#I just love drawin him with that frowned face

[nico00235]

Monkey boy appreciation post bc i love drawing him suffering and not being a hyperactive ray of sunshine <//3

yes, he is holding a broken peach, leave him alone

#lego monkie kid #lego monkie kid mk #lmk mk #monkie kid mk #lmk qi xiaotian #LOOK AT HIM BOII #I just love drawin him with that frowned face #emo phase fr #one of my friends said they loved the colors so im very very happy

[l0vem41l]

can you write like some cute head cannons for johnathan ohnn w like a short chubby female s/o like i can imagine him w someone like that !! it would be even cuter if they were like a artist or something <3

perfect.

「 tws + notes: no tws, unedited, reader is an artist– specifically a visual artist becuz WOOO u be drawin babey!!! if u meant otherwise i am So Sorry, pre colider johnathan ohnn, terribly, horribly, and awfully sweet and cliche i Cannot Escape Myself 」

「 fem!reader, romantic relationship <3 」

↳ ft. johnathan ohnn

author's note: FIRST REQ OF THIS ACCOUNT YIPPEE!!! thank u 4 the req anon (´▽`ʃƪ) <3 hoping this is what u want! ALSO!!!! my first time writing specifically for a chubby reader insert so i hope i did ok! (๑•́ ₃ •̀๑) feedback appreciated if there is any u'd like 2 share :D

▸ short chubby girlf,,, ouuughhwhhe oh my goodness,,, johnathan thinks ur absolutely adorable there is No Doubt About It!!!!!

▸ you are just the loveliest thing he's ever seen– and he'll remind you everyday.

well. okay maybe not completely verbally. there's something about being in love that makes johnathan feel like a lovestruck teenager all over again– all of a sudden, he's stumbling over the half sentences falling out of his lips and getting all red in the face while he tries to verbalize how pretty you are

he'll shut his mouth. eventually.... give him a kiss to shut him up!! it'll work! until he ends up blabbering again cuz he wants another one and gets a bit nervous about that too

▸ okay, but he's not,,, all nerves. he's able to pull himself together to show how much he appreciates you. again, physically affectionate. i feel it in my soul that he is a sucker for physical affection. with you?? it's just amplified.

thinks your height is perfect,, burying your face in his chest while he holds you in his arms? chef's kiss. secretly hoping you don't hear how embarrassingly fast his heart is pounding.

ur chubby too?? that meanz there's more to love!!!! more to embrace!!! there are no downsides to you :]]

this is how he reminds you how perfect you are in his eyes– all through touch. always gentle, always sweet. his favourite thing is when your cheek is pressed up against his chest when you're cuddling and you look up at him. he feels his brain stop every single time, his gaze meeting your pretty eyes.

you murmur a quiet, "i love you" and it takes a moment for him to say it back– not because he doesn't want to, but because it's these moments where he realizes how much he lucked out to have someone like you

▸ ARTIST GIRLF??? even better. johnathan ohnn is a scientist, through and through... but it doesn't mean he can't appreciate art when he sees it!!

"it... it's fine if i look, right?" he asks, his hand hovering over your sketchbook, waiting for your permission.

this was the first time you had ever left your sketchbook face open around him. while you were off doing something else, he had been fighting the temptation to look through it. he did understand art was personal, and he's tryin' not to accidentally overstep anything

"i mean... sure?" you say with a little shrug. "i haven't really gotten to filling it up yet so it's a little bare an–"

you barely get the words out. he's picked it up, flipping through the pages like the secrets of the universe were hidden somewhere in between.

"hey that's pretty cool!" his eyes light up as he admires the things you've created. he'll gush over your work, tryin to talk with artistic terms.

he's out here like, "i like the use of complementary colours!"

"...i only used charcoal for that." HES TRYING. not hard enough tho cuz dawg cmon. /j maybe,,, you could teach him about art?? wink wink nudge nudge >:]

he's about to flip another page– but you place your hand atop his to stop him.

"there's nothing left to see so,, uhh– i'll just take that back now." you say awkwardly. he won't fight you about it. maybe frown a bit about it– maybe some art was more personal thank he thought.

def thinks abt what was on those other pages... there was almost 100% a drawing– he was halfway to flipping the page over, he definitely saw something.

▸ politeness of not crossing boundaries aside, unfortunately he's an idiot (SLASH JAY) and doesn't know the first rule of interacting with an artist.

dreaded from anyone else, usually, but... bearable when it was him requesting it. gives you plenty of time and room to say no.

"you should draw me!" ☝️🤓

this is how you find yourself over at his apartment. he's seated on a chair across from your own, trying to figure out how you want him to pose for this drawing.

"tilt your head towards me– no, wait, not like... hold on–" you stand up, making your way over to him.

"i'm literally doing everything you're telling me to do, i don't know what you want me to d..." he trails off as you gently grasp his chin.

you suppress a giggle, watching eyes widen slightly as a strangled noise coming from his parted lips but no words but certainly no complaints.

with a firm yet soft grip, you position his head slightly and let go with a smile. "perfect. you stay right there."

GOES STILL ASF THE ENTIRE TIME SO HE DOESNT F UP UR DRAWING PROCESS HWDJFHEWUIFH bros hardly breathing

-

"you know," you comment, eyes focused on your sketchbook as your pencil works to draw him, "you've got a really interesting face."

the corners of his lips quirk up into a half-smile, his brow furrowing ever so slightly at your words. "thank you? y'know when you word it like that, it makes it sound like a skillfully veiled insult." johnathan quips. you're making him wonder if being considered "handsome by scientist standards" counts for anything in the eyes of an artist.

it earns a little laugh from you. "not what i meant."

your words immediately flood him with relief. you swear you hear him go "phew." what a dork.

"there's something about all your features," you continue, looking back up at him, "they just fit so perfectly on you. like everything was just meant to be there."

he falls silent for a moment, your words echoing in his mind. he wished he could work with words in the way you did.

"hey. look back up at me." you smile, holding up the paper and turning it for him to see.

"wow..." he reaches out, gently taking it from you. it takes a few moments for him to speak up again. "it's..."

"okay, hopefully?" you chime in, your hands clasped in your lap as you try your best not to anxiously fidget.

"perfect." he replies instead. "you're perfect– i mean, your work is obviously, yeah sure but you,,, you just–"

johnathan holds the paper in one hand, gesturing vaguely to you with the other. you giggle.

"well thank you."

he grins. "it was worth sitting here for like what? a few hours? man, it was hard trying to keep that position."

"johnny?"

