#you must know that i thought my sketch was going so well and then i zoomed out and was like oh no horny....guess this is happening now

[keferon]

Eh okay so. My brain is absolutely cooked so you will probably just have to ignore the linguistic fuckups

Jazz and Prowl learning to communicate because language barrier is a thing >:D

Previous part

Jazz sometimes thinks that somewhere along his career path he lost the bar separating normal from...well...everything else.

After all he's seen, heard about, and done, he's not sure exactly how to measure what's weird and what's normal. He has..the general idea.

His own. And it's so convoluted and fucked up that he'd rather jump into a volcano than try to explain it to anyone else. Jazz thinks the little colorful aliens around him are weird as hell. He thinks they sound weird, he thinks they look weird, and he thinks he must be going crazy.

And then this big black and white robot catches his eye and Jazz's first thought is not "what the fuck??"

His first thought is

"Thank God! Someone's normal!"

Whoever this guy is, he sounds like he knows what he's doing. And most importantly, he looks just like Jazz. Well, not exactly. But close enough. After all, Jazz knows that his organization wasn't the only mech maker on the entire planet. Other countries were making Mechs too, and Jazz hadn't seen even half of them.

But he can recognize a giant robot when he sees one, okay?

The thought that another mech could be an alien doesn't even enter his mind.

So used to the constant presence of huge piloted robots around him, he looks at this one and clings to its appearance as something familiar and easily explainable. His brain says, we know how this works. There's a robot and inside the robot there's another person. It's the way it's always been. The sky is blue, the grass is green and the robots are human-piloted. It's that simple.

The guy takes him to the far corner of the room and says something. Jazz…doesn't understand..

The mech's face contorts in a surprisingly believable display of concentration. How...who built this robot? How could they make it frown?

He hears something else being said to him but again can't understand a word. Why won't this pilot get out of the mech to talk to him? Jazz doesn't have his communication frequency but surely they could at least shake hands. There must be some reason. Maybe something wrong with the air? Is it dangerous to be outside? This guy should know better, he's been here longer than Jazz, it seems.

(Damn it, whose idea was it to make a mech with a face, it's so distracting)

He rushes to activate the external speakers, because he and this guy obviously speak different languages, but it never hurts to try, right?

"So uh, I don't think you can understand English?"

Mech frowns again, trying to pick up on something familiar in a language that's apparently new to him. But finds nothing. Jazz lowers his horns sadly.

Oh well. Fuck. As if being stuck in an unknown place with unknown creatures wasn't enough, he can't even talk to anyone! How is he supposed to get out of here? Which way should he even go?

The mech waves his hand to get his attention and then pulls out a tablet and a stylus from..where ?

Jazz somehow manages to overlook the fact that the tablet is made to fit the mech's size. His head is still feels a bit…off..after that portal thingie.

"Charades it is then."

____________________

An hour and a half later, Jazz finds himself staring intensely at the screen in front of him with a surprisingly neatly drawn chart on it.

"So uh. Motion."

The other guy nods and starts drawing a walking mech. Then something that looks like a very unusual car. Then a submarine. Jazz gets a little lost looking at how skillful he is with the stylus.

Honestly, he's a good artist!

The guy points to the sketch of a walking mech and says

" Motion."

Then points to the drawing of a car driving and the columns of the chart.

"Motion-rotation" he points to the car again.

That must mean "driving" huh? Jazz nods understandingly.

Mech moves his finger to the submarine.

"Motion-Water."

Ah, it must mean swimming. Jazz nods once more, feeling like a wind-up dummy repeating the same motion a dozen times.

The mech makes a quiet humming noise and then points to the chart

"Motion. Sky."

And then gives Jazz the stylus?

Uh, what is he... Oh, he wants Jazz to figure out what it means.

"Motion" and "sky," right?

Jazz takes the stylus? Pencil? Thingie.. and very carefully draws out a crooked scribble of something only remotely resembling an airplane. The mech arches an eyebrow and looks like he wants to laugh.

Jazz shrugs awkwardly and tries to add windows to the airplane, but ends up making it look more like a severely fucked up caterpillar.

Mech snorts.

Jazz kicks him in the leg.

The airplane begs for a merciful death.

Jazz didn't really expect to get into a language class but he has to admit that whatever language he's learning now is a surprisingly easy one. It only took the other dude half an hour to show him the basic concept and from there it became a game of associations.

There were simple definitions. Like size, quantity, speed, emotion and so on.

There were signs that automatically turned the whole sentence into a question or a statement.

There were modifiers that Jazz defined in his head as positive and negative.

Positive speed - fast.

Positive size - large.

Positive direction - forward.

Positive time - future.

There were also basic words for senses, emotions and whatnot, also with modifiers.

Mouth-positive - to speak

Brain-positive - to think, but negative-brain-do-positive - to learn.

Huh.

And it's so neatly organized that Jazz wondered if this language was designed specifically to be easy to learn.

Let's see....

Mouth - positive, effort - negative.

"Easy to speak."

The guy nods contentedly and starts talking back, while pointing to the appropriate columns of the chart to make it easier for Jazz to understand.

"Creation-positive. Purpose. Person-negative-knowledge. memory-positive-effort-negative."

Jazz frowns, concentrating on his finger.

Oh. Created. For those who don't know it. Easy to learn.

He was right. The whole thing is waaaay too awkward to write poetry but learning it is a delight.

Jazz leans over the chart.

All right, well, let's see.

“Name. You. Question?”

The other guy smiles and pokes at the chart

"Me.Motion-sound-negative.Negative-eyes-positive-someone."

Walk quietly. searching?… Sneaking?

Oh, it's not "to sneak" it's "to prowl"

"Prowl" nods affirmatively. Jazz smiles at him and looks at the chart again. Okay. How to say “music”?..

“word-knowledge-negative.”

He stops to make a gesture with his hands, as if playing an invisible piano while humming a tune.

Prowl nods

“Sound-positive-positive-hearing.”

Jazz chuckles

“A whole two positives eh? Okay then. Uh. You don't look like you listen to jazz....so..”

“Me. Name. Sound-positive-positive-listening.”

Prowl raises his eyebrows. (Jazz is jealous, he wishes he had eyebrows too.)

“You're a musician?"

Jazz quickly shakes his head while simultaneously muting the outside speakers to a barely audible level and turning on one of the songs on his playlist.

Prowl twitches in surprise when he hears the melody.

Jazz waits for the intro to finish playing and then points to himself

“Creation-negative..uh..Sound-positive-positive-hearing. Jazz. This...”

He pats himself lightly on the chest.

"..is me. Jazz."

Prowl straightens up slightly

“Oh, you're not a musician, you're the music.”

Jazz nods cheerfully

“Yes yes!”

“Jaaz?”

“No no. Jazz.”

“Ah. Jazz?”

“That's right.”

Prowl draws a portal on the screen.

“You teleported here. What happened?”

Jazz hangs back, trying to construct an answer in his head. Good thing Prowl seems to have infinite patience

“So, I uh. What was 'fight'? Movement-pain-positive? I fought these things...”

He takes the tablet from Prowl and draws a crooked blot with a bunch of tentacles on it. Then thinks for a bit and adds big teeth and a lot of eyes. He's not really sure how to draw those eyes properly, so he just scatters them randomly around the monster area.

Prowl doesn't seem to be that amused by Jazz's drawings anymore, in fact, he suddenly becomes very somber.

“Quintessons.”

He pokes at the monster

“Name-Quintessons. Number-question.”

How many?

Jazz scratches the back of his head

“So uh...a lot?....number-positive-positive-positive-positive-positi...you get the idea.”

To be convincing, he dramatically spreads his arms out to the sides depicting something very large.

Prowl looks alarmed.

And unconvinced.

“How did you survive?”

Jazz laughs pretentiously

“Ask them how they survived.”

Prowl makes the “you can't be serious” face. Jazz isn't quite sure what exactly is confusing him. Mechs are designed to kill Quintessons, aren't they? Judging by his movements, this pilot must be damn good at controlling his mech, and that kind of guys usually fight on the front lines.

He decides to put that thought aside for later. There are more important things right now, like...oh shit, where is he even going??

Jazz leans over the chart again

“Uh. Right. Question-we-move-up-place” Man, how to specify... “Knowledge-negative?”

Prowl, linguistic gods bless him, understands him and starts gesturing over the chart in response

Okay. Ah. I-move-up. Planet-creation-positive.

'I'm heading home' or 'my home planet'.”

Jazz instantly perks up.

“Oh that's great, I'm pretty sure I'm supposed to go there too.”

Prowl is speaking in a language he's unfamiliar with, so he's definitely from another country, but hey, who cares as long as it's on Earth, right? He just needs to get there and he'll find his own way from there.

He watches the space debris flicker by outside the window. Even the stars are unfamiliar, Jazz can't find any constellations he knows.

One of the little purple creatures says something and Prowl steps aside to chat with them. Jazz leans back and settles into a more or less stable position. Then does the same thing, but with his real, human body. Hell, his head still feels really fucking weird after that teleportation.

He opens the comm channel and just listens to the static for a couple minutes in the faint hope that the engineering department will find a way to contact him.

Nothing.

He sighs.

“1061 on the com. In case there's any way you can hear me...ah shit. You guys won't believe what happened...”

___________

[Next]

[moraxine]

Fragments of Us [Ekko]

pairing: ekko x reader

words: 2k

summary: ekko wakes up in an alternate universe where you’re alive and everything feels right—but it’s not his world. torn between love and duty, he must leave to save his reality.

ARCANE SPOILERS!

i.

“Powder. Ugh, she’s so annoying sometimes. I told her that the graffiti on Sevika’s stupid bar wasn’t even that good—like, come on, who even uses pink for a skull?—and she just flipped out ! Called me a ‘wannabe artist.’ Like, okay?”

Ekko’s chest burns as he violently jolts awake, aware , coughing as if he’s been drowning moments before. His head is pounding, all memories flooding his mind and spinning round and round. It takes a few moments for his vision to stabilise and start clearing up.

What the hell happened?

“Hey, are you okay?”

Hearing your voice, familiar yet a voice he never thought his ears would detect ever again, he freezes. His eyes snap open, adjusting to the dim glow of the neon streetlamp. After a while of simply blinking, right hand on his forehead, he dares to turn your way, only to face you in utter shock.

There you are, right beside him, nervously fiddling with a small gadget in your hand while waiting for his answer.

Ekko’s breath gets caught in his throat.

His gaze desperately darts around, taking in the distorted version of Zaun. The buildings look eerily familiar but cleaner, more polished. And then there is you —alive, bright-eyed, rambling as if nothing in the world could ever go wrong.

This isn’t real. This can’t be real.

“You’re staring at me like I’ve got two heads or something. All good in there?” You ask, leaning closer as you gently tap his head.

No, no, no.

This must be some kind of twisted joke, a dream soon to turn into a nightmare, like the ones he experienced after your passing.

A strong wave of dizziness takes over and he loses balance. You’re not fast enough to catch him and he collapses on the floor, tears gleaming in his eyes.

“Shit, Ekko, I told you I’m fine walking home by myself! You need to focus on fixing that sleep schedule of yours. You work too much….”

You kneel down to check on him but as soon as you reach for his arm, he manages to pull himself up, wincing as his muscles protest. “I’m fine,” he mutters, his voice hoarse. “Just… where am I?”

Your brow furrows. “Zaun, duh. Did you hit your head?”

Zaun. But not his Zaun. This is different. Cleaner. Sharper. Brighter. Wrong.

You wave a hand in front of his face when he’s up on his feet again, snapping him out of his thoughts. “Seriously, you’re acting super weird.”

He shakes his head, trying to gather himself. “I’m… just tired.”

“Yeah, no shit,” you say, leaning back on your heels. “Well, you can sleep at my place if you want. It’s a bit of a mess, but it’s better than the middle of the street.”

“Why…Why are you helping me?”

I didn’t protect you. I let you die-

You scoff, crossing your arms. “You have to be kidding me, really.”

He stares at you, his chest tightening. You are so casual, so warm, so alive. This isn’t his world—it is someone else’s. Someone’s whom was able to keep you safe and happy.

You wave a hand in front of his face. “Helloooo? You good, or do I need to drag you there myself?”

He blinks, shaking himself out of his trance. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

“Finally,” you say grabbing his arm. “You’re lucky I’m such a good friend, y’know.”

As you lead him down the street, continuing your pointless rambling about Powder and some argument over graffiti, Ekko follows silently, his mind racing. He doesn’t belong here, but for the first time in years, being near you feels like he is home.

ii.

Ekko is standing in the corner of your cluttered workshop, his fingers trembling slightly as he tightens the final screws on a device he barely understands anymore. Weeks have been spent scavenging parts, tearing apart old tech, and sketching blueprints on scraps of paper. The machine is almost ready—his way out of this world is almost ready.

You, of course, don’t know. In fact, you seem to know nothing about Ekko lately. Ever since that incident outside the bar, he’s been acting strange in a way you can’t pinpoint.

