#oh yeah autumn colours are IN

[tommys-wings]

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[assortedseaglass]

Talk Refined - Chapter One

Michael Gavey x Reader

[Masterlist]

Summary: When Michael Gavey unwittingly insults a fellow Oxford student, they enter into a game of intellectual cat and mouse.

Content Warnings (this chapter in bold): Language, Smut, Saltburn Spoilers

Pool was never your forte. Truth be told, you were more of a darts girl. There was something though, in the soft click of the balls knocking together and the damp thunk of them landing in the pocket that scratched an itch on your over-worked mind.

Hilary term was coming to an end, and with it brought the dread that your extended essay title had been submitted. ‘“For the sake of some colour;” women as decoration, in response to Turner’s High Street, Oxford (1810)””. No going back now.

You’d escaped the January madness that had descended on your best friend, Esme. Like most other courses, she had exams at the start of the new year and spent her days in the library and nights in the pub. Much like now, come to think of it.

“You’re up,” you called to your friend as you missed potting a red. “Esme!”

“Sorry! Sorry,” she shimmied between the pool table and a few pub patrons, taking her cue in hand and leaning over the felt green. Click, thunk. A yellow sank into the corner pocket.

“Who were you talking to?” You indicated a man in his early twenties, eyeing up Esme’s backside as she leant over the table to reach another yellow.

“Bartender,” she missed the ball and passed the cue back over the table. You took it and swiftly potted a red. “Nice one. Just borrowing this,” she lit her cigarette with a metal lighter. When she was done, she tossed it back to the bartender and he winked.

The two of you’d met at a humanities and arts, inter-college social less than two weeks into your first term. Dress as your subject and be ready for a night of frivolity even Elagabalus couldn’t imagine. You’d found some of silk scarves in a charity shop, bought cheap pearls from Primark and gone as the Girl with a Pearl Earring. Outside the Blenheim was where you first spotted her. Dressed in a bedsheet draped as a peplos, she had climbed a lamppost and was swigging wine straight from the bottle. That is a girl I want to be friends with, you’d thought, and promptly beelined for her and begged for the bottle.

“You doing philosophy?” You asked after chugging the cheap merlot.

“Classics. And you, I’m guessing history-”

“History of art, yeah.”

The next morning, you’d woken in her dorm room at Brasenose, the autumn sunlight blinding and your breath smelling as if something had crawled inside you and died there. Esme didn’t mind. Her mouth was stained red from the wine and a hickey the size of Brazil adorned her neck. You’d been inseparable ever since.

“Bollocks,” you missed potting a red and, as Esme swept to grab to pool cue, the pub erupted in song.

“RUBY RUBY RUBY RUBY!”

“Ahah ahah ahaaaaaaaah!” Esme sang the refrain in your ear as she twirled you round, the cue discarded on the table.

“DO YA DO YA DO YA DO YA!?”

“Fuck’s sake,” It was hard not to smile despite your best efforts. You felt like a twat but no-one was looking at you. All were too busy singing to notice the two tipsy girls dancing by the pool table. In any case, the only person whose opinion mattered to you was the one spinning you in her arms. One wayward spin and bumped you into the pool table. Giggling, you opened your arms to be embraced once more-

“Oh shit,” Esme whispered hastily, suddenly standing straight and flattening her hair. “Got any lip gloss?”

“Erm,” you patted your pockets. “No sorry.”

“Damn,”

“Who’ve you seen?” you smirked, standing by your best friend’s shoulder and following her line of sight. Well, it could have been any number of students in the packed pub. There were some rugby lads, double polos with both collars popped. Pretty boy Felix Catton and his posse of poshos. It could have even been that girl Eleanor, now greeting a friend at the bar. Esme and Eleanor hooked up at the Brasenose Christmas party. Esme said it was “unexpected” and “not her usual flavour”, but you’d met her once after tutorial, and the way she looked at her tutor’s bottom as it wiggled down the corridor in her Peacock’s pencil skirt was not one of envy. “Well?” You asked impatiently. “Who is it?”

“There, blue check shirt, dark hair.” Esme pointed at the bar where such a man was standing. Two pints of lager in hand, he turned and seemed to look around the pub. “Cute, isn’t he? He’s at Brasenose too, doing English I think.”

“Oh right.” As a Wadham girl, you had never seen this boy before. You supposed he was quite good-looking, in a boy-next-door sort of way. You thought perhaps he would be bonny, were it not for the solemn expression on his face. He meandered through the crowd to a small table at which sat another boy.

The two were starkly different. Where Esme’s boy was dark haired, the other was fair. Esme’s boy was stocky, but even sat down the other was gangly, and while Esme’s boy clearly wasn’t an avid reader of Esquire, the blond boy looked like he’d rolled around Oxfam’s bargain bin in total darkness and worn whatever stuck; a pair of baggy cargo shorts pulled up far too high and cinched tightly with a black belt, a pair of Merrell trainers and a novelty tshirt. THIS IS HOW I ROLL. Below the wording was an anagram and equation.

If it weren’t for the middle-aged glasses and frankly atrocious haircut, he’d be quite good looking too. Two Oxford virgins; Trinny and Susannah’s wet dream.

“What’s his name then?”

“Oliver, I think.” Esme was licking her lips and fussing with her bangles.

“You look great,” you swatted at her hand. “And the other one?”

“No idea. They’re always hanging around together. Oliver,” she said his name with some uncertainty. “Oliver never says anything, the other one’s always talking a mile a minute but I haven’t really seen him about. Doesn’t go to any parties.”

“Him and the girl with-”

“Agoraphobia.” You said in unison. The characters of Esme’s college were more vivid to you now than those in a Dickens novel.

“I bet he does maths,”

“I told you, he does English.”

“No,” you tut. “The other one.”

“I reckon it’s physics.”

“Put a pint on it?”

“You’re on,” Esme smacked your hip. “Come on, there’s a table by the bar.”

Following the plume of her cigarette smoke, Esme led you to the sticky wooden table and ordered you a pint of Thatchers. She, a pint of Stella. At the table beside you both, Maybe Oliver and The Other One were talking quickly. Well, the maths-slash-physics boy was. Maybe Oliver was staring distractedly towards the other end of the pub. You looked over your shoulder. Felix Catton was settling down with another round of beers, his stupid eyebrow piercing gleaming in the low pub lights.

“Swap with me,” Esme whispered.

“What?”

“Swap with me so I can look at Oliver.”

You sighed and stood up, shuffling round the table to sit parallel to Oliver. Esme smiled at him as she sat down and he smiled back. When she giggled, you kicked her under the table. Now across from maths-slash-physics, you could see him clearly.

This close, you stood by your assessment that he could have been handsome. His light eyes were framed by not just those hideous glasses but thick, dark lashes. He had a jawline and cheekbones that would make Agyness Deyn jealous. His lips, though strangely curved were plump, and he had a distracting habit of frequently wetting them. But there was something so distinctly and undefinably creepy about him. He talked like a snake, quickly with hissed “s”s and “t”s. You noticed with unease that he barely blinked as he watched for any minutia in his friend’s reaction, and he moved with an almost jerky stiffness. All elbows and angles. This strange combination of beautiful and revolting made him impossible to ignore. Like catching yourself in the mirror after dying your hair. A strange feeling of the uncanny.  

He caught your eye, sensing you staring at him, and you quickly glanced at Esme. Shit. She’d been talking to you about something.

“-of course, it’s easy to compare the Iliad and the Aeneid, but really they’re very different.”

Aha. She was trying to impress, hoping Maybe Oliver would hear. “Oh yes?” You leant forward on your arm and wiggled your eyebrows at her. “Tell me more.”

Esme was clearly delighted that you’d cottoned on to her plan. Brushing her hair from her shoulders and leaning forward too, she continued. “Well, you have to start with the language. One is Greek and one is Latin. Now, we go through this in linguistics. Everyone has to get up to speed with their Greek and Latin so we’re all on the same level-”

You giggled and she kicked you under the table. Esme knew you already knew this and didn’t care. You knew that Esme was just showboating. When you kicked her back she got the giggles and glanced at Maybe Oliver. His eyes were still trained on the back of the pub, and she sighed, taking a gulp of beer. In perfect symmetry, you drank your cider and in the lull you admired the lengths your friend went to flirt with a seemingly average boy.

“-Jameson spends the whole time staring at her tits, completely ignoring the fact she can barely do her times tables.”

Esme choked a little on her drink and your eyebrows shot upwards with barely contained glee. This was far more interesting. You and Esme watched each other, communing telepathically about the intriguing conversation between the boys next to you.

“-times tables, Oliver!”

“Told you it was maths!” You whispered at Esme. Without a word, she got up with a smile to buy you another pint.

“-just fuck off and do history of art, love, save us all the trouble!”

You stilled in your seat, cider halfway to your lips. Did he just-? You ran the sentence over in your mind. “Fuck off and do history of art, love, save us all the trouble.” It wasn’t the first time you’d encountered snobbery about your selected study. Friends from school deemed it “hoity-toity,” and even your parents had worried about your career prospects.

“But what can you actually do with a history of art degree?”

You’d thought Oxford would be different. Surrounded by other young minds, eager for knowledge and an appreciation of the world around them, freshly opened up like your first bottle of champagne; long-awaited, exciting and with a little bit of bite. Just for the adults.

“Excuse me?” Your heart was pounding in your chest as you leant over a little and smiled at the pair of boys. You were proud of your subject but that eagerness to prove its, and your, worth was impossible to ignore. Oliver and Maths Boy looked at you.  “Do you,” you cleared your throat. “What’s wrong with history of art?”

The gangly boy scoffed and turned rigidly in his chair to face you. Like most other nerds, you’d expected him to shy away from anyone outside of his carefully selected circle. This boy, however, seemed to take up an enormous space in your mind. He was confident. Already taken aback by his vicious comment, that threw you even more.

“What’s wrong with it? It’s an easy option that’s become an elitist haven for the middle class.” He pushed his glasses up his long nose with a bony finger. “You ever met any of those ‘students’?” He put air quotes around that last word and you flinched, neck bristling with anger. You doubt he’d have noticed if you put your top over your head and did the Cupid Shuffle; he continued as if nothing happened.

“Load of public-school wankers spouting their useless opinions on aristocrats lounging about in gilded frames, just so they can justify getting a job in daddy’s gallery. It’s an irrelevant, niche subject for people who think their view of the world is superior to us mere plebs’.”

“Michael,” Oliver murmured. He turned to you, not quite looking you in the eye. “Sorry-”

“Here’s your pint,” Esme placed another Thatchers before you. Both you and “Michael” ignored your friends.

“You think it’s irrelevant?” You took a swig of cider without taking your eyes off him. Angry little prick, this fella. You knew the like; maths, physics, economics, law. The students were all the same. Thinking they were better than everyone else because they could swan off into the sunset with £40k job straight out of uni and reap the benefits that the arts provided them without any need to know better. The designer clothes and fast cars, the beautiful buildings they worked in, the nails on the woman ripping open the condom wrapper…

“What’s irrelevant?” Esme said brightly. She held out her hand for Oliver. “Esme, hi.”

“Oliver-”

“History of art, apparently.” You said haughtily.

“Ouch. Who said that?” Esme sat down beside you, still smiling at Oliver.

“Michael.”

“Who’s Michael?”

“Michael Gavey.” The man in question announced himself by extending a long arm in Esme’s direction. She shook his with slight shock and raised her eyebrows at Oliver. He lowered his head in shame.

“Our girl here’s a history of art student.” Esme patted your hand. If you, Esme and Oliver expected this to soften Michael, it didn’t work.

“Ah,” he smiled, mirth lighting his eyes. “That’s why you’re so tetchy. Which school was it then? Cheltenham? Roedean?”

“She went to state comp actually,” Ever your champion, Esme came to your defence.

“Scholarship student?” Michael sneered.

“No,” you rebuffed quickly.

“What’s wrong with that? Me and Oliver here are.”

“Nothing You were the one trying to get me to say it was.”

Michael smiled with satisfaction and an awkward silence fell between the four of you. The clink of glasses and drunken chatter continued around you. This wasn’t the first charged student encounter that had happened in this pub, nor would it be the last.

“I suppose you think maths is superior?” You folded your arms and raised an eyebrow. A challenge. Prove it then.

“Of course it is,”

It was your turn to scoff. “Why can’t there be room for both?”

“There is room for both. Mathematics is just more important.”

“Jesus,” Oliver rubbed his hands over his face.

“Mathematics is the foundation for everything. The modern world as we know it wouldn’t exist without it. Technology, healthcare, finance, governance, everything. It prevents chaos. Without mathematics, society would collapse.” He fidgeted in his chair to turn more vividly towards you, his hands excitedly grasping for something in front of him that didn’t exist. Maths, probably. “We create predictions and complex design systems so that life as we know it can exist, and continue to exist.”

He looked at you as though you should have been impressed. You supposed his excitement was quite sweet. In truth, you knew maths was important. History of art student though you were, you weren’t an idiot. You were at one of the world’s top universities for God’s sake.

“But what’s the point of existing if there’s nothing to enjoy? To live for?”

“Pardon?” What had he expected? For you to roll over and kiss his feet? Take him round the back of the pub for a quick knee tremble? “Oh yes, Michael, tell me more about Fermat’s conjecture! More! More!”

“Art is what makes life worth living for. Its history helps us understand politics, religions, societies and peoples of the past.”

“All that from staring at a Bruegels?” Michael looked at Oliver with a laugh, hoping for back up. Oliver was tearing up a beer mat.

“Yes!”

“Well, it’s never done anything for me.”

His arrogance and ignorance was astounding. This final comment was the drop that sent you overflowing with exasperation. “Yes it has,” you snapped. Michael glared at you. “Aside from what I literally just said, art has done everything for you. Take today for example.”

At this, Michael sat forward. He couldn’t resist a reasoned argument with concrete evidence.

“You woke up this morning at Brasenose, is it?” He nodded. “At Brasenose, in a dorm with Carol Vorderman posters on the walls, posters designed by graphic designers who studied art. Those posters line the walls of a building almost five hundred years old. From barely known architects to Powell and Moya, each added to its history with their extensive understanding of art and beauty. For some reason you then got up and decided to put on that God awful tshirt which, although many would believe otherwise, was designed to be aesthetically pleasing or visually arresting. The latter it certainly is. There you go. Art.” You were on a role.

