violets]

My headcanon for frat peter is that he joined one after gwen dies to distract himself and as a bandaid fucks everything that movies and gains a reputation oc / reader is his best friend very similar to dancing on my own ik but anyway she tries supporting him but peter is really unhealthy and she leaves for a while how do you think peter would feel about the hole she leaves behind cause she used to basically do all his emotional heavy lifting on hard days

He acts like he's fine. He's learned not to show his emotions especially around the guys. They were never big fans of her, anyway. It takes him about two weeks to finally notice that she's gone. It happens the day he's set to touch up his blonde roots. Usually he heads on over to her dorm, sneaking into the women's bathroom, while she does his hair for him. During those times are when he typically feels more free to speak his mind. They shared a lot of heart to hearts over those moments of the two of them, giggling alone in the bathroom, while he enjoys the feeling of her fussing over his hair. He feels the weight of the world leaving his shoulders for a short time whenever she's around.

This time, though, she doesn't come when he calls.

All his texts go unanswered. At first, he's worried she's hurt. He immediately thinks the worst. It's in his nature to assume that the people he loves will end up dead. Taken too early. It's not until he sees her walking around campus he's able to feel a sense of relief.

He jogs up to her, big, cocky grin on his face, and falls in step next to her. He expects her to open up like usual. Expects her to play along with his teasing. When he only receives a cold shoulder and the silent treatment, he reacts with anger.

Peter's been so angry lately. He's been struggling to feel many emotions but anger is one that always seems to make it through his closed off walls. They say that anger is a massive part of the grieving process but it's one he hasn't been able to shake.

They get into a huge, blow out fight in middle of campus over how he treats her now vs before and how he let's his friends treat her like shit. She's sick of his behavior and only using her whenever he needs something. It's never the other way around. Peter no longer shows up for her like she does for him. She can't take their one sided friendship anymore. This isn't the Peter she grew up loving.

It draws a crowd. People are watching them like they're today's entertainment. It ends with her crying, running back to her dorm, and Peter cursing out the crowds and stalking back to his frat house.

He mourns her loss in his life like he mourned for Gwen.

Denial.

It was her fault. She was being stupid. He had done nothing wrong. So what if his frat brothers teased her from to time. It was her fault she couldn't take a joke. He turned a blind eye to their behavior. He let them get inside his head. He didn't need her. He had lines of women waiting to throw themselves at his feet. What was the loss of one, stupid, annoying girl he knew as a kid? According to his brothers, she refused to put out, anyway. It was no loss to him. He didn't need her.

He buried his hurt by sleeping around more often than usual. A new woman every night. Sometimes two in the same day. He even slept with her best girl friend just to extra piss her off and get back at her.

He wanted her to hurt as much as him.

Anger

He was already the king of anger. He felt its power invade his every pore. It lived deep in his bones and consumed his every waking thought. He was getting into multiple fist fights every week. Not even as Spider-Man, just as Peter Parker.

He fought his frat brothers, he fought guys at the bar, he fought dudes on the street, he even fought his own reflection in the mirror. That one left him covered in blood and surrounded by shattered glass. He needed stitches to close up the wound. He couldn't stand the sight of his own face. He despised the man who stared back at him.

He didn't know this person. He didn't know Peter anymore.

Maybe she was right. Maybe had lost himself.

Bargaining

If he could just see her again...

If he could just see her one time. Hear her voice. That's all he wanted. He could watch her anytime he felt like it. He could overhear her talking to friends whenever he spied on her. He was Spider-Man. He was the master of stealth and shadows. But that wasn't enough. He wanted her voice to be directed at him. He didn't care what she said to him as long as she was talking. All he wanted was a fraction of her attention.

He would trade it all to get her back in his life. Just one conversation. That's he wanted. One, little talk just like old times.

She refused.

He couldn't blame her. He was a destroyer of lives. Anyone he touched crumbled around him. Whether they were killed in a plane crash, shot in the street, fell from a building, or were shoved away...they all left him in the end.

It was his fault. It was always his fault.

Depression

When he lost everything, he used to turn to sex. Now the thought of touching a woman who wasn't her only made him sick to his stomach. Alcohol was too risky. It fucked too much with his emotions. Made him reckless.

Pot was the cure.

It calmed him. Made him forget for a while. Allowed him to just relax and zone out.

He stopped going to his classes. Stopping talking to his brothers. Stopped answering his texts. It was just him, a strong joint, and the quiet of cave of his bedroom. In here, he could wallow in peace.

Peter Parker was not someone who could be trusted in the real world. He deserved to be locked up like an animal. No one needed him. He was better off alone.

This was where he would stay. In the dark. Where he belonged.

Acceptance

The state of his hair told him how much time had passed. It was back to brown. Greasy and unkempt. Shaggier than he typically liked it but he didn't care enough to get it fixed. The only person he ever wanted to touch his hair again was her.

And she deserved an apology.

He had been reading about grief online. There were five stages, so the internet says. There is no specific time period for each and they can jump between the stages whenever they feel like. He liked to hang out in the anger stage more often than the others. It was where he felt most at home. At least he understood anger. Anger made sense to him. Smoking helped quell the raging beast. That was a vice he didn't want to give up. Not yet. He wasn't ready for that step.

The world was an angry place and he fit right in.