“Hey, genius,” you call from across the room, pulling him out of his thoughts. You’re perched on a high stool, playing with a broken clock. “You’ve been staring at that thing for hours. What is it, anyway?”

He stiffens at your question, keeping his face carefully neutral. “Just… something to help me get around. It’s nothing.”

You narrow your eyes, unconvinced. “Since when do you get all secretive about your projects? You used to brag about your tech every chance you got.”

“Since now,” he mutters, avoiding your gaze.

It’s been this way for quite some time now—Ekko growing quieter, more distant, all while you try to bridge the gap with your usual chatter. You’ve noticed the way he avoids your eyes, the way he flinches whenever you stand too close. It’s not like him.

And it hurts.

“You’re acting weird, Ekko,” you admit, setting the clock down and leaning back on your hands. “Like, even weirder than usual. Did I do something?”

“No,” he says quickly, but his voice sounds strained, and the single word only makes you more assured that there is indeed something going on.

“Then what?” you press, leaning forward slightly. “You’ve been avoiding me for days. Is this about Powder? Because if so, she’s the one being difficult, not me.”

Ekko clenches his jaw, his hands tightening around the tool in his grip. He can’t tell you. You wouldn’t understand—not fully. How could he possibly explain that you’re not even supposed to be here? That this version of you isn’t his you? That in his world, you’re just a memory he carries like a scar?

“It’s nothing,” he says finally, his voice low. “Just… drop it, okay?”

You flinch at the coldness in his tone, but you force a laugh, trying to mask the sting. “Fine. Be mysterious, then. See if I care.”

Turning away, you pretend to focus on the clock again, but your heart isn’t in it. You want to push him, demand answers, but something in his expression stops you. There’s a pain in his eyes that you can’t quite place, and for the first time, you wonder if this is bigger than any conflict he might have had with people in the past.

Ekko exhales slowly, his shoulders sagging. He hates doing this—pushing you away. But if he lets you in, it’ll only make leaving harder.

Because he is leaving. As much as he wants to stay, to pretend this is his life, he knows it isn’t real. He doesn’t belong here. And the longer he stays, the harder it’ll be to say goodbye. Especially to you.

“Hey,” you say suddenly, breaking the silence. “For what it’s worth, you’re still my favorite nerd. Even if you’re being a jerk.”

He looks up at you, startled by the softness in your voice. For a moment, he wants to tell you everything—to explain why he can’t let himself get too close. To tell you he loves you. But that would be partially true as you’re not his. Instead, he just nods. “Thank you.”

You offer him a small yet warm smile and his resolve falters for a moment. But then his gaze falls on the machine again—his way out—and he reminds himself why he has to do this.

It’s almost done. Just a little longer.

iii.

Ekko stands in the middle of the workshop, his hand resting on the activation lever of the machine. The room hums faintly with power, the cobbled-together contraption sparking faintly as it waits for his final command. It’s ready. After days of work, this is it—it’s time to go back to the people who need him.

But his chest feels tight, and it’s not just from the lingering ache of exhaustion. It’s because of you.

The door creaks open, and his heart sinks. You’re standing there, your expression caught somewhere between confusion and anger. “What the hell is this?” you ask, stepping inside. “Ekko, what’s going on?”

He doesn’t look at you. He can’t. “It’s… nothing.”

“Nothing?” you snap, gesturing at the machine. “You’ve been shutting me out for God knows how long, and now I find you messing with… whatever this is you’ve made? Don’t lie to me, Ekko.”

He finally meets your eyes, and the raw emotion there almost makes him crumble. But he takes a deep breath and steadies himself. “I can’t explain it.”

You take a step closer, your frustration giving way to hurt. “Why? Why can’t you just tell me? I’m not mad��I just… I don’t understand why you’ve been acting like this.”

Ekko clenches his fists, his mind racing. He could tell you the truth—about the alternate universe, about the fact that you don’t even exist anymore in his world. But what good would it do?

“It’s better this way,” he replies quietly.

Your hands drop to your sides, and the look in your eyes nearly breaks him. “Better for who? For me? Or for you?”

“Y/n…” His voice cracks, but he quickly swallows it down. “I don’t belong here. I need to leave. That’s all I can say.”

You shake your head, your voice trembling. “You’re lying. You’ve been here all this fucking time, and now you’re just… leaving? Without a word?”

“I don’t have a choice.”

“Yes, you do!” you shout, stepping closer until you’re right in front of him. “Whatever this is, whoever you think you are—you’re my… friend, Ekko. You don’t just get to disappear without telling me why.”

His hands tremble as he reaches up to touch your shoulder, his gaze locked on yours. “You are—” His voice breaks, and he has to force himself to keep going. “You’re amazing. You’re… everything good about this place. You’re the reason I’m still alive. But I can’t stay.”

You stare at him, your heart pounding. His words feel final, and the weight of them crushes you completely. You fail to understand. Nothing makes sense, absolutely nothing. “Why?” you whisper, tears burning at the corners of your eyes. “Why can’t you stay? Is it something I did?”

“No!” he says, more forcefully than he means to. He takes your hands, holding them tightly. “It’s not you. It’s… me. It’s my world. I need to go back to where I came from.”

You can’t comprehend what he’s saying, but the desperation in his voice silences your questions. You nod, swallowing back the lump in your throat. “Fine,” you say, even though it’s anything but fine. “If you have to go… go.”

His hands linger on yours for a moment longer before he lets go. “I wish I could tell you how much you mean to me,” he says softly. “But I can’t. Not here.”

Tears spill over as you watch him turn back to the machine. “Will I ever see you again?” you ask, your voice barely audible.

He hesitates, his hand hovering over the lever. “I don’t know.”

That’s all he can give you.

With one last look at you, his expression filled with regret and longing, he pulls the lever. The machine sparks to life, and the air around him ripples with energy. You take a step back, shielding your eyes as the light grows blinding.

When the light fades, he’s there, his tired body slumped down on the ground. You immediately run to his side, kneeling down and pulling him to your lap. The room falls silent, the only sound the faint hum of the now blown up machine. You gently caress his cheek, tears running down your hot cheeks.

After a while, he wakes up.

And it doesn’t take you very long to realise.

You glance at the remains one last time.

And you hope that wherever he is, he’s doing what he set out to do—saving his people, his world, even if it meant leaving this one behind.

[houseofceline]

My Pretty Girl - T.N.

Starry Eyes

Pairing: Ravenclaw and sort of ditzy but talented Reader x Slytherin notorious playboy Theodore Nott

Warnings: None (yet ;))

“Starry eyes

What can I do for your attention.”

Summary: Theodore’s late to class but Snape blessed him with the opportunity of sitting next to a cute Ravenclaw who’s no help at all.

1 >

--------------------

Clockwise or counterclockwise? 

You honestly didn’t even know anymore. No matter how many hours you spent on reading the thick potions textbook or wasting bottles after bottles of ink on notes you still barely passed the class. 

You were starting to get a headache from trying to picture the text in your head. Everything was starting to become foggy. You sat down, defeated, and began doodling on the parchment instead of writing detailed instructions on how to make the stupid potion. So much for a Ravenclaw. 

Hmm off shoulder or puffed sleeves?

 You bit your lip trying to decide which option would look better on the dress you sketched out. The classroom was calming with little chattering among your classmates in the back allowing you to work easier. You could never work or do anything in silence, it drove you crazy. 

Suddenly the door slammed open causing you to jump a bit in your seat. 

“Nice of you to join us Mr. Nott, although your presence was expected half an hour ago,” Snape drawled out in his infamous monotone voice. 

“Sorry I overslept,” he shrugged while adjusting his tie. Some students who were listening in laughed. With his messed up tie and ‘burn marks’ on his neck, it was clear that he was definitely doing more than just sleeping. 

Snape nodded and pointed at the empty seat next to you, not surprising anyone that he didn’t take away any house points from his house. 

Theodore eyed you as he walked towards your table. He would’ve preferred sitting with his house, but he could never pass up the chance to sit next to a pretty girl. White blouse with a lace neckline and sleeves, black plaid skirt, Ravenclaw tie, black sleek hair, and a white headband. You didn’t fit into the usual type of girls he went for, but you were cute. 

Theodore took the seat next to you before tapping on your shoulder. 

You turned to him and almost jumped when you found his eyes on you. Gorgeous blueish grayish eyes. 

So pretty, this might be my new favorite color. 

“So uh,” Theo cleared his throat ignoring the fact that he swore he just saw your eyes sparkle, “what are we doing?” 

You blinked. Under the pressure of a somewhat attractive boy it made your memory much worse. 

“Umm, we’re brewing a potion and writing?” 

You had hoped that didn’t come out as a question and hoped that he’d just nod and ask someone else. 

Theodore raised an eyebrow and glanced at your blue tie again. 

“Which potion exactly?” He asked, narrowing his eyes at you as if you were lying to him. 

“Antidote to potions. Wait, no poisons. The common one. Wait, maybe the uncommon ones. Well I don’t think there’s a big difference. I mean, shouldn’t the uncommon ones be stronger and still fix the common ones?” You rambled on, looking off to the side lost in your own thoughts. 

Theodore blinked. The sorting hat rarely makes errors, maybe you were high but then again Lovegood’s also a Ravenclaw. The looney population in Ravenclaw must be high. 

“Why can’t they just make a super strong potion that fixes every poison? That’d make our jobs easier and we wouldn’t have to memorize so many potions,” you giggled as you turned back to your sketches. 

Theodore looked over your shoulder to try and catch a glimpse of your paper but instead your sketches caught his eye. You may be no help in potions, but you sure can draw. 

“Are you going to make that?” He asked while you squirmed at the close proximity of his face to yours. 

“Yes,” you mumbled shyly, scared of the criticism that might follow. You loved designing and fashion. It was one of the only things that came naturally to you, but coming from a family of doctors you were vulnerable to criticism for not following in their path. 

“Cute,” he said before his eyes found your potions paper. 

Common poisons. Theodore noticed that you only had half the page completed and chuckled. 

He got up towards the ingredients cabinet and grabbed his ingredients and the ones you were missing. 

Potions came easy to him. Not only did the teacher bias his house, but his mother was a skilled potions maker as well. Matter of fact her entire side of the family were. He had spent most of his summers in his manor reading journals of potion experiments and advanced information that weren’t even in his school textbooks. 

He quickly prepared his ingredients and started on his potion while continuing yours on the side. Luckily you were both in the back and Snape couldn’t catch him. He wrote down his notes and instructions making a mental note to tell you to copy them down later. You’d need it. 

Maybe he was also placed in the wrong house. Today, Hufflepuff seemed more fitting. You were lucky that you’re cute. 

[octuscle]

Exchange student: Athens (GA)

Benjamin was not particularly happy that he had come to Georgia as an exchange student. Athens... He had wanted something in New England. Or at least in California. But he hadn't been able to choose. Athens had taken him.

The introductory week had been a disappointment. His fellow students were almost exclusively from the neighborhood, the boys were interested in football and hunting rifles, the girls in boys. It was all so clichéd that it was hard to express. But there was actually a very good grand piano in the assembly hall and Benjamin had been given permission to use it for his daily exercises after a short audition. He had not yet met his roommate. He wasn't due to return to university until a week later because of some family business. Benjamin was hoping for someone who was also interested in classical music and expressionism. Or at least someone who was also studying literature, art history or something similar.

It was the night from Saturday to Sunday when the door opened with a huge crash at around 02:00. Someone threw a duffel bag onto the bed and turned on the light. Benjamin blinked startled at the sudden light. He couldn't see anything against the light. But it smelled of sweat and a few other things he couldn't identify. The shadow took off his shirt, threw it on the floor and sat down on the other bed. Benjamin's eyes adjusted to the light and he began to recognize something.

"Well howdy, you must be Ben. I'm Hunter, no lie, that's my name, partner. Shoo, it ain't even 2 o'clock yet. What in tarnation are ya doin' in bed?" Benjamin was disgusted. He would have to share the room with a redneck. He turned around and mumbled, “Nice to meet you. If you'll excuse me, I'd like to get back to sleep.” Hunter just said, “Well, that’s on you if ya overlook somethin’, darlin’,” rummaged in his duffel bag and disappeared again. It must have been around 04:00 when he returned. Now it also smelled of booze. Benjamin pretended to be asleep, even though Hunter was making a lot of noise. After he had finished clearing out his things, Benjamin heard him burp loudly a few more times. And soon he was snoring.

When Benjamin's alarm clock rang at 07:00, Hunter was still snoring. He was lying naked on the comforter. Benjamin had to admit with envy that he was well trained. His butt was firm. His upper body was deeply tanned and Hunter was pale below the waist. A guy who worked out in the fresh air. Benjamin's cock got hard. He quickly grabbed his scrubs and headed for the washrooms. He wanted to be at the Georgia Museum of Art early. When he returned to his room, freshly showered, Hunter was lying awake on his bed. Jerking off his morning wood. “Well, howdy there, early riser! Ain't that somethin'! You fixin' to hit the pavement for a run?” Benjamin turned around, embarrassed. Because he didn't want to disturb Hunter while he was wanking. And because his own cock was leaking precum into his boxer shorts. “No thanks, I wanted to go to the museum.” “Real neat, we got one 'round these parts? Been here a whole year and didn’t even know. Might just tag along next time, if y'know what I mean.” “That would be nice,” Benjamin replied as he hurriedly got dressed and left the room. He had to go to the washrooms again before he went to the museum. He really needed to wank. He thought about Hunter.

