#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

[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.

[dearlot]

the butterfly effect | sister barnes

— pairing: sister barnes x gn!reader

— summary: your girlfriend comes back after her death, just not in the way you'd expect.

— wordcount: 1,440

Lately, you've been feeling lost.

Nothing you seem to do appears to help you to find your way again. Even Sister Paxton's help hasn't worked. Although, you should be the one helping her, especially after what happened. It was awful. You couldn't believe such a crazed man could do something like this. I mean, to have multiple women locked up in his basement? And knowing Paxton and Barnes could've been the next? It made you feel sick.

Sick like how you felt when Paxton had told you why your girlfriend wasn't with her when she escaped. You were numb and sweaty and nauseated and you couldn't understand why this happened. She was supposed to come home to you after the mission and bake cookies with you. You were going to pick her up after they returned to their Elder and kiss her and tell her how much you missed her even though she had only been without you for four hours.

You were there when they came out with her body.

Part of you wishes you weren't, but you knew you would regret it if you didn't see her one last time despite the circumstances.

You couldn't see her very well with all the tears in your eyes, but you could make out the deep red gash across her throat. She was white as a ghost and just as unresponsive as one as you rushed up to the gurney and tried to shake her awake. You could have sworn she squeezed her hand over yours when you held it one last time, and the tears just fled out as you collapsed on the pavement. Thank goodness Paxton was there with you; otherwise, you wouldn't have been able to keep her nametag.

You take it with you everywhere now.

Sometimes, you wear it on your shirt to feel closer to her and to feel like you are her in a way. It comforts you. However, you do hate the sympathetic stares you get from classmates as you wear her nametag down the school halls. You don't know how many more "I'm sorry for your loss" conversations you can go through without exploding. All it does is remind you she's gone and never coming back.

Your vision blurs as you stare blankly at the leaves of the tree shaking from the wind. You don't know how long you've been sitting here tapping your pencil against the notebook you've been neglecting, but your cheeks hurt from the cold. But that could be from the dried tears that have been falling for hours. They started after your brain reminded you that she was gone again, and you thought of how she used to sit with you right in this spot while you did homework. The last time you were out here with her wasn't even that long ago. It was three weeks and 4 days to be exact. You remember the way she smelled like vanilla and how she clung to your arms and begged you to hurry up and finish so you could go back to her place. The warmth you felt as she touched you and mumbled right into your ear is now gone, replaced with coldness and a sense of longing.

The last few tears you can muster fall out of your eyes and slide down your cheek, hitting the already soggy notebook paper. You look down at the few words you've written and wish Barnes was here to tell you that you could finish it another day, that you deserve a break after busying yourself with homework so you wouldn't think of her.

The wind roars harshly and blows your pages all over the place, and when you stop it with your hand, it lands on a page that she drew on the last time you were here with her. You can see the shape of her sketch under your hand and you feel your heart thump in your chest. Sweat beads on your forehead as you slowly move your hand to reveal the butterfly she drew next to your geometry notes. She could always draw so perfectly. The more you look at it, the more it seems like it could fly right out of the page and into your palm. Your brows bunch up slightly as you trace your fingers over her drawing, feeling something like embarrassment as you find yourself being soothed by the texture of the colored pencil she used. For a moment, a flash of rage consumes you, and images of tearing your notebook apart until it's nothing more than microscopic pieces of paper flicker through your mind. You shake away those thoughts and slam the notebook closed, looking around the empty park and deciding you could do with a walk to calm your mind. It's what Barnes would've told you anyway.

You stuff your things back into your bag and sling it over your shoulder. As you swing one of your legs over the bench, you suddenly freeze, feeling an overwhelming sense of dread as if you're missing something. You pat your pockets. Still got your phone and wallet. You look down to the ground to check if you accidentally dropped a pen. Nope, nothing but dirt and trash. The feeling is still there as you dart your eyes all around you, trying to remember what you could be missing.

Suddenly, you feel something brush against your leg. You bounce up in shock and gasp, scrambling to get up from the bench and inspect your legs. As you wipe them down just in case there's a spider you can't see, you feel another brush against the back of your neck. Again, your body jolts in surprise, and you turn around to see nothing that could've done it. You really gotta go on that walk already otherwise you'll probably be eaten alive by whatever bug is messing with you. You tighten the straps on your backpack and pull your hoodie over your head (after shaking it to make sure no spider decided to warm up in there) and start walking down the hiking path. You feel light and empty as you observe nature around you. Empty in a good way, you suppose. Usually, when you feel empty, it comes with a sense of despair. But now, it's empty like the sea. There are waves crashing inside of you but you don't mind them. They feel good and the water spraying against your guts feels refreshing.

You think it's time to rest.

You've only been walking for around 20 minutes, but your calves are starting to cramp up.

The bench in the distance seems to glow under the sunlight as you limply make your way toward it, collapsing with a sigh as your ass hits the seat. You slide off your bag and set it next to you, tilting your head back as you bask in the warm sunlight while fumbling with the keychains on your backpack. At least five minutes must have passed before you opened your eyes again. You adjust them to the scene in front of you as you peek through one eye and watch the flowers dance in the breeze.

In the blink of an eye, a butterfly lands on your leg. You tense up and inhale sharply, half expecting it to fly away after you move in surprise. It stays right on your leg as you sit up straighter, leaning your head down to examine it. You might just be going crazy, but it looks exactly like the butterfly Barnes drew, right down to the pattern on its wings. Your lips quiver as you remember a late-night conversation with Barnes a couple of months ago where she mentioned that Sister Paxton went on and on about reincarnation and how she chose to be a butterfly in her next life. She thought it was cute and said that she would also like to be a butterfly. She asked you what you'd want to be, and you simply replied, "A flower. That way you can always land on me."

A shaky hand holds itself out for the butterfly, and a fresh tear drips down your face when it floats up and lands right on your pinky. Like a promise. Like the promise Barnes told you about coming back to you if she died before you.