"hm?..."

you laugh and he looks,,, confused. he awkwardly chuckles along with you.

"what? what's so funny?" he asks.

"i coulda worked without you posing like that. i've seen your face enough to work without a reference."

he watches as you flip back to the pages of the sketchbook he didn't see.

and it's him. whole pages,,, of drawing of him.

there's a glint of mischief in your eyes. "it was funny seeing you try to hold still for so long though."

▸ he finds something new to love about you every day. sometimes, he'll see all the things you do for him and try to measure up.

no matter what he does– and damn, will he do anything and everything for you– he can't help but feel like he's falling short. just a little.

after all, how do you love someone so perfect?

he certainly hasn't figured out. he could give you all the love in the universe, and he'd still think you still deserve more he's right

the night is quiet. you're on his couch, the shitty romcom you put on just to joke about with him no longer interesting either of you. your eyes are shut as he holds you in his arms, your head resting on his chest. his eyes are filled with adoration, looking at you, being all comfy and adorable in his arms.

johnathan leans down, pressing a quick, soft kiss to your forehead.

"...what was that for?" you mumble sleepily.

"nothing." there's a pause for a moment, as he tries to find the right thing to tell you– the way to phrase what's been on his mind since forever– and just ends up sighing instead. no flowery language could convey it. maybe being straightforward could help.

"you're just... perfect. y'know that?"

— reblogs always appreciated!

#me when the function has cuddling while watching a movie late at night #GRAHHH I LOVE ATSV #unedited like crazy #atsv x reader #atsv #across the spiderverse #spiderman across the spiderverse #spider man across the spider verse #johnathan ohnn #johnathon ohnn #johnathan ohnn headcanons #johnathan ohnn x reader #the spot #atsv the spot #the spot atsv #the spot x reader #the spot headcanons #the spot x y/n #even though i don't use y/n!!! teehee.

[slasher-male-wife]

Comfort: Poly Sinclair brothers x gn reader

 I’ve been going through some shit lately. I’m ok just well like as ok as I can be in this world. Writing and getting support from you guys just warms my heart. I wrote this to make myself feel better and to hopefully help someone else. 

Warnings: Deppressing and upsetting language 

The boys notices something has been wrong for the past couple days. You’ve stopped trying to dress up, wearing the same baggy clothes for days, you refusing to look in the mirror, being withdrawn from them, just not acting like yourself. Not even Lester’s stupid jokes make you smile for more than a few seconds. They didn’t really know how to go about asking you whats wrong. They all agreed that Lester should be the one to really start the talking. So he walks into your room and finds you laying in bed, the curtains closed and tears staining your face. “Darlin I think it’s time you tell us what’s wrong.” 

“I’m fine Lester I’m just tired.” 

“I’m not takin that for an answer. I’m gonna keep buggin ya until you tell me whats wrong.” You groan and look over at him. He’s got his arms crossed and a frown on his face. He’s being serious about this. 

“Look you know I don’t have the best relationship with my body and it’s been getting worse. Everything is wrong about me. I lost so much time in my life and I can’t get it back. I can’t go back and stop myself from doing these things and now I feel like the world is crushing me down. It’s hard getting out of bed and doing anything. I just can’t seem to get enough rest. It’s like my mind and body is constantly running and trying to get me to go back to doing what I used to. I don’t wanna get hurt like that again.” You sit up and rub your face. Lester walks over and sits on the bed with you. He pulls you into a hug and gives you a kiss on the cheek. 

“Ya know you kinda gave Bo a panic when I first talked about lettin ya stay here. He thought you were cute but he worried about you findin out bout all of this. Vincent was unsure but well he came around. He’s been drawin ya a lot lately. He misses his muse. We all love ya so much darlin. And if I have to make a time machine and go back and help you or fight whatever little thing is makin my Y/N feel bad I will. Bo will too. We care bout you so much. You’re just what this town needed.” Tears start to fall. You feel heard for the first time in awhile. They love you. They really do. You really feel loved for the first time. True healthy love. You hug him tight and don’t let go for a good few minutes. When you do pull away you’re wearing a smile. 

“I guess I should go let them know I’m ok.” Lester nods and holds your hand as you walk downstairs with him. Bo is on the couch probably asleep and Vincent is in the kitchen making tea. When he sees you he wraps you in a big hug. “I thought I should let you know I’m still alive.” Lester let go of your hand and sat down at the table. Vincent pulls away and cups your face. You can tell there’s a smile behind the wax mask he wears. You go sit down at the table next to Lester and Vincent pours out some boiling water. “Whats up with Bo?” You ask. 

“He had to chase around some college kids today, really wore him out. How bout you go try and wake him up.” Lester suggests. You get up and sit on the couch next to Bo. You watch over his handsome face as his chest rises and falls. 

“Bo I thought you should know that I’m alive. If you care.” You say rubbing his thigh. He opens his eyes and gives you a smile. He moves you on his lap and wraps you in a hug. 

“Do you hate me or somethin? Why haven’t you been with us?” He asks kissing your cheek. 

“Well just I don’t know how to explain it. Issues with my body and mental health in general.” You sigh. 

“Well we’re here to help. Just promise me ya won’t leave me alone too long. I miss comin home to your voice and a kiss.” 

“Me too.” Lester adds walking into the living room. He takes a spot on a nearby chair. “Well at least whenever you’re over.” You reach over and turn on the radio, flipping thorough the channels trying to find one that you like. You stop at one channel playing a familar song. You settle back into Bo as Vincent walks in and sits next to you two. You give him your hand and he rubs your knuckles. You look at your sweet boyfriends. How’d you get so lucky. Your smile stays as tears fall again. Vincent quickly wipes them away. 

“Whats wrong Darlin?” Bo asks worried, Lester perks up too. 

“I’m ok I’m just really happy. Y’all make me feel so loved and just so much more. I love you all so much.” You feel them relax and Vincent presses his wax lips to your hand. You put your head on Bo’s shoulder and fall asleep. You wake up the next morning on the couch cuddled up with Vincent. You smile and try to get up but he pulls you back. “Vinny come on. I love you too but I gotta get up.” Vincent sits up and grabs you. He stands up and holds you in his arms. You chuckle and kiss his cheek. “If you insist into the kitchen please I’m pretty hungry.” He carries you there and sits you down. He goes to the cassette player and grabs a tape. He puts it in and soft words pour out. “How about some waffles Vincent. I don’t want you working to hard you know?” He nods and gets to work. You look out the window at the rising sun and smile. Life is good with your boys. You wouldn’t have it any other way. 