He wasn't really focused in the museum. At the beginning, he made sketches of the halls and the works of art on display. He was actually surprised by the quality. There were top-class works here. But when he caught himself doodling a stag in his notebook the third time, he decided that he would probably be better off getting some fresh air. He took his rucksack out of his locker and left the museum. The fresh air did him good. Benjamin walked along Campus Road. He passed the Georgia Museum of Natural History. It was still early. He went inside.

Natural history wasn't really his hobby. But Benjamin was fascinated by the dioramas of the local animal world. He enthusiastically made sketches of the deer. Why the hell had he already made them at the art museum? And why were the deer he was drawing now often hunted prey? He probably just couldn't get Hunter out of his head. He was getting a hard-on again. Benjamin made his way back to the dormitory. Hunter and he hadn't got off to a good start. But now he would like to put that right.

"Down at th’ park wit’ the boys, tossin’ sum balls ‘round. Y’all come on by if ya wanna join!" The note was on Ben's pillow. There was a lot else lying around the room. It was as if a bomb had gone off. Hunter was obviously not the tidiest of people. There was a camouflage T-shirt on the floor. Benjamin pressed it to his face. It smelled of sweat and masculinity. He couldn't help it. He had to jerk off again. This time it came with unexpected force. Shit, on the floor, on the bed, his cum was everywhere. He took one of his dirty towels from the laundry basket and tried to clean it up as best he could. And then he made his way to the park. He had to watch Hunter play football with his buddies.

Benjamin had to search a bit to find Hunter and his friends. But it was worth it. A gang of young rednecks in the prime of their youth, on their way to becoming real men. Their muscles were glistening with sweat, their mullets sticking wet to their heads. “Yo, Ben!” Hunter shouted when he saw Benjamin. Benjamin was amazed that Hunter had recognized him. Hunter ran up to him and did a fist bump, which Benjamin returned somewhat awkwardly. “Hey there, what in tarnation are ya doin’ just standin’ ‘round like a bump on a log? Get yourself changed and hit that field!” Benjamin said that he had nothing to change into. “Floyd, you knucklehead! You got your gym gear?” Hunter yelled across the pitch. He, who was presumably Floyd, yelled back “Sure thing!”. Hunter went to a bag and threw it to Benjamin. “Here ya go, this oughta fit ya, Big fella!” Benjamin was a little embarrassed to just change in the open field. But there was no turning back now. The last time he had played football was five years ago. And he had been bad. Really bad. Now he was standing on a field in sweaty, oversized clothes belonging to a guy he didn't know called Floyd and had to play football with a guy he hardly knew, but had already wanked off on twice today. The ball flew towards him. Benjamin caught it with a leap. “To me!” roared Hunter. And with a powerful and precise pass, the ball flew to Hunter. “Bloody hell!” thought Benjamin.

The sun was about to set. The boys were lying on the grass, drinking some kind of isotonic thirst quencher. They had all taken off their shirts. Hunter's head was on Benjamin's stomach. “Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit, buddy! You best be chowin' down more and hittin' them weights less. That belly of yours ain’t got no softness to cuddle up to!” “In your dreams!” replied Benjamin, tousling Hunter's wet hair. Damn, he was well on his way to becoming a jock... Benjamin and Hunter spent the evening together, when the sun went down, they went to the movies and then out for a burger. Benjamin had never spent a Sunday like this before. It felt wrong. But it felt so good!

The next morning, Hunter's alarm clock rang at 05:30. “Dude, running and gym!” he said as he shook Benjamin awake. Benjamin had done more sport yesterday than he had ever done in his life. But without argument, he put on Floyd's dirty and sweaty clothes and the two of them set off. Benjamin actually had his first lecture at 08:30. English poetry of the 19th century. But he couldn't leave Hunter to bench press on his own. And so it was 09:00 when he arrived in the lecture hall. In his sweaty gym clothes. Without his homework. His professor asked him to join her after the lecture to explain to him clearly that this was not the performance she expected. And that he would stink. Benjamin raised his arm and took a deep breath from his armpit. “You're damn right,” he said, nodding appreciatively. His cell phone vibrated. “Fucc dude, 4got my laptop.  Bring it by, bruh. Warnell school of 4estry and natural resources” Benjamin knew where that was. Behind the natural history museum. Next lecture wasn't for another hour. Benjamin sprinted home, grabbed the computer from Hunter's desk and ran into the department. “I'm at the entrance, bro,” he wrote. ‘Cum 2 the library,’ Hunter replied. Benjamin followed the signs. Floyd was waiting outside the library. “Hey y'all, thanks a million! You’re a real lifesaver for Hunter and me. And I gotta say, them clothes are lookin' sharp. And that mullet? Pure gold!” Benjamin blushed and said that he would do the washing today and Floyd would bring the clothes back clean tomorrow. Floyd laughed and said that they had only been on for a week, a bit early to wash them. Benjamin joined in the laughter and headed off to his next lecture. Bloody hell, what had Floyd said. Mullet? What mullet? He ran his fingers through his hair sweaty from running. It was sticking to the back of his neck. Benjamin searched for a window pane to look at his reflection. Shit, he had a similar hairstyle to the boys.

Tuesday morning was Hunter and Ben's first lecture, “Ecosystems and Habitat management” in Professor Castleberry's Wildlife Ecology and Management class. They both got quite a telling off for missing the first lecture the previous week. Hunter's excuse was that he couldn't leave his parents' hunting lodge because of the storm. The story of how the bridge had been washed away sounded super realistic. Ben had to bite his tongue not to laugh out loud. He knew that Hunter simply hadn't wanted to leave without killing the big stag. Ben's excuse was less original. The fact that he was wrongly enrolled in art history and literature led to great laughter in the lecture hall. A guy with “corn-fed Midwestern boy” literally tattooed on his forehead couldn't be in a worse place than in a lecture on 19th century English poetry. Luckily, the two best buddies were given two adjacent seats. They hadn't showered after the gym today either. Very few of their fellow students wanted to sit next to them. But it was their lucky day anyway. Although the registration deadline had actually already passed, they both still got a place on the excursion to the “Population biology and ecology” field trip at the weekend. They could hardly wait for Friday. Finally a chance to get some fresh air and hopefully a good piece of game. Their hunting rifles were already threatening to rust.

A few of his fellow students knew that his real name was Ben. But everyone here called him Buck. Hunter and Buck. It just went together. The two of them studied together, pumped iron together, played football together. They hunted together. And yes, they also fucked together. But only without eye contact. Otherwise it would be totally homo!

Pics by @ki-kink

[creamecafe]

Fate by "Design" | Salesman x Artist!Fem!Reader

Summary: While doing art in a subway, the Salesman offers you to play Ddakji, a chance to win money. But you wanted his number. When you win, your acquaintance with the salesman becomes much more.

Pairing: Salesman x Artist!Fem!Reader

Warnings: fluff, flirting, allusions to smut/sex, but not explicit

Word Count: 2.9k

Author's Note: This was requested by Crazy4herluv on my Wattpad book Squid Game Imagines/One-Shots. This is also my first Salesman work, so I hope you enjoy!

*Icon used for this header above that I made in PicsArt is from Pinterest. Divider is from @cafekitsune in this post*

Want a request for a Squid Game character like this one? Check out my post, read my request guidelines and send a request!

Read on Wattpad & AO3 here

The sounds of the almost isolated subway and people walking is the highlight of your daily routine. You had moved to Korea to work for a art company and you do sketches by hand.

It paid very good money but in your free time you liked to be in the subway and do art for others like New York. People would walk and stop to see what you possibly could be doing.

A lot of the time, couples, parents with their kids or even old people would ask for a drawing each day and you get paid at least $130-200 at the end of the day.

Your art simply consisted of charcoal sketches of the person who requested for the art as semi-realistic as possible with a watercolor splash in the back if they ask.

Sometimes you notice while you're drawing or sketching away looking for people to draw, you would see a man in a black suit.

He had black hair and was always carrying a suitcase with him. He was also very handsome, you thought. When you took the time to actually analyze him or look at him, not in a creepy way you thought, you noticed that he would throw something on the ground and slap people.

This guy must be insane, you thought. Slapping people everyday, but it didn't stop you wondering who he really was. You thought of going up to him and asking if he would like his own portrai. But you were nervous of asking such a good looking guy and you are an artist in the subway, so he was way out of your league.

Today felt like any other day. Until one person, the guy in the black suit came up to you. You were going to pack up for the day when you accidentally dropped pencils and other supplies on the floor, then rolled around. As you were on the ground picking up the supplies, you saw polished black shoes stop and turn in front of you.

You look up and see him. The guy in the black suit looks down at you while you're trying to pick up your stuff.

"Good evening ma'am. I have a question for you."

You got up from the floor and brushed off the germs from yourself from the subway ground.

"Hello sir. I finished my hours for the day drawing so I can't accept any art requests right now I'm sorry. You could always come back tomorrow if you like."

"I'm not asking for a drawing. I'm asking if you would like to play a game."

A game? Is this guy Billy the puppet you thought?"

"What game?" You asked?

"It's called Ddakji. Have you heard of it before?"

Ddakji. It should sound familiar but you felt like you don't know it.

"I don't think so. What is it?"

"It's very simple. You fold two pieces of paper, usually of bright colors as it's a children's game like an envelope and the goal is to throw down the paper as hard as you can so the other person's paper flips over."

"What's the point of playing the game?"

"If you win, I'll give you money. A hundred thousand won."

Your eyes widened at what he said. A hundred thousand won? That amount of money to get while doing art in a subway could take a year or two. Yet here's this handsome well kept money offering to you.

"And if I lose?"

"Well usually I slap people until they win or just give up." That explains why you see this man in the subway grounds slapping people and throwing stuff down.

"But seeing how creative you are. How about a portrait of me? Use all your creativity and imagination you can and give me something."

"Ok. I'll play. But I can change something?"

"What is it?" He turns his head to express curiosity. It's rare that people would ask for a change of things while playing, conducting he's the one in charge.

"If I win, I get to have your number."

The salesman is surprised at your boldness to ask him out.

"My number? You could walk out with a hundred thousand won. What could my number offer to you?"

"Well I might see a better prize than money. I see a real piece of art right here." You raised your eyebrow smirking

He smirks at you. This was going to be interesting he thought.

"We have an agreement then?"

You nodded. "I lose, you get a portrait. But if I win..."

"You get my number." The salesman nods smiling. "Five in a row you have to win." He then pulls out two colored orgami tiles of red and blue from his suit jacket.

"What color would you like?"

"Red/blue" you said.

"Alright then. Ladies first."

You look at him and then the ground. 10 in a row you can do this. You took a deep breath and slammed the envelope on the ground. The guy then slams his envelope on the ground flipping yours around.

It created a loud slapping sound and echoed that it startled you. You look up scared he was lying to his word and might actually slap you. You close your eyes and prepare for it.

"What are you doing?" The salesman asks

"Aren't you going to slap me?"

"You don't have to worry. I wouldn't slap a pretty face like yours. I only want a drawing."

Opening your eyes you took a deep breath. At least you wouldn't be slapped.

"1-0" The guys says. You assumed that was his keeping score

You pick up your envelope and roll up your sleeve. You threw it down but it didn't flip the salesmans. He picked his up and slammed it down flipping yours again.

"2-0". Now the chances of getting this guys number seems low and you might look like a fool. You were weren't to give up just yet. You relied on your skills of carrying an easel and so many supplies per day to the game.

Taking a deep breath, you slam down the card and it flipped the guys. You were smiled wanting to jump for joy.

"2-1" You put up 2 fingers with one hand and 1 finger to the guys face.

He said nothing but smirked. Talking wasn't his thing, you noticed. Probably why you found him attractive.

The salesman picks up his card and slams it and your flips over. It was a continuous picking up and flipping cards. You were getting better as the points were getting higher.

Now the score was "7-8". You were becoming tired and kinda wish you were home right now, sleeping. But

The salesman threw down his card and flipped yours. Now it was 8-8. A tie. Just two more and you get his number. You threw yours down and it flipped over. 8-9. Another slam from the guy and it was 9-9.

This was it. You weren't sure you would have enough energy to draw that portrait of his that he wanted. But you needed enough energy to finish this game.

You slammed it down and saw it flipped over. I won, you thought to yourself. Did I actually win? You thought.

"Congratulations. You won ma'am." The salesman smiled.

Those words felt unreal. "Yes! Yes!" You jumped around happy.

"Now, you asked for my number. I suppose you wouldn't have a piece of paper to write down my number, would you?"