As it seems to nuzzle itself into your touch, you recall what else she had told you about your reincarnation wish. You thought it was cheesy at the time and a shaky, watery smile appears on your lips as her voice echoes in your mind.

"You're already my flower."

[artsandstoriesandstuff]

Two new characters... meet The Hitchhiker and The Psychic! (I haven't given them names... yet)

They're two aliens that caught a ride on a different alien megaship. Those aliens themselves are royalty (though I'm yet to draw them properly).

The Hitchhiker is, as his name suggests, a hitchhiker. He sneaks on different ships to travel from planet to planet, and while he is notorious across the universe he hasn't been caught yet. Despite his quiet nature he is pretty adventurous.

The Psychic/The Telepath becomes The Hitchhiker's sidekick later in the series, and is like a daughter to him. She, too, is more reserved, but is a troublesome kid. It does not help that she has powers. She ran away from the alien orphanage she was in, but ended up on the ship by mistake.

So far this project is very Pixar movie-ish to me. What do you guys think of them? :)

(I would very much appreciate a reblog or at least comment since I've been very unhappy with my work lately...)

@montyistrapped @milolol

[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.

[alipeeps]

Episode 29

Oh dang so Yichen knew right from the get go that Zhao Yuanzhou had taken the scale out of the box.

Exactly this!!

(And he's gonna be stuck in that danger whilst you guys all stand around having a leisurely conversation about this!)

Pretty sure he wants it for you girl...

Will you PLEASE go fucking rescue Ying Lei?!!

Oh wait what? Bai Yan kept the baize token?

Well how the fuck did that happen? Did Li Lun do it during the brief time he had possession of it?

Ooooh so they didn't kiss in the previous ep, it was just a forehead touch... and sneaky Zhao Yuanzhou used it as a chance to do a quick health check on her...

Oh shiiit that don't sound good?

So now we have yet another dilemma! Restore the sword (and save Bai Jiu)... or save Wen Xiao?

Oh fuck, of course... she needs them to restore the sword to save her son...

Oh. Fair do's, I did her an injustice...

Oh fuck yeah... that is NOT a power that you want Li Lun to have control of...

Ugh Zhao Yuanzhou's faaaaace.... 😭

All this time she's been worrying about everyone else dying - Zhao Yuanzhou, Zhou Yichen, Bai Jiu... and it turns out she is the one who is going to die first...

I feel like it needs to be pointed out here... to Li Lun in particular... that it's Bai Jiu's body that is poisoned. If he doesn't want to die... he could move to another, non-poisoned, body. Sure, Bai Jiu's body was the perfect type of body for him, with him being descended from a tree god etc, but like... anything's better than dead, right? If Ao Yin really was willing to die to save him, he could put his core in her and possess her?

God damn Li Lun, you're a self-pitying fuck. You literally did all of this to yourself...

Oh righto, fucker's planning to go out in a blaze of glory...

Every previous baize goddess has taken on an apprentice to pass the torch onto though haven't they? She hasn't. Maybe she should, before it's too late.

Love how the minute they've got a confirmed diagnosis she is suddenly deteriorating/showing symptoms...

Fair point girl.

Yeah and it also chose YOU dumbass, didn't it?!!

YESSSS RIP THAT FUCKING CONTRACT UP!!

(Then kiss, damn you)

😭

Welp, you're dying anyway girl, might as well ride that demon while you still can.

So surprise surprise it was fucking Wen Zongyu behind it all again. Ugh I hate this guy so much.

So... lemme guess... he can cure her... if you give him Zhao Yuanzhou's core?

Oh so Wen Xiao and Bai Jiu are poisoned with the same thing?

BINGO

Problem is, if you offer that solution to Zhao Yuanzhou, he WILL fucking offer up his core to save Wen Xiao. You know it.

Oh fucking hell, we ALSO need Zhao Yuanzhou's core to fix the fucking sword. Jfc, can the gang ever get a break?

Is there a single fucking dilemma in this show where the solution is NOT Zhao Yuanzhou needs to die?

Oh fuuuck so they can use the ever-burning wood without killing Zhou Yuanzhou... but it will leave him weak and unable to use his power for a while.

That sounds like an excellent whump scenario to me, bring it on!!! 😁

(Also though... will using the ever-burning wood for this purpose like... use it all up? Cos that's the only reason Wen Zongyu even wants the core, right?)

BY THE POWER OF GRAYSKULL!!! 😂😂😂

Oooohhhh....

He's such a little shit. I love him so much.

He's crushing jade for him?

My fucking heart....

SINCE I CHOSE TO BE YOUR CLOSEST FRIEND

FUCKING KILL ME NOW

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH FUCKING ZIJI. THEY FUCKING WENT THERE!!

Yeah nice thought but that ain't gonna happen is it

This is sounding awfully like goodbye, Zhou Yichen. Like you are thanking him for everything he's done for you before... before...

God the fucking affection in the way he looks at Zhou Yichen

Thank you for your... life-saving grace? As in... giving up your life to save Wen Xiao?

I fucking KNEW IT!!!

Oh GOD he just opens his arms to let him do it....

Ohhhhh fuuuuck did he manage to draw the ever-burning wood from Zhao Yuanzhou's core into the sword? Cos that's what Wen Zongyu actually wants. not the core itself...

Oh well that makes it all SO much better Zhao Yuanzhou!!!

BUT HAVE ANY OF YOU ever fucking stopped to wonder WHY he wants the ever-burning wood and what he intends to do with it?

Cos he has straight up admitted his plan is to destroy ALL demons. And it's a pretty sure bet that he needs the ever-burning wood for that exact plan.

Like... I know you want to save Wen Xiao and Bai Jiu but please.. a little critical thinking here?

Personally I'd want to try out the antidote and make sure it fucking works before I'd give him shit!

Of course Ao Yin fucking appears and swipes the antidote.