“I’m assuming you had lectures or tutorial today? The book you read? The covers were made by, you guessed it, artists. You came here with Oliver and decided to get a craft beer because you’re a pretentious prick, and got the darker of the two because, and I agree with you here, the label is prettier. You’re gonna go home in an hour or two when you’ve had one too many pints and ogled that pretty girl at the bar,” you pointed at Eleanor. “Whose thong caught your eye above her low rises. Fashion? That’s art by the way and extremely influential on society ‘as we know it’.” You quoted him back and loved the way his lips quirked into a tight line.

“And thinking of her and her pretty thong, you’ll whack out ZOO mag and whack out a swift one over some big-titted page three girl in a pair of lace knickers that were designed by someone with a fashion degree. Art.”

Esme and Oliver stared at you. A manic, self-satisfied smile was plastered on your face, and when you downed your pint to cool down from the warmth that outpouring had exerted, Oliver actually smiled. Michael said nothing. Did nothing. He was entirely, utterly unreadable. You wanted to smack him.

He glanced from you to Esme, to Oliver and at last to his pint. Like you had done, he picked it up, finish it in three gulps and placed it back on the table. “Oh, sweet baby Jesus.” What the fuck was he talking about? He spoke to his friend as if you and Esme had ceased to exist. “Going for a slash. Get me another pint please, Oliver? Thanks.” He stood from his chair, unfurling like a stick insect, and made purposefully for the gents’.

Your mouth fell open. Esme chuckled nervously. “He’s a charmer,” she said to Oliver.

“Yeah, ‘scuse,” he muttered, shuffling awkwardly to the bar.

You both sat in your chairs, baffled silence befalling of you. “Well, no double dates for us then.” Esme said.

You laughed. “No date for you fullstop.”

“Yeah,” Esme glanced at the bar where Oliver was now waving at someone. You watched as he made his way over to Felix Catton and his friends. “Bit dull, wasn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Oliver sat down as the rest of the posho’s table cheered. “Though if he’s friends with Felix Catton…?”

“Didn’t realise you were so shallow?” Esme teased.

“I’m not! But the parties, Esme, the parties!”

“I know, I know, I’ll remember that Christmas one forever. Oh God, here he comes,” Esme shrank in her seat. Michael was weaving through the crowd back towards the table.

“Why isn’t he going to sit with Felix and Oliver?” You whispered. “He better not be coming back here.”

You and Esme watched as his approached slowed, faltering when he noticed Oliver and his pint were missing. He glanced around, looking at his feet as if to find Oliver on the floor. It was painful. Watching the realisation dawn on his face. You and Esme knew it before he did.

A hand raised in the air; he had spotted Oliver at Felix’s table. You watched, with pity and embarrassment, as Michael waved and Oliver turned away.

“Shit,” Esme said.

Hand moving to push up his glasses, Michael, with head hung low, left.

“Shit,” Esme said again. “Bet you feel like a bitch for shouting at him now.”

And despite his pomp and arrogance, his cynicism and creepiness, you really did feel awful.

Notes: The amount of research I did for this was wholly unnecessary. Added some links because 2006/2007 was quite a place. The script hit me like a fucking train. It says, “Back with Michael: CRUSHED.”

Many thanks to @thecruel for their help with the transcript of the Saltburn pub scene, and to @ewanmitchellcrumbs for the Michael Gavey inspo, your headcanons are always spot on.

Tags: @lexwolfhale* @theoneeyedprince @lovebittenbyevans @fan-goddess @ellrond @very-straight-blog @arcielee @tsujifreya @liv-cole @myfandomprompts @annoyingkittydetective* @elizarbell @solisarium @thekinslayersswordhand @nightdiamond8663* @slowlysparklyninja* @kate-to-the-ki @bellaisasleep @xxxkat3xxx @lacebvnny @moonriseoverkyoto @ewanmitchellcrumbs @moonlightfoxx @pendragora @aemonds-holy-milk @st-eve-barnes @sapphire-writes @babyblue711 @targaryenrealnessdarling @slytherincursebreaker @bottlesandbarricades @valeskafics @anjelicawrites @exitpursuedbyavulcan @barbieaemond @chattylurker @itbmojojoejo @humanpurposes @cyeco13 @heimtathurs @in-a-mountain-pool

*could not tag

[diejager]

oh for the love god that vampire!reader x 141 was DIVINE

More pleaaaaseeeee!!!!!!

Bar night Cw: blood drinking, blood, biting, possessive behaviour, mention of drinking, tell me if I missed any.

You latched onto Roach for the night out, pulling him into your room to eat before you went to the pub, a closed area filled with beating hearts and warm blood. You sunk your teeth in his shoulder, skin and muscle bending under the sharp poke of your teeth. He winced, groaning lowly and squirmed, you knew it hurt, remembering the time you were fed from and left to die, still living thanks to the benevolent act of your creator.

You pulled your teeth back and blood rolled down his shoulder, crimson ichor that felt warm on your tongue. You lapped it up, lips closed around the wound, tongue running over the stinging pain to smooth out his pain, your saliva acting as an anesthesia and numbing it before you’d heal him. You suckled his shoulder, a moan slipping through your sealed lips, gulping down his blood —ambrosia, it tasted like ambrosia, the Gods’ alcohol. You could get drunk on blood like humans got drunk on alcohol, stomach filled with litres of warm blood and mind woozy.

But you knew your limit and Roach’s, pulling away with a soft apology to him, whispering it into his ear, your breath tickling his lobe as you sealed the wound with a single lick. Your saliva healed people’s wounds when you wanted it, the magic of it finding root in your blood, the ability that rose when you were reborn. You used it when you fed on your boys, or when they were injured.

“Thank you, Gary,” you sighed, mind feeling clearer and stomach less hungry, having fed to keep your hunger in check.

It’s all right, you were hungry, he signed, his hands moving in the dark, knowing you could see the words. Are you feeling better?

“Yeah.”

Ready to go then?

Without another word, you led him out by the hand, fingers interlocked with his, lips spread in a cheeky grin and cheeks warm from your recent feed. You walked, hand-in-hand, out the base, the others unbothered by the familiar scene of your amiable character. Outside, basking in the cool, autumn air of London, stood the rest of the Task Force, four men waiting for you two to drive out of base to the pub you went after every mission for celebrations.

“Took yer long ‘nough,” Soap smirked, a teasing smile rising onto his lips.

“Thought we’d ‘ave to send someone to find you,” Price grumbled hiding his equally giddy smile behind his cigar.

“Sorry, I got hungry,” you flashed your fangs, sharp teeth glinting under the moon and eyes turning red, the bright colour of their blood.

Tag list: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @tallmanlover @distracteddragoness @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @konigsblog @havoc973

[midnightarcheress]

Simon takes you to the museum.

pairing: bodyguard!ghost x actress!reader cw: implied ptsd. 4 | gold rush masterlist.

the timid yellows creeping up the tree leaves announce the beginning of autumn, crisp air filling their lungs as they walk through the Tuileries Garden. Simon tries his best to act calm, focusing on how you make your way on the footpath around the octagonal lake, but the city’s sounds and the bustling crowd in the park keep him on edge, fingers rhythmically touching the dense fabric of his jeans for a faint sense of safety in the present.

despite his anxiety levels spiking, he still manages to appreciate the view. the remaining flowers from warmer days paint the grass with vivid colours and, on the horizon, he catches a glimpse of the Eiffel Tower on the other side of the river. the sun shines brightly in the sky, almost casting a golden halo over your head, the tender heat warming his brittle heart in a brief moment of peace.

“the museum is that way,” you look back at him, pointing to your left. ever since Daniel complied with your request for time off, you’ve been researching the perfect spot to spend your free afternoon, ultimately landing on the Orangery Museum. at least a museum is supposed to be a quiet place, Simon thinks.

“did you know that this building was actually a greenhouse?” you ask, walking through the entrance, “it was created to store the citrus trees from the garden, that’s why this side has so many windows.” your head tilts to the riverside facade and he silently hums, acknowledging you.

his lips involuntarily curve at your enthusiasm. the two of you don’t talk much on the daily, but it was endearing to see how happy you were for being surrounded by art, and he didn’t mind hearing you babble about the paintings. or about anything, honestly. the sound of your voice was soothing, pacifying the nerves that had been eating his insides since he stepped out of bed. 

“oh, those are my favourite!” you tug on his forearm, pulling him into an oval room with huge panels, the tiny inscriptions on the side reading ‘Claude Monet’, “those are water lilies, y’know, the flower? he did two-hundred-and-something paintings based on a pond in his property, can you imagine that?” 

“they’re pretty,” he mumbles, observing the thin brushstrokes. art is far from his strong suit, but he liked how the paintings captured the fickles of light and how they lacked the usual restrained aspect seen in other pieces – they seemed relaxed, floaty, free. so different from your life. maybe that’s why you loved it so much.

you drag him through the whole exhibit, explaining little details of the museum, the garden, the techniques, and he listens closely, his attention never leaving your mouth, completely entranced by your words. he didn’t feel the weight of the duty nor the need to protect you there, it was a different world. your own little bubble, and you allowed him inside. 

his hand brushes on your shoulder while exiting the building, guiding you through the door. he’s not keen on being outside again, sirens already buzzing in his brain with the idea of potential threats lurking in the shadows.

trying not to let the perpetual concern flood his mind, he clears his throat and sparks up conversation, ignoring the rules pairing over his head. no talking, no touching. “so, how did you learn so much about... all that?” he gestures back to the museum.

“oh, uhm, i used to paint,” you start, hiding the smile sneaking up your lips at his unexpected interest, “took a course in art history too.”

his eyebrows raise. “used to?” 

“yeah, when i had more time to myself,” he notices your sigh, studying the sudden solemn expression that outlines your face. your beautiful face, “but i wasn’t very good at it.” you chuckle, downsizing your abilities, and he snorts, not fully believing you. it’s the first time you’ve seen him showing any sort of emotion besides indifference, and he prides himself on the surprise gracing your features. 

it was nice, walking with you. not behind you. did he enjoy the view? yes, but this – him by your side, arms swinging together, matching steps – was real. genuine. it almost felt like a date, not that he would ever dare to say it out loud. everything was perfect.

until it wasn’t.

it happened so fast. a loud blast on the street made Simon wrap an arm around your waist and pull you to the nearest alley, one hand firmly pressing you against his chest and another holding your head, broad shoulders covering your body as the intense blood pump on his ears muffle the deafening ringing rattle. he stays in the position for a while, blown-out pupils frantically darting around and searching for any indication of danger. 

he takes a deep breath and his head dips down to you. for a minute, the only thing he sees is the gash on your forehead and your bleeding eye. you’re paralysed, partially because your brain is still catching up on what’s going on, and partially because his tight grip doesn’t admit any movement. 

“Ghost? what’s wrong?” the scared tone of your whisper readjusts his vision to what really is in front of him – you. safe, without a single scratch, tucked in his arms with a strength he hadn’t used to this extent in a long time. and he feels bad, pathetic even, because nothing happened. the blaring sound was a car crash in the avenue, not a grenade destroying everything in sight.

“it’s nothing” he pulls back, averting your eyes like the plague, “i'm sorry.” stupid. 

you frown, overlooking his avoidance with utter sympathy, “are you alright?” he grunts, unintelligibly, reverting to his cold stance and nodding. you don’t buy his half-answer, but decide that it’s better not to pry.

he knew it was coming, the uneasiness brewing in his gut was only waiting for the right trigger to crawl up his oesophagus and spill all over you. 

the rest of the walk is quiet, with him returning to his position a few steps back. never should’ve left. you sneak glances at him, checking, but his gaze seems too far gone. next thing he knows, you’re both on the jet, Daniel snoring in the front seat, him looking out the window, lost in thought. of course i'd fuck up. 

he barely hears when you approach him, trembling fingers handing him a card. the card. you’re trusting him. he glares at you for a second, hazel irises shifting between your spooked appearance and the paper. ‘don’t like you travelling without me, darling. i’ll be waiting for my souvenir  – your prince.’

i've never been to france lol. and yeah i had a monet phase when I was fifteen.

little fun fact - the painting in the fic masterlist is part of his water lilies series.

[erospandemos]

Night-time Getaway

Saerom x Male Reader

Length: 3.1k

A little gift for my friend Vidro.

You take Saerom on an impromptu date to distract her from her stress and the night ends better than expected.

The wind of a late autumn night was perfectly chilly, just enough to feel the breeze caress the skin without needing more than a hoodie. The street was completely quiet. If you were to listen carefully, maybe you might have noticed the buzzing of the street lamps and the few shop signs that were left turned on. The colours warm up your eyes, it’s the pumpkin orange that you see in every store and café at this time of the month, and you can see it even at night through the lights.

You take your usual route to the park through the only unlit side of the meadow. Although you can barely make out anything, you’ve memorized all the necessary steps so you have nothing to worry about. 

You can see a figure on the hill, her familiar silhouette is illuminated by the moonlight. She was dancing and humming a song, without much emphasis, just softly outlining the moves. You can already feel yourself smiling before you even get to see her smile while walking towards her. 

You stop to listen to her, to watch her dance. It’s a lucky opportunity, you don’t usually get to see her ‘perform’. She was just in the middle of moving her hair when she heard your steps. You curse yourself for ruining the moment and she curses herself for not hearing you sooner. She stands still for a moment, with her flatly embarrassed smile, and tries to cover her face with her hair. She grabs a handful of the strands and looks away, concealing every inch of her skin.

“Sorry, Saerom, I didn’t mean to stop you…” you say, chuckling at her cute behavior. 

“How long were you there for?” she mutters, still keeping her face covered. You can barely hear her words.

“I just got here. Well, you were dancing so well, I just couldn’t help but… look at you.”

“What’s wrong with you…?” Saerom whines and nervously paces around, making circles in the grass. You can hear her smile in how she talked, the fluster in her voice was so irresistibly cute. Her eyes flicker back and forth, between you and the ground.

You chuckle and make your way to her side. You pat her shoulder and sit down on the ground. Saerom takes a seat too, slowly unraveling herself from the hair. 

“New choreo?” you ask.

“Yeah.”

“Was it yesterday or…?”