#vincent sinclair #vincent sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair x you #vincent sinclair x y/n #bo sinclair #bo sinclair x reader #bo sinclair x y/n #lester sinclair #lester sinclair x reader #lester sinclair x you #lester sinclair x y/n #bo sinclair x you #house of wax #slasher #slashers #slasher x y/n #slasher x reader #slasher fanfiction

[zealous-whispers-of-us-redux]

money for nothing

A/N: I don't know how the mob works, but I tried. Also, I might be ruining the tiny bit of 'canon' I wrote in the first one. Whoops. Also, also, I barely edited this, so concrit is encouraged. Yell at me for my formatting and grammar, please. Lastly, click on the links (hope I did 'em right) if you wanna hear the songs :)

TW: Implied child abuse again.

Bucky felt like he was floating on air. For the first time in a long time, he was content. This love of his was a new thing, though fragile it was not. There was no fear that it would all collapse around him, no fear that she didn't love him. He was finally home. And what a home it was. Unaccustomed to cooking anything at all, she had decided to teach herself. Bucky had eaten more charred frozen fish sticks than he ever had, but it was all worth it just to see her smile. Baking was easier for her, so much so that Bucky had to buy new pants. He had a bit of a belly now, not that it bothered her, and she made sure to tell him every chance she got. And she took to the business like a duck to water. There was nothing more attractive than watching her give some mook the business. When she said she knew how to buy cops, she wasn't kidding. The fuzz was in Bucky's back pocket- it was incredible. The money was rolling in faster than it had ever been before.

But she was hurting; Bucky could see it. Bruises faded, bones were set and appropriately healed, but she was still in so much pain. She was angry all the time. She split her knuckles on guys' teeth and laughed when she made them bleed. Whenever Bucky raised his voice at someone (never at her), she folded in on herself and wouldn't come out until he was quiet again. She reminded him of himself- twenty-one years old, mother newly dead, already married, and being groomed by his asshole of a father to run the family business. He got into more trouble back then than he ever had and ever would have. He didn't want to watch her go down the same path, didn't wanna watch her come up for air and cry when she saw the blood on her hands.

It was high time for a vacation, Bucky thought to himself as he went to find her. She could usually be found behind the curtain, running The Barnes Clan's (illegal) gambling ring. He found her sweeping the floor in preparation for tonight's big shindig. She swayed with the broom, singing with a voice Bucky didn't know she had. He stopped to listen, feeling his heartbeat pick up. God, he wanted to marry her.

"Give me your hand when I've lost my way. Give me your shoulder to cry on. Whether the day is bright or gray. Give me your heart to rely on," she sang, dipping the broom.

"Send me the warmth of a secret smile. To show me you haven't forgot," Bucky sang next, striding in to join her.

She dropped the broom with a gasp, her hand flying to her chest.

"Jesus, B, you scared the hell outta me."

"'M sorry, sweetheart," Bucky said, tugging her into his chest. "How come I never knew you had such a pretty voice, huh?"

He was teasing, but he watched as her face fell. She began chewing her tongue, and Bucky frowned.

"I wanted to be a singer," she finally said, not looking at Bucky. "But my father said being a performer was unbecoming of a lady as high a caliber as me. I guess socialites are supposed to be demure, motherin' types, and I was always drawin' too much attention. It humiliated him. The more attention I got, the worse he became. I couldn't stop the kidnappings from drawing attention, but I could stop the singin', so I just. Did. I've been tryin' to stop it, but you make me happy."

Bucky didn't know what to say; he was so surprised.

"I'll try harder to keep a lid on it, honest," she whispered.

"No!" Bucky shouted before regulating his voice. "Hell no. You- you sing as much as you want, okay?"

She nodded but still wasn't looking at Bucky.

"You angry with me, B?"

"No, sweetheart, never at you. I jus'- I hate yer dad sometimes. Who does he think he is to try an' tell his daughter what she can and cannot do?"

"A rich man."

"Fuck that. I'm a rich man. An' I'm tellin' you, you ever feel the urge to sing, don't ignore it. Whenever, wherever, you sing. It's- you got a gift, you know that?"

"Performers don't embarrass you?"

"We're standin' in a dance hall I own."

"Well, yeah, but don't you have different expectations for the woman on your arm?"

"No." Bucky lifted her chin so he could look into her eyes. "I ain't anything like your daddy, sweetheart. I may be older, but I ain't out to mold you into my perfect little socialite wife. You wanna sing, go ahead an' sing. You wanna set up a red carpet in the middle of Times Square, you do that. You wanna go out an' swing, I'll go with you."

"Still can't swing," she said, but she was smiling.

"Been with you for six months, an' I still haven't taught you? What the hell have I been doin'?"

"Runnin' many lucrative illegal businesses."

"Ah, right, right. How could I have forgotten?"

Her smile grew as Bucky began to dance, urging her to follow his movements as he led them around the floor.

"How'm I supposed to share your rhythm- read your mind?" she said. "There's no music."

"Not yet," said Bucky.

"Subtle," she teased before starting to sing.

"Louder," Bucky urged.

"I'm confessin' that I love you. Tell me, do you love me too?" she began.

Bucky smiled, bending down so that he could touch his forehead to hers. He lost time that way as they moved around the floor, the broom lying forgotten. She stepped on his toes more often than not until Bucky asked her to sing something faster. They sped up their dance until she was gasping around the lyrics, and Bucky was laughing so hard that he couldn't catch his breath. Finally, they collapsed to the ground, both panting.

"Faster dancin' is much more fun," she said.

"I think so too," Bucky said, swinging himself on top of her.

She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him, humming the last line of the song she had sung into his mouth. When they parted, Bucky opened his eyes and tapped her on the nose.

"'M worried about you," he said bluntly.

"Me? Whatever for?" she asked, acting so surprised that she dropped the accent she had picked up from Bucky and leaping headfirst into the upper crust East Coast accent that her ancestors grew up speaking. The one her father had, the one she used when she was truly upset about something and not faking sounding tough.

"You're- you're so angry, you know that? I just- you beat up men three times yer size an' laugh when they spit teeth on the ground. You don't care if your knuckles are bruised; you punch 'em again an' again 'til they give it up. I'm afraid that one day you'll go to a place where I can't reach you."

She stayed silent, but Bucky forged ahead.

"I don't wanna see you hurt. I wouldn't know what I'd do with myself. I shoulda never let you do the dirty work."

"I wore you down," she said still in that same accent.