Well, Wen Zongyu made the antidote, he can fucking make more. Snatch that ever-burning wood back and make him come back with more.

Ah yeah, stab that fucker! Damn right Yichen!

Meanwhile... you've left Ao Yin unsupervised with the precious antidote on the ground near her...

Well that was stupid! Couldn't happen to a more-deserving fellow though... Bye bye Wen Zongyu, you were the worst.

Will you PLEASE go get the antidote instead of just standing there watching the dude burn up?!!

Aaaand it's empty anyway. Surprise surprise the fucker double-crossed 'em.

Yeah I had a feeling that would be the case.

Oh here we go... so who's gonna volunteer to save Wen Xiao? Zhao Yuanzhou or Zhuo YIchen? Ao Yin will definitely volunteer to save Li Lun.

There she goes.

Why did Li Lun suddenly collapse though?

So. End of ep 29 and the Chongwu camp bad guy is dead and along with him, hopefully, his plot to kill all demons. The Cloud Light Sword is restored and you've got an unconscious Bai Jiu/Li Lun right there so tie/lock that bad boy up and you can sever his primordial spirit and save Bai Jiu as soon as Zhou Yichen gets back.

That just leaves the thorny issue of which demon is gonna sacrifice themself to detoxify Wen Xiao...

[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!

[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!

[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 ]

[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 :()

[thetempleofthemasaigoddess]

Life drawing

Nude model!reader x art student!Zoro.

Modern AU. Sequel to The art model.

This fic is dedicated to @star-yawnznn.

*****

Zoro grins when, opening the house door, he finds himself face to face with a bag of delicious chocolate cookies, courtesy of your mother's bakery, that you're offering him with your arms raised, like a celebrant sacrificing to the Gods.

"You know, there's no need for you to bring something every time you come; you're already doing me a favour."

You shrug as you walk inside, letting him close the door behind you. "Even though he doesn't put on weight, eating so much can't be good for Luffy's health." you point out "And I know you like them."

"Well, they are good..."

You share a smile as you follow him towards the kitchen (like the rest of the house a spacious room, perfectly clean and tidy) where, without even bothering to ask, Zoro uses the enormous coffee machine on the counter to prepare a drink like he knows you like it.

Six months have passed since your first meeting with Zoro at the East Blue Art School, six months since you accepted his request to pose for him privately at home as well as in Shanks' class - your home, at first, since he needed to keep his interest in drawing and art, not to mention the fact he hasn't stopped attending the school years ago, a secret from his father. Unfortunately, last month your landlord has decided to host his niece in the flat's spare room, while she searches for a more stable accommodation. Even more regrettably, your new, temporary flatmate is an aspiring metal guitarist, who told you she needs to practice at least six hours a day if she wants to join one of the best bands in town, which means the place has not known a moment of silence ever since she put down her luggage, as well as her guitar, in the hallway.

Which is why in the last four weeks you have been the one going to Zoro's, instead of the other way around. It's a temporary solution, you have assured him, feeling guilty for the nuisance even though nothing of it was your fault, and hoping you will soon have the whole flat to yourself once more, even though your landlord's niece has not been as industrious in looking for a new place to stay as she has been in preparing for her musical career. You know how important his drawing classes are to Zoro, but he assured you it wouldn't be a problem: his father, a business broker who also manages a fencing school, has recently landed an important client that keeps him at work every day until late.

And so, your already familiar arrangement has changed, the location of your private modelling session shifting from your flat to Zoro's home. You don't mind - you actually like it, and not just because it allows you to get away from your flatmate's guitar for a while. You like going to Zoro's; you like Zoro himself, you have come to realize, and while you do not yet feel ready to confess your feelings, you enjoy spending time with him, and helping him to improve as an artist.

"How was your day? You had a double shift today, if I'm not mistaken." you point out as you accept the coffee Zoro is offering you, and listen as he tells you about his day at work, at the bookstore owned by his friend Kuina's father "You know, I'd be curious to see the shop one day, after you've told me so much about it..."

"You can come whenever you want; I can give you a discount, if Koushirou is not there." he offers, and winks at you; he's wearing a black shirt that makes the green of his hair stand out even more than usual, his three earrings dangling gently when he moves.

"Well, there was a book I was thinking about buying..."

Chocolate cookies, you both agree, go splendidly with coffee. You enjoy your break in silence, at ease next to each other in the kitchen lit up by the soft sunset glow; according to Luffy, Zoro doesn't make friends easily, and you are pretty proud you are now part of that narrow group - or at least, that he doesn't appear to mind you coming to his house.

"Shall we?" you propose in the end; as much as you enjoy his company, the time at your disposal is limited, since you still have work to do for your classes tomorrow "You want to continue with what we were doing last time? I was lying on one side with a book in my hands..."

"Actually..."

"Yes?"

Suddenly tense, Zoro rubs the back of his head, hesitating for a moment as if not knowing how to broach a delicate subject. "I was wondering if this time we could do something a bit different."

Your sessions with Zoro, whether at his place or yours, usually follow the same pattern. Every two times, he asks you to assume a new pose: standing, sitting (on a kitchen chair, on a stool, on the floor...) or lying on the sofa, sometimes with an object in your hands but usually in a way that allows you to read or review your notes. Once you are comfortable, Zoro makes sure the room is well-lit, places a comfortable chair in front of you, retrieves his sketchbook and pencils from the suitcase he keeps them hidden in together with his art school books to make sure his father doesn't find them, and gets to work, drawing diligently for an hour and a half.

It is, in the end, more or less what happens during your classes at the art school; after all Zoro's drawing sessions are the reason you meet, the reason why he asked you to pose for him. You expected to do the same today as well, just like the many times you have met before; you didn't expect him to propose a change... and, you will reflect later on, you have no idea what this day has in store for you.

"What d'you mean?"

Zoro has turned his back to you, focused on the cups you used for your coffee and that he is now washing in the sink "Well... I was thinking today you could pose like you do in class."