What kind of question was that? You were a artist. Blank papers is all you carry. You grab your sketchbook from your bag and a pen to give to him.

He took it from your hands and wrote down his number fast. He gave it back to you and you saw it.

"What do you plan to do with that number, Miss?"

"I was wondering maybe you want to go out?"

"We can do that. Can I pick the place?"

It was the least you could let him do as he offered you money and kept true to his word to give you his money.

"Sure. I'll text you when I'm available. I might see you here too. Who knows?"

He nodded your response smiling.

"You have a good day madam"

"You too" God how you loved how formal he was and calling you madam and ma'am, even though you weren't really that old.

When you went home, you were exhausted but still smiling and excited that you got the guy's number. You texted your name so he could have yours saved as well. You went to bed, wondering what it could lead to. Possibly just one date or even more.

The next day, was the same thing. Wake up, eat breakfast, pack your things and head to the subway. You kept fixing yourself up for the salesman, wondering if he would come by.

He always comes by, you thought. He just has to. You scanned around the subway to see where he is as you didn't want to move your spot. After an hour had passed, it looked like he hadn't been around.

Maybe asking for his number was a bad idea, that he was avoiding to talk to you, you thought. A man walked by and dropped something not that far from you. It looked like money. Seeing this you get up, pick up the bill and try to call out for the man. But it looked like he was already gone. It was

Written in a black permanent marker, it says “Look at your phone ma’am”. Without thinking you check your phone and see a message. Meet me at the park at 4:30 PM. No need to dress so fancy but wear something you feel pretty in.

Blinking your eyes rapidly, you couldn’t believe what’s in front of you, more likely what’s on your phone. He’s actually texting you. The weird quiet but handsome black suit guy is texting you. You packed your things and went home and went to get ready to meet him in the park.

It was nothing special that you wore. Just a simple sundress/pantsuit but it was still one of the nicest outfits you had in your wardrobe. You kept wondering just what the man in plan for you. Walking around the park, you see the man still in his suit, hands in front looking around, possibly waiting for you, you thought.

Smiling, you walk up to him. When he sees you, he smiles with no teeth but still showing joy. He reaches out a hand. Looking at it hesitantly, you took his hand. The salesman then took your hand, bowed a little and kissed the back of your hand gently. You felt your heart skipped a beat when he did that.

“Hello ma’am. We meet again.”

“Hi. Were you the person that gave me the bill?”

“Maybe, a beautiful woman like you deserves more.”

Was this a dream? Were you dreaming or is this real. This man seemed to good to be true. You two walked to what would be your first date. The place he picked out for the first date was an art museum. It displayed the finest arts across the worlds and many different paintings. The salesman would ask about each piece and how did it make you feel. You responded to many of his questions but kept looking around. You guys kept talking and asking each other questions to get more acquainted with each other.

After the museum, he took you a some place to eat. Then you guys went to get ice cream. He paid for everything and asked if there’s anywhere else you would like to go. If you tried to pull out your card or even cash to pay for your own things, he would refuse so and said he got everything and that anything you wanted he’ll get for you. It had been late, so he dropped you off home and asked how was everything and if you enjoyed it.

You couldn’t thank him enough for the wonderful day you had comparison to just drawing in a subway for hours. Before you left his car, there was a slight tension between you guys that it could be cut with a knife. The man wanted to say something else but couldn’t stop looking at your lips. Looking at him, you see his hands reach towards your face and cup it as his lips softly touches yours.

His lips were so baby smooth and his cologne was so sharp from his neck, it felt like a gas hyptonixjg you. You cup his face, grazing it with your thumb. He pulls away, still looking at you with such yearning. Your thumb still on his face grazed his lips as you said goodbye and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

Ever since that night, you two have been dating. He would take you on dates to other places. Mostly just walks in the park or art related stuff that you like. Your small kisses would turn into small makeouts into something more. He would sometimes, well mostly go over to your place and sleep over. In the mornings he would make breakfast in his underwear. You wish you could draw him right then and there.

He loves to pose for your art or whatever reference you need for your assignment in class. Once a month, he'll take you out to the art store to get whatever supplies you need. Your messy clothing consisted of paint or oil pastel stains is opposite of his clean, ironed and steamed suit. But he loves it either way.

The only time that he was out of the suit was when he was in bed with you. But other than that, you wanted him to be a bit more fun. You wanted to him have more color. Seeing those videos of online of couples doing painting of each others to see both of your art skills.

You begged the salesman to do wit you and he finally agrees. Squealing you get everything ready, canvas, paints, brushes, water and paper towels. You had 10 minutes to try to get each other’s features as accurate as possible

Time passes and both of you guys are done. You show your art of him and it’s him in his suit, pretty accurate and semi realistic but some details were missing. He nods and says it’s impressive of how much you can get done in less than hour.

You ask for his painting and he turns his Canva around and you see you in an almost renaissance like painting. Your mouth dropped and all felt like years of your art skills go away to just 10 minutes.

“What! How’s that even possible? Why didn’t you tell me you were good at art?”

“Well two people can’t be the artists in a relationship. One has to be a muse, to inspire the other.”

You scoffed at his bullshit. He just didn’t want to brag. An idea came in your mind. You grab a paintbrush and leave a stroke of red paint on his face.

“If you want to be a muse, why don’t you have some color on you?”

Smirking, the salesman takes this as a challenge and grabs his paint brush and paints across your face too.

Now you guys were having a paint battle. You tried to paint him more but he lightly grabs your arm and stops you. He leads you the floor, where he’s now on top of you. Seeing this as an opportunity, you grab a bottle of paint that’s open and smeared on his white shirt. He laughs at this and rolls you over where you’re now on top of him, straddling him.

Nothing was said between you both as you kept looking at each other. Like that night of your first date when you guys first kissed. Putting your head down you kiss him and he put his arms around on your back. The paint on your guys’ face mixed with each other. Breath was running out so you decided to stop. Your heart was beating so much just as he was trying to catch his breath too.

Now you’re forever grateful you asked for his number then taking the money. It’s a better reward than what the salesman had to offer you, as you got him, yourself. It felt like a dream come true. Even if it was, you didn’t want to wake up. Everything of being with him was like straight art. Maybe it was meant to be. That day you accidentally dropped your pencils and he came up to you. It could be called fate by others. Fate by design you like to call it.

He was right, one has to be the muse in a relationship and the other an artist. But to him, it was the thing he was missing the most. An new reason to be in the subway that fateful day.

Taglist:

@deffreal, @cocofia143, @sorry-meme, @elizabeth-hatake, @nini-0808, @hobinistaworld, @ineedsmootching, @alittlebitofeverything , @happyfrog7681 , @tiuhiatus, @goofiestgoober27, @jayyyourbabe, @ninahorikoshifr, @ikeithy , @vampiregirlxoxo, @ouwioworuuu, @cloudysxkura, @l4venderia, @anthea1239, @iidontwannadiealone,

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[undying-love]

John and Paul on each other: A Compilation

John:

"He [Paul] looked like Elvis. I dug him."

"I'm like everyone else, Harry. I fell for Paul's looks."

"..an old, estranged fiancée of mine called Paul."

"Paul...you're so well-built." (X)

"Groups like this are normally not friends. They’re just four people out there thrown together to make an act. There may be two of them who sort of go off and are friends, you know...Strictly platonic of course."

"Oh, I've had him, he's no good."

"I was riding on a boat called Paul, and now I'm riding on a boat called Yoko."

"I've compared to a marriage a million times and I hope it's… understandable. For people that aren't married. Or any relationship. It was a LONG relationship. It started many, many years before the American public, or the English public for that matter, knew us. Paul and I were together since he was 15, I was 16."

"Nobody ever said anything about Paul's having a spell on me or my having one on Paul! They never thought that was abnormal in those days, two guys together, or four guys together! Why didn't they ever say, "How come those guys don't split up? I mean, what's going on backstage? What is this Paul and John business? How can they be together so long?"

"Well, Paul had met Linda before [the Apple press conference], you see. I mean, there were quite a few women he'd obviously had that I never knew about. God knows when he was doing it, but he must have been doing it."

"I don’t even think about Paul unless somebody brings him up. Or if some song comes out or something happens, they’re in the newspaper. I don’t know why everyone doesn’t just leave him alone—I haven’t really seen him in ten years. I can talk about him forever because I know all about him, but you see, there’s nothing much to say."

[Studio chatter] Paul: I will be overpowering this time. John: Oh good. I like it when you’re brutal. (X)

Paul:

"John was really my only male friend, if only because of proximity."

"[While playing live] John was to the left or to the right of me, so I never got to sort of see him perform so much. Except in the film [Get Back]. And there he is in massive closeup. I can study everything about him.”

“I’ll just sit around and hug him forever, because that’s the depth of my feeling for him."

"And I would often sketch John when we worked together, often without him knowing it. It was so easy doing John because he had glasses, those sideboards...and that long, aquiline nose."

"When I painted him recently, I found myself saying, ‘How did his lips go?"

"I can still see John now: checked shirt, slightly curly hair…I remember thinking, ‘He looks good - I wouldn’t mind being in a group with him."

"James reminds me very much of John in many ways: he's got beautiful hands. John had beautiful hands."

"If I'm going to see a face in a painting, it's highly likely to be his."

"I still remember his beery old breath when I first met him that day. But I soon came to love that beery old breath. And I loved John."

"I’m often thinking of him. I dream of him."

"Delicious boy, delicious broth of a boy."

"John and I used to hitch-hike places together. It was something that we did together quite a lot; cementing our friendship, getting to know our feelings, our dreams, our ambitions together. It was a very wonderful period. I look back on it with great fondness. I particularly remember John and I would be squeezed in our little single bed."

"There's a song I do called Here Today which is specifically written for John. That sometimes catches me out. I realize I'm telling this man that I love him and it's like I'm publicly declaring this in front of all these people I don't know. I sometimes wonder what I'm doing."

"We are individuals— all different. John married Yoko, I married Linda. We didn’t marry the same girl.”

"Please Please Me was a John idea. John liked the double meaning of “please”. Yeah, “please” is, you know, pretty please. “Please have intercourse with me. So, pretty please, have intercourse with me, I beg you to have intercourse with me.” He liked that, and I liked that he liked that."

"[John] was a wild and woolly genius who it was my pleasure to work with, walk with, talk with and occasionally sleep with. "

Q: If John Lennon could come back for a day, how would you spend it with him? Paul: In bed.

"Then also [me and John] were like married, so you got the bitterness. It’s not a woman scorned this time, it’s two men scorned — probably even worse. And I had to make way for Yoko. My relationship with John could not have remained as it was and Yoko feel secure.”

"I think really what it was, really all that happened was that John fell in love. With Yoko. And so, with such a powerful alliance like that, it was difficult for him to still be seeing me. It was as if I was another girlfriend, almost. Our relationship was a strong relationship. And if he was to start a new relationship, he had to put this other one away."

[loverangels]

coincidence?

pairings: timothee chalamet x fem!reader

request: How about timothée chalamet x fem reader who have never interacted, reader always attends events with dresses but she also likes to wear men's clothes, so at an event she decides to wear a men's suit (with certain adjustments) it ends up being the same as the one timothée brings to the eventSorry if this is written wrong, English is not my main language and I used Google Translate to write it

The red carpet was chaos, as it always was. A shimmering blur of sequins, satin, and silk gowns. The kind of event where everything—every glance, every step, every breath—felt just a little too big. You’d spent years attending these things in the safety of dresses, where elegance was your armor and the compliments were easy, if not a little predictable.

But tonight was different. Tonight, you didn’t want predictable. You wanted daring.

So, you wore a suit. Not just any suit, though—your suit. pinstriped and black, impossibly tailored, kissed with little satin details that caught the light just right. A sleek black shirt underneath, unbuttoned just enough to hint at softness, paired with sky-high heels and a swipe of red lipstick. Feminine, but sharp. Timeless, but undeniably modern. You’d spent weeks designing it, dreaming it, and now it was here. You felt like art, and when you stepped out of the car, the flashes of the cameras confirmed it.

For the first few minutes, it was a blur of movement, smiles, and flashes. The crowd buzzed, a wave of murmurs rolling from one end of the carpet to the other. At first, you didn’t think much of it. Red carpets always had a low hum of excitement, and you figured your suit was just turning heads.

But then you heard it.

"Wait—isn’t that—"

"They’re wearing—"

“Matching suits?!”

You glanced up, following the whispers like a trail of breadcrumbs, until your eyes landed on him.

Timothée Chalamet.

Standing there, a little to the side, impossibly cool and slightly tousled, wearing a suit that was… oh. Oh.

It was your suit. Well, not exactly, but close enough that the resemblance felt deliberate. The same sharp cut, the same all-black palette, the same satin accents that gleamed under the lights. It was as if the universe had quietly handed you a partner for this sartorial crime, and that partner happened to be Timothée freaking Chalamet.

Your steps faltered for half a second, but you recovered quickly. (You hoped.) He must have felt your gaze because suddenly, his head turned, and his eyes locked onto yours.