But he was learning where to put that anger. It didn't belong on her. That was misguided. She had done nothing wrong. All she had ever done was love him. Anger was okay as long as it was placed in the right direction. He knew that now. Spider-Man could use anger to his advantage. Bad guys deserved anger. His frat brothers deserved his wrath for how they treated others. He, himself, deserved the anger. But not her.

And he needed to make amends. Even if she didn't fully forgive him, he needed to try, because she deserved to hear it, and he deserved to say it.

All it took was one text. After months of no contact. One text and she replied.

Coffee. 9am. Just the two of them.

One, little talk...just like old times.

I LOVED THIS!

It is very Dancing On My Own coded. I think what some people don't fully grasp in that story is that Peter was severely grieving through the later half of it. Gwen died because he couldn't catch her in time. He lost the love of his life because he wasn't good enough at the ONE thing he was supposed to be good at. He fully blames himself for her death. Do people not realize how seriously fucked that would make someone?? I think that's why I like to write dark!Peter so much. Because TASM Peter would be dark after that. He would not be normal. He would not be able to go back to being friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. It would ruin him. We saw that in NWH. It's still eating him alive like a decade later. The college days of Dancing On My Own took place a year after Gwen's death. The boy is fucked up.

Grief makes you do stupid things. Anger and reckless behavior is part of grief. Obvious that doesn't mean that it's okay but to completely write someone off as a monster undeserving of love just because they're hurting doesn't sit right with me. Not that you did that, I'm just going off the comments and complaints I've gotten on the fic that always low key piss me off.

And maybe I'm just not the greatest writer so that didn't come off as well as I wanted it to in DOMO but I tried my best haha. Maybe I shouldn't have ended it where I did and allowed them to grow a bit more after but I really thought that kind of stuff would just be assumed by the reader because it made sense in my head that that's how grief and healing and forgiveness go. But no one lives in my head but me so that's my fault for not executing my intentions properly!

I lovelovelove exploring grief and the different places it can take a person. Grief/depression/anger/angst are my favorite topics. Always have been since I was young. Like how Peter in this story feels most comfortable hanging out in his anger, I feel most happy in my angst and darkness. Sad people sometimes do bad things. Hurting people sometimes hurt other people. Even people they love very much. Does that make them completely incapable of change? Does that make them forever unlovable or not worthy of forgiveness? Sometimes people think too much in black and white and forget that the world is full of all sorts of grays.

Not that this was even about DOMO and I'm completely going on a tangent I know I'm so sorry haha but it's close enough to domo because it's dealing with Peter's grief and hurting of a close friend.

Here's some of my favorite pages from my favorite children's book (Michael Rosen's Sad Book) that talks about grief and the loss of someone you loved very much that's meant to teach children how to better understand their sadness and hurt and that even if you do bad things sometimes it doesn't mean that you are a bad person who doesn't deserve love and forgiveness:

ANYWAY

I just wanted to say that I love this and I love when people come to me with headcanons. That's what fandoms are supposed to be about. We're all supposed to be pestering each other 24/7 with our ideas and creating stories together and collaborating and building shit that we all love. Always send me your ideas. No matter how unhinged you might think they are bc I'm sure I've got equally as crazy ideas to play along with you!

[spaceorphan18]

The Lady Whistledown Papers : 1x08 After The Rain (Part 3)

Welcome back, Gentle Readers, to The Lady Whistledown Papers, where I’m taking an in-depth look at Penelope Featherington and Colin Bridgerton’s character arcs and romance within the show Bridgerton!

For previous issues, follow tag : The Lady Whistledown Papers

The Hastings Ball

It's time for Simon and Daphne's ball. You know what I noticed? Every single woman who is there is wearing some shade of blue. Was there a memo about that? And why couldn't they get that memo to the Featheringtons, who really stand out. Also - we get the return of my true favorite ship of this show -- Phillipa and Albion! :D

And, I would be remiss if I didn't mention - Penelope walks down the stairs with a little bit of a spring in her step, their family is back. But, it's a little like Portia who has a whole lotta FU energy towards the women who are like, wait, why are you here again? Oh you were personally invited by the duchess?? Oh, okay.

Colin (with Benedict - I'm amused that these two are always together when their plot lines don't need them) strolls in fashionably late (or whatever). And what's the first thing he does? Oh, right, looks for Penelope.

These two really define the whole -- and their eyes met across the crowded room -- trope. They're always so drawn together.

The body language in the next beat is really interesting though. Pen has this butterflies in the stomach moment -- as if it's too much that he's looking at her, so she has to look down. And yet, Colin's got determination in his eyes. Oh yes, there's my person, I need to talk to her immediately.

Everything is awkward for a moment. While Penelope did show up at the Bridgerton's drawing room the other day, her time was probably most spent with Eloise. Meaning the the two of them probably haven't been able to have a proper conversation since the ridiculous Bridgerton/Featherington dinner in episode 6 (which feels like eons ago at this point).

He asks if she's enjoying her evening, to which she stumbles and claims she's been so busy dancing... and he's so confused. He hasn't seen her. Subtly implying that he has been looking for her, or would have totally noticed if she had been on the dancefloor. Penelope trying to play it cool and utterly failing is always so good. (This season isn't the rom-com Season 3 will be, but the building blocks of it are here.)

Colin spits out what he's been meaning to say -- that he owes her an apology because he recognizes that she was only trying to help him when it came to the Marina situation. And he almost has this look of humiliation when he says that he was being foolish -- reiterating the phrase that Anthony had called him.