"As in...?"

"Naked, yes. Unless, that... bothers you..."

It shouldn't, of course. After all, you have been an art model for six months, and by now you like to think you are quite good at it, since Shanks no longer needs to correct your posture and you can keep the most uncomfortable pose for a long time without complaining, even though the job is more tiring than it looks and in the end your muscles beg for mercy. Besides the fact that it helps you pay rent (you expected your landlord to lower it until his niece found another place to stay, since your apartment is not fully yours anymore, but the thought must have slipped his mind) and your bills, posing is probably the best job you have ever had.

You enjoy it, a lot, in a way you can't properly explain to someone who has never been in your place, and by now you are completely accustomed to pose naked, like you have done from the very first day. Shanks was right, there is nothing sexual, or inappropriate, in being an art model, nothing you should feel guilt or embarrassment for; if the students look at your breast, it is simply to make sure they are correctly drawing it, which is not always easy, and when a couple of months ago, Nami asked you whether you had put on a little weight (you had, no doubt, because of all the treats your mother brings you back from the bakery!) she assured you she only wanted to know because the shape of your belly and thighs had changed marginally and she really wanted to portray you as faithfully as she could. In the end, for the students it wouldn't make much difference if on the stool at the center of their semicircle Shanks had placed a potted plant or a teddy-bear, instead of asking you to sit there, apart from the fact that the human form has been the most popular art subject since time immemorial, and any artist must be capable to competently reproduce it.

You expected your sessions with Zoro to go the same way, which would have been even easier for you, since you would have been in your own home. Instead, the first time he came to your place he said you could keep your clothes on, because the naked body was harder to draw and he, unfortunately, still had to learn to correctly portray clothed people. He had no preference regarding the clothes you wore, and didn't mind to choose poses that allowed you to read or revise your notes during the sessions.

And now this. You should have imagined he would ask you sooner or later, you relect; Zoro's figure drawings have improved since you started posing for him privately, and by now he must feel capable of moving to something more challenging, which means that it is time for you to take your panties off for him - so to speak.

"Of course, if that makes you... uncomfortable, or if you'd rather have someone present..."

"Of course not; it's... all right." you hurry to answer after a moment of uncertainty; after six months of private sessions you had gotten used to posing with your clothes on, but after all it is nothing you haven't done a hundred times already "I didn't bring my night-gown, though."

Zoro gives you this ("It is clean, I swear.") and invites you to leave your clothes in the bathroom near the living room, while he prepares his things.

"I will be just a minute."

"Take your time. Just..." he hesitates, once more as if unsure of what to say, which strikes you as odd - Zoro is not a blabbermouth, but in six months since you met him you never had the impression he was too shy, or afraid, to say what is on his mind. By now you are, if not exactly friends, at least good acquaintances, and you never had troubles finding something to talk about; why does he seem so awkward all of a sudden? What delicate matter is he afraid to broach...? "Listen, you know I'm Luffy friend, do you?"

Considering that your friend's crew has practically adopted you ever since you started posing for their class, so much that you are routinely invited to hang out with them and they all came to your birthday party two months ago, the question sounds unexpected, and weird, at your ears.

"Of course. Why is that relevant now?"

"Nothing. Just... I'll wait for you here, ok?"

Still a little perplexed, you move to the bathroom, where you leave your clothes in a neat pile and refresh yourself; there is nothing more unpleasant than body odour when one is posing, naked or otherwise. Zoro's night-gown is, predictably, not exactly the right fit for you, which shouldn't be a problem, since you are going to take it off in less than a minute, but wearing it feels strange all the same... intimate, in a way. You had never worn a man's clothes before, or rather, no man had ever given you his clothes to wear, and having Zoro do it, even just to avoid having you walk buck naked around his house...

You chide yourself for those naive, childish thoughts, especially towards a man on whom you can no longer deny having a crush, and whose company you genuinely enjoy; you don't want Zoro to think he made you uncomfortable. You are here to pose for him, and pose for him you will, like the professional model you are; everything else doesn't matter... even though you have to admit, you like being alone with Zoro, having his attention focused on you. A secret, innocent joy you allow yourself to indulge in.

You wash away what is left of the make-up you had applied earlier, before heading to work, remain for a moment still, staring at your reflection and reminding yourself you are an adult and ought to behave accordingly, and then leave the bathroom.

Zoro is preparing your station in the living room, with a lamp near the sofa, on which you have already posed lying many times... after taking off your shoes, and nothing else. His sketchbook and pencils are placed on a little table near his favourite chair, retrieved from their hiding spot in the suitcase; propped against the chair's armrest are Zoro's three swords. He doesn't carry them around when he is at home, but, he told you, he always keeps them close, as if expecting to be attacked at any moment, even in the safety of his own home: it is a not uncommon habit among swordsmen, that his master (and father) accustomed him to since he was a child.

He turns, startled a little, when he hears you approach, and when he sees you wearing his night-gown he seems to have troubles swallowing for a moment. "So, uhm, everything ok?"

You wonder whether he expected you to have troubles taking your clothes off. "Sure. So... how do you want me?" you ask back; then, suddenly realizing how that question, that you must have posed a hundred times before, might sound differently from how you had intended it, you hurry to rephrase: "What pose do you want me to assume?"

Zoro asks you to lie in profile, propped on one elbow, with one leg stretched and the other partially bent towards your belly; the pose is similar to one Shanks asked you to assume for a class at the Art School last month, which leads you to suspect Zoro was not satisfied of his work of that day. He looks away, seemingly embarrassed, when he sees you take off his night-gown, even though he saw you do the same at the school a hundred times already.

You don't find it weird. In fact, it might be because you're doing it in a new place for the first time, but for a moment you feel awkward as well, almost as if that gesture had a different meaning, almost as if it mattered...

The night-gown passes from your hand to his; while your gazes don't meet, your hands brush against each other.