“Today. She showed it to me to teach me to have more groove,” Saerom says. She looks away to the city and can only find the blue sky cut by the black shape of the buildings. This park was her favorite escape, a place she could go to whenever she needed, whenever she wanted. And in this place, she’d always find her favorite person, to whom she could confine any thought or worry. 

“Are you having a hard time?”

“It is… a little challenging, I’d say. It’s not very immediate—the groove—it’s really about feeling and I can’t really observe it.” Saerom is playing with the hem of her shirt. She is the type of person to get nervous and worried quite easily. The thought of being left behind was something that always haunted her even though her skills were already at an excellent level. You could call her a perfectionist.

She lets out a long sigh. “Will I ever get it right?”

“A lot of idols still don’t have it and they have been dancing for years. You’re doing fine, Saerom. You’re just fine-tuning small things now. You will figure it out.”

“I hope so…”

“By the way,” you change the topic, “Are all the members sleeping already?”

“Ah, the kids,” that’s how she called her members, having to constantly take care of them. “Yeah, they’re already tucked in their beds.”

“Well, done, Mom.”

“Yah!” Saerom slaps your arm and pushes you, to which you roll on the grass. “Didn’t I tell you already to quit calling me that? It makes me feel really old.”

“Oh come on, it’s basically what you’re doing, you shouldn’t feel offended. You’re just really good at being a mom.”

“I’ll punch you.”

“Sorry, captain.”

“That’s more like it.”

There’s a second of comfortable silence between you two. You take the time to stretch and she yawns. The wind howls and the strands of grass stand up in unison. Saerom’s skin shivers, she tries to make herself smaller, clinching her legs together, and hugging her chest, and you can see goosebumps on her arms. You give her your jacket, it wasn’t as thick but at least she wouldn’t have to wake up the next day with a cold.

Saerom turns with a surprised expression when you put it on your shoulders. Her big eyes as round as her lips, mouthing an ‘oh’. She offers you a grateful smile and slips her arms into the sleeves, snuggling into the oversized jacket.

She almost looks like your girlfriend. Almost.

“I know I’ve talked about myself for a while but how about you? Have you been resting? Like how the coach told you—how everyone told you?” Saerom asks you not in a curious way but with more of a scolding tone. 

You chuckle and rub your head. She already asked you this question before and you already gave her the same answer that you were going to give her now: “Uhm, actually no.” You couldn’t lie to her, she would’ve taken the truth out of you in five minutes or less.

“I already told you! You rascal!” Saerom pushes you with her shoulder. “You’re gonna faint or something.”

“I know, I know…” you say. “But I just can’t stay still, I have to keep myself busy.” You turn around to see if Saerom is being even a little understanding but you can only see her furrowed eyebrows on her stare of disappointment. “Well, actually,” you point your index at her, “Shouldn’t you also be resting?”

“Me?!” 

“Yeah, you. Didn’t you sprain your ankle a couple of days ago?” you ask with a big smug plastered on your face.

“W-well, my coach wouldn’t have taught me the new choreo if the injury was that serious right? I think I’m perfectly fine.”

“Did she know about the ankle?”

“No…”

“See?!”

“Besides, it doesn’t even hurt anymore!” Saerom tells you. “You were the one taping it for me. It doesn’t hurt a single bit.”

“Whatever you say…”

You both giggle. If you wanted to, both of you could come up with endless excuses all night long without getting tired. It was helpless, you knew it. 

Saerom sighs for the second time this night. “It’s been kinda hectic these days, hasn’t it?”

You hum.

“It’s just that a lot has been happening all at once. I need a break.”

You think for a moment and get an idea. There was a bowling alley 5 minutes from the park. It wasn’t the best place—just a cheap option for kids that want to skip school or just a good stop to have a chat. But it opened very late and it’d be a good place to pay a visit right now. 

“Hey, wanna go to the bowling?”

“What? Bowling?”

“Yeah, the one near the ice cream shop, it’s pretty close.”

“But I don’t have any money on me—”

“I’m gonna pay for your ticket, don’t worry. Consider it a gift.”

“Oh, w-well thank you…” Saerom can barely speak that you have already stood up and taken your hand. You give her a quick “let’s go” and guide her to the place. She follows you without complaint. You take confident and quick steps but have to slow down to match Saerom’s pace. You walk by her side and listen to her rambling about her days. 

Saerom’s beauty under the contrasting lights of the moon and the street lights looks artificial. You often space out, just observing her eyes, angular and mesmerizing—they’re so captivating and expressive that you can make out whatever she was saying by just observing the movement of her eyelids. Her smooth skin beautifully glow and you simply can’t look away.

She catches you looking more than once. Saerom would turn around, see your enchanted gaze, understand that it was because of her, and then hide her embarrassed smile away. After a while, she’d forget that happened, talk again, turn around again, and it’d happen again.

You arrive at the bowling alley later than you should have because you wanted to hear more of her voice and she wanted to be beside you as much as possible.

The dimly lit, retro-themed bowling alley was bathed in a nostalgic glow. Neon lights flickered, casting multicolored shadows on the vintage arcade games lining the walls. The place has been opened for a very long time, it wasn’t ‘vintage before’, maybe just a little nostalgic but with time, it gained that new adjective. 

You pay for the tickets, and go to the lanes.

“You know, I’ve never been any good at bowling,” Saerom confesses as she sets her uncertain hands on the bowling balls. “I tried it only once or twice when I was younger.”

“It will be fine. I don’t think it’s difficult.” “You don’t think?" Saerom asks you. “Have you played this before?”

“Well…,” you start, stressing the syllable, “does Mii Sport count?”

Saerom laughs. You love how organic and sincere her laughter is. It’s uncomposed, a bunch of hiccups of air messily stacked together, bouncing between high yelps and low giggles. It’s because you don’t judge her and because she doesn’t have to act as if there was a camera or microphone recording her. 

“I swear I was the absolute best at it,” you laugh. “I always strike.”

“Yeah, and I bet all the miis were cheering for you right?” Saerom jokes.

“Exactly. Exactly. It was standing ovations all night.”

You each select a bowling ball. Saerom already knows how to put the fingers in the holes and has to spend a couple of seconds showing you how to hold the ball. 

She’s the first one to throw. She positions herself with her left hand extended in front. She takes small steps as she aims for the foul line. She backswings the ball behind her and releases the ball smoothly. She keeps her eyes on the target pin, the ball spins and spins until it reaches the right side and knocks down half of the pins.

She turns around with a surprised smile, her lips half closed. “That wasn’t half bad.”

“No, it was good. It was good.”

The machine clicks and springs as it puts back each and every pin. 

“Now, it’s my turn.” You aim for the center pin and mimic Saerom’s movements. You throw the ball, it spins a little, and it ends up in the corner, hitting nothing.

Saerom chuckles.

“You really lost your touch huh?”

“I—the oil made me slip, yeah the oil. It happens all the time.”

Saerom stops her laughter to raise an eyebrow at your ridiculous remarks. She points an accusing finger at you. “First of all, the oil is only on the lanes, there was no way, you could have slipped here. Second, you don’t even play bowling. You’re a liar.”

“We—well, it—I’m just not a regular player.”

“You don’t play at all.”

“That’s what I’m saying,” you say and shrug your shoulders. “Besides, that was just a warm-up. Your turn now.”

Saerom picks up her ball, taking her time to line up her shot. You were convinced she must have played it way more than just ‘once or twice’ when she was young. By the way she was moving, it was like she already developed her style, with a small hop before releasing the ball. It rolls gracefully down the lane and strucks the pins with precision. And… a perfect strike. Were you even surprised at that point? 

The crash of the pins echoes through the alley, and Saerom raises her arms in triumph. “Did you see that? You saw that, right?”

You applaud her, genuinely impressed. The lonely sounds of your clapping and her high-pitched screams bounce around the walls of the alley. Only accompanied by the mechanical sound of the re-pinning machines. “Okay, okay, I understand now,” you say.

The game continues, and you two go back and forth between her impressive throws and your miserable attempts. 

You go again, your eyes locked on the pins. You had to take down at least half. Or a fourth. At least. You release the ball with precision and it sails down the lane, knocking down all but one pin. You clench your fist as you hear Saerom’s excited clapping.

Saerom steps up for her final turn, her heart pounding with excitement. She knows that she needs a strike to win. She takes a deep breath, focuses on the pins, and sends the ball down the lane with all her might. Your and her eyes follow the ball, all the way down. It hits the pocket perfectly, knocking all of them down.

She jumps for joy, her victory assured.

You exchange high-fives and congratulate her. Usually in movies and shows, it’d be the guy that had to fake his lack of skills to make the girl win. Saerom, however, did it all herself.

“So what did I win?” she asks, her voice trembling from the rapid breaths she takes, the excitement still running in her veins.

“I already paid your ticket, come on.”

“Alright, you’re right. Let’s say I won my ticket.”

You were turning to leave with Saerom but as you moved, your head cast a shadow against the strong light of the two arcade machines in the corner, creating a stunning silhouette that glowed with a warm, golden hue.

Saerom's smile gradually fades, her gaze fixed on you. She watches as a radiant halo seemed to envelop you, and the time around her slow down. Saerom observes your eyes connecting with hers, a broad grin on your lips that sent a nervous flutter through her.

Unexpectedly, her shoe slipped. It should have been a minor mishap, but Saerom's mind was too preoccupied with the image of you in this new light. She stumbles forward with a force that might have left her with a bloody nose if it weren't for your swift reflexes.

In a matter of seconds, you were right in front of her, both arms securely around her waist, preventing her from taking a tumble. Well, at least preventing most of it.

Saerom's chin rests against your shoulder as she caught her breath, her hands gripping your biceps tightly. Your fragrance envelopes her senses, and she can't help but become acutely aware of how her body was pressed against yours.

You gently pull back to meet her eyes, raising a hand to sweep the stray, disheveled strands of hair behind Saerom's ear. "Hey, are you okay?"

A blush creeps up Saerom's cheeks, and the touch of your fingers against her skin sends a shiver down her spine. The breath seems to escape her lungs as she lifts her head, bringing her nose tantalizingly close to yours.

For a moment, there was silence, a moment where your eyes locked onto hers, and Saerom could hear the sound of her own heartbeat.

"Yeah, never been better," she finally manages to reply, her voice filled with warmth and affection.

It might have been the third time this week she found herself enchanted by your image. She has lived long enough to understand that the cause of all of this was her heart. It was your fault. 

As you walked her back to her dorm, she kept stealing glances at you. Maybe this was the right occasion, in the silence of the night, with no witnesses.

“Hey,” Saerom calls your attention.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you for today.”

“Oh, it’s no problem.”

“And thank you for always,” she says. “You always take care of me, even for the stupidest things.”

“You do the same with me Saerom,” you chuckle. “If it wasn’t for you, I’d always skip lunch. You cook for me almost every week. You might as well become a cook.”

She laughs and turns her eyes down. When she raises her head again, you see that there’s more in her eyes, she wasn’t just thanking you. 

The way you look at her feels like a magnetic pull, like a strong current drawing her in. When your fingers brush against her, it's as if all the barriers she's put up are suddenly crumbling. She can’t look at you in the eyes and she hugs you. "I think I'm starting to have feelings for you," she blurts out, and you react with wide-eyed surprise.

You stand there, stunned for a moment, your grip on her waist loosening slightly as you stammer, "I, um, what?"

Saerom just shrugs and bites her lip, avoiding eye contact. "I've never felt like this when I'm with anyone else. It's kind of frustrating."

Your response has a hint of shyness for the first time. "But I wouldn't want it any other way."

Taking a shaky breath, you let her words sink in. Despite all the playful flirting, you've never let yourself hope that she might feel the same way you do. Saerom has always been guarded, keeping her emotions locked away, and you're happy just being her friend. Even though your heart secretly wants more, that friendship is enough.

“I can truly be myself around you and… it’s so liberating. Whether I have a bad day or a good one, I just want to see you.”

With your bodies pressed close, you suddenly become hyper-aware of the situation. You notice how tightly she's holding onto you, how close your faces are. Maybe you aren't just friends after all.

It's only when a long silence hangs in the air that Saerom shakes her head and says, "Just forget I said anything."

Instinctively, you reach out and hold onto her hand as she tries to pull away. "I feel the same way."

Her eyes meet yours, searching for any sign of dishonesty, and you can see a different kind of vulnerability in her gaze, a hope for love mixed with fear of rejection.

"I really do," you say in a hushed tone, gently tracing her cheek with your hand, giving her a chance to pull away. When your touch meets her skin, her eyes close in a moment of sheer happiness, and she leans into your hand. It’s reassuring. 

“Sorry, this isn’t exactly romantic, for you to confess to me in this wet street…”

“What are you saying, silly? I don’t care about that.” Saerom whispers, her words carrying a weight of genuine affection. 

Saerom gave you a peck on the cheek, just to seal the deal. She was still very shy. 

“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah.”

You wave at her, with sluggish movements caused by your momentary awkwardness and embarrassment. She exchanges a small wave and enters the dorm. You can hear her shoes rapidly step on the stairs, she was running. You let out the sigh you’ve been holding on until now and make your way back home. Maybe you’ll rest. So Saerom doesn’t get mad at you.

THE END

Written, 31 October 2023 - 02 November 2023

[kombuuuu]

Gwen Stacy x reader where she confesses to reader?

Ty!

I Don’t like Dorks.

Gwen Stacy x Fem!Reader

“You do love me, though.” “Well.., S’pose you’re right.

GWEN FIC AS I KICK MY FEET GIGGLING 🫶

fairly short this time!

Autumn had been great for you, thus far. The falling of leaves mixed with the fading Summer heat had made a perfectly romantic scenario for you.

You couldn’t help it, Nature was gorgeous.

You could stare at the skies painted in orange and pink hues, streaks of light fleeting through the fluffed clouds.

And Gwen could stare at you. At the way the blur of colour would highlight your face. How the Autumn leaves made the colour of your hair stand out, Glint of the falling sun shining through your eyes.

She knew how she felt about you, it was your feelings that made her nervous.

Pavitr had told her,

—

“,The worst thing that could happen is she turns you down.”

“That’s pretty bad.”

“Hobie, Please.”

He sniffed, looking up to Gwen’s worry worn face.

“Yeah, sorry. Seriously though, if you can’t see how much she cares ‘bout you. You might be a little daft.”

“Hobie seriously, sentiment was sweet but work on the delivery.”

He grinned at Pavitr and raised his hands in surrender.