And Penelope takes in a breath, almost as if in disbelief that someone is apologizing to her. But not only apologizing to her but recognizing that she was trying to help him. It's deeply meaningful to her.

But then when he gets into the self-deprecation, she pulls him out of it. She pulls him out of it with a thought that she believes with her full heart, and we get a moment of Penelope being open and vulnerable and honest in a way that she isn't usually.

You were not a fool. You merely believed yourself in love. One should never apologize for that. One finds oneself in such an incredible position and, well, one should declare it; assuredly, fervently, loudly.

This is such a beautiful thing to say -- and it's Penelope really building her confidence, reading his reactions, and feeling like maybe this is her moment. Maybe she should be open (to him) about how she feels. Because she feels so grounded in her love for him. It's the most real and positive thing in her life. And she wants to -- she recognizes that he is a romantic, like her, and maybe, just maybe, he won't turn her down.

His face is fascinating -- the non-verbal thought process going on is fantastic. He's taken aback by her statement at first. Here -- everyone else was calling him ridiculous for having such strong feelings for Marina and Penelope is the only one who not only doesn't think he was an idiot for his actions, but feels the way he does about it -- that love and romance are a special and valuable thing, and it's okay to go all in if that's how you feel about it.

But then, at the end, there's this look of admiration from him to her. Like, he's really hearing her, and her words, and just adores for saying it. Her words are grounding for him, too.

And that's why these two work well together. They're mutually uplifting of each other, supportive of each other, and won't let the other slide into their own insecurities. They both see each other in the way they want to be seen. In the way that no one else is really looking. And this is Season 1! This is the foundation for the relationship they're going to have moving forward.

Oh and then the misdirect... And I kind of love this heightened moment.

Penelope, for a moment, is secure with herself. She's secure in her feelings, and proud - proud of him, proud of her love for him, and for a moment, she feels like she can safely tell him her deepest secret. And he says (because oh this running joke starts here...) that he has something to tell her, too. And for a second, she thinks he might feel the same way! And then... he says he's leaving.

And... I need to take a second and talk about the scoring of the moment. It's perfect. The music has been swelling up and down during the scene, building the tension until that very second when you think he may just say he cares for her back and.... he says he's leaving. And the music stops. Just... hits the moment with silence. And it's so wonderfully done. Whoever did the sound mixing for this moment - A+ all the awards brilliant.

And Penelope just deflates. It's good, really, that she didn't say how she feels. He isn't in that mindset at the moment, and still has some Marina issues to work out. And, at this point, I think he still thinks of her as another sister -- like Eloise. They're friends, but in a familial way -- and it's really Season 2 (and him leaving) that's going to grow the friendship to something more, so now isn't the best time.

But he's so excited to tell her. Because she is the one who inspired him. We did see one moment where she reminds him how much he talks about travel, and we can only assume that isn't the only moment where that happened. Surely, during the whole courting Marina thing, Penelope probably brought it up a lot. Well, that kind of bites her in the butt.

And, we're coming back to Colin and traveling. And, again, I do think - for genuine reasons of wanting to see the world, he does have an adventurous spirit. But I also think he travels for two major reasons -- wanting to figure his shit out (he is always searching for something -- and you dolt, she standing right in front of you) and he's always trying to escape something (and in this case it's the whole Marina thing, and his lingering feelings about it).

Him leaving, though, is somewhat devastating for Penelope. She can't even revel in the fact she's had such a positive impact on him. He's leaving and he won't be there to help her through the misery of her life and there's the very real possibility that once he's gone, he won't be coming back. And this is too much. She can barely pull herself together.

And then he asks her what she wanted to say -- but the moment has passed, and she has receded back into herself. There will be no love declarations today, thank you.

He then, so casually, so routinely, asks her to dance. And I like that it's not out of obligation, or pity (or anything else from the book :P) -- it's out of a genuine desire of wanting to spend more time with her. Because he does value you her, quite a lot.

And... we're going to get a reoccurring theme -- one where Penelope runs off upset and Colin is utterly confused not only by her feelings, but by his own. Why is she upset? Why is she running away? I really wanted to dance with you Pen. What did I do? Why am I sad she doesn't want to spend more time with me - I like her. Oh, Colin, you poor, confused puppy.

And then Penelope runs from one heartache straight into another. Eloise is so excited about her Lady Whistledown hunt -- but Penelope is still on the verge of tears. I give Eloise a tad bit of credit for noticing Pen is upset. (The girl sure does wear her emotions on her sleeve.) But Penelope doesn't want to deal with that either -- and is like - have fun telling the Queen about Whistledown before scurrying out of there completely.

I have to note, however, that after this is when Eloise learns that there's a plot to unmask Whistledown, and because she was barred from talking to the Queen, Eloise takes it upon herself to warn LW about the plot.

We don't see Penelope in this scene, but she's in the carriage -- having run away, and having seen what she needed to for that ball, was ready with a new issue (which is funny - because she does miss the whole dancing in the rain thing). But just as the Queen's men are about to obtain her, Eloise shouts a warning, and the carriage is driven off, and Penelope's identity remains secret another day.

And, funny probably, but the whole - who is Lady Whistledown subplot is actually my favorite in Season 1. There's mystery and intrigue to it -- and it was easily the thing I was most fascinated by the first time I watched the show. (Sorry Daphne and Simon, you're just not my cup of tea.)

This is the only (somewhat) clear shot of Colin during the whole rain dance sequence. Near the Queen. That makes a ton of sense. Because of course, lol.