"Thank you."

"Yeah, no problem."

A moment later you are lying on the sofa, easily settling in the same position as a few weeks ago.

"Are you comfortable?" Zoro asks you, and you nod, by now used to the slight inconvenience of an unnatural pose, since no one, especially not at your age, has ever died from a stiff arm or a sore leg, and by now Shanks' class has drawn you in positions that wouldn't be out of place in the experts' section of a yoga manual.

"Yeah, don't worry. Can you take my book from my bag, please? I have an exam next week..."

A minute later Zoro is already sitting at his place, the sketchbook balanced on his knee, the by now familiar whisper of the pencil rubbing on the paper filling the room. As usual you remain still as a statue, face lowered on the pages of your book... even though your eyes keep rising to the young man in front of you; at times your gazes meet, and you could swear Zoro's eyes are smiling even though his expression remains serious.

You like this, you have realized for a while, this weird menage you have built together, the chaste intimacy of posing for a single artist and the innocent flattery of having his full attention focused on you - if only because Zoro wants to makes sure he draws the angle of your shoulder as faithfully as he can. You have no idea how long he will need your help for, or if he will ever decide he can do without your private sessions, but you are determined to enjoy it as long as it lasts, and to pose for him every time he asks you to, even if it means sacrificing the little free time school and work leave you; it is a very unexpected sort of relationship, perhaps an anomalous one, intimate and at the same time strictly professional, but you treasure it all the same. Zoro is not a particularly personable man, you have come to suspect, but you know he is fond of you, and appreciates you as a model and a person.

You can't help wanting more. But at the same time you are happy with what you have, and you hope it lasts.

Zoro draws in complete silence for a while, while you revise two chapters of your book, trying to make sense of your own notes.

"You are not cold?" he asks after a while, and you assure him you are all right; you have already noticed Zoro has turned the heating on, no doubt more for your benefit than his, since you are the one who can't simply put a sweater on if she gets chilly. You'll have to thank him.

"My father knows about you, you know." he adds, almost absentmindedly, and your are immediately alarmed.

"What?! He knows...?"

"Not that you pose for me, and I still attend the East Blue; he... he knows I had a girl over, that's it." Zoro explains, face momentarily hidden behind his sketchbook "Last time... I forgot to wash the coffee cups, and he noticed there was a trace of lipstick on the border of one."

"Oh, God, Zoro, I'm sorry..."

"That's ok." he assures you, while a sudden grin blossoms on his lips "He didn't mind, and I doubt he could ever imagine what we do. He just thought... you know..."

You force yourself not to smile. "... that you have a girlfriend?" you finish for him "And that you had taken advantage of his absence to invite her over?"

"Something like that, yes. I... I didn't correct him, I hope you don't mind."

You don't. "I don't." At all. Another small, innocent pleasure, part of a little fantasy you're probably too old for but that in the end doesn't hurt anyone; and truth to be told, you are happy to help Zoro, since you know how much attending the drawing school means to him. You return your attention to your book, but try as you might you really can't focus, let alone memorize the notions on the page in front of you, your eyes simply skimming the text without retaing any information.

And the fault is his. Well, it is yours, to be honest, since you are by now an expert model, not to mention a veteran student and an adult woman, and you should be able to ignore the presence of a man, no matter how handsome, and concentrate on something as important as an imminent exam. For God's sake, Zoro has never skipped a class at the art school, which means that you have taken off your clothes in front of him two times a week for six months! By now he knows your naked body so well he could draw it by heart, and he does need a model, even though his life drawings have improved, it isn't simply a ruse to... meet you in a more private setting and... and... and why are you fantasizing about that, now?!

Oh, God. You do like him, you realize suddenly, much more than you had imagined or allowed yourself to think until today. He is handsome, and athletic, and he has a beautiful smile, but in six months since you first met you have learnt to know Zoro, and to appreciate and respect him as a man and as a friend as well; you like how protective he is of his friends (and of you, given that time that a drunk man approached you as he was walking you back at the bus stop after a drawing session; Zoro drew the Wado Ichimonji and threatened to amputate any part of his body the man would touch you with) and steadfast in the pursuit of his dream, and kind-hearted towards those who suffer or endure injustice, even though those who know him less well wrongly consider him cold and selfish. You are attracted to him, and while you already enjoy being his model and friend, you do wish your relationship would develop beyond that... you wish to be important for him, to feel his gaze brush against your skin and know he is not simply wondering whether he drew your arm faithfully enough or he should start over.

"Shanks is very pleased with your progress." you mention after a while; unlike what happens during class at the art school, where silence is religiously kept from the beginning to the end of the class, Zoro told you he doesn't mind chatting a bit while he draws, and he is exactly the sort of conversationalist you prefer: no interest in small talk, and has always something interesting to say "I heard him saying that at the end of your last class."

Zoro is pleased, even smug, as he smiles and tilts his head to one side, as if to observe you from a marginally different perspective. "He did say I got better at life drawing, even though I shouldn't focus on that and neglect my other classes."

"I'm sure that won't happen."

"I hope not... and in any case, if I improved I also owe it to you. I haven't forgotten how much you're doing for me, (name)."

"I'm doing nothing, just staying still."

"You know what I mean. I know you'd have many better things to do with your time, and you're not even letting me pay you..."

"Zoro... we are friends." you point out, completely serious; you are now looking straight at him, so engrossed in your conversation to notice you have broken the first, cardinal rule for all art models: never change pose mid-session "You know I could never ask you money. I am happy to help you, since I know how much this matters to you."

Zoro looks at you; he has stopped drawing, even through you couldn't say exactly when. "We weren't friends when you accepted to pose for free."

"No, but you were Luffy's friend, which is equally important. Would you have accepted to be paid, if you were in my place?"

"Maybe I would have."

"No, you wouldn't have."

"No, I wouldn't have." he admits, and smiles at you, and you have never wanted to kiss anyone so much in your life "Anyway, I owe you, truly. Thank you."