—

So here she was now, taken you to her favourite spot. Watching the city life with an air of serenity surrounding you both.

“[Name].” Her voice trembled.

“Hmm?” You tilted your head back towards her.

“I might be in love with you.”

A choked sound escaped your mouth and she cringed, watching you cough the ache in you throat away, head ducking between your hands.

She averted her gaze forward, keeping you in her peripherals. You righted yourself, coughing fit over.

She was in love with you?

“Really?”

“Please don’t make me say it again.” She chuckled as her face scrunched unpleasantly.

You tilted her face towards you, her eyes scrunched shut and her breath held. The feeling of your soft finger grazing her chin, guiding her face towards yours was increased tenfold by her willed blindness.

Her Spidey senses tingled, and she opened her eyes just in time for your lips to press onto hers.

She gasped against your lips, and you pulled away. Smiling at her, hand still on her face.

She grabbed the collar of your sweater, dragging you closer once more and kissed you back earnestly.

She felt you laugh against her, hands carding through the tuft of her shaved hair and scratching lightly at her scalp, sending pleasant tingles down her spine. She smiled into the kiss, pulling back to look at you. Blush evident on her face, she watched you smile brighter.

“I might be in love with you, too.”

She snorted, “Yeah, figures.”

“What—!, I had to be dramatic about it.”

“Dork.”

“Oh, but you love me.”

You playfully glared at her, the fingers hooked in your sweater collar twisting tighter.

She glared back just as gleefully.

“Sorry, I don’t like dorks.”

“You do love me, though.”

“Well.. S’pose you’re right..”

She smirked at you and kissed you again, quick pecs peppering your face. You lit up once more.

“Does this mean I can ask you to finally be my girlfriend?”

She peered up at your bashful face.

“If it means that you kiss me more, yes.”

—

i’m in love😣‼️

[nonushu]

11:07 am - xmh

genre: fluff [ a/n: fall is coming soon... goodbye summer & HELLO MINGHAO, you own this season, cutie ♪(´▽｀) I WANT TO BE SILLY WITH HAO SO BAD. p.s. i know it's still august ]

hand in hand, a day in autumn, minghao couldn't have it any better.

the park was oceans of fiery reds, burnt oranges, and golden yellows as this season embraced the landscape. he led you along the winding path, the crunching beneath your feet like nature's own band. the crisp air was refreshing, with a hint of earthy musk from the fallen leaves.

minghao, bundled in a cozy scarf and a long black coat, was grinning like a mischievous child. his usually sleek self was present visually, and knowing him, he was probably up to something.

“why do you look like your about to audition for a halloween horror film?” you remarked, kicking a large pile of leaves toward him.

he scoffed, letting go of your hand and playfully shoving you. “what, i can't admire you now?”

you let out a giggle. "no, but you're just smiling weirdly."

minghao lowered his gaze to the leaves in an attempt to shy away, because why wouldn't he be smiling like an idiot while he was with you?

suddenly, a gust of wind swept through the park, sending a flurry of leaves swirling around you. minghao caught a few in his hair, his gaze now meeting yours again in shock.

you stifle your laughter as you watch him try to brush the leaves off. "hao—"

"great," he said, deadpan. "my hair is all dirty now."

you reached out and helped him clear the leaves from his hair, your fingers brushing against his scalp in the process. you hadn't noticed the playful glint in his eyes.

before you could respond to comfort him, he scooped up a handful of leaves and tossed them at you with that same childish grin. the leaves exploded around you as you squealed in surprise.

“oh, it’s so on!” you laughed, grabbing your own pile of leaves and hurling them back at him.

the lively fight erupted into a whirl of colour. minghao ducked and dodged, his coat flaring out like a cape as he moved. the park echoed with your joyful shouts and the crunch of leaves being scattered.

his laughter was infectious as he chased you, making exaggerated leaps to catch you in a shower of leaves. you retaliated with your own well-aimed throws, each pile of leaves landing with a satisfying chomp.

you lost track of minghao for a moment amidst the chaos. when you turned back, he was standing right in front of you, his eyes soft and affectionate. you were still catching your breath, not fully noticing his sudden proximity.

he gently pulled you close, his hands resting on your waist. with a tender smile on his lips, he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to the tip of your nose.

you blinked in surprise, your heart skipping a beat. “hey—”

"you know, y/n," he chuckled softly, his breath warm against your skin. "this feels like a rom-com more than a horror film,”

you only jokingly roll your eyes at him as you place your arms around his shoulders, pulling him down to face you. "oh yeah? at least we're the stars in it then," you whisper to him.

minghao snorts at this, lowering his head closer to you, his nose touching yours. without thinking, you take this opportunity to peck his nose.

now it's his turn to blink, but that doesn't linger for long before he holds you against him tighter with a chuckle.

love, minghao thinks, much like the changing leaves, has a way of falling into place when you least expect it.

[elliehase-blog]

Into the unknown

“Ah, Halloween. It makes the heart happy.” Patton turns the lollipop in his mouth, savouring the sweet taste, before removing it with a popping sound. He smiles. “There’s something about it.”

“Oh, there’s many things about it.”

Leaves crackle as Janus saunters past him. As always, he is impeccably dressed, a long coat, hat and yellow gloves. He stares into the distance and Patton wonders what he is seeing there through the autumn mist.

“Yeah, I guess you’d like it.” Patton shoots a smirk at him. “Everyone all dressed up... disguised as someone else.”

Janus spins around, eyebrows contracted in honest disbelief. “How is it that we’ve had so many of these visits and you still know so little about me!”

“Uh... ‘cause you don’t tell me anything.” Patton shrugs, his chest feeling strangely tight.

“You’re right, I don’t.” Janus’s face is illegible, and full of so many changing emotions that Patton becomes dizzy as he tries to decipher them all. “No one is disguised here. It’s just a little... make-believe.”

Janus starts to stare into the distance again, into the unknown. Silently, Patton nods, somehow uncomfortable near a Janus who is suddenly tame and attentive, not sarcastic or sharp-tongued as usual. It is so incredible, so unfamiliar, so not Janus at all, that for seconds it feels as if reality has received a crack, like a broken mirror that can only depict a distorted picture of reality.

And as if that wasn’t unusual enough, Janus begins to sing. It’s soft and gentle and Patton feels (against his will) very receptive and exceedingly charmed by so much beauty.

‘It’s exactly that,’ thinks Patton stunned. It’s the soft and gentle underneath the impregnable fortress that makes it so hard to resist him. If Janus were just cold and insensitive through and through, how much easier it would make this whole situation.

But he is not. He’s just pretending. Make-believing...

Janus lies to the whole world, just as Patton does, because what is their silence, what is their not naming their feelings other than that? A huge lie that piles higher and higher the longer it remains unspoken.

“You know, maybe things are going to be okay,” Patton says in a voice filled with hope that is bubbling hot and consuming inside him. “Maybe they aren’t... just a fantasy.”

Janus turns to him and a single painfully convoluted emotion glides across his face. “Yes,” he says, sounding softer than usual. “Maybe.”

The loveliest lies of all.

....

Oh my, this new video was so freaking cool! I loved everything about it 🍂🎃 the song, the setting, the clothes, the colours... and ofc this very adorable Janus and Patton content 💛💙 They were so soft, my heart! I just had to draw and write something about them 😊 And my apologies in advance about any mistakes in the text. English is not my mother tongue and I have no beta-reader atm.

[archipithecus]

Friends at the Table is a podcast focused on critical worldbuilding, smart characterization, fun interaction between good friends, and asking "what if X was Y? what if W could do Z?"

anyways here's a non-comprehensive selection of some times FatT asked good hypotheticals

(spoilers for Autumn in Heiron, Marielda, Winter in Heiron, COUNTER/Weight, Twilight Mirage, Sangfielle, and some Bluff City i think) (i know Spring, Partizan, and Palisade must also have good "what if X was Y?" but i'm still catching up) (this got way long so i'm putting it behind a readmore) (shoutout to Search at the Table at https://curiosity.cat-girl.gay/ for letting me do this) (also to Transcripts at the Table for writing this all down in the first place)

KEITH: What if I was a snow...hawk… ART: What if you're like, a Dr. Seuss animal? KEITH: Yeah! What if I was a star-bellied sneetch?

KEITH: (laughing) What if the bird was a can opener!

AUSTIN (as Zaktrak): It's like, what if a, what if a factory or train or a windmill could read a book?

AUSTIN (CONT.): And then he, he looks up, he actually has like a very… his build is kind of like, angular and… not thin in terms of like, weak? But he has a sort of… androgynous character about him, in terms of his like, what you would think of as like his body structure. And… very beautiful blue eyes. He’s sort of like, what if David Bowie was super black.

AUSTIN: And that's kind of like, the picture you get of her, is like, What if Fero was like, 30% less hyperactive? Still way more hyperactive than everybody else in-- the world? (laughter) but like, just a little more in tune, with the world.

AUSTIN: What if fire was matte?

ART: What if a—what if a 90s after school special needed some graffiti

AUSTIN: Yeah. He asks you, um... watching what unfolds, and there's, there's, it's--and this is the fuckin' nerdiest thing I'm ever gonna say; it's like what if A-ha's Take On Me was an AMV? Was an anime music video?

AUSTIN: Ali’s character, how did she describe her character, “what if Han Solo used to be Beyonce?”

AUSTIN: It’s like, what if the American government was just another American company?

AUSTIN: It’s like what if holograms did gifs, basically?

ART: You how like Han Solo’s always talking to the Millenium Falcon, but what if the Millenium Falcon-- AUSTIN: Could talk back? ART: Had a chance of, yeah, of deciding he was angry.

SYLVIA: For example. Like just p - yeah, what if they have psychic assassins there. Oh! What if this planet’s an alien? What if this planet is a psychic assassin? Which is a great sentence I just said.

AUSTIN: Yeah, I should note that this is also like "What if the Super Bowl was attended by high fashion models?", right?

AUSTIN: We don’t get a lot of elderly non-binary people. And so Saint Auger is like, what if someone you knew from Portland was 82?

AUSTIN: It’s almost like, what if a crown could be a dunce cap?

AUSTIN: It's like- what if there was a really enterprising twelve year old, who like, [laughs] made a physiology- uh, person- a physiology like, model, but with dirt and rocks and sticks. Also there's no face, the face is also just one of this solid black rock plates.

AUSTIN: And again, there’s just light streaming in through—I think this room is mostly, like, does not have a huge window, but it does have little eyelet windows at the top of the, towards the ceiling, that run horizontally along the room, and just like, bright—it’s almost like, what if colour could be shadow? Do you know what I mean? Like, what if instead of it being that a shadow crosses your face, it is this prismatic glow that moves across the group of you as this thing crawls around this space station.

AUSTIN: It’s like white and blue, there are stars, it- you know, I think that the- it’s, it looks like the way you might imagine like, what if the UN had spaceships?

AUSTIN: What if you mixed your- your selfhood, with the notion of wings. Or the notion of flight. Not just flying. That’s where we’re going.

AUSTIN: This giant battleship that’s like ‘what if a millipede instead of legs had guns and what if it was all around it’?

AUSTIN: This thing is like the size of like a major city. This thing is like, what if Manhattan was a battleship. And instead of buildings it had guns. Except now they’re made of weird black glass.

AUSTIN: The first time he showed up I described him as what if Canderous Ordo decided to have a robot body one day? And slowly began to replace it.

AUSTIN: There’s a little— Yes, it’s like what if a cow— what if Christian Slater was playing a cowboy from New Jersey, and also was Canderous Ordo. And also he eats through his hands.

AUSTIN: There is just this like… I think it’s just metal unfolding across space. Like, at some point Volition just kind of spat out a, a, almost, it looks like a cloud of ink but instead of ink, it’s metal. And it’s just unfolding indefinitely in space like a huge— like what if Akira, what if at the end of Akira when Tetsuo turns into a weird flesh monster? It was that but various types of metal, just like bubbling all over the place throughout space, and I don’t know how you deal with that! But suddenly in the middle of the Mirage there is just this, this ink splatter, this, this gaseous, you know, spread of metal.

AUSTIN: And it’s like — again, it’s like a pistol — it’s like what if a pistol was also like a curved sword, like almost like a scimitar or something?

JANINE: What if we do a live show, but the only live show we ever do is at Bakucon?

ART: Um, let me tell you, this is a nice coat, you guys. Um, I think it’s sort of like what if… What if a leather duster jacket was like an ephemeral idea.

AUSTIN: It’s like … I think the way I described it was, what if there was a Companion Cube that could have its corners pulled apart and in the middle is a weird glowing sphere?

AUSTIN: He has this dope, like, “What if the Millenium Falcon was a deep V?” Instead of just that little bit at the top, it goes really deep down. Or like, “What if Pacman was really long?” You know what I mean?

AUSTIN: Okay. You find him like, rolled under the bottom of his, uhh, or like on a, it’s not rolled under, he’s on like a little, like cart that has a pneumatic lift, or it’s like, it’s like a, it’s like a robot that walks around. It has like- it’s like a Boston Dynamics- like what if a Boston Dynamics, like four-legged robot was also a thing you laid on top of? Like one of those carts that goes underneath a car, to repair it. You know what I’m talking about?

AUSTIN (as Morning’s Observation): [exhales thoughtfully] Like what if milk was a solid.

AUSTIN: But it still has that ribbony-quality? [chuckles] It still has the sound of fabric rubbing on fabric? But is definitely amplified a great deal, probably? And also, we know it’s sharp, so there’s probably some… sharpness to it? You know… there’s probably, like… what if a ribbon could be a sword you pull out of a sheath?

AUSTIN: And also, Saint Sommer is a big lion man. Saint Sommer is, like… Skein. And is a big… a big… like, a big lion man. Not like Lion-o from Thundercats. Like… what if Scar could… had a big human body? Was, like… What if Scar was cut?

KEITH: And it sort of like, snap! Like, that, it's like… when we were talking about what the sound it makes, I was picturing… what if folding a blanket sounded like sheet metal?

AUSTIN: Yeah, yeah. I don’t know I think it’s like, I think this is very much like, what if the Venom symbiote was made of thread, right?

AUSTIN: So maybe it's like a- like imagine, what if a mop could just mop by itself.

AUSTIN: I won’t talk more about that stuff, but you already saw the big picture of “what if Connecticut was a space ocean,” so, you have at least some context there.