And, that's we're were going to end it for now! One more chunk of Season 1 to go! Whoo!

[izaacs-notdeadyet]

The outsiders zombie apocalypse au say whay?

Chat.. let me say I have been COOKING.

Storyline is loosely based on the last of us, in the sense that Johnny takes the role of Ellie, and Darry of Joel. This is inspired by a post I saw talking about a tlou outsiders au but I couldn't find who made the post to tag them in this ☹️☹️

More info and designs under the cut (tw for guns, violence, and death)

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Johnny Cade:

Lore: [Johnny was born seven months after the start of the apocalypse. His mother had been pregnant with him and managed to survive up until his birth, when she ended up getting bit by a zombie when she went into labor. She managed to escape back into her and Mr Cade's cabin, where he would find his wife who had turned, and his newly born son.

Johnny's father did NOT like his son. He only took care of him cause he felt some kind of obligation to his late wife and it's really a miracle Johnny didn't die under his watch or because of him. One day, Mr Cade sent Johnny out scavenging for supplies on his own (horrible idea.) Johnny ended up being chased and leading them back. Him and his dad ended up escaping, just barely.

Johnny had been bit in their escape. His dad had seen it first. His dad wanted to shoot him before he turned, but Johnny, terrified with a gun to his head, lashed out and knifed his dad to death. He sat there for awhile, waiting to turn. But Johnny never did end up turning. He grabbed his dad's gun and his stuff, and set off for the road, leaving his dad's corpse cold behind him.

He survived for around a year mostly on his own, occasionally falling in with some travelers but mostly he was on his own. Somewhere in that year timeframe he got jumped by Paul and his gang, getting his scar and losing his gun in the process.]

Extra commentary: i honestly had so much fun with drawing Johnny. As for his character, I think his growth was stunted due to stress and malnutrition. Similar to in the book he also looks younger. It would still bug him, but he's gotten good at playing up his youthfulness to gain the trust of unsuspecting people, and then mugging them.

I think he'd be pretty efficient with his bow, especially since his gun was stolen and he hasn't been able to find another one yet. In a way he likes that the bow gives him more control, but he also misses the confidence that having a gun gave him.

He carries around a mini sewing kit, he's gotten pretty good at fixing holes in his clothes and bag and even repaired the hole in his jeans. He needs to find more scrap fabric though to repair his other pants leg.

He's pretty shy. Just in general but also because he doesn't really trust people. He's paranoid about someone finding out about his immunity and then using it against him. If he can't wear his jacket, (which is rare, but sometimes) he'll wrap gauze or extra fabric around the bite tightly to keep it hidden.

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Darrel Curtis:

Lore: [Darry doesn't remember much from before the apocalypse, he would've only been four. He does remember a panic and them having to leave town, his mom Carrying his baby brother Soda in her hands. The Curtis parents were very good about keeping their children safe. They ended up going to a sanctuary city. It was rough, but it was more like Jackson than Boston, it was a safe place to raise their kids.

That was, until it wasn't. One day, two years before canon, a horde broke in, and the city was overrun with zombies. Darry managed to find his brothers, along with Steve and Two-bit in the chaos. They stopped by their house, Darry packing a bag and taking his father's shotgun, he was trying to find his parents and also keep his brothers and friends safe at the same time. When he found his parents, it was too late. They were turning, and Darry had to shoot them to save Soda.

Steve ended up hotwiring a car for them, and they fled the city. Darry has been doing his best to take care of them sense, even though the group gets on his last nerves, especially with their insistence to keep adding people to their group and stop by long abandoned tourist traps when they're meant to be looking for the nearest sanctuary city.]

Extra commentary: I LOVED drawing Darry. If I had fun drawing Johnny than I can't begin to explain what drawing Darry did to me. It was my first time drawing him and he just came so easy to me.

For his design I don't have much to say, I think he'd have a habit of biting the tip of his knife (something @deim0sdread came up with that) and it ended up giving him a scar on his lip from the blade.

For his bag though I have a lot more to say, I think he'd be the one that's most prepared, he tries to keep his first aid kit packed with the essentials. I think if he found the group all walkie talkies he'd be set. He's kinda like a mom in the way he runs around making sure everyone's set, that ponyboy didn't leave anything behind and that he's actually paying attention, or that Twobit isn't trying to drink fucking rubbing alcohol. He kinda resents having to do so much for everyone but he loves them and couldn't do any different

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Mandatory tagging of the moots [ @deim0sdread @urmomatron700 @b3st-sunday-dr3ss @ari-the-silly ]

[factual-fantasy]

22 ASKS!! :DD THANK YOU!! :} 🎉🎂🎉

GASPPP!! :DDD I'D LOVE TO!! :}} 💖💖

I've actually been thinking a lot about Louis and his story lately! Though, since drawing is rather taxing on me atm I haven't gotten around to making him a character study post.. Like I did for Cuttlefish.. BUT!! I have still made some story bits for him anyways! :DD 👇👇

I had this idea that he used to be an ordinary flavored cookie of some kind. And he used to live on land as this washed up fisherman that was really down on his luck.. he had lost his job, his home, his arm.. he had no friends.. no family.. nothing. He was really lost and alone..

Its around that time he was somehow welcomed aboard Seafoam's ship. It was just Seafoam, Octo and Ellie at the time. Louis found great comfort and security with this crew. He had never felt more welcome and wanted in his life.. This environment started to break down Louis' anxieties and depression overtime. Slowly turning him into the more jolly and boisterous Louis the crew knows him as today.