"I shoulda stayed firm. I told you the first night I wasn't gonna let you. I know what it's like to be this angry. You kidnap a guy who owes you money, an' you think beatin' on him will make you feel better and get you paid all at once, but you come to realize after he's bleedin' and nearly unconscious that you like it."

"They're society men that act like my father, the ones I beat up," she admitted.

"I see it all, sweetheart, I know."

"Am I a liability?"

"No, every cop is in my back pocket. Don't gotta worry about that, okay?"

"Okay."

"Now, hey, listen." Bucky pressed a kiss to her forehead, wanting to change the subject. He was never good with these sorts of things. "I've been thinkin' we needa vacation."

She brightened minutely. "Where?"

"Anywhere you want."

"We could go to the Catskills again. It was so nice last time."

"Nah, think bigger. I got so much money now, an' I wanna treat you like you deserve. So, whaddya say? Corsica? Palma? Sardinia? Havana?"

"I've always wanted to drive down Route 66-"

"That it? What a cheap date you are," Bucky teased.

"-Stay at the Hotel Bel-Air, rub elbows with Ava Gardner, Grace Kelly, an' Marlon Brando," she said, dropping her accent finally. "Take an airplane."

"Ah, there she is. Was wonderin' where my expensive society girl went. We can catch a flight home. We'll take our time drivin' down, see all the sights. How's that sound?"

"Sounds nice," she said.

"'M glad," said Bucky, kissing her just as the sounds of his men clattering through the club began.

They broke away from each other, Bucky settling into his role as quickly as slipping on a new coat. As his men swarmed him, each yelling about this thing and that thing until Bucky told them to shut up, a thought briefly crossed his mind. What if he ended it all? It fled just as quickly as it came, and Bucky thought no more of it as he did his damn job.

"Naw, we need that money; beat 'em up a little, Barton. Rogers, go with 'im. Shoot the guy if you hafta. Wilson, when's yer meetin' with Rumlow? You need backup? Take Parker; he's been dyin' to cut his teeth on that. An' tell Odinson to pull back a little bit- we ain't about to flood the Eastern seaboard so much we draw every copper to us. I ain't got that kinda cash lyin' around. Romanoff, any updates on Laufeyson? No? Fuckin' hell, fine, I'll do it my damn self. Fucker's got it comin', anyway."

The informal meeting didn't last long before the club was open for business, and people began streaming in, going behind the curtain, and taking their places at the gambling tables. Bucky always liked watching his dolly do her job. She was great at making guys take out loans when they ran out of money and got them to slip her exorbitant tips just by being there and lookin' pretty. She talked 'em into drinking and cheated at blackjack so easily that Bucky wondered where in the hell she learned how to do it. She was his best choice to work the games. He settled back in his chair and sipped at his drink. It was gonna be a good night.

__

"Here," Bucky said, tucking some cash in her top. "Get yourself somethin' nice, huh?"

She was taking a break from runnin' around the tables with Parker taking her place, though he wasn't as nice to look at. Bucky tugged her in his lap as soon as she was close enough.

"How sweet," she said, biting Bucky's ear. "You're so good to me, B."

Bucky's grip on her tightened when she bit him again.

"You know how you look out there?" he growled. "Never seen anyone do as well as you- makin' me all that green like it's nothin'."

"Gonna buy me somethin'?"

"Anythin' you fuckin' want."

She moved to straddle Bucky, kissing his chin. She kissed his lips hard, and he did too, snarling at the contrast of her fingers gently running through his hair. He held her tight, rolling his hips up. Neither of them was a fan of public... anything, but this was okay. This was enough.

"Bucky."

"What d'you want? A car? A boat? Diamonds?"

"Yes, yes, that."

"Give you as many diamonds as you want, sweet girl. Gonna lemme have you when we get home?" Bucky asked.

"On the money."

"Mm, my baby's a fuckin' genius."

"Should get back to work now, though," she said, nudging their noses together. "Parker ain't shit."

"Kid couldn't con his way outta a paper bag," Bucky agreed, kissing her before she climbed off him. "What kinda diamonds do you want?"

"All of them."

"Of course."

They kissed one more time for good luck, then she made her way over to the tables, gently nudging Parker out of the way. Bucky settled back to watch her in action.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #mobster au #mob!bucky #fluff #angst

[lu-undy]

Sniper/Spy request #2

Here it is: "Spy draws Sniper and the Aussie finds out."

"Mh…" 

No alarm clock? Oh, yes, it was Saturday. 

He opened his eyes. 

The light outside was faint, turning the sky from blue to pink. It was the early morning and the Aussie rolled on his bed to push away the blanket. It was summer and already warm enough for him. He closed his eyes but after long minutes of waiting, he did not fall back asleep. 

Well, better get up and ready up the laundry or something, before the rest of the base woke up. 

First things first. Clothes. 

Sniper climbed down his bunk bed and grabbed a shirt as well as a pair of trousers. He went to the sink and splashed some water on his face to better wake up.

Now glasses, hat, and let's go to the base. 

The Aussie stepped out of the van and turned to face the base when-

"The hell…?"

There was a silhouette. It was far away, a man sitting on a little boulder. It wasn't the first time that Sniper had seen it. But usually the silhouette disappeared before he thought about acting about it. 

However, that day was a Saturday, the Aussie hadn't anything else in mind but the usual chores. He went back to his van and grabbed his kukri. Whatever lunatic was over there surely couldn't be one of his mercenary colleagues. And the base was in the middle of nowhere, so whoever was there had driven for more miles than was reasonable, making them thus, a lunatic. 

Sniper walked to the silhouette on the boulder and as he got closer, the tension on his body melted away. He recognised the pinstripe pattern on the trousers, he recognised the white shirt and mask. 

"Bonjour, Sniper." The man said in his native tongue, still giving his back to the Aussie.

[Good morning, Sniper]

"What the hell are you doin' here this early? And on yer own?" 

"Capturing the colours." 

"What?" As Sniper got closer to the Frenchman, he saw that he was holding a sketchbook and drawing. "You're drawin'?" 

"Mh-hm."

"With a black pen."

"Very observant, Sniper."

"What colours are you capturin' if you're drawin' in black and white?" 

"Look in front of you." 

Sniper raised his eyes from over Spy's shoulder and looked at the rising sun. The colours were stunning, Spy was right. The hints of orange through the pink early morning was a treat for the eyes. 

"Yeah…" Sniper looked at Spy again. "What the hell are you doin' now?!" The Frenchman had lit a cigarette and was now burning the page of his sketchbook with his lighter. "You lunatic…"

Spy slowly turned to his colleague. 