For a moment, you couldn’t breathe. Not because of who he was (okay, maybe a little because of who he was), but because of the way his face shifted. First, confusion, soft and curious, followed by realization—a spark in his eyes that spread into a slow, crooked smile. The kind of smile that made you feel like you’d just walked into the punchline of a joke you didn’t know you were telling.

You didn’t have time to overthink it. You kept walking, each step measured, heels clicking against the polished floor. As you passed him, you tilted your head ever so slightly and said, “Guess one of us is going to have to change.”

His laugh was warm and light, like it was meant just for you. “Great minds think alike?”

“Or someone’s been sneaking peeks at my sketches,” you replied, lifting an eyebrow in challenge.

And then came the laugh. That laugh. The one that lit up his entire face and made the world around you feel just a little softer, like maybe this wasn’t the chaos you thought it was.

“If I’d seen this coming,” he said, his voice dipping low with a teasing lilt, “I would’ve brought a backup. But I have to say, you’re pulling it off better than I am.”

Heat crept up your neck, a traitorous blush, but you smirked through it. “Well, at least it’s not a gown. That would’ve been embarrassing for you.”

His grin widened, bright and effortless. “Touché.”

It should have ended there, but of course it didn’t. The photographers loved the two of you together, your matching suits now the centerpiece of the night’s chaos. And Timothée? He leaned in, voice low enough that only you could hear, and whispered little jokes between camera flashes.

“So, should we start planning our next matching outfit now, or play it by ear?”

“You know, people are going to start shipping us, right?”

“Do you think we’ll get a discount if we order matching suits in bulk?”

You bit back a laugh, trying to maintain your composure, but he made it nearly impossible. By the time you reached the end of the carpet, your cheeks ached from smiling, and you’d almost forgotten the cameras were even there.

Inside, the event blurred into the background—drinks, chatter, speeches. But somehow, you kept crossing paths with him. Once at the bar, then at the dessert table, and finally, during a quiet moment when your tables were coincidentally (or not so coincidentally) near each other.

“Okay,” he said, leaning over with that same mischievous smile, “but really. Did you steal my look, or did I steal yours?”

You sipped your drink, playing it cool. “I think the universe is playing a prank on us.”

“Well, the universe has good taste,” he said, his tone teasing but warm. “So, are you going to start wearing suits to every event now? Because I might need to step up my game.”

“Only if you promise to wear a gown next time,” you shot back, arching a brow.

His laugh -soft, full of something you couldn’t quite place- made you smile despite yourself. “Deal,” he said, eyes crinkling at the corners.

You didn’t expect to see him again, but just as you were about to leave, he appeared, almost like he’d been waiting. “Hey,” he said, his voice quieter now, less playful but just as warm. “Tonight was fun. Unexpected, but fun.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, smiling softly. “Thanks for not making it weird.”

His lips quirked into another smile. “Anytime. But next time, let’s coordinate on purpose. Deal?”

You rolled your eyes but laughed anyway. “Deal.”

As you stepped outside, your phone buzzed with notifications. Somewhere online, a picture of the two of you in your matching suits had already gone viral. Captions like “Fashion soulmates?” and ��Power couple energy!” flooded your feed. You shook your head, a smile tugging at your lips.

The universe, it seemed, wasn’t quite done with you yet.

[viperify]

Oneshots | ᴛᴏᴍᴀᴄᴏ X ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

Escaping You.

Short summary: After spending incredibly tedious days alone in the cabin, they finally came back for another round. Though again, they disappeared in a hurry. Little did they know they left behind just what you needed…

Warnings: 18+ only! threesome, oral m!receiving, unprotected p in v, slight degradation

A/N: so sorry this took so long but every time I opened the document I questioned my sanity

wordcount: 2,2k

Read part 1 before!

It‘s been three days since they had left you behind in the cabin.

You paced around the room, panicking. After trying everything in your power to get out, you gave up, accepting your fate. If you had a wand, it would have been easy to get through the wards, but well, they took it from you. At least they were considerate enough not to let you starve. Three times a day a meal would appear on the wooden table next to the front door, and as soon you were finished the plate vanished.

Sadly enough, guessing what they would come up with next for you to eat was the most interesting part of the seemingly never-ending days. It was torture, really. There was nothing for you to do except either sit there or uselessly wander around the tiny space. Never had you imagined you would ever wish to read a book, but that was exactly what you craved most. Distraction. Anything.

Today‘s lunch consisted of pastries, some sort of bread with your favourite spread and–

You furrowed your eyebrows. How did they even know what your favourite was?

Shaking your head, you went on to finish your second meal of the day. It was not like you could ask them anyway.

Although you thought you had basically seen everything in the cabin, a strange looking wood panel caught your attention. It was just beneath one of the beds, barely peeking out. You quickly made your way towards it, and as you lifted the detached panel, a book and loose notes became visible. Quickly, you picked up what you had found and tried to make sense of it.

As you opened the book, you froze. Handwritten notes about Order member profiles, secret locations, frequently used spells and maps of Hogwarts were expertly put together on the paper. As you continued reading, more details came to light.

They knew everything.

Every single detail about Order movements, meetings, your research about Horcruxes… they had it all noted in that silly book. If they knew of all this, they could have erased the entire Order by now. The worst part was that you recognized Draco’s handwriting, meaning they must have gathered the information themselves. You shuddered as you flipped through the pages and you found a page which had your timetable on it, every single lesson you took accurately sketched out, as well as routes you normally took through the castle to get to the classrooms.

If they had done this for every Order member, you wouldn’t have been as creeped out, however it seemed to only be you who they made this effort for.

Someone from inside must have been leaking information, there was no way they could have found out all of this by themselves you thought. Just as you were about to study the notes, a loud creak of the front door had your head shoot up. Two familiar figures entered the cabin, taking off their masks on the way. You quickly tried to hide the notes, but it was too late.

“I thought you had learned your lesson about snooping around?” Tom asked, slowly making his way towards you.

“How did you get all this information and what do you need it for?”

The brunette’s mouth twitched, stopping right in front of you to take the books and notes from your hands. “That is none of your business, darling.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, lips trembling as you stood up, ready to confront them. His taller figure still towered over you, his piercing gaze meeting yours. The brunette’s expression was as always controlled, not a single emotion visible on his pale face.

“What did you think I was going to do? Sit there and reminisce about former times? Back when I wasn’t locked in this tiny cabin with nothing else to do? If you thought I would just give in after whatever happened between us, you are wrong. I will never defy the Order. Not until my very last breath.”

Your tone was sharp, drawing their attention to you. Tom turned around to face Draco as they exchanged a glance. “We thought you would say that. But as we said, you aren’t getting out of here. Not until it’s over.” The blonde said, coming closer as well.

As you were about to complain, the last sentence got caught in your head. You tilted your head, turning your attention to Draco, slowly walking towards him.

“Until what is over?” You questioned, voice controlled, barely above a whisper. Tom sighed defeatedly, closing his eyes as he pinched the bridge of his nose, turning away from you two. “Malfoy, you are quite possibly the most stupid person I have ever had to work with.” He muttered under his breath, slowly shaking his head.

“Until what is over?” You repeated, eyes flickering between your capturers.

None of them were looking at you anymore though, Draco’s gaze was following Tom, who was pacing around the small cabin.

“Guys talk t-“ your attempt to speak was cut off by Tom swiftly locking his eyes with yours, approaching you. Taking a few steps backwards didn’t help, as you were stopped by the bed behind you. “You liked what we did, didn’t you? You enjoyed it?” He questioned calmly, his eyes staring right into yours, breath hot on your face.

As you didnt reply but rather avoid his strict expression, his hand wandered to your face, squeezing your cheeks almost painfully.

“Answer me.”

“Yes I did but-“ you complained, however  you were cut off again.

“Great. That’s all.” Tom loosened his grip, taking a step back with a sly grin on his face.

“You tell me what is going on. Why did you bring me here?” You hissed, though neither of them seemed to care. They were looking for something, and as they spotted one last sheet of paper you had managed to hide from them until that moment, the blonde snatched it, his lips perking up in a smile. “Got it.” He said, handing it over to Tom who also seemed satisfied.

You shook your head and huffed. “If I ever get out of here, you two should hope the Order show mercy. You have been spying on them for Merlin knows how long.”

“Order, Order, Order. It’s always just the Order with you, isn’t it? May I remind you of your blood status and who is in this very room with you?” Draco asked, though not necessarily in an offensive way, not like you were used to at least.

A scoff escaped your slightly parted lips as you shook your head in disbelief. “The Order is my family. However, I can’t help but ask myself,” your legs carrying you ever so slowly towards the blonde, “What would your dear families think of you getting with a muggle-born, hm?” Finally stopping in front of him, crossing your arms over your chest as you raised your eyebrows. Two pairs of eyes were now staring directly at you, the room having fallen into complete silence.

Draco closed the distance between you two, capturing you in a passionate kiss. Your first kiss together. His hand sneaked up to your neck, holding you close to him. “If you think we care about that you are mistaken.” He breathed, pulling away from you.

“We had an agreement, Malfoy” Tom warned, approaching you two.

“Tell her.”

The brunette‘s hand softly wrapped around your throat from behind, pressing his chest against your back as he leaned in, placing a small kiss on your ear. “This whole thing was never about the Order, darling.”

“A- About what is it then?” you breathed, tilting your head slightly as Tom trailed soft kisses down your neck.

“It has always been about you. Your safety.” Draco answered huskily, his lips meeting yours again before you had the chance to reply anything.

“You two are so infuriating.” You said as you broke apart.

“That’s why you love us.”

Soft moans escaped your mouth as the two Slytherins worked your body, the blonde ridding you of your trousers while Tom pulled your shirt over your head, leaving you in your matching set of red underwear. “So pretty for us.” Draco encouraged, his hands roaming over your exposed skin, cupping your breasts over your lace bra at last, while Tom worked to open it. As soon as the material hit the ground, the blonde’s lips closed around your hardened peak, twirling his tongue around it before gently dragging his teeth over the sensitive skin. Tom’s hand travelled over your waist to your tummy, slipping inside your panties to find your swollen clit, drawing lazy circles on it.

Any doubt in your mind had long vanished, replaced by the pure bliss of pleasure spreading through your body. Just when you were about to reach your much needed release, your palm closing around around Tom’s arm as your head rested on his shoulder, the brunette withdrew his hand, leaving you teetering at the edge of your climax.

Your eyes fluttered open, a whimper falling over your lips at the loss of his touch. “Please” you whined, but as always, they didn’t listen to you.

“Patience is virtue, darling. Now, kneel for us.”

You did as you were told, sinking down on the cold wooden floor, eyes locking onto Draco. Excitement started rushing through you at the sight of your capturers, who stripped themselves of their black clothing, switching positions.

“It’s my turn try your sweet pussy today.” Draco murmured, lining himself up with your soaked entrance after collecting some of your slick. You both gasped as he slowly pushed his tip inside of you, stretching you just how you liked it. The brunette in the meanwhile watched you two hungrily, and just after you had adjusted to the blonde, Tom tapped his cock against your plump lips. Your eyes met his, your tongue swiping over your lips seductively. The brunette’s brows furrowed slightly as he watched you, all while getting fucked by the other Slytherin. “Dirty girl. Come on, open up now. Let me fuck that pretty mouth of yours.”

You stuck your tongue out, letting him slide his hard length past your lips. Just about over halfway in, he hit the back of your throat, having you gag around him. “Open up wider, slut. I know you can. Saw it last time.”

It took a few thrusts until both Slytherin’s had set a steady rhythm, Draco’s cock pushing into you from the perfect angle which had you seeing stars, while Tom mercilessly thrusted into your mouth, using hid grip on your hair as leverage. “Such a good girl for us. Doing so well.” The blonde cooed, fingertips digging into the flesh of your hips as he sped up, his tip kissing your cervix with almost every thrust. “You like this, don’t you?”

“Mmhm-“ you agreed best you could as the lewd sounds of Tom hitting the back of your throat filled the cabin. Dissatisfied with your reply his fingers tangled in your curls, pulling you off his cock, a string of saliva connecting to your lips. “Answer him properly” he demanded, his darkened eyes staring back at yours.

“Y-Yes I do! I love it!” You blurt out, groaning when the blonde’s hand sneaked towards your clit to rub on it. “That’s right, good girl.” Tom growled, pushing back into you.

Your hips moved back against Draco’s for extra friction, feeling the waves of your high about to break the dam that had been holding it back for so long, eager to find release.

Both of their arms jerked back with a hiss and they exchanged a glance, halting their movements. “Why did you stop?“ you blinked a few times, the feeling in your lower stomach slowly fading.

“I fear we have to go. So sorry, love. We will make it up to you, I promise.” Draco explained, getting up. They dressed themselves in a hurry, not paying you any more attention.

“You can’t be serious. Stay! Don’t even think about leaving me here again!” You yelled, however both of them had already put on their coats, exiting the cabin at once.

The door was locked. They had left you behind yet again.