But things would take a seemingly bad turn when a curse befell Louis. Turning him into this half cookie, half crab beast. Louis' body had changed significantly, the biggest change being his huge crab arm. Now, most cookies would consider this ghastly new form to be what its intended to be. A curse.. But Louis.. actually didn't mind the changes. In fact, he liked his new body. Quite a lot! And though his new crab arm did cause him quite a bit of aches and pains.. and also took away his ability to swim.. he honestly considered it an upgrade!

Where before he had a missing arm and was completely useless in combat.. now he had this huge intimidating claw in its place! With his new found strength and power, he was a force to be reckoned with! Not only that, but he didn't see his new body as ugly, he thought he looked AWESOME! So he also got a major confidence boost too!

In present day, Louis is a confident, sociable, and all around happy person. And he gives all the credit to Seafoam and his crew for his new found zest for life! :}} ✨🦀💖✨

Anyways-- thank you for taking interest in Louis! :DD rn drawing is rather challenging for me, but I hope to draw him again someday soon! Maybe I can go back and make him his own character study post like I wanted to! 👀👀

I KNOWWW WAAAAAAA 😭😭😭💖💖💖💔💔💖

@pink088

XD Bibi would probably use it to make a cold glass or water for me🥺💖

And hey, thanks for the cake! :DD No doubt Cici will devour it XDD (Bibi allows it)

I suppose if I really wanted to I could learn how. But I don't want to turn my hobby into a job..

I made my first post on December 19th, 2018!! :00 That's roughly 4-5 years or so!

I use FireAlpaca! And I use a xp-pen 13.3 pro tablet ✨✨

As for that Undyne and Papyrus post.. The story behind it is, that Papyrus is from a different timeline. And in his original timeline.. Undyne is dead.. Now, this other Undyne knows that her Papyrus, the "real" Papyrus, is somewhere else in the underground. So this Papyrus is an imposter. She questions this imposter. "Who are you, and why do you look like Papyrus?" She waits for this imposter to answer.. But Papyrus has no words.. since his Undyne died, he hasn't heard her voice in a very long time... he's too shocked to speak..

I DO have a YouTube channel, and I was intending to make animations for it... but I lost my drive. Animations get stolen A LOT. And Animations take a ton of time to make. I was discouraged.. why would I spend so much time on something, if its more likely to be stolen?

Though I have been thinking about making sketch animatic memes... maybe once my health improves I could try to make one-

And hey! Don't worry about my arms, I can make several whether I'm feeling good or bad! :D

AND AAA THANK YOU!! :DD I'm glad you like him and noticed his eye details!! :}}}

(Post in question)

XDD Jangles is chaotic enough to sleep hanging upside down tho lets be real-

@yourstrulylightstar283 (In response to this post)

:DD Bibi gives his thanks!

@cudlycorncornsworthcoberson (In response to this post)

XDD I know right?? Another year has already come and gone, its crazy to think about! :00

And don't worry, I've been focusing all my energy on taking care of myself and drinking lots of water! 👍👍

Awe! Thank you so much!! :DD Right now the main thing I'm battling is my poor mental and physical health.. but I have high hopes that things will improve soon! :)))

@the-woomyverse (Post in question)

:DD Thank you! I'm glad you liked them!! :}}

As for Ludwig and Morton, unfortunately they don't have a lot of story built yet.. but I'm working on it! <:D

Ludwig is intended to be the eldest sibling, and heir to the throne. He's the "Prince of the Koopas". That post shows Ludwig seeming nervous.. and unsure. I'm experimenting with Ludwig taking his role as heir very seriously.. but its stressful. He feels like he's under a lot of pressure and has a loooot of responsibility to look forward to..

Though I'm kind'a going back on that a bit. The canon Ludwig seems pompous and a bit arrogant. Maybe I should keep some of that but in a positive way? I imagine that Bowser wouldn't force Ludwig to do this if he didn't want to. And I imagine that Kamek would have done very well to prepare Ludwig for his future kingly-hood.

What I mean by this is. I think a more.. confident, and level headed version of Ludwig would be appropriate. Rather than a pompous snob or a nervous wreck. He could be a young prince with a lot of wit and discipline. A price that is bound to make a fine king. 👑

For Morton I'm afraid there's even less story built for him 😭💔💔 Right now the main thing I'm experimenting with is Morton having some form of melanism. (Its a mutation where animals are born with excess pigment in their skin. Making their fur/hair/skin very dark/black when it otherwise would not have been.)

I could experiment with Morton not liking this aspect of himself..? Maybe it makes him feel out of place or insecure..? Though I doubt any of the individuals around him would have judged him or treated him differently at all for it.. even his siblings.

Idk, I just need some more time to think about him I suppose! <XDD Sorry!! 😭😭

Thank you!! :DD

@untitled-7613 (Post in question)

Thank you! :DD I'm glad you like them!! :}}

And Jimmy was a lovely gift, though I didn't create him! The factual fam is mostly intended to be made of characters that I can take credit for-

(Note- Jimmy was a nice gift, but please! I stand by only wanting comments <:} 💖💖)

@tallchest13-blog

Dawww, as far as I'm concerned, you've followed me twice! At least in spirit! XD

@couchwow

Hergn... but that takes efforttt... how about you tell me what you like about it first? :0

@neo-metalscottic

No problem!! :D And I wonder that about K Rool. I didn't actually realize that he would be very similar to Bowser.. hmm. Well, I'm thinking that even if he is close to Bowser in size, Bowser's got him beat by his fire breathing ability XDD And King/Big Koopa's overall could just be a tougher species-

As for the Super Stars, they have about the same status as the 1-Up Mushrooms. They are this extremely rare Power up that seems to only show up when its needed.