AUSTIN: It’s huge. It’s the size of a continent, right? It’s “What if South America was a big circle?” It’s “What if Europe and Eurasia was a big circle?”, constantly cast on this planet. And, you know, from space it kind of looks—not flat necessarily, right, because it’s a curved planet, it’s a sphere, or spherical, but, you know, it’s flat.

AUSTIN: It’s like what if Texas stood up.

AUSTIN (as Morning’s Observation): “What if cars brought things to you instead of bringing you to things?”

AUSTIN: It’s just like a very bright, colorful—like, what if Steven Universe did the Sailors of the Ark? What if that team did it? It’s very good.

AUSTIN: It’s like what if it’s a can opener that does that. Like a living can opener like. Grrrngaaah! I’m going fucking open holes in things! Grrngaah!

AUSTIN: Imagine that they're almost- in my mind they're like what if a martini shaker was a piston.

AUSTIN: It's like what if you could package a sunset, y'know? Into like a cube

AUSTIN: I can't believe we started this recording by looking at pies [KEITH and DRE laugh] that make me hurt and ended with ‘what if all foods could be jelly juice?’.

AUSTIN: I saw a big buffalo picture and I was like what if that was a person, that looks cool.

ART: But what if some of these skeletons are like, sick of this shit?

AUSTIN: I think I pitched this show as like: what if Ghost in the Shell but-but magic and witches instead of cyborgs and stuff?

JACK: So, out come this nascent organization who we’re calling Shapeknights. Who are -- I think the easiest way to say it is “cowboys for trains?” They are, like -- what if instead of the cowboy riding alongside the train on his horse, he was corralling the train? Or he was trying to understand the train, or was trying to --

ALI: I think Marn, herself is a little bit more like—like what if a capybara was a siamese cat?

KEITH: Yeah. So, I wholeheartedly recommend this movie, but if not, if you don't know what I'm talking about with the goggles, at least look at that. ‘Cause it's a good image. It's sort of like, what if you had a jeweler's loupe that had a jeweler's loupe that had a jeweler's loupe?

ART: It’s like, what if the antagonist won the Mummy movie right, this is what happens-

KEITH: What if instead of one, big, beautiful hat I have two small, beautiful hats?

KEITH: Like what if they made headphones just for being cool at a party?

KEITH: What if you make pizza by opening the box? That it was an empty box until you opened it.

AUSTIN: What if insects were made of teeth?

JACK: She’s the fuckin’ person of the train. She’s like what if a train could output a person.

KEITH: What if the train was a nice train?

ART: What if a Madame Tussauds came to life?

AUSTIN: What if fire could be a ghost?

AUSTIN: Looking through this here, sounds like what you wrote here was “What if a dolphin was like a velociraptor?”

AUSTIN: They’re hitched. Yeah, they've been hitched. Three of them have been hitched. And I said horse, but I want you to imagine is what if…what if a shrimp were a horse?

JACK: You sort of just like rise up the slope. It's a bit like what if a train was an escalator.

AUSTIN: What if Beyonce was Poison Ivy?

AUSTIN: All my cards on the table, Millennium Black is like what if Blade stopped being a vampire hunter and started being a casino owner.

AUSTIN: He's sort of like what if Alex Jones wasn't terrible

[kotikaleo]

Colours of LOVE

YEAH BABY IT'S BACK

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As always This story is inspired by @zu-is-here , @help-im-a-gay-fish, @jann-the-bean and some other people, and is about what if all characters we know are just actors playing they roles in some kind of TV shows. The names are the same, but personality can be different. :з

OH MY GOD I am so happy to get back to this project!! I am a bit sick (literary caught cold today, first day in the autumn) so I can't say for sure what schedule this comic will have. Hopefully one page every third day!

• Support me on Patreon! •

[undertalebabbleblog]

UTDR 9th Anniversary Newsletter Musings

(Here's a link to the newsletter if you haven't already read it: Autumn 2024.) (It's spring right now where I am...) (Eh, oh well.)

First of all, Tori blowing fire to light the candles, very cool, might have to draw that.

Hmm, that's a lot of a certain number... You know what, I don't even have to go into this, we all know what it's referencing.

An interview with Sans, heck yeah!

As I expected, it's a joke, but... uh... just me, or does it seem like it might be talking about something else? Not entirely sure what, but I'm sure there's already plenty of theories despite it literally only coming out today. In any case, it was very amusing and some classic Undertale humour. Also

Jeez, Tori, it's been years, you've already made your feelings about Asgore's actions clear. Give the poor guy a break. (Link to the full interview if you wanna read it: Sans: What do you think about the number nine?)

...Toby? Toby, what does this mean? TOBY WHY DO YOU MAKE THE MOST INNOCUOUS STATEMENTS THAT HAVE SO MUCH POTENTIAL MEANING BEHIND THEM ...This is... ominous, to say the least, given the Snowgrave route and the fact that Toriel might join us in the Dark World in Chapter 3... ...I'm just overthinking this, right? ..........right???

Toby, this is the Undertale fandom you're talking to. Since when have we ever been responsible with Sans or his AUs? You should know better than to trust us with this skeleton by now. *Proceeds to use cup for strawberry milkshake* ....Dammit, now I want to draw him with a bunch of different-coloured eyes... just because...

Never misses a chance to do this sort of thing, does he? (It has my real name in it, which I don't really want to show, so have some badly edited screenshots instead.) I have made butterscotch cinnamon pie before and it was genuinely delicious. Would love to bake one in that Toriel pie tray. ...I wonder how a fish and chips pie would actually taste, though...?

PERFECTION

I would buy every single item of this kitchen merch if I had the money.

*vibrating intensely with excitement*

Very nice, always cool to see unused stuff and concepts.

. . .

*Well, there is a man here. *He might be happy to see you. *What do you think?

...I overthink these things too much.

And finally, we get a letter.

My best friend's favorite number is nine. It's because there isn't a number that's higher. 9. 99. 999. 9999. If everything gets high enough, You become invincible. Nothing can hurt you anymore. Nothing can hurt anyone anymore. But isn't it scary, to think there's a highest number? That, if you made 99 good memories, you couldn't hold anymore. So I don't like to keep count of the flowers we pick, or the times that they laugh, or how many scary faces they make. I just hope we'll be friends for 999 more years.

(Couldn't screenshot the whole thing because it was too big, so I just copied the text. Here's a link to the original: Letter) On one hand, the spacing is kind of reminiscent of what we assume is Gaster. But on the other hand, it's not in all caps, and the language is different, and from what we know of the mysterious scientist (which is quite frankly very little), it wouldn't make sense. There is, however, someone else that would make a lot more sense.

*I'll go get the flowers. *I should have laughed it off, like you did... *Okay, [Name], are you ready? *Do your creepy face!

And most telling of all, "My best friend"...

It's. It's Asriel. IT'S GOTTA BE AZZY OKAY COME ON, THERE'S THE MENTION OF THE SCARY FACES AND EVERYTHING

...Ahem.

My hypothesis is that it's Asriel Dreemurr.

Aaaaannnddd... that's it for this newsletter! I needed somewhere to dump my thoughts on it, and that's kinda what this blog is for, so yeah.

A very happy birthday to my favourite game of all time.

If you have any theories or observations about the newsletter, I'd love to see them!

See ya next time, Pup

[fxlling13]

Spooky Season

Dh!Master x (fem)!reader

Wc:2.8k

Fluff fluff fluff.

Synopsis: The Doctor takes everyone to a cosy little pumpkin farm

“You make me laugh, (y/n).” Yaz scoffed as you walked into the console room. “It’s September the first, and you’re wearing a pumpkin sweater?” She laughed, leaning back on the console. You nod quickly, standing at the top of the steps.

“Of course! September first is the start of spooky season.” You explained, sitting a few stairs down. The pair of you giggled, she knew of your love for the ‘ber’ months. In fact, she helped you indulge in it, getting you a themed blanket the year prior.

“Do you think The Doctor will let me decorate my room here?”

“Oh yeah, she loves fun things. Not sure she’ll be a fan of all the black though.” Yaz realised, thinking for a moment. “It’s fine, you can bond with Mr Grumpy!” She beamed, making your brows crease.

“Mr Grumpy?” You asked with amusement, knowing full well who she was referring to.

“Well, he is moody.” Yaz chuckled. “But he loves dark and gloomy things. He dresses like a gothic vampire most days, in that Victorian coat.”

“It looks good though.” You mumbled and Yaz shook her head at you. Just then, The Doctor jogged into the room with a big smile on her face.

“Ah, you’re both here already!” She stood by Yaz, wrapping an arm around her waist. “Talking about anything interesting?”

“Just (y/n)’s love for autumn.” Humming in acknowledged, the blonde smiled at you.

”Yeah? Lots happen at the end of the year on earth, Halloween. Christmas.” She recalled, looking up at the ceiling in wonder.

“Halloween is the best!” You clarified, making the girls laugh a bit more. From nowhere, hands landed on your shoulders with a jolt.

“Boo.” A deep voice spoke loudly by your ear at the same time. You yelped, flinching violently. When you glanced back, you found The Master leering proudly.

“What? You just said you liked Halloween.” He shrugged, walking past you down the steps. Once at the bottom, he turned back to you and nod to himself slowly.

“Nice jumper.” He commented, your lips turning up again. You were wearing a black jumper, with different sized pumpkins sewn throughout. They were all odd styles and colours.

“Thank you.” For a minute, he froze, before pulling himself away and looking at the others.

“So what sappy place are you taking us today?” The Master asked, hoping no one had noticed his odd behaviour. The Doctor ran around the console.

“Well, considering the topic of this morning. How about a farm?” She suggested, already flicking buttons and other controls.

“A farm?” Yaz frowned.

“Yeah! With a pumpkin patch!” She boasted, making the girl smile again.

“Really?” You stood up hopefully.

“Yeah. It’ll be great. We can get as many as you guys want. Oh! And there’s a cafe there so we can get food!” Clearly, she was more excited about the idea than even you were. Still, you nod happily. The Tardis landed with a thud, sending everyone flying. You tumbled down the steps, The Master easily catching you. Holding under your arms, he smiled cockily.

“Falling for me?” You went red, pulling away fast.

“In your dreams.”

“Ok you two, stop flirting. Pumpkins to pick!” Yaz chortled, not helping your flushed state at all. Shaking her head, The Doctor pulled Yaz outside with a huff. The Master, still smiling, extended his hand towards you. You raised your eyebrows.

“Come on, you can at least hold my hand right? Or is that too much?” He joked, but you held his hand regardless, allowing him to guide you out of the tardis. It was sunny outside, but not too warm with a small breeze. Having landed in a woodland area, your small group walked for a few minutes before seeing the white farm building. The chipped walls were enough to tell you just how old it was, sat on vast, lush land. There were animals dotted around some of the fields, a path heading up a small hill. Upon getting to the farm, you were greeted by an old lady.

“Here for the pumpkin festival dears?” She inquired, face filled with joy. There were many others already there, mostly families and couples.

“Yep.” Yaz stepped forwards, pulling out her phone and paying for your tickets. Being let through, you walked by her side, tugging the male along.

“You didn’t have to pay for us all.”

“It’s fine. Lunch is on you.” She chuckled, nudging you playfully. But you smiled, happy with that arrangement. Traipsing up the shallow hill, you came to find the pumpkin patch. Surrounded by a worn, dark oak fence, it had a wooden arch as its entrance. On a big sign above, “pumpkins here” was written in cursive, expertly done. Rows of the root grown plant went on far and wide, people of all ages trying to find the perfect one.

“We’ll meet you down by the cafe.” Yaz said, hastily taking the Doctor off in a random direction.

“And then there were two.” The Master drawled, looking down at you.

“Awe don’t sound so happy. I know you love me really.” You elbowed him gently, walking ahead into the vast amounts of orange and green. He watched you for a minute, unaware that he was smiling. Turning back, you tilted your head. “Come on!” You reached out, the man chuckling and joining you swiftly. He followed behind you, your hair swishing with every step.

“We have to find the most round, most plump, most orange pumpkins to carve.” You said with certainty, scanning your surrounding area.

“Hm. If you say so.” The Master started walking by your side. “Why plump?”

“So I can use the innards to bake.” You clarified.

“You said that so…threateningly.” He laughed, placing a hand on your back as you both went along. Leaning closer to the man, you felt more relaxed that way.

“That one!” You almost yelled, carefully running between the vines. The Master observed you with fondness, going at a much more casual pace.

“This one?” He asked, standing opposite you. You nod, eyeing the large pumpkin. “It’s massive, (y/n).”

“Exactly. It’s perfect!” When you smiled at him, he was already doing the same. There was a look in his eye that you just couldn’t describe, almost like he was entranced. Trying not to get flustered from his intense gaze, you moved to pick the pumpkin up. In a flash, The Master was behind you, his hands on your waist and stopping you from bending. Your cheeks went red, looking back at him with a bashful confusion.

“You’re wearing a skirt.” He stated simply, not letting you go. “There’s lots of men around here.”

“There’s girls too.” You pointed out, a slight wobble in your inflection. Humming, he turned you to face him and brushed your hair back.

“Statistically, men are more likely to be predatory. And I don’t really want other men looking at you like that.” The Master spoke sternly, making your blush worsen.

“So you tell me what it is you’ll like, and I’ll do the lifting. Okay?” It was more of an instruction than a question, but you bobbed your head regardless. Grinning, he kissed your head sweetly, before bending down and cutting the stalk carefully. Still in shock, you just gawked at the noirette. Once the pumpkin was free, he lifted it with ease.

“Wait, other men?” You realised what he said, eyes shooting to him once again. He just shrugged nonchalantly.

“See any others you like, dear?” Your heart was hammering in your chest, all the while he seemed unfazed. Shaking your head, you started looking around once again. When your head was turned, you couldn’t hide your shy smile.

———

Three pumpkins and a wheelbarrow later, the two of you went to pay. There was a small gazebos at the top of the hill you had climbed. A man stood inside, with his cash box and weighing scale. The Master wheeled the pumpkins to him, greeting the man quietly. Going to pull out your phone, he stopped you quickly.

“I dropped something.”

“What?” You were perplexed.

“Outside, I’m pretty sure I did.” He said, hands searching his coat.