"Says the man who is investigating a shadow he saw from the confines of the van he calls home at some terribly early hour of the morning?" He cocked an eyebrow and smiled. Sniper rolled his eyes up with a grin. "You are a lunatic too, mon ami."

[My friend]

"Guess I am." Sniper chuckled. 

"Coffee?" Spy took a thermos that was on the ground. 

"Oh, why not." Sniper watched as Spy poured the hot beverage into two cups. "You were waitin' for someone?" He asked as he raised an eyebrow. The presence of the second cup surprised him. 

"Oui." 

"Oh, I can leave you if you want." 

Spy chuckled and sat at the edge of the boulder. 

"Pray take a seat." 

The Aussie obeyed and took the cup that Spy handed him. 

"Thanks, eh." 

"You are welcome."

They both took a sip. 

"I'll drink quickly and I'll be on my way." Sniper said. 

"Oh, are you on a schedule?" 

"No but you said you were waitin' for someone. I don't wanna be the third wheel, eh." Sniper put the cup to his lips.

"You already are." 

… and the coffee nearly sprang out of the Aussie's mouth. He gulped down and turned his head left and right trying to look for the guest that Spy was awaiting. No one was in sight, and the base was far behind them. 

"Where's your mate?" 

"Sitting right next to me." Spy turned his eyes to Sniper's and smiled. 

"Me?" 

"Oui." 

"What?"

"It has been weeks of me waking up this early, especially on the weekends. The season is showing its best colours early. Look at the pink, the rose, the fuscia, the peach, the flamingo and strawberry…" Spy pointed in front of them and his finger trailed in lines, as if he was painting the canvas of the sky itself. "Oh, and from the peach, then it all leans towards more orange tones, doesn't it? Coral, and yet tangerine, maybe even a fiery tiger tint sometimes, ah..."

Sniper looked at his colleague as he went on and on. The colours he was describing made his irises even lighter...

"That's a lot of words to say pink and orange, Spook." 

"Because it is so much more than that. Like anything else, or anyone else."

"Like you?" Sniper asked.

"And you." Spy answered. 

Silence fell just the time for them to take a sip. 

"So you come here early, draw the sky and then burn the page?" 

Spy chuckled and raised his eyes to Sniper.

"Non, I do not. I usually do not draw the sky."

"Oh? What're you doin' here then?" 

"The colours of the sky help my nerves."

Sniper frowned as he changed his position to sit cross legged. He did not really follow his colleague.

"They are warm and soft colours, non?"

"Yeah." 

"Don't you find it soothing? Here, far from the base and the rest of the lunatics that our colleagues are, just you, your thoughts, and the colours that God chooses to display for the day. It brings some peace to me and helps me draw."

"I didn't know you liked drawin'." 

"Neither did I until there was a picture that I could not get out of my mind."

"What is it?" 

Spy took a deep breath. He was sitting at the edge of the boulder, one leg on the other, his varnished Italian shoes dangling off of it. 

"A sight of poetry on a scruffy canvas." 

Sniper chuckled. 

"You make no sense." 

"Oh but I do." Spy insisted. "I do, but only to myself, I guess. Such things are hard to describe if you don't feel them yourself." 

Sniper turned his head and realised that his colleague was staring at him with something painted on his face, an emotion that the Aussie didn't manage to decipher. His eyebrow twitched, but then he blushed as he thought that he himself had just been staring for a few seconds. He looked away into the immense desert. 

"One day, God graced me with this vision." Spy started. "A man, taller than me and his shoulders broader than mine. It was an evening in a crowded place. There was a lot of noise, people's chatter, their laughter, and the room smelt of cheap beer. But I could see only him." Spy paused to take a sip of his coffee. "That man, he was closing his eyes and whispering in the ear of a golden dragon. It breathed a fire that did not burn, a fire that was… enchanting. It was shy, woody threads of air that tied a knot here." Spy put his gloved hand on his chest and sighed. "His eyes were closed and his lips moved with such mastery, such elegance… Even the dragon was melting in his hands, under his agile fingers."

Sniper raised a curious eyebrow. Had Spy drunk something odd, or did he replace his nicotine for something else in his cigarette that morning…? He seemed normal enough, his eyes were clear, no signs of funny cigarettes in his breath. 

"Sniper?" The Frenchman hadn't moved his eyes away from the Aussie.

"Yeah?"

"I fell in love that day." 

The Aussie's body temperature soared as his cheeks burst in crimson. 

"With a guy?" 

"Oui."

"Who's… talkin' to dragons…?"

Spy chuckled.

"It is a metaphor." 

"Ah…" Sniper exhaled, relieved that his colleague wasn't high or drunk, he was just being a bit too poetic for the Aussie. "So you fell in love with someone?"

"Oui." 

"If it's all a metaphor, I guess it was with a woman?"

"Non."

"Oh…" Sniper nodded to himself and looked away. The way that Spy was looking at him was impressive. It was almost as if the Frenchman could read Sniper's thoughts straight through his eyes.

"It happened months ago now, on a Friday evening." Spy went on. "We were celebrating the victories of the day in the common room. Some of us were playing music." 

"Yeah, as always." 

"One of us is the one I described." Sniper's eyebrows jumped. "And since that day, I could not get that image out of my mind. That fool who was playing did not know that a few metres away, the old man that I am was falling in love. With what, you ask? The way his brow furrows when the intensity of the music gets to him, the way he gently rocks his hips along his instrument to better flow on the rhythm, and the way his eyes are always hidden behind a thin, yellow curtain of mystery."

"Woah… Really deep in love you are, eh. And I didn't know you liked blokes." 

"It is a curse." 

"Why?" 

"I can see beauty in a lot of things and in a lot of people, yet my work requires me to see none."

"Hey, you can still see beautiful stuff and say 'it's beautiful'. You're not gonna get shot for that." 

"I guess you are right." 

They took a break from the conversation to finish their coffee. Sniper looked at his colleague who was looking at the horizon and the sky. He didn't know Spy could be that poetic. Maybe that's why he was so secretive, maybe he just didn't want people to know that about him. But then why would he tell Sniper? 

"So you drew that vision you had in your head in your book?" Sniper asked and Spy gave a sad grin. 

"If only I did." He answered. "I have tried. I have filled sketchbook after sketchbook of it. But in the end, it is never good enough and I end up destroying it." 

"You burn all your sketchbooks?" Sniper asked, surprised. 