You sank down against the door, exhaling sharply. Your eyes roamed around the place, and just as you were about to get up to dress yourself, you spotted something familiar. It was your wand, which they had apparently lost in their hurry. Quickly you got dressed and picked up your wand, feeling relieved to finally have it back.

With the help of some spells, you were able to work your way through the wards, and the door opened. A smile formed on your face at the first breath of fresh air in days. You contemplated leaving behind a note but decided against it. If they weren’t going to tell you why it was important to stay in the cabin, you wouldn’t. The Order needed you.

You made your way out of the small hut, checking whether it was safe.

Then, you ran.

Tagging a few people who wanted a pt 2:

@leviathans-fish @grandeoatmilklatte @shinytalent @noisytravelerpizza @iwasalloverhimmmm

I hope it isn’t too disappointing. I had an idea when I posted pt 1 but I scrapped that and writing this was a STRUGGLE lmao.

[netmors]

Mr. Bridger looked at Lady Sabine's sketches with irony, hoping to cheer the girl up a little in such a depressing situation: - So who was it? Miss Wren? I don't believe you saw a living dead person? Your thoughts are frighteningly correct, Mr. Bridger, - Alexander joined the conversation. - According to the found records of old Captain Pellaeon, he personally witnessed the death of the admiral at the Battle of Bilbringi… Hera turned even paler. Five hundred years… Impossible. - Wait, Alexander, but that was over five hundred years ago! How could he? How can it be alive now?! - I would like to know this as much as you, Miss Syndulla. - Arghhhhh, I am more concerned about those who were with him in the castle and attacked me, Mr. Kallus and Mr. Jarrus. They do not seem like his usual pawns. They were… not very kind. - Hm, calm down, Mr. Orrelios, that's what we're trying to find in the journal. Presumably, they're not as free to act as the former Grand Admiral. - After they dealt with Pryce and chased us, I'm not so sure of your words. - Oh, here it is!

…."On my deathbed, I can finally tell, no, I can forget these terrible memories of that fateful day. I will never stop thinking about what happened that day, and I will blame myself until my last breath on this mortal world, but… But, Force, I… I must go… Go before they come! The traitors who dared to go against the will of the Emperor! Who turned their back on their Grand Admiral! Those he came for in their final hour!"...

Mr. Kallus finished reading the last entry, and the company sank into an uncomfortable silence. Then, sighing, the former Imperial said: - Well, things are starting to make sense… Other records from the Coruscant archive mentioned two allies of the Grand Admiral, supposedly responsible for Thrawn's death, however… Years later, they also died. - As you can see, no, - Miss Wren summed up the conversation gloomily, and then looked at Alexander. - Apparently none of the former Imperials can find peace even in the afterlife. Or… Unless they followed him voluntarily…

Making the text in the "style" of the 19th century turned out to be more difficult than I thought.

Inspired by the first half of Bram Stoker's novel "Dracula", this unusual art post for Halloween turned out.

Soundtracks:

Secession Studio - All Your Rage, All Your Pain

Secession Studio - Be Bold and Be Brave

Secession Studio - Veil of Shadows

[sonicfanthenightfury5099]

Surprising a Slasher with Soft Serve Ice Cream

I had some Soft Serve today, and I thought about how Horror boys would like Soft Serve, so I decided to write about it

Reader is GN

Characters: Michael Myers(OG, RZ, and Peepaw) Jason Voorhees, The Sinclairs, Thomas Hewitt, Bubba Saywer, Corey Cunningham, Brahms Heelshire, Hannibal Lecter (NBC), and John Kramer

CW: Cuteness Overload

Michael Myers

- Went on a Trip to the coast

- Michael was given a "No Killing During Vacation" rule (Michael must behave)

- You told him to wait at a table after eating

- Michael thinking about things to do when getting home

- "Surprise Honey." You said you have Sundae for Dessert

- Michael was definitely surprised

- You remember his favorite flavor, Cookies and Cream

- He definitely loved the surprises

Jason Voorhees

- A Beach trip

- Big guy definitely doesn't want to go swimming without a life jacket

- Walking on the Broad-walk you saw something

- You told him to wait at the spot you both stopped at

- He chilled at the spot while holding the plushie he won at a game

- You walked back with Ice Cream for the both of you.

- Cookie dough is his favorite

- A great treat for the heat

Michael Myers RZ

- A bit of a Trip to a big city with a mall

- No Kill rule is put in place

- Michael is behaving well during the trip

- At a Food court, you told him to wait at the table

- Michael wondered what your doing

- Is that Ice Cream you bringing to the table?

- "I asked for extra candy pieces for yours." You said as you sat down, handing the soft serve to him.

- "Thank you." He said, smiling

- Resse's pieces with cookie bits for your tall man

The Sinclairs

- The 4 of you decided to have a trip to a Mall a few hours away from Ambrose

- Definitely a new thing for Vincent and Lester to check out (Not new for Bo)

- You ask Lester to help you with something as the Twin sat at a table

- Bo tried to do his usual flirting with ladies passing by while Vincent was sketching in his little Sketchbook on the table

- Sweet Treat placed in front of both of them

- Soft Serve Sundaes

- Definitely a good treat

- Carmel on Vincent's while Bo's has mixed Berries and Lester having a simple vanilla cone

Thomas Hewitt

- A Trip to Houston just you and Tommy

- The Hot Texas heat is unbearable when entering the city

- You decide in something to help with the heat

- 2 Vanilla Cones, please

- Thomas loves the cold treat to beat the Texas Heat

Bubba Saywer

- Texas is Hot 24/7 in the Summer

- You decide to get something to beat the heat

- Ice and something Sweet

- Bubba Squealed when you showed him a Tub of Rocky Road Ice cream

- It's partly melted, but being creative. You mixed it with in the ice to make it like Soft Serve

- A Big cool down for the Summer heat

Peepaw Michael Myers

- A Road trip to the ocean

- Michael has never seen the Oceah in person (Figure you give him a chance before he get sick)

- He was Given the No Killing Rule (Insert Old Man Grunt)

- A Sight for the 61yo Michael to see the great Wide Blue Sea

- You told him to stay in the spot (he's not going to, his eyes are focused on the ocean)

- You came back with some Soft Serve for the both of you

- Enjoying ice cream and watching the waves

Corey Cunningham

- A well-deserved vacation out of Haddonfield

- You decide to surprise him when you get to your destination

- A Mall day

- You decide to get something for the both of them

- Surprise, I got you Ice cream my Dear

- Chocolate Soft Serve for Corey, his favorite

- Best Time Away from Haddonfield

Brahms Heelshire

- You decide to make something for Brahms

- Needing the ingredients to make

- Brahms wondered what your making

- Home-made Soft Serve Ice Cream

- Brahms never had Soft Serve before, so this is definitely a Treat for him to try

Hannibal Lecter

- You always told him that you love Soft Serve Ice Cream

- Him being a cook, he knows how to make something like that

- Hannibal Surprise you with homemade Vanilla Bean Ice cream

- It has the Soft Serve you love to have

John Kramer

Click here for Drawing

- Figured to cheer up him

- Going to his workplace with your surprise

- He definitely loved the surprise

- Strawberry sauce on Vanilla soft serve, you remembered so well

Click here for drawing

[neil-gaiman]

Hi Mr. Gaiman,

As an accomplished author with several books under his belt, how do you know that a story is a dud for lack of a better word? I have a million ideas bouncing around inside my head at all times, and while I consider them good ideas worth pursuing, how am I sure they will make a good story?

I ask this because I have been dwelling on something one of my professors said last semester. He held a seminar on poetry and got to the topic of fiction writing, where he stated that he had just recently finished a story he had rewritten several times over the course of multiple years. Now I myself write as a hobby with a faint imagining that someone might see it in the future, and I have written a dud or two, where the plot was poorly formed and the ideas behind it just had a flaw somewhere in the base concept. Perhaps this is my youth and amateurity speaking, but I was under the impression that given enough time and care, any story could recover from that stage so long as it had not been completed yet. Ideas would need to be reworked, concepts retooled, characters redrawn, but the very basic idea could still survive in a different format.

My professor disagreed, stating that he has destroyed 400-500 page novels that he has written before upon realizing said fatal flaw. He stated that the story was in a state that it could not recover from, and that many authors encounter ideas that seem good at the time, but stink later on to such a degree that the basic premise must be thrown out. This seems like a tremendous loss of work to me. As writing is an art form, it feels somewhat similar to destroying practice sketches and 'meh' oil paintings that showcase the artist's progress. An idea that stinks today might be able to work from a different angle later on in my opinion.

I suppose after rambling my question is now this: are some ideas and concepts just not worth pursuing? Are some story concepts flawed from the get-go and impossible to save, and is there a way to tell that before writing the whole thing? Is it even possible to waste that time as you're getting in practice for the next tale?This isn't something I ever really thought about before being told in sure tones that this is how things work by someone with a degree is this, so I figured I'd ask the professional author for a second opinion. Apologies for the length of the message, especially if this is one you've received before.

I have things that have stalled and a few stories that, when they were done, went to the box in the attic rather than to anyone who could publish them (there's a whole novel there I wrote when I was 21). But mostly because I was writing serial comics, failure was not an option, and if something did fail it had done it in public for everyone to see. And I learned that some things I thought were failures had actually worked really well.

Some people are afraid of failure. Some people are afraid of success, which can also be a good reason for junking books and never showing them to anyone. As long as you pronounce them irretrievably flawed and show them to nobody, you will never be judged for them or have to deal with either success or failure.

[bedoballoons]

Don't know if you take crack requests. What if reader thought the guys were females but find out they were actually a dude.

Venti, Lyney, Tighnari, Kaveh

You can add another of your choosing

I take every request I think as long as it's not pedophilia/incest/ or anything with animals/mobs!

This idea had me laughing!! Oh my gosh! I won't lie I thought Venti and Kaveh were females the first time I saw them! I also kept confusing Lyney with Lynette 😭 I hope you enjoy and thank you for the request!

─⊰⁠⊹ฺ🍂𝔾𝕖𝕟𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕟 ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕔𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕟𝕤⊰⁠⊹ฺ🍂

{༻~Finally now it's all making sense~༺}

CW: Fluffy! Characters get a little embarrassed cause the reader thinks they are a girl!

(Includes: Lyney, Tighnari, Kaveh, and Venti!)

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

𑁍༄Lyney:

"You must be thinking of my sister...Lynette?" Lyney chuckled shyly, finding his heart racing and his cheeks flushed. You were extremely cute in his eyes and you'd just complimented him on his magic tricks...if only you hadn't called him miss.

"Oh no I'm talking about you! You're assistant was wonderful as well, but you truly wowed the crowd!"

"Well I thank you for your words of praise, I'm afraid I have to correct you. I'm not a girl haha"

"Oh no! I'm so sorry, I should go now. I'm so sorry."

"No please, I'd like to talk to you more. Perhaps I could show you a few more magic tricks!"

𑁍༄Tighnari:

"Excuse me Ms.? Do you happen to know the best medicine for a migraine? I've heard you're good with medications and even make some?" You tapped the fennec foxes shoulder, hoping she could help you with the painful headaches you'd been experiencing.

"Ms.?" He turned towards you and upon hearing his voice you instantly realized your mistake...

"Mr.! I'm so sorry, I didn't- I shouldn't have just assumed!"

"It's alright, it could have been far worse. You could have called me a furry."

𑁍༄Kaveh:

"Hi, sorry if this is strange, but as I walked by I noticed your sketches and I just wanted to say they are beautiful ma'am" You shyly stood a bit away from him, hoping that he wouldn't find your compliment to forward...if only you'd known that was the least of your problems.

"Thank you, but I'm sorry, did you just call me ma'am? Did Alhaitham put you up to this?"

Your face went beet red, embarrassment playing on your features, "I don't know who that is and I sincerely apologise!"

"Oh no I'm sorry, I shouldn't have accused you of working with Alhaitham. He's my roommate and...and you probably don't need to know that." He looks away from you feeling flustered, "Can we start over?"

𑁍༄Venti:

"Ehhh, what did you call me?" Venti scratched the back of his neck, cheeks turning crimson as you chuckled sweetly...it would have been cute really,...if only you hadn't just referred to him as miss.

"I called you miss! Oh I'm sorry is it Mrs.?"

The poor bard sighed, wondering why so many people assumed the wrong gender...did he really look that much like a girl? "Aha, actually it's neither! I'm a boy."

"...I'm so sorry! I shouldn't have assumed!!"

"It's alright, happens more often then you think..."

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚~Have a nice day~*⁠.⁠✧

[the-universal-sun]

Part two of the fic about Lee going little after Ford pushed him, please?? ❤️

Okay! So a couple of you wanted a part 2 to the drabble about Stan regressing after being burned, and I am more than happy to oblige! Sorry it took so long for this, personal stuff, you know? I’m also going to bounce between Ford and Stan’s POV!