“What do you even own?” You asked and he just gave you a serious look. Realising it may have been some sort of weapon, you rolled your eyes before looking at the man. “I’ll be two seconds.” You apologised before heading back outside. After scouring the area nearby, you found nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing at all. Even with all the children around, the grass was clear. “Ready to meet the others?” You jumped, finding The Master, and wheelbarrow, now behind you.

“Hey I haven’t paid yet.”

“No. I did.” He shrugged, placing a hand on his hip. Your face softened, taking a few steps forwards.

“You did?” You asked bewildered, struggling to keep up as he made his way back down the hill.

“Yep. Do you think people will take them if we leave them out here?”

“Huh? Oh no. They have the red stickers on them.” You answered still confused, watching as he left them by the entrance to the cafe.

“Yes but humans are conniving and selfish.” He spat, earning a hurt look from you. Letting out a breath, The Master moved and cupped your cheeks. “You don’t count, obviously.” You couldn’t help your smile, leaning into his hand contently.

“Thank you, for buying them.”

“You’re welcome, sweets.” He laced your fingers together, guiding you into the cafe. It wasn’t a very big building, but spacious enough that it was cozy. With a cracking fire on the back wall, rustic brick walls and old wooden floors, you loved it. The Master took you to the table right by the fire, allowing you to sit closest to it. You smiled widely, shuffling closer to him once he sat too.

“How long do you think the others will be?” You pondered, admiring the paintings in the room.

“No idea, you know how The Doctor is. She’s like a magpie.” He muttered, picking up a menu and letting out a breath. After a moment of internal debating, you rested your head on his shoulder. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to mind at all, adjusting so you could see the menu too.

“I think you’ll want this page.” He flipped to the other side, showing you the different cakes, bakes, cookies and more. Pressing your cheek to his arm, you giggled quietly.

“You know me so well.” You commented, eyes flittering over all the options.

“Of course, I do notice these things.” The Master said, looking at you proudly. Pressing your lips together, you suppressed your happiness badly.

“You’re quite sweet. Even with all the evil plans you have.”

“Ah, but you’re always safe with me, are you not?” He pointed out, clearly smug.

“Of course I am.” Hugging onto his arm, you began to feel doubt and nerves creep into your mind. Even though he didn’t seem to mind, you found yourself asking, “Doesn’t it bother you?”

“What?”

“Well, I know you’re not a very touchy, affectionate person. And I am. So does it not bother you? That I’m like this?” You kept your eyes on the table as you spoke, on the different shades of wood-stain used. Tentatively, The Master tilted your chin up trying to meet your gaze.

“It’s different when it’s you.” He reassured, thumbing the apple of your cheek. “My emotional support human.” You blushed, lips twitching up slightly. “Plus, you’re different. You’re spooky. I like it.”

“Like a witch?” You beamed, back to your normal self.

“No, you’re far prettier than a witch.” He chuckled, causing you to cover your face in embarrassment.

“What have we walked in on then?” The Doctors voice came from nowhere, but you were unmoved. Huffing in annoyance, the male just looked at her bored.

“Nothing. Hurry up and look at the menu. We’re hungry.”

“Alright calm down.” Yaz laughed, looking along with the blonde. “Oh I don’t know.” She mumbled, rereading it again.

“You’ll get something warm, like soup.” Both women looked at him with surprise.

“Yeah you’re right I was going to. How did you know that?” Yaz almost laughed again, letting The Doctor take the menu for herself.

“Because you always do. Just Like The Doctor will get the custard tart.”

“Oh custard tart!” The Doctor beamed at the exact time The Master said it. She looked over at him with a faux glare. You giggled, watching them interact.

“See, I’m very attentive.” The Master boasted, subtly bringing you closer as he moved. Sadly, he had to stand up. “Shall we do the ordering?” He asked his old friend, to which she nod and got to her feet.

“Wait I didn’t even tell you what I picked.” You said quickly, sitting straight. Simpering, he just pat your head twice then went to the counter with The Doctor.

“He’s so into you.” Yaz spoke, gaining your full attention. You blushed, shrugging softly.

“You think so?”

“Even The Doctor knows, (y/n).” She pointed out, putting the sugar jar in front of her girlfriend’s place ready. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself. “Look at you. You’re lovesick.”

“Oh stop it.” You shot back weakly, earning a chortle from her. Turning around, you observed the aliens in such a human setting with fondness. “Can I be a bridesmaid?” She asked, resting her head on her hands. You just scoffed returning to face her.

“Only if I can be for you too.”

“Oh, of course. Who else would I pick?” The pair of you laughed together, unaware of the others coming back. The Doctor carefully placed a tray on the table, sliding it into the middle.

“What are you two giggling about?” She questioned, sitting once again.

“Nothing important.”

“Yeah nothing for you two to know about.” You confirmed, The Master taking his seat next to you.

“Yet.” Yaz finished, causing another fit of laughs. The time lords exchanged looks, as if speaking through osmosis. Humming, the man put a teapot in front of you, along with a mug and small pot of milk.

“Whatever you say.” He murmured, your eyes lighting up when you saw the brownie he had gotten you.

“Before you ask, yes it’s been warmed up. And-“ he took a small dish and sat it next to your cup. “-cream to your liking.”

“Thank you.” You smiled happily, making yourself a nice cup of tea. The Doctor did indeed have a custard tart, as Yaz had a bowl of steaming tomato soup.

“You three and your sweet tooth’s.” Yaz rolled her eyes, buttering her bread. Turning your head, you saw that The Master had gotten himself a slice of cake. With a cherry on top too. A glacier cherry.

“Do you want it?” He suddenly asked, making you jump a bit. You furrowed your brows, him putting the sugary ‘fruit’ onto your brownie before you could speak.

“They’re more sappy than us.” The Doctor commented, adding multiple sugars to her brew.

“I know. And they’re not even dating.” Yaz added with a grin. You busied yourself with adding a bit of cream and nibbling on your brownie.

“Give us time.” The Master casually said, causing you to choke. He was quick to pat your back. “Easy love, I need you alive for that to happen.”

“Leave the poor girl alone.” The Doctor laughed, handing you a napkin. Your cheeks were bright red, heart racing as you wiped your mouth. Still, you were smiling, gazing up at The Master shyly. He smiled back, giving your nose an affectionate tap before sipping his coffee.

“So after here, let’s watch horror movies while we carve them yeah?” Yaz was sounding more autumnal now, eagerly suggesting her idea.

“That sounds perfect, what film?” The Doctor glanced at everyone there.

“I say The Exorcist.” The Master added his input, the group collectively groaning.

“Maybe after, on the sofa where we can all huddle up?” The blonde prompted, earning a reluctant nod.

“How about scream?” You recommended, getting a more positive reaction.

“Then it’s settled, what a great day this is ‘ay?” Even The Doctor was getting giddier than usual.

“See? It’s good to start celebrating spooky season early.” There was a snarky tone in your inflection, proving your earlier point to Yaz. Unbeknownst to you, The Master stared at you proudly, loving your cockiness.

“Fine, you were right.” She agreed, putting her spoon down before stirring her iced latte. “You two are like The Addams Family.”

“Oh I like that.” The Master leered, putting an arm around your shoulders possessively. Bashful, you leant into his hold and nod in approval. The four of you sat in close comfort, eating your food and drinking your seasonal drinks. Outside the wind was blustering, amber leaves falling from trees and making footsteps crunch. It really was the best time of the year.

[errythinisblue]

Some mason fluff???☺️ reader wants to wear his hoodies/clothing but doesn’t know how to approach him about it, she does and it turns out masons favourite thing is now seeing her in his clothes 😍

We’re always in the mood for some Mason fluff (especially while I’m laying in bed with covid 🙄). Btw thank you for your request, hope I did it justice! 🤍

His hoodie.

Mason Mount x Y/N

Summary: You’ve always wanted to wear Mason’s clothes. What will happen when you’ll manage to wear them, and your boyfriend discovers you??

Warnings: none, just a little “steamy” at the end.

gif credits to @movnt

You loved autumn, the leaves falling from the trees coloured the streets, and you absolutely adored driving with such a nice view. Especially when you were driving to your favourite destination, Mason’s home.

He was out to record some videos for the team with Ruben, and you were supposed to be waiting for him at his. You didn’t have any particular plan, you two just wanted to share some time together since you didn’t have any chance to in the last few days.

You missed him so much you planned a nice homemade dinner for the two of you, and you made sure to do some grocery shopping, since your plan was to cook something together before you could enjoy your food; in this way you were sure you could make up for at least some of the lost time.

Once you opened the front door of his house you left it open, since you had quite a lot of things to grab from your car: firstly you took the groceries and brought them in the kitchen, then it was your bags’ turn. Mason invited you to stay the night; he would be gone the day after for international duties, so he thought that was a perfect way to spend some more time together. That meant you had to take some clothes and the essentials for the night with you, of course.

Once you carried everything inside, and closed the door to keep the chilly air outside, you removed your leather jacket and hung it on the coat rack. As soon as you did so, you shivered, the cold breeze must have worked its effect on you. To try and warm yourself up, you started putting away the food, you had to do it however so why not use the situation to your advantage? Needless to say, that didn’t seem to work.

Still shivering and waiting for Mason to be home, you thought it would have been a nice idea to wait for him on the sofa, under his warm grey and white blanket that never failed to keep you warm.

You smiled contentedly once you saw it waiting for you right there, but as soon as you walked closer to the sofa your eyes landed on Mason’s ‘Mountchandise’ black hoodie, that was neatly folded on top of the blanket.

You always wanted to wear Mason’s clothes: they looked so comfy and so warm, plus they smelled like him, and you absolutely adored having his smell on you. The thing is, you never dared asking him to wear them; you were extremely jealous of your things and your clothes, and you thought Mason could be too, so you didn’t want to risk it.

But Mason wasn’t there now, was him? So you could at least try the hoodie on, just to see how it would look on you. There was no way he would know: you’d try it on and fold it back into its original state, everyone would come out of this situation happy and unharmed.

You wore the hoodie over your long-sleeved top, and it immediately made you feel warmer. You removed the hood from your head, and pulled the sleeves down to cover your hands, a habit you and Mason shared during autumn and winter time.

“I think there’s a thief in my living room…” Mason chuckled while he closed the door, making you jump from the fright.

“Mason, you scared me!” you whined, covering your face with your hoodie-covered hands.

“Sorry, that was my intention…” he giggled once again, leaving his shoes by the door and padding to you, unable to avert his gaze from your body.

“I hate you. I really do.” you pointed a finger at him, trying to look scary but failing miserably.

“Oh yeah?” Mason said, taking your forefinger in his warm hand, “You hate me so, so much you even steal my clothes!”

“I didn’t steal them,” you frowned, “I just wanted to try it on…”

“Hey I’m not telling you off,” he moved his hands on your neck, before he left his signature gentle kiss on your lips, “You can steal all the clothes from my wardrobe, if that means I can see you walking around my house in them…”

And Mason meant every single word. He didn’t know how he could even speak as soon as he entered his house and saw you in his hoodie; he felt like he was at a loss for words, and he thought that his clothes never looked better, not even on himself! And to say that Carlotta chose them for him… if only she would see you wearing them, Mason was sure she’d dump him to work for you straight away, seen as you looked like a goddess in his mind. A goddess in a hoodie, in his hoodie. His. The hoodie was his. You were his. And his heart was going crazy, so much that he couldn’t help himself but kiss you once again.

“Does this mean I can keep this on?” you asked him, quietly, against his soft lips.

“Yeah,” he nodded, “you can keep it for as long as you wish… it looks way better on you than it does on me…”

All night long you could feel Mason’s eyes on you; he was sure to always keep you at arm’s reach and when you weren’t, his stare was always on you, always. He looked at your every move, even while you sat on the sofa with him after you ate.

“Are you cold?” he asked out of the blue.

“Huh?”

“You’re doing the thing with the sleeves,” he pointed to your hands, imitating your movements, “the thing I always do when I’m cold…”

“Oh, oh I’m not that cold really…” you shook your head, but scooted closer to him all the same, “It’s just I’m still not used to this sudden change of temperature…”

“Do you want me to turn the heating on?”

“No, no I’m okay right now…” you mumbled as you leaned your head on his chest, sighing contentedly when you felt his lips on your forehead.

“What do you want to watch?” Mason asked while he was switching channel after channel, “Are you in the mood for some superheroes or some romantic movie, or I don’t know?”

“It’s the same for me, you choose…” you raised your head to place a kiss on his stubbly cheek, “I’m okay with whatever you choose…” you told him, mindlessly sneaking your cold hands under his shirt and placing them directly on his warm skin.

“Bloody hell babe!” Mason screamed as he felt your cold touch, “Your hands are freezing!”

“Yeah I know,” you cheekily smiled up at him, “That’s why they’re where they are.”

“You have my hoodie to keep them warm!” he whined once again.

“But that’s not the reason why I wore your hoodie!”

“And why’s that??” he curiously asked this time.

“Because I always wanted to wear your clothes…” you admitted, shyly, “they look comfortable and they smell good, just like you…”

“Are you saying I’m comfortable?” he smirked as he winked at you, placing his hand on your thigh, that was currently over his lap, “‘cause you sure think so when you’re on top of me…”

“Mason!!!” it was you who whined now, hiding your face in the crook of his neck while you both laughed at his horrible joke, “You deserve my cold hands on you!”

“But why???”

“That joke was awful!” you looked at him, badly.

“Okay okay… you win…” he surrendered, raising his hands in the air, “but just because you look too cute and small in my clothes.”

“Well, looks like I’ll have to wear them more often if that means you’ll let me win every time we‘re not on the same page.” you defied him, trying to provoke him.

“We’ll have to talk about it princess…” he lowered his voice to an almost growl.

“Talk?”

“Yeah…” he nodded his head, grabbing you by your thing and moving your body so that it was straddling his hips, “I think you should undress yourself, we have to talk about some important stuff…” he added, his lips so close to yours that you could feel his hot breath on them.

“Let’s talk then…”

[floreanfortescuetruther]

Autumnflower/Florean x August microfic ~ Red gloves

My main account is @yourlocalbadgerscales, I post microfics on @slitherpuffinstories! :3

Florean loved summer. And he hated autumn with a passion. He loved eating ice-cream in the warmth of the sun, he loved feeling the hotness from it on his cheeks as he tilted his head to face the endless blue sky. He loved the coolness of his father’s homemade ice-cream on his tongue as he sat and enjoyed the summer while it lasted.