You assure him you are happy to be his model, and you really are, so much that you hope your sessions will continue even now that his life drawings have improved; truth to be told, you'll happily spend the evenings of the rest of your life posing for Zoro... unless, of course, one of the two decides, or in your case finds the courage, to ask the other out.

"I think you changed position."

"Yeah, sorry." you admit as you lower your gaze once more.

"No, it's your arm."

"My arm?" you repeat, perplexed, since you hadn't noticed you had moved it "Are you sure?"

"Yes, you moved it when you used your hand to turn the page. Wait..."

Zoro stands, crossing the living room floor in a quick stride until he's keeling in front of the sofa; not looking at you (accurately not looking at you) he lifts your wrist with his fingers and moves your arm a few inches to the left. It's a completely innocent gesture, but you choose that very moment to unthinkingly move on the cushion, searching for a more comfortable position... and inadvertently pressing your chest against Zoro's hand.

His fingers are warm against the skin of your breast, the sensation clear, almost painfully so, despite the contact lasting less than a second. You gasp, more out of surprise than alarm, but that is nothing compared to Zoro's reaction: he jumps, retracting his hand as if he had burned himself, and his face has burst into flames as well, his usually tan complexion turning a bright red.

"Oh my God...!!"

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" Zoro almost shouts; he moves back so quickly he almost trips on his own feet "I didn't do it on purpose, I swear..."

"It's ok; I'm sorry, it was my fault, I moved... in the least appropriate moment." you admit, feeling yourself blush as well; you have never felt so embarrassed, and so naked, in your life, not even during your first session with Shanks' class "Zoro, forgive me, I made you... uncomfortable..."

He sighs, unable to look you in the eyes, his face still bright red as he covers it with his hand, standing five paces from you. "No, the fault is mine. Shanks always says an artist should never approach a model without asking for permission, let alone touch them... especially if they are naked."

He lowers his hand, gazing at it as if he could read his future in the lines of the palm; that is the hand he touched you with.

"I shouldn't have asked you to pose nude; I'm sorry."

"I'm perfectly used to it, as you very well know." you insist, desperately trying to ease the tension.

"Yes, at the school; I thought... it would be different now that you're here..."

Silence falls on the room, and between the two of you, for the first time since you met an uncomfortable, somewhat charged silence that you don't quite know how to interpret... as if you were standing over the edge of a precipice.

"I thought... you wanted to practice drawing clothed people, because it was easier..."

"I did." Zoro admits, as he retreats to his chair; he picks up the scabbard of the Wado Ichimonji, his fingers idly fiddling with the strap "At first. To be honest, I have felt ready to shift to nude drawing for a while, but I didn't want..."

"You didn't want...?"

"Oh, hell!" Zoro exclaims, finally turning to look at you; he seems angry, even though not necessarily at you "I didn't want you to think I wanted to look at you naked! I know you trust me because I'm Luffy's friend, and that posing naked is the rule, but I was afraid you would think that I had... designs on you and would take advantage of our drawing sessions to... to..."

He stops mid-sentence, but he doesn't need to continue; he has said enough, more than enough, to make your heart skip a beat - or four.

"... listen, let's just forget it, all right? You can get dresses, I can start over..."

"And you do?"

"... sorry?"

"You have designs on me?" you quietly ask as you slowly change position once more, sit on the sofa and then stand, only partially using your arm to cover your chest "Not that you would take advantage of me, or try to hurt me in any way; I know you are not that sort of man. But... did you ever consider having me naked in your house, while we are alone, could change things between us?"

"I... I..."

"That something might... develop?"

Zoro's face is still burning; he is stuttering, something almost unimaginable for a usually collected, self-assured man, but it is sweet seeing him like this... and you would lie if you said discovering you can have this effect on him is not exciting.

"I would not blame you for it; the heart has rules of its own, like my mother always says, and it's not like I'm the woman of your best friend or your step-sister. Also, I must confess... I would be flattered. And very happy."

A few more moments of silence follow, as you let Zoro fully grasp the meaning of your words, and he seemingly gives you time to recant them or elaborate with limits and conditions - something you have no intention of doing. You have known Zoro for six months; too little to speak of love, perhaps, or to make plans for the future, but more than enough to know that you like and care for him, sincerely and well beyond his undeniable physical beauty. You want to be more than a model for him... and you want him to do more than simply look at you, studing the shape of your hipbone or the position of your elbow.

Much more.

You are so engrossed in each other neither hears the sound of the house door opening. Zoro turns towards you, delicately placing his sword back against his chair's armrest; he is in full control of himself once more, not smiling and still five paces away, but the intensity of his gaze, the barely controlled desire in his brown eyes, makes you feel as if you could already feel his hands (warm, elegant, used to both wield a sword and hold a pencil, capable of being both gentle and strong) brushing against your skin, caressing it, worshipping...

"Are you sure?" he asks in the end, taking a single step towards you "Because I'd really like to..."

"Zoro, are you home?"

The voice coming from the corridor outside the living room is masculine, refined and more mature than that of the young man in front of you; it expressed a simple question, the tone relaxed and devoid of tension, but both of you react as if a known criminal had just threatened to make the house blow up.

"My father." Zoro whispers, suddenly panicking; he looks back at the chair on which his sketchbook and pencils are still placed, close enough to the door anyone coming into the room would see them for sure. And if that someone is Zoro's father, the man who has no idea he is still attending the art school, years after demanding he withdraw, you don't even want to know what could happen... "Oh, God... cover yourself, quick!"

Zoro quickly grabs his night-gown, that he had left on the back of the sofa, and passes it to you; you take it, look at him, need just half a second to assess your priorities, and throw the night-gown on his chair, where it neatly falls covering his drawing tools.

"What...?"

A moment later the door opens. "Zoro, are you here? I just need... oh."