(there are mentions pain medication and sedatives being used on Stanley for his burn, but don’t worry, it’s not super nefarious (it’s ford) and it’s only a quick sentence or two that starts around

“Come on, Stanley, drink your juice.” and ends at “back of his refrigerator”)

Stanford looked down at his brother, sleeping soundly on the couch with his raggedy looking stuffed bear clenched tightly in his arms. Stanley was acting…odd last night. After he was…branded for lack of a better term, his mental state seemed to almost dissolve? No that’s not right, he didn’t act unhinged or crazy, just younger? Stanford details his brother on his Journal page, sketching out the soft lines that make up his sleeping face; the worn Teddy Bear. Could the symbol have caused this phenomena? He didn’t know exactly what the symbol meant-an oversight on his part-just that Bill had told him to put it there. Was that just another one of his tricks and treacheries? Did Bill know this would happen and purposefully tell Ford to put that there so he’d burn his brother, leaving a permanent reminder of this encounter engraved on his skin? Ford has to set aside his Journal before he rips a hole in the page with his pen. He sits there, barely rested after locking himself up in the specialized cage he made, it was his first time using it. He had made it with padding on the walls, no sharp edges, and can only be opened via retinal scan; Bill can’t get out and can’t hurt him too badly, not with his hands wrapped up with excess padding. He wasn’t well rested but it was enough for some of the brain fog to dissipate, he can finally think.

He’s thought a lot in the last couple of hours; how he could apologize to Stanley for the burn and his words-looking back they’d been so cruel, so much like Bill how he could find a way to at least keep Bill from this dimension, and most recently, what happened with Stanley. He doesn’t think the burn had anything to do with his mental state-at least not the symbol. He already had that ragged looking stuffed toy with him in his knapsack. And Ford, upon looking through Stanley’s meager belongings, found a worn but seemingly well-loved large patchwork quilt-neither the bear or the blanket were things he can ever remember Stanley having back in Glass Shard before he was kicked out left. So he must have gotten them somewhere between that time and now, and judging by the looks of the comfort items, they were acquired a while ago, probably when Stanley was still in his teens. Which… that thought brought forward unpleasant feelings about how young they both were in Ford that he’d rather not think about right now. ‘

Is Stanley used to this phenomena? Has it happened before? Could it be psychological? I wish I knew where F left his psychology books, somewhere in my living room I think…’ Ford’s pulled out of his thoughts, pulling his hands down from tugging on his hair, by movement on the couch beside him. Stanley seems to be waking up, the light of the sun hitting directly in his eyes. Hopefully Ford can get some answers from him about what happened last night. He watches as his brother stirs from his sleep, one hand reaching up to rub at his eyes, Stanley was never much of an easy riser, always wanting to stay asleep and bundled in his warm blankets. Ford gets a look at Stanley’s eyes, just to make sure they weren’t yellow with slitted pupils; a sign of possession. They were his regular eyes, the iris color matching Ford’s own, but the look in his eyes was the same as last night, when he acted off. When he acted like a child. Perhaps…perhaps the issue is more psychological than magic or anomaly-induced, in which case, Ford’s going to have to deal with this with a light hand, he doesn’t want to mess up Stanley’s mind as well as his body. He still cares for his brother, even if he’s mad at him. He’ll try his best to help Stanley, even if that means that, for now, he has to treat him with near literal kids gloves.

Ford does his best approximation of a gentle smile as he can muster, he doesn’t think it turns out well though-he can feel the corner of his mouth slightly twitching and his eyes are probably entirely too wide with his ever present dark circles on display. Something must work, because Stanley, sleep now rubbed out of his eyes, is giving him a small smile back.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Stan snuffles into Poindexter as the sun wakes him up. He wanted to stay in his blanket of warmth, he hasn’t been this warm in so long. But he remembers where he is, at Ford’s house, and Ford has never wanted to sleep in, and he wants to spend time with Ford, so he gets up anyway. He rubs the sleep and eye crusties away, squinting against the light burning his eyes. He goes to look for his brother and finds him on a chair next to the couch Stan slept in, giving him a weird smile. He looked…Stan didn’t know how he looked. Crazy? Like a mad scientist? He doesn’t seem like he’s mad at Stan or wants to hurt him, so he smiles back, clutching Poindexter to his chest and wrapping the blankie further around him. Ford’s house-Sixer;s house?- is warmer than his car, but Stan gets cold easily, so while he can, he’ll bundle up. It’s not his nice and big blankie with all the cool patterns some granny in New York gave him, but Ford’s sweater and blanket will do for now.

“Stanley, can you tell me how you’re feeling? Do you feel any different from last night? Physically and mentally? Do you know who I am?” Ford lists off too many questions for Stan to think through at once this early in the morning. And Stan can’t answer him anyways, not in the ways he wanted. He closes his eyes tightly, trying to find the ability to speak in him, bunching up Poindexter to his face and rocking slightly, feeling a tiny distressed. When the idea hits him. He holds up Poindexter and points between him and Ford like he did last night, trying to form the word in his mouth.

“The bear? Stanley I am not-Yes! We went over this last night, the bear and I have the same glasses!” Ford isn’t getting it! He’s supposed to be the smart one! Stan guesses he’ll have to try his best to speak, even if he’s not happy about it.

“P-Poinde-x-ter.” Stan tries to slowly say the word so he doesn’t mess it up. He doesn’t know what he’d do if Ford made fun of him for how he spoke when he was feeling all fuzzy in his head. He points between Ford and Poindexter while saying the word. Ford better get it this time, because Stan’s tongue is feeling really thick in his mouth now-and his body hurts too.

“Poindexter? Stanley, I-” Ford stops and just stares at Stan, making him fidget nervously. Was Ford made he named his Teddy after him? It was one of the few comfort items Stan had, he cuddled him even when he wasn’t feeling all fuzzy headed like now. It reminded Stan of hugging Ford.

“Did you name the bear after me?” Stanley nodded shyly, hiding his face in Poindexter’s back, scared of Ford’s reaction. It’s been so long since they’ve seen each other that he COULD get mad at Stan for naming his Teddy after him, kicking him out into the cold again, to be alone and scared and to never see Ford again-

“I see. That’s…that was sweet of you, Stanley, thank you. A-are you okay? Are you in any pain?” Ford’s voice was softer than it was before, when he was asking all those questions. Stan wonders why. He lifts his face up from his stuffy and looks at his brother, his Sixer, and sees his face. It looked softer than when he was smiling before, he was sitting on the edge of the bed too. Stan didn’t even feel the bed move, and he had gotten really good at that after all these years. Ford must have had some sort of ninja training to be so sneaky when moving. The thought of Ford being a ninja makes him giggle, his shoulder moving with his laughs makes him wince, though. He points to his shoulder, the one that hurt. Now that he’s focusing on it, it hurts really bad, like really REALLY badly. So bad he wants to cry, but he can’t cry because then Ford will think he’s a big stupid baby. And Stan’s NOT a big dumb-

“I thought that would be the case. I never got to give you any pain medication,” Stan cringes at the thought of medicine, “and I doubt I have anything truly strong enough to numb the pain of a burn to that extent. I do have a mild sedative that I could give you, it would make you loopy for the duration until it wears off, but I…I doubt that would be a problem with how you’re acting now.” Stan doesn’t think there’s anything wrong with how he’s acting, Ford’s just a Fuddy Duddy sometimes, like right now. He pouts at Ford from behind Poindexter where he’d hidden his face again, his brother looked like he had this thinking cap on and working at full capacity, holding his chin in his hands and thinking with his eyes closed. Stan can’t help it, while Ford’s not looking, he sticks his tongue out at him.

“Are you still afraid of needles? If you are-” Just the thought of needles or any sharp object of any kind has Stan clutching Poindexter and hiding under the blanket, body shivering. He HATES needles and anything involving the doctor’s office. Distantly, his mind knows there’s other reasons he hates needles, but he can’t bring himself to think of them right now, not when Ford wants to jab him with a big giant needle! He whimpers as his shoulder moves, making it hurt even more than before. His face hurts too. So does his whole body. He just wants to go back to sleep, but he knows he can’t, not with the pain and not with Ford here, who probably wouldn’t even let him go back to sleep.

“Relax, Stanley! No needles, I promise, I’ll find another way to give you the sedative, so please just relax. I need to look at your shoulder and change your bandages, can I do that? Please? Let me take care of you, at least for this.” Ford taking care of Stan? He hasn’t thought about that at all, he thought he was hated by his brother, but if Ford put him in a cozy sweater, let him sleep in his house, and says he wants to take care of Stan, then it must mean that Ford still loves him, right? Stan sits up, blanket still draped over his head and eyes Ford, his hands are up and his eyes still look soft, but they look tight at the edges, like he’s stressed about something. Stan’s gotten good at reading faces. Is he upset because of Stan’s burn? That’s stressing him out too, he doesn’t like pain, not one bit. He nods his head and moves to get off the couch, blanket still wrapped around him and his Teddy still in hand, and Ford moves off it, too, standing in front of Stan. He grabs Ford’s hand before he starts to walk forward, making Ford just stop and stare super intensely at Stan, and Stan stares back. Are they having a staring contest? He doesn’t know if he’ll win or not, he’s still pretty tired and his eyes still burn, but Ford has some BIG dark circles under his eyes, so who knows? They don’t seem to be having a staring contest, his brother looking away and starting to walk forward, gripping Stan’s hand very tightly.

They end up in the bathroom again, with Stan’s shirt off and his brother fixing up the ouchie on his shoulder. He bites his lips, and then Poindexter’s ear (He’s sure his friend wouldn’t mind if it helps with not crying out) because his ouchie hurts worse than last night, and the pain is making his head go even fuzzier, fuzzy like last night, which is the bad way because when it gets even fuzzier then he really is just a big baby. But…but Ford said he’d take care of him, so is it really bad, right now at least? He doesn’t think so, it’d be real nice to be taken care of when his head gets so fuzzy he can barely think. It’s probably for the best that it happens with his big brother here, because he blinked and suddenly he’s at a table, not in the bathroom anymore, and he has a new sweater on. He still has Poindexter and Ford’s blankie in his arms, though, so he doesn’t panic as much as he thought he would, especially not with Ford sitting next to him at the table. He just lets his mind go into that nice, super fuzzy feeling.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Ford’s getting worried about Stanley. While he was redressing his burn in the bathroom, Stanley’s mental state seemed to worsen, reverting back to the glaze eyed and clingy person he was yesterday, except it seems that this Stanley seems more…stuck in his head? Ford doesn’t know and he’s internally panicking because he cannot tell if this is indicative of some head injury Stanley had gotten-unlikely as his pupils contracted all the way and his head had no bumps, cuts, bruises, or scars-or if this was something to do with his inner psyche, a concept Ford has scoffed at and derided but is in sorely need of a deeper understanding of it now. It does seem like Stanley can understand him, if not slowly, which is good because that means that he still has his cognitive abilities about him, but he can’t find any reason as to why his brother would be acting like a child. It doesn’t seem like Ford’s done anything wrong beyond mentioning needles-driving Stan to hide pitifully under the blanket he still has clutched in his hands. It’s fine, he’s fine. He’s Stanford Pines, he can take care of his brother, he’s capable and in control enough to do that.

“Come on, Stanley, drink your juice. It’s-um- peach juice? Maybe?” Ford had taken the sedative from his first aid kit and emptied a dose from the needle into a cup of some juice he found in the back of his refrigerator. The label was mostly rubbed off, he can’t tell what the flavor is but it smells like peach so it might be. He can’t remember getting it, but the best buy date printed on the side has it listed for still being good for a week, so he’s sure it’s fine to let Stanley drink it! He holds the cup steady when it appears that his brother was going to just lap at it from the table, which would just end in an all out sticky mess that he doesn’t have the energy to deal with. It’s a bit tricky trying to get Stan to go up the stairs after that, the juice working fast and making his legs quake and look close to giving out, but he makes it to the room eventually, gently depositing Stanley on the couch and looking around for his Journal to write down his observations. He left it here when he tended to Stanley’s wound. He finds it and opens it to the bookmarked page, a rough sketch of a sleeping Stanley greeting him. Hmm, now that he was looking at it, Stanley did seem almost…cute…in a way. The look of peace on his face with the way he was clutching the bear-Poindexter, Stanley had called it (Ford is going to ignore the feelings it stirs in his chest and the ache it brings to his stomach, imagining a young teenage Stanley holding the bear tight and calling it Poindexter like-). He pulls the ear of that bear from Stanley’s mouth, the sedative mixed with all of the tension in his brother’s body must be having a toll on him, he can barely keep his eyes open. But he still has such a tight grip on the bear and the blanket, luckily Ford was able to take the quilt from Stanley’s bag while he was in the kitchen, and he tucks it tight around his brother, a small smile lifting the corners of his lips as a small sigh is released from his brother’s at the feeling of such an obviously loved item surrounding him.