But when July passed and autumn came, and the cold was on his skin all of a sudden, making his cheeks hurt if he sat outside for too long… when autumn came and made the world dull and grey and wet and cold, cold… ugh, how Florean hated it. The cold weather in the UK was torture for him.

So to be completely honest, he had no idea what had possessed him to step out the door today. He stood next to the road outside of his house, staring gloomily at the cloudy sky, indecisive of where to go. When he looked to his left, he saw a red glove on the empty, lifeless branch of a bush. He tilted his head and went to grab it. Florean held it in his own gloved hands, not sure what to do with it. So he pocketed it for now.

Suddenly, a voice was calling for him. Or someone, at least. He didn’t hear his name, just a slight panting and a “Hey! Hey, you over there!”. He turned around and was met by the sight of a boy his age, running towards him.

“Hey… I’m so sorry to bother you…” The boy seemed out of breath. Florean blinked and smiled carefully at him, letting him take his time. He hadn’t seen this boy before, or at least he couldn’t recall ever meeting him. Would probably remember if I had, he caught himself thinking.

The boy was wearing a red hat with a knitted little ball on top of it, under which a few strands of sandy blond hair poked out, stuck to his forehead. When the boy looked up, Florean noted that his eyes were a greyish shade of blue, like the darkest of clouds that had formed on the sky just now. The owner of said eyes flashed a tiny smile at him, revealing a little gap between his front teeth. The words Florean had meant to utter were caught in his throat, and suddenly he himself seemed short of breath.

“Er, I was wondering, since you stood here… have you seen a red glove lying around? I must have dropped it as I stood here earlier today, and now I can’t find it.” The boy looked past Florean’s shoulder. “Ah, I can’t see it… darn it. I’m really freezing.” He held up the hands that he had kept in his pocket until now, showing off the one gloved hand and a bare one. “It’s so cold today, isn’t it? I usually love autumn, I love the colours of the leaves and how they crunch when I walk on them, and summer is way too hot for me anyways. Oh, am I ranting again? Mum always say I do. I’m August, by the way. August Ollivander. Did you say your name yet? I seem to have forgotten it already, if you did.”

Florean had never felt more warm and fuzzy, not even in summertime. He smiled. For a boy who usually used to rant just as much as any kid, he was awfully quiet. He licked his lips and blinked a few times.

“I’m… I’m Florean. Fortescue.” He smiled warmly. “Nice to meet you, August.”

He was suddenly aware of the red glove he had in his pocket. He clutched his hand around it, but for some reason, he didn’t feel like giving it back just yet. So he pulled his hand out again and held it out for August to shake.

“I like Autumn too”, he lied. “Especially August.” That didn’t feel like a lie.

August smiled even bigger and took his hand, shaking it using his bare hand. It was pale but red at his fingertips.

“We could keep looking for your glove, if you like?”, Florean asked. “Or… we could go home to my place and get you warm again. My mum wouldn’t mind at all, she’ll be thrilled! I was just going home anyways, to eat ice-cream. I live right here.” He nodded towards the house right next to them. August’s eyes flickered over to the house and then back to Florean.

“Yeah, sure!” He laughed softly. “But ice-cream? In this weather? I usually only eat ice-cream in the summer, you know.”

“Oh, well”, Florean shrugged. “My dad says that you can eat ice-cream whenever, and I agree with him. At least you can eat the ice-cream he makes whenever. It’s so good! I promise you.”

August’s eyes widened.

“I knew that I recognised the name Fortescue!”

The two boys made their way towards the house as they spoke. August told Florean about the one time when he was eleven and his dad, a famous wandmaker, had made him find himself his own wand from the shop and had trashed the whole place while trying, and as Florean laughed his heart out, August took his hand and pulled him towards the house more eagerly. It wasn’t what Florean was used to when it came to friends, but he didn’t have the heart to pull away, not even as they entered the house and called for his mom to come to the door.

The rest of the day, Florean caught himself sighing softly, a big grin plastered across his face, every time August looked over at him and smiled at him, his freckly nose all wrinkled up.

[minimarvelh]

oh, to be loved and comforted (words: 3,447)

One amazingly cold autumn day, after another very boring meeting with equally boring directors, Tony, returning to his penthouse, caught one detail that maybe and a quite possibly changed his life. This bug-

(«Mr. Stark: spiders are NOT bugs, WE are arachnids») flew into his eye like a small specific spider and until he stopped and came to his senses, carefully releasing the spider, this arachnid would not leave him alone. A bug he tried his best to ignore- “Although no,” he stopped the narrator in his head.

He did quite the opposite, he never ignored this arachnid, he never ignored all the spider’s requests to bring him hot cocoa or to buy new sets of Lego. So, in the conclusion: he tried to ignore the reason for such feelings about the spider and what it meant, because no way he started to love this clumsy bug.

He hated introspection and analysing what is going on in his own head. Freud has long been out of trends, so why dis he need to use psychoanalysis?

Stupid waste of time.

He considers it too complicated, long, again boring and unnecessary, because the more a person thinks, the more they remember, the more they understand, the more they suffer. Simply. A logical consequential chain of life. Even the reason why he has been drinking for the past 20 years is trying not to think. Therefore, it was funny when literally everyone who was not lazy and not scared of him, tried to make him think about something other than technology and saving the world. Like feelings. Especially when Peter appeared in his life, everyone made it their mission to reveal something to him. Literally everyone hinted at something. Happy, Pepper, Rhodey….Attention, even freaking (he says it lovingly) Dum-e.

So every time Tony felt anything resembling warmth or any vanilla thoughts, he immediately pushed them away.

Like when he unconsciously was starting laughing at the memory of something the kid has once said. And suddenly he was stopping himself, looking in the mirror, dramatically, silently asking “what's going on, Stark? What.the.hell?” The reflection in the mirror was always silent, refusing to answer.

«Of course you're not Snow White, Stark. Even if the mirror could talk, it would rather talk to Pepper than to you.»

Stark himself did not notice that he has long been thinking that Peter is the smartest child, that when someone was showing him photos of other people's kids, he rolled his eyes thinking "meh Peter has bigger curls and bigger eyes", "my child is waayyy funnier than all of yours" etc. From what time did such thoughts begin to appear in Tony’s complicated head, he didn’t know.

When exactly he started to have a soft spot for this kid?

For this kid, with his such childish naivety, spidery recklessness, love to his lego figures and the kindness of which would be enough for the whole world.

When he-suddenly the world lost all of his colour when the crushing glass sound was heard around the whole hall.

Tony began to look around, a burning pain pierced his forehead and he started frantically rubbing his head as he sat on the floor or rather fell on the floor.

Yeah, that’s why he is not doing this thing called thinking.

Although he wonders what would Peter say to this? He is always the way to tell the teen to be more careful and kindly laughing at his clumsiness.

now the score is 1:705

Okay, if that incident with peanut butter also counts as his clumsiness- although Tony would argue that it’s more Rhodey’s clumsiness-nevertheless it would be 2:705.

Way to go!

******************

Evenings in the Tower were something special. For Peter, these evenings were extra special. He has almost no memory of family evenings with Ben and May, which makes him incredibly sad and guilty (not counting thoughts about feeling like a worthless, terrible person for not saving the most precious memories in his stupid head). And also incredibly lonely. No matter how terrible it sounds, he envied his classmates who so casually threw "I have to go home, my parents are waiting for me for dinner" how does it feels when your parents are waiting for you at home?

With the Avengers, with Tony and often May by his side, he finally begins to remember how it feels. Safely, comforting. He has people, a family, who loves him and is waiting for him. And it feels...unbelievable.

This time the tower was surprisingly quiet though. Days like this have been rare lately, but Clint and Nat are off to their families, Bruce is in Switzerland working on one secret research that only one person knows about (and that person is…PETER!! Yes!! He is!!).

The silence lasted 23 minutes, in which he started reading another amazing fanfiction, waiting for Tony to end with his team of directors.

And then thunder cut through the sky. Peter cried, jumping up on his bed and flailing his arms, with panick in his eyes looking from side to side. His tingle or how Ned calls it „the spider feeling” was pounding, along with his heart, which was ready to fly out of his chest.

Fortunately, he didn't knock over the cup that was on the dresser and the coffee didn't spill all over the carpet. Thank you, because he was the clumsiest human alive and already today he had to catch 4 cups in flight.

Peter hated thunder. It was in his top 3 things he hated the most. Also it was the most unreasonable one. Even when he was wearing the noise-cancelling headphones, he still felt the vibrations and his imagination painted the loudest and most terrifying thunder the Earth has ever witness and it made his heart beat even wildly, if it was possible.

And how can he wear headphones around Mr.Stark? They were planning to watch something together and if he would tell him that he has a sensory overload they would not be able to spend time together because he would need to pretend to fell asleep or just be silent + he will make Tony worried + Pepper (who is in Miami right now. Working. A lot. Like always. He doesn’t want to give her another reason to worry.)

Grabbing a blanket and a cup, Peter nonchalantly ran into the living room, hoping that Friday wouldn't alert Tony about Peter's increased heart rate. After the alien sprayed Peter with some sticky poison, which for the first few hours had on effect on him other than an increased heart rate, (but then Peter fell into a small coma), Tony reprogrammed Friday and now she was signaling at the smallest things that were happening with his body.

On more than one occasion, Tony bursted into the room after receiving a signal from Friday, only to see a terrified Peter buried in legos next to him. On all those occasions, Tony was so scared that he was simply forgetting to ask Friday what was going on and just bursted into teen’s room. Therefore, Peter has already embarrassed himself at least 5 times and now his mentor knows that Peter does not just collect Legos, but also plays with them. Wow, when can he die? Please? Can someone kill him?

Although he doesn't think he can ever die, even if he tries, Tony will invent a machine that will resurrect him and he will have to face every embarrassing thing he did again. And also Peter doesn’t want to worry Pepper with his death, so right now dying is cancelled from his plans.

"Friday, where's Tony?", Peter asked, stopping in the middle of the corridor, realizing that he did not know where his mentor was. Maybe he still has his meeting?

"Mr. Stark is currently in the kitchen, making coffee. Should I notify him that you’re coming?" Friday asked sweetly. Tony still couldn't understand how this AI became attached to this child, "also Peter, I noticed that your heartbeat—"

"No, thank you, Friday and NO, DON’T notify Mr. Stark about anything, I’m alright, I promise", Peter quickly thanked her, picking up his speed again, already heading to the living room. Knowing that Tony is next to him will make him way calmer. And he can lie on the couch and talk to Tony at the same time.

He can kill two people with one stone. Or whatever they say? Two birds with one stone? No, that’s sounds cruel. That means two people with one stone was the right one.

Peter slowed down as he walked into the living room, placing the mug on the table and literally running onto the sofa, wrapping himself in a cocoon of blankets.

"Tea, coffee, hot chocolate?" Tony simply asked, sensing Peter's presence. (Dad’s instincts - Happy loved saying) But it wasn’t some mysterious instincts, it was simply having a good hearing and being able to hear the big boom that was followed after Peter jumped on the sofa.

"Coffee, please?" Peter asked, looking around at the couch and finding his Nintendo Switch on it.

Another thunder and he tried to calm himself down by opening Minecraft.

"Wrong, the answer is tea", Tony just smirked to himself, taking out another mug.

"It's not fair!!" growled Peter weakly, looking for the remote control next to him.

"You have had enough coffee for today kiddo. Spiders aren't supposed to drink coffee at all, as far as I know", Tony mused theatrically.

"Okay, then what kind of tea", Peter accepted his fate.

"Green?" suggested Tony, opening the box with teas and turning to the side where Peter was sitting.

"The one that Pepper brought?" Peter asked more cheerfully. This tea was from France and it was incredibly delicious.

"Yeah", Tony was already making tea.

"Okay, then", answered Peter weakly, looking scarily at the window as thunder growled once more, catching Peter by surprise. The teenager jumped up and barely stifled a squeal.

"Well, such an awful weather today", Tony threw towards the window, amused, "I hope Clint has already got to his family, he hates this kind of weather".

With two cups of green tea, Tony sat down next to Peter, who was already building house for a cow in a desperate attempt to distract himself and suppress his panic.

"What are we watching this time? I remember you wanted to finish Avatar-"

"Bob's burgers, please," Peter said quickly.

"Okay, okay, jeez," Tony jokingly said, loving how excited is Peter when someone mentions Bob’s Burgers, petting his curls.

It’s the most comfortable series in this Universe. Just the best thing for such terrible weather.

Thunder banged roaring furiously outside the window. Peter shuddered again at the surprise, not so pleasing surprise, might he add, barely restraining himself from covering his ears.

" Is everything alright, kiddo?" Tony asked, trying not to show his worry, looking at the boy questioningly. He knew that Peter didn't like when Tony worried too much about him, so he tried his best to sound like he cares but not too much. He thinks he does a really good job. Happy doesn’t think so.

Tony just hummed as he turned into the series. If the kid does not want to talk about it right now, he will leave it, for now. He gives him 2 hours.

" Season, episode?" asked Tony, clicking the buttons of the remote control.

"I don’t care, but something from the 5-10 season",muttered Peter, looking out the window and putting his console aside.

Tony pretended not to notice.

"It's vague, there are literally 100 episodes," Tony smiled, looking at the child.

He decided to randomly choose season 9, episode 10.

When everything was arranged and they were sitting comfortably drinking tea, Tony pressed the start button.

Peter, as always, thought that he could easily hide his dislike of something and Tony would still be completely sure that Peter is not afraid of anything (except stop-motion animation. When Tony showed him „cute” video with stop-motion animation, Peter literally screamed at his face.).

But every time the lighting cracked, Peter could not control himself and physically shuddered harder, curling up on the couch and pressing his shoulder to Tony, seeking warmth of his body.

"Oh my god I love Louise so much! Yes, Louise, PUNCH THIS STUPID BOY," Tony shouted at the screen as it could hear him.

"Yeah, Louise you’re a-OH MY GOD" another boom of thunder hit them.

"What is wrong kiddo?" Tony immediately looked at him with the concern in his eyes.

"N-nothing, I just wasn’t expecting thi-this", he weakly showed something started as happening at the screen.

"You didn’t expect this skeddle?" Tony skeptically looked at him, still anxiously looking if Peter is hurt and covers the injury.