Until today you had only seen Zoro's father in pictures, like the one of the two of them at the fencing school hanging from the living room's wall, and you doubt Zoro had even told him about you, even just as a friend, at least until his father had noticed a trace of your lipstick on a coffee cup; therefore, this is your first meeting and God, you couldn't imagine a worst possible situation... nor, it must be acknowledged, a more memorable one.

Dracule Mihawk is a tall, very attractive man in his forties, with dark hair, a neatly trimmed bear, and beautiful bird-like eyes that earned him the sobriquet he is mostly known under. Zoro, who deeply respects him even though he still sees the older man more like a mentor and a future adversary than a father, told you he is gifted with an almost preternatural self-control, never letting himself be carried away by his emotions and very rarely reacting with joy, surprise or sadness when something unexpected happens.

You should perhaps be proud of yourself, then, since your presence in his house, and especially your state of undress, leaves the strongest swordsman in the world completely speechless.

"Zoro... what is happening?" he asks in the end, turning to look at his son "Who is this girl? Why is she... oh." he adds after a moment, averting his eyes "I see I'm interrupting."

Zoro quickly steps in front of you, who are staring at your feet as you desperately try to cover your most intimate parts with your hands. "She... she is my friend (name)."

"I see. I'll leave the you alone, I just needed to take some papers. I... apologize for disturbing you."

He nods at Zoro and then at you (who force yourself to reciprocate, fully aware that you must be red as a beetroot), turns, not noticing or perhaps not pay attention to the night-gown on the chair, and leaves, closing the door behind him.

For a whole minute both you and Zoro remain still as statues - or as models posing. "Do you think he suspected something?" you finally ask in a whisper, fearing your quick thinking was not enough to keep Mihawk in the dark. On the other hand, findinga naked girl in his home is technically not something the tutor of a young man should feel suspicious about...

"I... don't think so." Zoro answers slowly as he turns towards you; he is close enough you can feel the warmth of his body on yours, so close you could kiss him without having to move... "You... covered my drawing things instead of yourself."

"I did. Believe me, that was the most embarrassing moment of my life, but... I know how important it is for you to keep attending the art school, and that you don't want to disappoint your father, so I thought..."

Zoro grins as he takes your head in his hands; the purest affection shines in his brown eyes. He kisses you on the forehead and "I just want to make sure everything's all right." he quickly explains "He wouldn't take it out on you, he's not that sort of man, just... give me a minute, ok?"

"Of course. Can I take your night-gown if I hide...?"

"No."

You smile. "All right." you answer, and Zoro winks at you before following Mihawk out of the room. A couple of minutes, and pressing your ear against the door allows you to listen to the conversation between father and son.

"If you wanted to have the house to yourself for an evening you could have told me, Zoro. You're an adult, I would have had nothing against it."

"I know, just... I didn't really expect it to happen. And you're usually not at home at this hour."

"As I said, I had forgotten a few documents I had to look over with my new client. She's the girl you told me about, the one of the lipstick? Is she your girlfriend or...?"

A few moments pass before Zoro's answer; suddenly, you wonder whether he suspects you are listening. "Not yet; but I was planning on asking her tonight."

"Good. I don't mind if she stays the night, but if she doesn't, make sure your friend gets home safely."

Zoro promises he will. A minute later, the house door opens and closes, and soon after, Zoro returns to you, looking relieved but somewhat gloomy.

"Is everything all right?"

"Yeah, just..." Zoro smiles as he takes you in, still completely naked, clearly appreciating the view way beyond simply as a good subject for a portrait, but a moment later he sighs "I... don't like lying to him. I know he never wanted children, but he took good care of me for years; he deserves better."

"You're old enough to decide how to live your life, Zoro. I know your father is a swordsman, and I don't doubt he only wants what's best for you, but what's so wrong with liking to draw?"

Zoro tells you that for people like him and Mihawk, the sword is much more than a hobby or an interest, no matter how passionately one practices it - it is a call, a way of life, a purpose one has to focus all their energies and willpower on, and that leaves no space for anything else. "Truth to be told, the sword is my real passion; as much as I like drawing, that's what I have decided to dedicate my life to, the thing I would choose if I had to pick one. It's just..."

"Just...?"

"My parents could draw. They were illustrators, for books and advertising and other things; they taught me, and then since I liked it, they sent me to the school. I know I'm not as good an artist as I am a swordsman, probably not good enough to earn my living with that, but I do like it, and... and drawing makes me feel close to them. You know, as if they were still with me."

Zoro looks at you, vaguely apologetic as if he felt guilty for ruining the intimate moment you were about to share with his sad musings. You don't mind; if anything, you have discovered a new part of him, the insecure, uncertain heart of a young man torn between his dreams and obligations, between the devotion to his birth parents and the loyalty to the man who has taken care of him. A part of him Zoro probably does his best to keep hidden, because he is that sort of man, but that you have discovered, and you can't help loving it.

"What are you smiling about?" Zoro wonders as he rests his hands on your naked hips, his touch relatively chaste but possessive enough to make you shiver pleasantly.

"I was just thinking how happy I am Luffy convinced me to come pose at the school." you muse "I found a new job I really enjoy, some great new friends, and..."

"... and you met me? Is this what you were going to say?"

"Hmm, perhaps..."

You laugh; Zoro laughs with you. "I'd really like to kiss you now." he murmurs in the end; in the well-lit room, you can see he has blushed, just a little "If that's all right for you, that is."

"Of course it is."

Zoro's lips are hot against yours. You waste no time before kissing him back, messy and awkward at first, but soon your mouths learn to know each other, they find a rhythm to follow and pursue together, a wild, unrestrained dance that you feel already addicted to a minute later, and soon your tongue finds Zoro's in his mouth, and his moan of pleasure reverberates through your body.

"(name)... fuck..."