Ford’s about to get up and head down to the basement to find a way to stop Bill the portal when he feels a hand tightly grip his own-it’s Stanley, of course. The first time he had done it, Ford could only bring himself to look at his brother, his eyes not seeing the almost 30 year old man, but the younger, gapped tooth version who insisted they hold hands on the pier so as not to get lost. It stirred feelings long pushed down inside of him-taking care of Stanley in this way has been doing that, bringing these feelings he pushed down up the the surface. He looks at the hand gripping his vest, then looks at Stanley’s face, his eyes, hazy as they are, seemed downtrodden and he let out a whine. He did this last night, didn’t he? Holding on to Ford and silently begging for him to stay. And who was he to deny Stanley, really? He knows he wouldn’t be able to concentrate much down in his labs, not with Stanley up here like this. All alone and in a very vulnerable state of mind. No, he’d better stay now, too, to keep watch over Stanley, who knows what kind of side effects the sedative could have, either? He settles down on the bed, sitting next to Stanley, just brushing his hair back with one hand and writing down the events of the morning in his Journal with the other, his mind feeling a bit more peaceful now than it had in a while. He’ll talk to Stanley about this later, hopefully he’s feeling better. Hopefully he may let Ford take care of him like this again. Ford doesn’t dwell on those thoughts for long, slowly sketching out another image of Stanley in his Journal, for his own safekeeping, this time.

[maybeoneday2121]

Hawks x prohero teacher Reader

You silently shook your head at the paper on your desk handed in by class 1A, you were on of their teachers and you had them do a paper assignment, usually you preferred doing hands on work with them but you unfortunately had to follow somewhat of curriculum.

The paper in front of you showed a sketched picture of bakugo beating up deku. You took a mental note to scold the kid next time he was in your classroom.

“Y/N, for a hero your sure easy to sneak up on.”

Taken out of your thoughts by the voice of the famous number 2 hero. You looked to the direction of where you heard your name. Hawks was currently awkwardly crouched in your classroom window. He was very much resembling a bird in his weird crouched position.

“What did I say about barging into my classroom, you dumb bird.”

“Hey, I missed seeing that pretty face of yours.”

You had to catch the smiling already forming on your face. You couldn’t let your boyfriend know that you were already beginning to let go of your annoyance.

“Then don’t blame me when our relationship hits the public.”

“Honestly let them find out, I am sick and tired of having to hide our relationship.”

“You know the conditions the HPSC gave us even for us to start dating.”

Hawks rolled his eyes but he did know that what you spoke of was correct and that he would be sure to get in big trouble if you two were found out.

“Well I missed you, so I thought I would stop by for a quick visit.”

“Ok, well come here and give me a kiss and get out of here before you are seen.”

Hawks quickly hops into your classroom reaching you in a flash. He softly grabs the back of your head with one while the other sneaks around your waist. His soft lips crash onto yours with aggression but care. You bring your hands through his hair in surprise of the passion coming from him.

Putting an end to the kiss, you softly pushed his chest away from you before you got in trouble from your boss at the school. You get get in some serious trouble if you were seen with your boyfriend while you were supposed to be working.

You and Hawks had only been dating for a couple months now, and honestly you never had been happier with someone than him. Unfortunately considering his position and background you guys couldn’t be to open about your relationship.

“If I get fired, it’s on you.”

You scold him after you guys broke the kiss.

“You know I would take care of it.”

Rolling your eyes, you start to slowly push him out of your window.

“Hey, Hey, No need to push me away Princess.

“Keigo, what did I say about the cheesy nicknames.”

“You said you would shove my fea—

“Miss (Y/N), I was wonderin-“

Kirishima’s voice interrupted hawks as he was about to say something not so school appropriate.

Turning your head towards your class doer, you see the entirety of class 1A start to fill your classroom. Your heart drops, the class freezes at the scene. You and hawks make eye contact and for the first time of dating the swift hero, you see him lose all his so called swagger in a millisecond.

Both you and hawks start turning bright red as the girls start dangling over the both of you.

“Waittt, are you guys dating?”

Mina exclaims louder than most of the other girls. Both of you and hawks were speechless, you guys couldn’t help but try to stutter out explanations.

“Well, shoot look at the time.”

Your boyfriend looks at his wrist that doesn’t even have a fucking watch on it. With that there’s a gust of wind and red feathers and hawks has completely disappeared. So long for depending on any help from your boyfriend in this situation.

“What are you guys doing here your class doesn’t start in like 30 minutes.”

The students quickly explain to you that there right on time and that you must have lost track of time. You check the time and realize much to your embarrassment that they are right and you did indeed lose track of time.

“Sooooo, are you and the bird hero a thing?”

“I will not answer that question, you guys do not to know about my personal life.”

You avoided the awkward question for the next hour like a you were in a real life battle. While you continued to teach you were planning how much you were going to get your so called loyal boyfriend in trouble for how he abandoned you in your time of need.

You headed out as soon as possible and dismissed the kids ten minutes early from their class and you sped back home before any of the kids could stop to talk to you. You did not have the energy today, tomorrow you’ll deal with it and treat the kids how usual do. You rush home and as soon as you see hawks you punch him in the face.

“Why would you leave me to deal with the bird brain, I was so embarrassed.”

You exclaim to him out of sheer annoyance.

Hawks was just smirking at you,

“What can I say, I am not great with kids you know.”

“Well, I am telling the kids the truth tomorrow so you can deal with it when they blab about it.”

You shrug it will affect your boyfriend a whole lot more then you so why should you care when he seems to not have a care in the world.

“Honestly, go for it.”

“Ok well you should have told me that before I was a big jerk to the kids today.”

You shake your head at Keigo, letting the days event go.

“Uhhh, sorry for overreacting and punching you, bird brain.”

Keigo just laughed and wrapped his arms around you, embracing you softly and started lightly tickling you with red feathers.

You couldn’t keep up with the attack of feathers on you so you bagan to ran away from Keigo.

“Babe, this is what you get for punching me.”

“Not if you can’t catch up to me.’

You could never stay mad at him, he brought so much laughter and love into your life and you couldn’t wait to show everybody your relationship to be honest. On top of all the sweet and sentimental stuff your boyfriend was hot and you finally wanted to show him

[randomyuu]

i keep the warmest truth.

Well you look at that. Another comic hahahaha why did I do this to myself—

But I do enjoy drawing this comic! It was a different kind of challenge, where this one focuses a lot on close-ups, so I need to learn about the subtlety of expressions. Can’t say I learn a lot (I use lots of copy-pasting of the same position lmao), but I still learn... something!

This beautiful one-shot fic is titled i keep the warmest truth by Dehawny. If I have to summarise the fic, it’s basically Ace!Gojou and Adorable!Yuuji. It's more like gray ace but better keep the “A” going, haha. And as usual, the fic is NSFW, so please do read the tags before you decide to give it a read.

Ace!Gojou is something I don’t know I need. I think I love almost every kind of Gojou headcanons, but Ace!Gojou holds a special place in my heart. I could be biased as someone in the ace spectrum, but the way Dehawny wrote Gojou and Yuuji’s interaction is truly heartwarming. And also a bit possessive, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. Possessive Gojou is my jam.

And Yuuji. Oh, dear lord where do I even start with this boy. I don’t have enough vocabularies to express how much I adore Yuuji. Him being his horny teen-self and constantly worrying about making the pleasure mutual is too much for my heart. And he’s still understanding of Gojou’s sexuality. Yuuji is kind, like that. Don’t mind me as I’m crying out happy tears in the corner.

Alrighty, below are my thoughts as I drew this, as usual haha:

After I got a taste with comic-making from my previous GoYuu comic, this one is a bit easier to plan once I narrowed down the scene I want to draw. I wanted the comic to start with Gojou positioning himself and Yuuji in the futon, bringing up Yuuji’s question weeks ago, but that means I have to draw 10+ pages and I was like, “haha nope”. I still love my hands, thank you very much. So I start with Yuuji’s reaction after Gojou explains a bit about his sexuality.

Panelling is still a struggle. In a way that I still feel that the layout can be improved, but I can’t for the life of me figured out what needs to be improved. I guess this kind of thing will come eventually, but not now.

During the sketching, I must say I got super hyped drawing Gojou’s eyes. That eye close-up? I really want to try making it as ethereal as possible in an achromatic setting. It’s intimidating, don’t get me wrong, but I have always loved drawing eyes since I was a kid and this is a fun thing to test my love for eyes.

If I have to complain… it would be the intimate position of them laying on the futon. I never really try drawing “couple-like” positions before, but it was really hard! Like, holy shit, can you guys stop being so awkward looking? Where the hell did I draw it wrong??? Thankfully references have helped me a lot with positioning.

The line art took sooo much time because I realise I want to make Gojou and Yuuji more… buff (kinda) so I need to re-sketch a bit :(( but the result is better than the previous one, so I’ll take what I can get haha. And I start to really like using screentones for shading—once I properly learn how to do manga layout, I think I might fall in love with drawing mangas!

But overall, this is a fun process to do, and I hope you enjoy the comic and this rambling of mine! :D

[carpbread0]

NPC Life is the best

(Genshin Impact x gn reader - sagau)

(Second person)

part.2 —> part 3 —> part 4

———————————————————————

Startled by the alchemist’s sudden appearance you let out a small yelp of surprise.

“Holy god.. you scared the living daylights out of me” you say while putting your hand on your heart to show your sincerity.

“I apologize, traveler. I couldn’t help but be.. captivated, by your appearance. Is it alright if I sketch you?” He says looking at your with a blank expression despite telling you of his interest in your appearance.

“S-sure.. can I at least get your name?” You inquire. Of course you know who he was, he’s Albedo! For gods sake your heart rate spiked the moment you saw him creep up on you. The fake surprise was to make it seem like you didn’t notice him at all. It was better this way.

“My name is Albedo, chief alchemist of the knights of favonius. It’s a pleasure meeting you, and what’s your name traveler?” He gently asks as he pulls out his sketch pad.

“My name is y/n, might i ask how long your sketch will take? I’m kinda in a rush.” You sheepishly smile at him. Of course you’re in a rush. In a rush to get away from him!

“It’ll only take 10 minutes. While my drawing cannot capture your full.. essence, it’s better than forgetting such a unique appearance.” He says smoothly a little proud of himself for managing to stall a little more time with you. Truthfully, he could’ve finish a sketch of you in 3 minutes if he wanted to, but there was something about you that made him want to selfishly keep you to himself.

Blushing a bit from his complements you stay completely still for him to finish his sketch while glancing away from him every now and then to get rid of your flustered expression.

striking a conversation with albedo was surprisingly easy, during the ten minutes he managed to find out what your favorite foods were and what type of flowers you adored. He was quite the smooth talker. Ten times as smooth as his teapot dialogue.

as the ten minutes quickly pass albedo gives the sketch of you the final touches. “I’m finished. Would you like to see the results?” He inquires a little hopeful that you’d be willing to see the fruits of his effort.

“Of course!” You smile at him gleefully. You’ve never gotten a portrait of yourself before so it was a bit thrilling to see how someone drew you, nonetheless the great albedo himself!

Turning his sketch pad he shows a picture like drawing of you, your eyes and smile jarringly similar to the reflection you saw of yourself on the glass pains of little shops you’d walk by.

“It’s lovely. It’s almost like staring in the mirror!” You complement your worries of spending to much time with him out the window as your now distracted by his magnificent sketch.

“I’m glad you think so Y/n.” He gently says, his stomach feeling little flutters here and there from your sweet words. He almost felt.. human in a sense. Something he never thought he’d feel as a creation made of chalk.

“If it ever occurs, maybe once you’re free. We could perhaps go for a meal? You’re quite an interesting person and I’d like to get to know you better.” He says calmly despite his nervousness of being rejected.

“Oh, uh sure. Maybe once I’m free” you repeat to him with a kind smile. Although you know it’s not the best idea to get tangled with albedo especially since he’s a creation of someone from Khaenri'ah you couldn’t help but feel a little guilty if you declined his offer.

“I really must go now Albedo. It was nice getting to meet you.” You say to him with sincerity as you get up from the bench stretching a little from how long you were sitting.

“It was nice meeting you as well, Y/n.” Albedo says and waves as you start to walk down the steps to the town square. Unknown to you, Albedo couldn’t help but feel a little upset of your quick leave as he watches you disappear into the crowd.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

as you began to walk back out into crowds you realize it’s almost 5 pm. You sure took your time walking up to the cathedral.

You usually would eat dinner at this time so your stomach began to grumble a bit. Noticing your stomach’s little cry of hunger you decided to stop by good hunter and get a sweet madam to go. while waiting, you decided to brainstorm where to stay for the night, cause your sure as hell not sleeping in the open where anyone could cut you and see your blood.

mm.. maybe angle’s share? There is an extra room for drunkards willing to pay to stay for the night.. but that would mean you would have to get a drink. Maybe they serve grape juice! It’s been your favorite since you were 5. Yea, maybe staying in angle share’s is a good idea after all!

standing up from your seat, you go up to the counter and pay for your take out. let’s head to the tavern!

————————————————————————

Carp bread- feels way shorter than my usual brain poops but I’m like about to fall asleep and I’m pretty sure the next part I make will be a heft chunk bec of diluc whshhwhwhwhwhwhwh 👍😼