"I burn the pages, oui. And then I am left with an empty sketchbook." 

"Why d'you do that? I'm sure you're gettin' better at drawing. Practise makes you good, you can't get worse."

Spy sighed. 

"Perhaps you are right. But seeing that person on a sheet of paper tears my very heart apart. When I finish drawing and I look at it, I am tempted."

"To do what?" 

"To keep the picture with me, at any time. But it is too risky, what if someone found it? So instead, I destroy the evidence of  my crime." 

"Hey, quit the drama. You're just in love and can't get the bloke out of your head. Makes sense." 

"I suppose so." Spy answered and raised his eyes to Sniper. "Are you not curious to know who it is?"

"Well, if you wanna tell me, go ahead. If not, it's fine. Feels special enough that you tell me you have feelings, and for a bloke at that."

They exchanged a smile. 

"What about you, Sniper? Is there anyone in that wild heart of yours?" 

"Wild? Heh, maybe." Sniper blushed and averted his eyes. He stared down at the empty coffee cup he was nervously fiddling with. 

"Here." Spy handed him the sketchbook. 

"Why're you givin' me your book?" 

"I am giving you a choice." Spy said. "You can either draw him or her here, or you can have a look at my latest drawing of that special man." 

"So it's either I get to know who you fancy or you get to know who I fancy?"

"Oui, why not?" Spy smiled. "On my end of the bargain, I have nothing to lose."

Sniper raised an eyebrow. 

"I cannot have more with him but short chats, like we are having now, you and me. I sometimes see him and try my best to not stare when all I wish is to take in his charms for as long as I can." 

Sniper smiled. 

"Y'know, you sound really different." 

"I don't believe I do." Spy answered. "I think that you never heard me on such topics before."

"True…"

"So, what do you choose?" Spy put the sketchbook and the pen on the ground, between them both.

"Spook, listen, I-I can't really tell you who I fancy…" Sniper removed his hat and scratched his head. "It's complicated… It's just… I like it when I see him and-"

"Him?" Spy repeated. 

"Y-yeah… Oh, bugger I've said too much already…" Sniper let a hand sink on his face from his brow to his chin. 

"Then have a look at the sketchbook to see who is in my heart." 

"You sure?" 

"I think so." 

"Not gonna regret it?" 

"What could happen, hm?" Spy asked. "The second you will know who it is, he will too and this weight I have been carrying on my shoulders for months will be no more." 

"Why tell me who it is rather than go and see him to tell him straight." 

"Open and see. I think you will have the answer to your question." Spy took his cigarette case out of his inner pocket and lit one. 

"Alright…" Sniper took the sketchbook and put it on his lap. "You really sure?" He looked at Spy. The Frenchman held the cigarette between his fingers and exhaled the smoke elegantly between his parted lips. He nodded.

Sniper took a deep breath and opened the book. Spy hadn't destroyed it yet, it must have been his latest book then. 

"Holy…" 

The Aussie looked at the sketches, page after page. It was the same face drawn from different angles, with different expressions. Spy really had an obsession with that man, it was the only thing drawn there covering all the paper! 

Sniper blushed intensely and as the sweat broke on his brow, his heart started pounding in his chest. 

And as Sniper turned yet another page, he started to understand Spy's metaphor. The man wasn't whispering in a golden dragon's ear, he was playing the saxophone. The dragon wasn't breathing threads of air, it was music, and the thin, yellow curtain of mystery was nothing else but the Aussie's yellow tinted aviators…

Sniper shut the book for an instant and took a deep breath. 

"Now you understand." Spy simply said.

But Sniper was boiling on his seat, on the bare ground. So that was the man Spy had been fancying? For months? How did Sniper not see anything coming? How did he not guess? 

Maybe because Spy wasn't alone playing the game of averting his eyes whenever they got too close to Sniper. Maybe because there was a reason as to why the Aussie needed to close his eyes when he played the saxophone on Friday. Maybe because if he kept his eyes opened, he would stare at the man he was playing for? Maybe the movement of his hips as he played betrayed him?

Sniper grabbed the pen and quickly found an empty page in the sketchbook. Spy's eyebrows jumped but he remained mute and didn't dare ask what was going on. After all, his colleague seemed way too agitated to be able to answer. 

The Aussie scribbled and scratched the paper recklessly. He could sketch too, in his own style. He had learnt from drawing animals, and that skill he had transposed it to humans too.

It took him a few minutes and when he was finally done, he slammed the book shut and put it down between Spy and him. 

"May I?" Spy asked and Sniper nodded, still not making eye contact. The Frenchman put his cigarette between his lips to hold it there, and took the book between his gloved hands. He opened it and turned the pages until the style changed. "Mon Dieu…" He whispered to himself when his eyes fell on the portrait of the man who made Sniper's heart beat. 

There was an atrocious second of agony before Spy shut the book and put it away.

"Do you smoke, Sniper?" 

"Huh? Y-yeah, sometimes…" Sniper's brain was turning faster than a hamster in a wheel trying to understand why Spy would ask that.

"Good." Spy leaned on his colleague and took a deep breath. Sniper was petrified. 

"Why?" 

"This is about the only bad habit I have." Spy answered. "That, and singing when I cook. Some previous partners did not like it." 

"Why're you tellin' me all this?" 

"Because, given the portraits in that sketchbook, it might be a good idea to start knowing each other better."

"Ah, yeah… Ok…" Sniper cleared his throat. "Well uh… I-I don't really know what to say." 

"Then don't say anything."

"Isn't that unfair?" Sniper asked. 

"It is not about fairness." Spy answered. "It is about feeling the best way possible."

"C-can I do somethin'? I feel like-"

"Oui."

"But you don't know what I was goin' to do?"

"If doing that thing makes you feel better, then pray do. I do not wish to know more." Spy answered and closed his eyes as his head rested on Sniper's shoulder.

"Right." Sniper opened his arm and wrapped it around Spy's frame. He let his hand hang in the air next to Spy's hip. It might be too much. Yeah, yeah it was, he shouldn't have been so upfront, he should've -

"Merci." Spy answered.

[Thank you.]

He pulled Sniper's hanging hand to his hip and snuggled closer to him. 

"Spy?" 

"Oui?" 

"Thanks." 

"The pleasure is all mine."

"Nah, really. Thanks." Sniper leaned his head on top of Spy's.

They stayed there, perched on that boulder for long minutes that felt like a flash. The temperature rose slowly in the desert while the air was already very hot between them.

#tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #sniperspy

[avengerscompound]

The Surrogate - Chapter 12

The Surrogate:  A Clintasha Fanfic

Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing:  Clint Barton x Natasha Romanoff x F!Reader

Word Count:  1911

Rating:  E

Warnings:  Pregnancy, smut (MFF Bisexual threesome.  Oral sex, tribbing, vaginal sex, pregnancy sex)

Synopsis: A freak end of the world incident leads to meeting your two best friends, Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff.  While your friendship with the two Avengers is anything but conventional, they are your all-time favorite people.  When you find out that Clint and Natasha want to start a family but have exhausted all their options, you realize your powerset might allow you to give them what they want.  Having your best friends’ baby might seem like a good idea on paper, but when you are as close as you, Clint, and Natasha are, will doing something so intimate mean feelings get a little mixed up?

Chapter 12

Following Clint back down to his apartment was somehow the most terrifying and most exciting thing you’d ever done.  You had a whole storm of conflicting emotions running through you that were all amplified and mixed thanks to the pregnancy.  Clint kept his hand on your shoulder and it felt both comforting and a little like you were being led down to your imminent destruction.

You had finally admitted to Clint that you were falling in love with him and Natasha and rather than telling you that they had no room for anyone else outside of casual hookups, he’d told you they’d felt the same way.  So as you walked down you weren’t worried about her rejecting you. Thanks to Clint, you knew that Natasha was going to take the news of your feelings well.  What you were worried about was that with the baby on the way it was too much pressure.  They were already an established couple.  An established couple who were about to be parents.  Adding a new girlfriend to that, even if it was their best friend and the person carrying the baby for them - it was a lot.  There was a lot that could go wrong and in that ‘big horrible explosion with body parts flying everywhere’ way.

When you went into the apartment, Natasha glanced up from the couch with a look on her face that seemed to cover pity, concern, and expectancy.  You weren’t even sure how she could manage to convey so many things in just one look, especially when she was usually so good at hiding those feelings.  Then again, maybe you were just projecting.

“Hey,” she said.  “He talked you down?”

“Yeah,” you admitted, taking a seat and grabbing a piece of pizza.  “He did.”

“You gonna tell me what was wrong?”  She asked.

You looked at Clint for help and he laughed and flopped down on the couch beside Natasha and slung his arm around her shoulder.  “Oh, Nat,” he said playfully.  “You’re gonna love this.  Our buddy over there has been having some feelings.  You know… of the romantic kind?”

Natasha's mouth dropped open and a huge smile crossed her features.  “With us?”

“Yes with you,” you said.  “Who do you think?”

Natasha pounced on you and her lips crashed into yours.  You froze startled for a moment, your eyes wide and your arms held out awkwardly.  When your brain caught up to what was happening, you wrapped your arms around her and melted into her.  She kissed you deeply and lovingly but with a little bit of frantic excitement that you couldn’t quite keep up with.  You broke the kiss with a gasp and started laughing.  “Nat, you're crushing the baby.”

She pulled back laughing and leaned down and kissed your stomach.  “Sorry, little one,” she whispered.  “Mommy got a little excited.”

“So is that a yes then, Nat?”  Clint asked.  “You want a girlfriend officially?”

“Yes,” Natasha said.  “Of course I do.”

You smiled and leaned in, nosing her neck.  You wanted to just sit here and enjoy the fact that after all this time you were in an actual relationship with Clint and Natasha.  It wasn’t as easy as that though.  There was a child involved.  Anything the three of you did would affect that baby too.

“How are we going to do this?”  You asked.   “I mean… should I move back out?  Do we date?  What about the baby?”

Natasha sat back and huffed, blowing a stray lock of hair off her face.  “Well,” she said.  “Clint and I didn’t date.”

“No?”  You asked.

“Nah,” Clint said, shaking his head.  “We just hung out all the time and then hooked up a lot and then we realized that we were each other’s favorite people.”

“Kinda like we have been,” you said.

“Exactly like we have been,” Clint said. “So I don’t know that anything needs to change except, we can get a really big bed and squish together in it.”

“And -?” you pointed at your stomach.

“Okay, that’s a big ‘and’,” Clint said.

“But the first question is, do you want to be a parent?  Or even to do this,” Natasha said, gesturing between the three of you.  “If we are parents?”

“I don’t know,” you said.  “I think it was something I thought would happen but I’ve barely been seeing anyone.  And since the surrogacy, no one, so it’s not been a pressing issue.  I just… if we’re living together and it doesn’t work out, I’ll be attached to them and vice versa, and then if we don’t work out, then what?”

“Oh, dorogáya,” Natasha soothed.  “All families run the risk of being broken up.  I was adopted by a group that trained little girls to be assassins.  Clint’s parents were killed in a car accident and he was raised in the circus.  People get divorced.  I think for now we need to just worry about us.  When they join us, we can decide what role you’re comfortable with and work it out then.  But chances are, if we are together you will be a mom.”

You nodded and chewed the inside of your cheek.  “What if the breakup is messy and I am a mom?”  You asked.  “I already signed away all my rights to this baby.”

“Babe,” Clint said.  “I promise we can sign anything you want after the baby comes if you’re worried we’d ever hurt you like that.”

“I don’t think you would,” you said, frowning.  “But I know you never really thought that I’d try and keep them when I offered to be a surrogate and I still signed the paperwork.”

Natasha rubbed your thigh.  “I love how worried you are about any of us getting hurt,” she said.  “Clint and I, we could be friends with people.  But when it came to romance, we just blew it up every time.  With each other though?  It’s just us.  We didn’t try to force it.  We knew our limitations.  Yeah, we have our moments but we’re friends first.  That’s how I feel about you too.”

You smiled and cuddled up next to her.  “Okay.  I guess we just… do it.”

“That’s what she said,” Clint teased.

“Then,” you continued, trying not to laugh.  “When things look serious we work out the logistics of one kid with three parental figures.”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Natasha said.

“Now,” Clint said, reaching around Natasha to play with your hair.  “You walked off in a huff before because you were very, very horny.  I’ve got good news for you.  You now have both a boyfriend and a girlfriend who are here and willing to take on every little kink of yours.”

You leaned into his hand and closed your eyes.  Just like that, your whole body felt like a live wire again.  You hummed and bit your bottom lip.  “Yes, please.  Thank you.”

“So polite,” Natasha teased.  “Why don’t you go get comfortable in bed and we’ll take good care of you.”