I've been experimenting with the toad people worshiping 1-Ups and the Delfino people worshiping Super Stars. These bizarre and wonderous powerups that are strongly tied to the prophecy and what not. They're also related to how Peach and Daisy became royalty..

Its a lot of complicated word spaghetti atm but the point I'm getting at- is that there is definitely more than one! And they are so powerful and so.. seemingly sentient, that they are seen as almost.. like.. these holy beings that bring about future events.

I haven't rambled about all that biz yet becuase I cant find proper words to figure out what I'm even thinking <XD Gonna need some more time on that one!--

And yes yes yes! The Commander is still around, and AWWW!! Is he really?? :DD That's so sweet! Thank you so much!! :}} I haven't thought much about what role he's played in raising the Koopalings, though I really should. While he isn't there to actually help raise them, he's always been around as they've grown up. Whether it be following Kamek around or doing some kind of work around the palace.

When it comes to Bowser returning injured.. I wonder. part of me thinks that he wouldn't return right away, so maybe his injury wasn't seen by the Commander. But the news of his defeat would certainly be bone chilling. Commander would be more tense around the palace. And probably extends his night watches a bit longer in an attempt to better protect the Koopalings..

On the last note, Yes! I do plan to redesign him once again XD or at least update him a little- Though drawing is very challenging for me atm.. so that'll have to wait a while!.. <XDD

@littlelightfish

WAAAA THIS ASK GAVE ME LIFFFEEEE!!😭😭💖💖💖 NO ITS NOT TOO INTENSE THE ONLY THING THAT IS INTENSE IS MY PURE JOY AT READING THIS OVER AND OVER WAAAHG THANK YOU SO MUVHCHH!!!💖💖💖💖😭😭💖💖

As for your questions! <XD --I've been thinking more about Tuna's character over the past few days and this got me thinking even more! :D

I imagined that when Tuna started out he was a real brat. Not super great to be around. He had some bottled up stuff for sure and was real rebellious and resistant to authority figures. Nobody was really willing to deal with his crap and always pushed back, which just made him more bratty.. for a while Seafoam wasn't sure what he was gonna do with this kid..

But then he reached some kind of middle ground with Ellie.

I have several ideas in mind for how this could go.. but I'll ramble about this one first- XDD

Ellie has thick skin and could tolerate the snarky remarks he made. She also didn't push back, even through she very easily could have. She knows that this kid has some serious inner battles and he doesn't need her snapping back at him.

And like some of the things you mentioned, it started out with Tuna just bumming around in the kitchen. Since Ellie could tolerate him she never kicked him out. Making the kitchen kind'a like a space where he could.. "get away" from the rest of the crew, in a sense..

Ellie was the first person to crack that outer shell of his. Providing him a consistent source of comfort, with her food and the quiet kitchen.

After some time the snarky remarks or comments would slow down.. over time he just resorts to standing around and watching her cook. Getting closer and closer.. eventually asking questions. "What are ye makin..?" "..what's that do..?" She would always reply genuinely. And as gently as she could considering her usual monotone voice <XD

Eventually it turns into "..where'd you learn to cook?" "..how long have you known Octo..?" "..do you trust Cuttlefish.?"

She could say kind things about the crew which gets Tuna to lighten up around them. "Octo seems mean but actually he's just blah blah blah..." Next time he interacts with Octo he's less tense. "Seafoam is genuinely as kind as he seems. If ye can trust anyone, its him." He starts listening to Seafoam more..

These interactions would continue to develop more and more. I don't know if he'd ever be able to help her cook anything- considering how strict she is about it <XDD But although I have several more ideas for this, I like this idea of Ellie really softening him up over time..

WAAHDH WALL OF TEXT--- Thank you again so much!!! :DD It makes my heart very happy to hear that you love Tuna and Ellie so much!! 🥰🥰

(Sorry for not being able to transfer your cookie gifs to this post! <:0)

Hmm.. that makes me wonder if the cookie run characters have.. cookies. Like, small cookies that THEY eat.

Something tells me they don't.. Which makes me think that seeing someone eat a normal cookie would still be horrifying! <XDD

@mrslilysnow

Awe! Thank you so much! :DD Such a pleasant and wholesome message to read, truly. :}}

I'm working out my feelings with the fandom.. tbh I think I'm just in a place where my emotions are all outa whack. And I'm just avoiding anything and everything that upsets me. 💔

I'm sure in a few weeks when I get my health back on track I'll feel better about the Octonauts fandom. Perhaps I'll even return with more updated designs! XD

@radicalrainbow

:DDD THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! I'm so glad to hear that!! :}}}

And huh.. its been a while since I've drawn the FNAF string beans hasn't it? Once I can get my health back on track I should draw them again! <XDD

@lampylamperson

Blue!💙💙 :DD Specifically shades similar to what ever this one is XDD 👇👇

:000....... FISH! :DD

@canonickero

SLJFKSJF THAT DISCRIPTION OF THE PIC XDDD JHASKDEJHV

And thank you! This makes me feel a lot better XDD

@beryl-shade

I think the cookie run games have cake/dog things..? I'm assuming the crews pet would be one of those :00

As for the names you've suggested, I love Patty, Pretzel, Muffin and Cornbread XDD such great names! :DD

[vocaloidfactoftheday]

Have You Seen This Lost GUMI Anime Pilot?