His hands are still grasping at your hips, his whole body tense; he's still restraining himself, not wanting to take more than you are willing to give, but the time for qualms is over, and you want Zoro to know that while this is not how you expected your relationship to begin, you don't regret it, far from it, and you have never desired anything and anyone like him, and his hands on your skin.

"Touch me, Zoro." you whisper, your lips still pressed against his "Please, I need you to touch me..."

He moans again, fierce and avid and hungry, as he takes your face in his hands and then lets an arm snake around your waist, pressing your body flush against his; Zoro is still clothed, but you can feel the effect your nudity has had on him through the fabric of his jeans. You roll your hips against his erection, just as his free hand descends to squeeze your ass, and you both whimper.

"Let's go to my room." he proposes in a whisper, and you eagerly nod. Zoro quickly retrieves his swords, while you hold his sketchbook and pencils against your chest, then offers you his free hand, and you let him guide you towards the corridor.

"In here."

The room is large but sparsely furnished, which you expected; the bed is the sort with the mattress, covered by a duvet, directly placed on the floor. "Nice." you comment as Zoro, whose hands are shaking slightly, retrieves the suitcase, to hide his drawing tools, from the closet. He turns, and grins - no, he smiles at you.

"I changed the bedding this morning."

"Which has nothing to do with the fact you wanted to ask me to pose naked, I'm sure..."

He doesn't deny it, but he laughs - an unexpected, happy sound that fills your heart with tenderness, and the desire to hear it again. Zoro places his swords next to the bed, to be grabbed at a moment's notice; you want to ask him whether he expects an assault during the night, but a moment later Zoro has started undressing, and it would be physically impossible for you to focus on anything else.

As you expected, he has the body of an athlete, without an ounce of fat, well-muscled shoulders and arms, a flat stomach... and a large scar marring his chest, clearly old but still evident enough to make you pause.

"Oh, God... who did this to you?" you murmur, your fingers brushing against the edge of the wound as you try to imagine how painful it must have been "Was it... during a competition...?"

"Not exactly. It was my father."

"What?! Zoro, he could have killed you!" you cry, appalled; he doesn't deny it, but looks distinctly blasé about it, as he explains he had officially challenged Mihawk, foolishly thinking he had even just a single chance of winning, and his teacher had to show him how tremendously wrong he had been.

"That seems... cruel... I mean, towards any students, and especially his own son..."

Zoro shrugs, as if he really didn't care, or perhaps challenges and duels between swordsmen followed rules you cannot understand. "I'm not saying it was pleasant; but it taught me a lot, and from that day, I have promised myself I would never be defeated again."

"Well, if you're happy..."

Zoro takes your hands in his. For a moment all you can do is look at each other, and while you are the one who had never seen the other naked before, you can see awe, and desire, in the brown eyes of the man who has seen you unclothed a hundred times already. He kisses you once more before accompanying you down on the bed, and from there your hands start moving, hungrily searching, caressing, stimulating, and a sensual symphony of moans fills the air. His lips close around your nipple, and you instantly forget how to breathe; your heart is pounding, a fire burning down in your belly, and you have no words to describe how much you want him, which means that you'll have to show him...

Zoro's erection is beautiful, heavy and proudly erect, soft green hair descending from his navel in a thin strip and surrounding the base; you look at him in the eyes as you play with it, your hand moving up and down around the thick column. Zoro sighs, a lazy and happy smile on his lips, as he bucks his hips. "Oh, God, (name)..."

"You like this?"

"I love this... oh, this is even better than I had imagined..."

He has to ask you to stop after a few minutes, and takes your hand in his. "I don't have anything to put on." he confesses, which startles you a bit.

"Oh."

"I'm sorry, I... never really needed them." he admits, as he rubs the back of his head, like you have already seen him do when embarrassed "I can... go buy some; there's a pharmacy across the street."

You reflect on it for a moment. "No; if you don't mind, I'd like you to stay." you answer in the end as you turn on one side, scooting even closer to him "We can... cuddle, that'd be nice as well."

Your idea is approved. In the next two hours you do much more than simply cuddle, exploring each other's body and exchanging your pleasure; you talk a lot, play, joke, and simply enjoy that intimacy and closeness you both want to experience together. Part of you is deeply disappointed you didn't get to have sex with Zoro, especially given you are almost embarrassingly wet and the touch of his hands is addictive, especially when you see his fingers disappear between your legs, but the evening is lovely all the same, your body and Zoro's locked in an embrace. You didn't revise for your imminent exam like you had planned, but given what you have spent the last two hours doing, you feel physically unable to care.

"I really like you, you know." he whispers in the end; he has found a pizza in the kitchen's freezer and now you're eating together on the bed, still naked like the day you were born, and it may be the company, but you feel as if you had never had a better meal. After all, you did tell him he could buy you a pizza as payment for your posing sessions... "Not just because I think you are beautiful."

There is a spot of tomato sauce on his lip; you smile as you clean it with your thumb. "You do?"

"Of course. And I think you're kind, and generous, and you care about your friends, and... what I'm trying to say..." he sighs, and then mumbles something unintelligible, but you don't mind, because you are confident you know already what he wants, because you heard him talk about it with his father, and you want it as well.

"I'd like that." you answer as you place the empty pizza plate on the floor next to the table and then lay next to him once more; it's not exactly the grand declaration of love you had hoped to receive sooner or later, but it is very Zoro, and because of this it is perfect "I'd like that very much."

"Are you sure?"

"Zoro, I don't know what else I could do to show you I like you as well. Now, I can't stay the night because I have class early tomorrow. What about we cuddle some more before I have to go back?"

Zoro happily takes you in his arms, smiling as you rest your cheek against his shoulder. "You know, a lot of artists are jealous of their models." he mentions, his fingers delicately playing with your hair "So I hope you won't let anyone else draw you, at least like this... and that you'll pose for me again."

"You don't have to worry." you whisper back as you turn in his arms; his hips press against yours, making you shiver pleasantly "I'll be your model, and only yours, as long as you want me to."