"Uhh yeah? I expected that but when it actually happened I didn’t know that it would be, like, right now."

"Okay, are you sure you’re alright, kiddo? If you don’t like this series, I can turn something else".

"No!! I love them! Just wasn’t expecting." his explanation was weakly unconvincing.

"Okay," of course, Tony wasn't convinced, but he dropped his suspicions. Kid will tell when he’s ready. Maybe he was really not expecting this?

"Oh my god, how I love this episode. Logan deserved it." said Tony, laughing and turning another episode.

"Yeah, i really love what Louise did but he deserved everything that cam-", he stopped himself waiting for another thunder to be over.

But Tony didn’t wait, during this evening he noticed enough warning signs that something was deeply wrong with the kid.

"Peter, what's wrong?" Peter did not have time to understand anything, as Tony had already stopped the episode and carefully looked into his face.

"Everything is fine, Mr. Stark", Peter tried to answer as casually as possible.

"And if you will try to tell truth this time?" Tony raised an eyebrow, taking his cup and sipping it, giving Peter space, "come on, you know that you can tell me everything and I mean it. Everything."

Peter signed. He really wants to tell someone and he’s really tired and scared, so there is not so many options.

"I-I'm afraid of thunder," Peter let it out in one breath, nervously crumplinghis hoodie in his hands.

Tony looked at him in silence, then nodded and got off the couch.

"Oh my God, Mr. Stark, I'm sorry," Peter began to apologize, but Tony didn't listen.

"Friday, turn on the soundproofing protocole."

"Done", Friday immediately answered, following the Tony’s order.

"Do you have your headphones here?" Tony asked worriedly, "how is your sensory overload?"

"um yes?" whispered Peter, squeezing into the sofa.

"Then why aren't you wearing them?" Tony froze, looking at Peter questioningly.

The question made Peter stiffen while he was attempting to shrink down where he was sat.

"They uhh, they are.." Peter did not know how to say.

Tony waited patiently for an answer.

"They don't help with all sounds and I still hear thunder" answered Peter. Enough mumbling, Peter, Mr.Stark will soon turn gray by the time you finish explaining.

"And of course you didn’t tell me that," he sounded very unamused, staying silent for a second.

And then it looked like he remembered something and went down to the workshop.

"Okay, maybe I made him angry somehow?" Peter tried to scroll through the whole conversation in his head.

If Tony went to his workshop it means he will not come in 20 hours at least. And he probably blocked Peter from entering it. Or maybe he thought that Peter has sensory overload and he decided to give him space??

"Well, in any case you'll have to watch this series yourself, then." sighed Peter, reaching for the remote control and turning on the series.

"Hey, you can't watch it without me!!" said an indignant voice from behind, and a second later Tony entered the living room with headphones in his hands.

Peter couldn't help the mischievous giggle that escaped him. Yeah, he was villain in this story. Also, he was so relieved that Tony came.

"Um, I just thought you went to work in the workshop?" Peter nervously smiled, sipping his tea.

"What a wrong assumption, kiddo, if I went to work I would take you with me", simply answered Tony, "I went down only to get headphones. I haven't finished them yet, but we'll see what they can do".

He helped Peter put on them.

"Well what?" Tony asked expectantly, worry still didn’t leave his face.

Peter listened. He felt a very slight vibration, which was similar to the silent mode on the phone. With a sigh of relief, he looked at the man and smiled.

"Thank you Mr. Stark", he said gratefully.

After that there was silence and then there was sign.

"I'm sorry, Pete, I completely forgot that you have sensory problems and of course you would have them when there is literally thunder outside. I should have thought about that", he sounded so guilty, and the guilt himself flashed through Peter.

He just should have tell him, instead he chose to be drama queen. You always try to make everyone not to worry about you but with that you make them worry even more. There is no escaping.

"These are not sensory problems", Peter said, sounding a little miserable.

"Hmm? Tony asked, sounding a little anxiously.

(Ps. you can literally see they are dad and son)

Peter scrunched up his nose.

"Um, it's..it's not related to sensory issues, although it's a little related, but not completely. It's just that I'm stupidly afraid of thunder", Peter explained.

"I don’t have a lot of sensory problems, I’m just..scared"

"Hey, kiddo, there is nothing wrong with being scared", Tony started slowly, "we all afraid of something and it’s not stupid" he carefully moved closer to the kid.

"C’mere" simply. He pulls Peter into his arms. simple hug. He murmurs soothingly.

It was minutes and Peter wanted them to be hours so bad.

"What else can I do?" whispered Tony.

"Thank you Mr.Stark, but you have already made so much for me".

"Come on, kid, give me something to work with. There is have to be something" asked Tony again.

"Okay..maybe we can sit next to each other?"

Tony stared at him blankly.

"I think Mr. Marker is saying that he would like to be comforted by your hugs-"

Peter blushed and waved his hands dismissively.

"Friday, no no no I don't-", for the first time, he got a little angry at Friday. Well, he wasn't exactly angry, because it's not her fault that Peter got his tongue stuck in his ass and he was embarrassed by simply existing, but she's his friend, how could she leave him like that??

" Kiddo, if hugs will help you, I'm all for it", Tony just shrugged his shoulders like it's not a big deal.

Peter fell silent.

"If it doesn't bother you, sir, I'll be very grateful," whispered Peter quietly, looking anywhere but at the mentor.

Tony raised an eyebrow at him in surprise as he sat closer on the sofa.

" If you call me Mister again, next time we'll only watch Desperate Housewives till your thirties".

"Oh no, no, please, Mr.-", Peter began to beg theatrically, but he was interrupted.

"Ahh, the choice is yours", a smile crept on his face while he twirled his finger in front of Peter’s nose.

"Please, you don't need to-Tony," Peter laughed softly, looking at the mentor with a smile in his eyes.

A hand ruffled his hair, making teen sheepishly smile.

"Okay, okay, sit down, little boy, because I can already feel myself falling asleep," he yawned expressively.

Peter carefully sat closer as large arms wrapped around him and pulled him closer. Peter nuzzled into Mr. Stark's shoulder, inhaling the scent of Stark's t-shirt.

Thunder crackled again, making Peter a miserable again. Okay, maybe they work better than his headphones but still not the best. Tony’s hand apologetically moved from his head to rub at his back, while he sweared. Peter leaned on Tony.

Knowing that Peter likes to hear Tony tell something, he decided to test this theory.

"Do you know an interesting fact? When they started the production, it's Linda Belcher who-", yes, he did a little research about this show, it's his kid’s favourite show. oh..he meant his intern’s favourite show.

Peter listened with deep interest to what Tony was saying, barely flinching when the vibrations caught him by surprise. But at such moments, Tony always squeezed him a little harder and he was calming down, burying into his side, smiling when Tony told something especially funny.

Soothing by the cartoon that Tony put just for the background, Tony’s interesting facts and stories and his warm hugs, Peter's eyes began to slowly close as he blissfully fell asleep.

The storm was over.

[changingplumbob]

New Goth: Chapter 4, Part 11

We go to high school and see what impression Ariadne makes.

I have been dying to share this! Let's gossip about my sims! How do we see her getting on with the other played teens long term? Tell me, tell me, tell me!

The next day starts and Ariadne tries to mentally prepare herself for a new high school.

Milton: Are you nervous

Ariadne: A little, but I’m not going to let the other kids know that

James: You’ll do fine. Just remember, no matter what happens, you’ll still have us here after school

Ariadne: Thanks James. Getting to know new people can be hard for me

Milton: Me to. I normally try to geek out with them

Ariadne: Unfortunately I’m not a geek

James: But you have interests. Don’t be afraid to share them, how else will you learn who might get along with you?

Big hugs from everyone, even Alexander who manages to leave the computer, then Ariadne is off!

It’s a fine autumn day and many of the teens are making use of the roller rink. Ariadne however has other tasks that need attention.

Mr A: I’m Mr Amarynth, welcome to- Sterling!

Ariadne: Huh? Sorry I was just taking a commemorative selfie

Mr A: I see you will not be joining our academic success ranks, pity

Ariadne: Oh actually I do know a bunch of stuff. I got good grades at my last school and I did all the pre homework you assigned. I’m excited to be here

Mr Amarynth keeps his face in a look of disdain while Ariadne tries awkwardly to smile. When he doesn’t continue the conversation she figures she should take the initiative.

Ariadne: Is there anything I need to do before class

Mr A: Ms Hensley will be taking your class today, she should be in the main building. See my assistant on the way there and they’ll assign you a locker

The principal’s assistant gave the worlds vaguest directions but Ariadne can find the main building. Now what? Luckily a helpful Onyx swings by.

Onyx: Excuse me, you look lost. Need any help?

Ariadne: Yes I need to find the lockers and a Ms Hensley

Onyx rolls their eyes and beckons Ariadne to follow them, humming to themselves.

Onyx: Ms Hensley can be tough, I try to take no notice. My best mate Carson gets tense just seeing her though. Ah, here are the lockers. If they don’t have stickers it’s safe to assume they’re not taken

Ariadne: Thank you…

Onyx: Oh I’m Onyx

Ariadne: Ariadne, thanks for you help

Onyx: No bother. Ms Hensley will probably be in the library at this time. Good luck

Sure enough around the corner in the library is Ms Hensley.

Ariadne: Hi, are you Ms Hensley? Mr Amarynth said you’re going to be my teacher

Ms H: Normally yes, but it’s exams today

Ariadne: Exams? On my first day

Ms H: *sighs* teenagers. Not everything is about you, I have other students to tend as well. If you want to do well you’d best revise

So Ariadne has a seat and does her best to look over her notes from her preparation work. Would have been helpful for Ms H to have said what subjects the exams are for. When the bell rings Ms H introduces her to Briana who is tasked with taking her to class.

Ariadne: Hi! Do you like the outdoors? I love the outdoors

Briana: Yeah… inside is great

In her head Ariadne can hear the stereotypical wah-wah-wah noises.

Math is first, not Ariadne’s favourite. But James did help her with the pie charts so she manages to follow the questions. Between papers she tries introducing herself to people around her.

Ariadne: Hi there, I’m new

Anya: I noticed

Ariadne: Do you like fishing? I love fishing

Anya: I’ll fish in Stardew Valley

Ariadne: Where is that? Is it near Del Sol valley?

Anya laughs to herself and Ariadne can’t help feeling the girl seems immature. Many more students in the high school sea though. It’s hard to tell from where she’s sitting but she does feel a pair of eyes on her from time to time. She can’t sense any ghosts around so maybe it’s a classmate?

In the lunch line Ariadne has a quick chat with Scarlett who seems interested at the idea of coloured auras. Ariadne asks if she can sit with her at lunch but the teen has an art project to do. Scarlett does tell her to friend her on social bunny though. Nothing for it, Ariadne will have to sit down with strangers.

Ariadne: Hi everyone. I’ve met some of you but I’m Ariadne. I’ve just started. I live in Willow Creek with my dads Mr and Mr Goth

Carson: James Goth?

She turns to look at the brunette who responded. He seems to be squinting as if he needs glasses but he has a kind face.

Ariadne: Yes that is one of my dad’s first names

Carson: Sorry we’ve not met before. I’m Carson. My dad Harvey is in a fishing group with James. He says good things

Ariadne: Oh are you in the fishing group? J- my dad has been asking me to join

Carson: I love the outdoors but fish gross me out a bit

Ariadne: We could always watch them fishing and pick flowers instead

Carson: *laughs* sounds good. I’ll see you round then, I need to study

He leaves. Ariadne feels happy to have found someone like her. And he obviously knows she’s in the process of being adopted and didn’t out her to everyone. That’s nice. He's pretty cute to.

Ariadne pops over to Onyx to thank them again when another teen walks by. A teen with a dark aura.

Artemisia: Who are you

Ariadne: Uh… I’m-

Artemisia: *tuts* Not very bright are you

Onyx: Lay off, she’s new, her name’s Ariadne

Artemisia: Whatever your name is, you’re in my seat. Go bother someone else with your bad dye job

Sensing rising hostilities Ariadne decides to go sit by another boy from her class.

Roger: Met Artemisia then?

Ariadne: That’s her name?

Roger: Yeah. She’s a boar. Not to say that I make snap judgements or anything. She's popular but I don't see the appeal

Ariadne: I was getting a bad vibe from her. She doesn’t seem very generous

Roger: *sighs* forget her. Are you generous then?

Sensing the opportunity to flirt and distract herself Ariadne turns to face Roger properly.

Ariadne: I can be, with the right incentive. What about you

Roger: That would be telling. I’m happy to go over what our next exam is if you’d like, as a taste of my generosity

Ariadne: *giggles* I wouldn’t like, I’d love

Roger helps Ariadne out right up until the bell rings. Ariadne heads to class and grabs a seat by the window. At least she can be close to nature in this room.

Artemisia: Hi

Ariadne pulls her attention away from the window to see Artemisia sitting down beside her and she feels her stomach turn.

Ariadne: Hi. Look, I’m sorry about being in your seat before but that really was no reason to make fun of my hair

Artemisia: *shrugs* I make fun of everyone, it’s entertaining

Ariadne: Well in future, don’t make fun of me. My forgiveness only goes so far

Artemisia: *rolls eyes* Sure your ladyship. My aim in life is to stay in your good graces

Ariadne scowls while Artemisia giggles to herself and Ms Hensley hand out their papers. Ariadne does her best to fill out the paper but can’t shake the feeling that Artemisia is reading all her answers. At least she doesn’t know if her own answers are right so maybe that’ll trip up the girl. At last the bell rings and it’s time to pack up.

Artemisia: Bye dye job *winks*

Ariadne watches her go feeling flustered. Mean girls have no business being pretty and playing with people like toys. At the back of the room Roger is focused on his phone so she decides to hang back.

Ariadne: Hey you. Thanks for the help, I think I got a few of those right, even with Artemisia looking at my work

Roger: Yeah she totally was. It was clear from back here, I don’t know how Ms H missed it

Scarlett: We can afford to cut Ms H some slack. I heard her tell Mrs T she thinks the art room is haunted, she looked freaked

Ariadne: Is it actually haunted? Ghosts fascinate me

Scarlett: I think it’s just haunted by me really but you never know

The three chat about things going bump in the night and following some commemorative photos Ariadne invites them around to visit after dinner.

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