This is a bit of an unusual post for this blog, but I think I may have come across a case of lost media involving an anime pilot starring GUMI. It's possible that it exists on the Internet, and I hesitate to declare this as "lost media," but I cannot find it anywhere, and I figured that a post on this blog was the best way to see if anyone has any leads or extra info.

The anime is titled "Koisuru Dessan Ningyo," with an English title of "Do Drawing Dolls Dream of Love?" I don't know the runtime of the pilot, but I think it was most likely around 5-7 minutes. I believe this could have been the first instance of a Vocaloid being cast in a main voice acting role (perhaps, the first one cast in any voice acting role). I'm not completely sure if they actually used the Megpoid voicebank, or had Megumi Nakajima voice act as GUMI, but the way AnimeAnime (Japanese anime news site) describes it, it seems like it may have been the former. In either case, the character that GUMI portrays in the anime is a character that is clearly made to resemble her.

(These are the only screenshots I could find that come from the pilot, but more may exist.)

The main character is a doll (who I'm not sure is named), who models for a girl's drawings before eventually falling in love with her. I don't believe GUMI's character has a name, but she plays a main role as the girl the doll falls in love with.

Where It Was Seen

The pilot aired on NHK TV on January 9, 2014, during late night (possibly just after midnight?). It aired alongside another pilot as part of the program Aoyama 1seg Kaihatsu. This was a sort of tournament, where two pilots were broadcast once a month for three months, and viewers would vote for which pilot they liked best. Then, the three winners would go against each other in a final round, where the pilot with the most votes would get picked up to become a series. (I think they held this tournament once a year from 2010 to 2014 or 2015, though I don't know if it was the exact same every time.) The broadcast was 25 minutes long for each of the first three rounds, with the first half dedicated to showing both pilots and the second half dedicated to presentations about each pilot. (This is why I think this pilot was around 5-7 minutes, though I'm not sure exactly how much time commercial breaks would take up.) For a few years, including 2014, the program was hosted by the now-disbanded Japanese girl group E-girls (no relation to what you and I know as "e-girls." in their case the E stands for "exile.")

According to the official Tumblr account, karappo-heart, this pilot won the first round of the competition! It probably didn't make it out of the finals, though, since it didn't get picked up for a series. It's also possible that it did win, but some other issues prevented its production. In any case, the Tumblr account hasn't been updated since the first round ended. While this contest was going on, three shorts were apparently available to watch on NHK's website, but they have since been removed. I think at least one of the shorts was web-exclusive. I haven't been able to find info on who actually won the finals, or even what GUMI's short won against.

People Involved

The doll is portrayed by a masked dancer refererred to as Hitori de Dekiru Mon. I can't find much info about him online, but I think his real name is Takemura Ryohei. (I'm not sure because that part on his Japanese Wikipedia article has a "citation needed" label.) AnimeAnime specifically refers to his role as being the doll's "human form," though it's possible he provided voice acting too. AnimeAnime points out the unusual nature of having a human portray a doll, and having a Vocaloid portray a human.

Masanori Okamoto (who also wrote the screenplay and produced the pilot) animated the pilot with the pixilation technique, using time-lapse pictures to show movement of objects and people (this may have included live-action photos of the doll's actor portraying a "human form" of the doll). It seems like it may have blended stop motion/puppetry and live action stills with traditional animation? This is an example of Okamoto's work from around the same time, which seems like it might have been made in a similar style:

The third known person to have worked on this is none other than Vocaloid producer sasakure.UK. He composed the theme song, which of course features GUMI, and a few other songs to be used in potential future episodes. If you're a big fan of his, the anime title may sound familiar to you, as he released 3 of these songs (though both news sites I looked at, AnimeAnime and Anime News Network, say he made 4 total) plus their instrumentals as an EP under the same title. You can listen to the whole thing on YouTube!

I think this EP uses GUMI's VOCALOID3 voicebanks (the first sounds like either Native or Sweet, the second one sounds like Adult or Power (if it even is GUMI--it sounds more like IA to me, but sasakure.UK labeled it as a GUMI song so I kinda have to take his word for it) and the third sounds like Sweet). If that's the case, her V3 voicebanks would have probably been used for the voice acting, too.

Places I've Looked

After some Internet searches only garnered me a few screenshots, I decided to see if there was a way I could ask sasakure.UK himself about the short. I believe he has a contact form on his website, which I used to send a message in both Japanese and English (in case Google Translate was more helpful to him than my incoherent Japanese). This was back in May of this year and I never received a response. (Since I used a website contact form and not a direct email, I don't have the message I sent him anymore. I guess that's lost media now too.)

It occured to me while writing this post that I never contacted the animator himself, Masanori Okamoto. While his Vimeo and YouTube pages don't have the pilot, and his Twitter and Tumblr links haven't been updated in several years, he does have an email address listed. I sent him a message (in English because I was too sick and tired to try to write a coherent email in Japanese and I don't like waiting to do these things). I'm not sure he still checks his email since his social media that I've found has all been inactive for years, but I will post an update if he responds.

I know that this pilot is not on the NHK website, or, again, on the animator's YouTube or Vimeo pages. I also could not find it on the Internet Archive.

Now, I don't expect anyone reading this to have saved this on their computer and kept it there since 2014. But with this post, my goal is simply to make more people aware that this exists at all, and I'd also like to learn more about it myself (such as whether or not the pilot won in the finals after all, how much animation actually exists for it, if any more screenshots are out there, etc.)

Thank you for reading such a long post! Please feel free to correct any info I got wrong, or add on to this post with any knowledge you might have about this lost pilot!

(also sorry for any typos :()

[bonny-kookoo]

Yoongi

Lock Me Up | Found

He promised.

Tags/Warnings: Detective Agust D my friends, Criminal Kitty!Reader, hybrid Yoongi, mentions of violence, kidnapping, major angst, fluff?

Length: Drabble

There is no taglist for this fic

A/N: now stop trying to ruin their happiness thanks

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Where could you be?

Police forces are out looking for any trace of you- his home already having been checked as well as your usual spots you'd be at during the day. But there's nothing. You've vanished without a trace, and Yoongi doesn't even have a clue who could've taken you in the first place. There's really nothing to gain from you other than maybe money- but in that case, someone would need to know your value first, and the people you're connected to. No one just randomly kidnaps someone and hopes their family can pay what they want.

It doesn't make sense.

And the number you told him? He doesn't know if it's complete, or if you got interrupted. He's got no clue what you meant by it, doesn't know what he's supposed to do with it- but it must be important if you say it to him. You're smart- much smarter than one might think, and he personally believes you're not even aware of it yourself. The streets have taught you a lot of things that can keep you alive in a situation like this-

so he hopes you'll use that knowledge until he finds you.

He's walking down the street on the edge of town where a patrolling officer seems to be arguing with an elderly lady, her dog on a leash barking, especially when Yoongi walks closer. He tends to have an effect on animals- though one look from his eyes seems to shut the small dog up. He hasn't been wearing his covering contact lenses in a long time now-

he's embracing who he is these days, much of it thanks to you.

"What's going on here?" Yoongi asks, the patrolling officer sighs, as the lady interrupts him, giving him no chance to fill the detective in.

"That constant banging noise is what's wrong!" The lady whines. "Every day, every night, bang bang bang, it's driving me mad!" She complains.

"Where is it coming from?" Yoongi sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. He's got better things to worry about than a noise complaint from a pensioned post-menopausal woman in her late 50's.

"Apartment 265, right above mine!" She says. "I don't know what that guy is up to these days but he should really think about his neighbors-" She rants, and Yoongis eyes sharpen.

"Which apartment?" He presses suddenly, cutting her off- and even she seems startled about his reaction.

"..265?" She answers a lot more quietly now, and Yoongi draws his weapon at that.

"You, ask her about any information she has about whoever lives in that apartment. I want a name, I want a description, I want when he leaves the apartment and what fucking shoesize he wears if she knows it!" he barks at the young officer, before he dashes into the apartment complex, running the stairs instead of taking the elevator to be faster.

Of course.

"He sold catnip laced with other drugs and baking soda." You'd laughed, looking at him upside down as you lazed around on his bed while he washed the dishes. "He wasn't too happy I basically snitched on him and told everyone about it. He was pissed!" You had told him.

"Try not to make anymore enemies from now on though." Yoongi had sighed. "Someone's gonna kidnap you one day, I'm gonna have to shoot someone, and that's a shit-ton of paperwork." He's told you, joking mostly.

"But you'd come and save me, wouldn't you?" You'd teased-

and he'd smiled, simply nodded in confirmation.

"Promise?" You ask him, and he sighs, before he turns around to walk closer to you, kissing your upside-down face with a stoic expression- but eyes filled with love.

"Promise.

He doesn't even knock or anything, simply shoots the door to unlock it, before he enters with the by now familiar phrase announcing his presence to whoever might be inside the apartment. The first thing he notices is the stench of garbage and sweetness, before the tiny flies seem to attack him as he looks around the apartment, searching for anybody.

And there he is, a man dressed in dirty sweatpants and an equally soiled sleeveless shirt, looking at him with angry eyes. "Should've known you hybrid rats stick together." He grunts, as Yoongi points the weapon on him, multiple officers entering the apartment behind himself, making sure the surrounding area is under control.

"Where is she?" Yoongi wants to know, walking closer with the gun still drawn.

"What part of her would you like?" The man sickly jokes, and Yoongi doesn't waste a second to shoot right next to the guy into the stained couch, visibly startling him.

"The next is gonna land right between your legs and trust me-" The detective growls, "-My aim is great." he threatens.

"Detective Min!" Someone calls instead, and Yoongi's attention is taken away as he runs towards the room he's been called to.

And right there, in the bathtub, there's you- wide eyed and bruised- a thick and clumsily wrapped cloth around your thigh stained in what he assumes must be old blood, but you're alive.

You're alive.

The moment he bends down to get closer, something seems to happen within you, as you scramble up to reach him first, wrapping your entire body and every available limb around him, even your tail- and he's never held you so tightly than now, finally breathing again as your scent is all around him once more. "You're okay." He reassures you- or maybe more so himself.

"You found me." You whimper into his chest, frantically scenting him. "You came.!" You say, and he nods.

"Of course." He tells you, uncaring of anybody in this moment as he just runs his hand over your back.

"I promised, didn't I?"