You got up and they quickly followed after you.  Inside your mind, a veritable porn collection was playing with all the different possible ways Clint and Natasha could fuck you in your present state.  You crawled up on the bed and they flanked you, Clint quickly pulling your shirt up over your head, while Natasha pulled down your maternity sweats.  He started to kiss you hungrily as Natasha removed your panties and ducked her head down between your legs.  As her tongue ran up your folds your whole body shivered and you moaned softly into Clint’s lips.

He broke the kiss and as you leaned back and arched your back, he kissed down your neck to your breasts.  A low moan escaped your lips as Natasha lapped greedily at your cunt and Clint sucked on one of your breasts.  With the pregnancy and the buzz of excitement from the start of something new, you were over sensitive and soaking wet.  Natasha collected up the arousal as it dripped from you.  It soaked your folds and ran down the inside of your thighs, smearing on your skin.

Clint sucked a patch of skin just at the base of your breast hard enough to bruise.  You gasped and bucked your hips.  Even as pleasure surged through you, making your body buzz and your muscles clench, your back began to ache due to the pressure on it.

“I need to move,” you half-moaned/half-panted.

They both pulled back, giving you room to change position.  You rolled onto your side.  Clint began to rub your cunt as Natasha quickly shed her clothes.  When she was naked she lifted your legged and scissored her legs around you and began to grind her pussy against yours.  The rub of her soaking cunt against yours maintained that slow buzz through you, keeping you right on edge without pushing you over.  A sheen of sweat clung to your skin and you whimpered needily, squeezing and massaging your breasts in an attempt to add more to the sensation.

Clint watched you both as he slowly removed your clothes.  When he was fully naked and you weren’t sure you could take any more of the frantic but drawn-out teasing, Natasha pulled away from you and Clint gave your ass swat.  “Think you can do hands and knees?” He asked.

You nodded, still breathing heavily, and got onto your hands and knees.  Clint moved up behind you and began to tease the head of his cock up and down your folds.  Natasha moved in front of you, laying back with her legs spread, the thatch of red hair on her pussy glistening.

You dropped your head and sucked hungrily on her cunt and as the tart and musky flavor filled your mouth, Clint thrust hard into you from behind.

The sound of your moans was muffled by Natasha’s cunt, but even as Clint pounded into you as behind, you stayed focused on Natasha.  You thrust two fingers inside her and curled them, stroking her internal walls and drawing out more of her wet.  The pads of your fingers touched down on the spongy spot inside her and she cried out loudly and bucked up against your face.  Behind you, Clint wrapped an arm around your waist and began to rub your clit as he fucked you.  You moaned louder and doubled down on Natasha, digging your fingers into her g-spot and dragging them over it.  As Natasha got louder and louder so did you and Clint, until the room was filled with the sounds of your moans and cries.

Natasha came first, her whole body curving of the mattress as she cried out and gushed on your face.  You relaxed, collapsing down on Natasha’s stomach as the last of her orgasm ran through her.  She ran her fingers through your hair and you gave yourself to Clint.

“Fuck! Yes!”  You cried as your orgasm hit, and all your muscles clenched at once.  Clint’s hips began to stutter but he kept fucking you through your orgasm as he held you in place.  With a grunt, he held you in place and came inside you.

When he slipped out of you, you rolled onto your side and sighed happily, finally all your cravings having been sated.  “That’s what I needed.”

Clint and Natasha spooned you from each side and kissed your neck.  “Trust me, there’s plenty more where that came from,” Clint teased.

// NEXT

#clint barton #natasha romanoff #clint barton x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #clint barton x natasha romanoff #clint barton x natasha romanoff x reader #clintasha #clintasha x reader #hawkeye #hawkeye fanfic #black widow #black widow fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #smut #pregnancy #the surrogate

[thiswasinevitableid]

.. for mermay.. 8, indruck nsfw?

Here you go! Duck’s design is based on a rudderfish.

Authors note: since prompt 8 is “drunk,” drinking is mentioned in this. It’s also implied Indrid is doing some self-destructive behaviors to cope with trauma.

The party is a splendid success, as was the book launch that preceded it. Indrid has done what he does best, lined his pockets and those of his agents and editors, and gotten everyone talking. 

“Did you see the one of the pyres?”

“The one of the hurricane aftermath, the look in the girls eyes is so haunting.”

“Personally, I found the jeweled mummies a bit much, but the emergency room shots? Stunning.”

This is why Indrid is sitting on the rocks on his private cove, and will not be going back up to the house until he’s polished off all three of these heavily spiked bottles of eggnog. It’s better than the time he emptied most of a bottle of vanilla vodka, but not by much. 

He was tipsy when he snuck out the back door and down the path to the sea. So when the empty bottle rolls away, all he can do is whap at the air close to it and wave as it plonks into the water.

“Oops. Hic, oh, hic, well, what’s one more piece of trash in, hic, a dying world?”

He yelps, knocking his remaining bottles into the sand as the lost one flies through the air towards him. Or he thinks that’s the trajectory; it’s hard to tell. The point is, the bottle is back and he’s clutching his chest like an old man in a silent movie.

“Look, man, I know it’s temptin to just leave trash everywhere, but there are signs up and down this beach sayin not to litter.” A man floats in the water at the foot of the rock, black hair plastered to his forehead and muscular arms crossed over a bare chest. 

“It, hic, it was an accident. And I am, hic, in no condition to retrieve anything from the water.”

The man frowns, “shit, if you’re that drunk, you oughta get off the rocks. It’s deep here, you might drown. Go sit on the sand, it’s safer. Warmer too, still holdin heat from the sun.”

“I, I’m fine, hic, don’t, don’t need some wet man babying me.” He stands to prove his point, nearly falls face first into the water, and sits back down, “see, m’fine.”

“Get off the rock.” The man says, sounding for all the world like a cat owner two seconds from grabbing the spray bottle. 

“No.” Indrid huffs. 

Water splashes his face and he sputters.

The man pulls his hand back, preparing to send another wave at him, “Get.”

“Fuck you” 

The splash is much more intense this time and he curses, scrambles sideways, and falls to his knees in the sand. 

“That’s better, now I don’t gotta worry about fishin your careless ass outta the water.”

“If, if we are, hic, t-talking careless, you, you shouldn’t say a thing. You’re, hic, swimming in cold water with, without a wetsuit.”

The man shrugs, “Don’t need one.” With that he floats on his back, bringing a dark-scaled tail into view. 

“You’re, hic, you’re a merman.” He crawls forward, breathless, “that’s so cool, wanna, gotta photograph you, so handsome, gotta-”

“Nope” The merman swims back into deeper water, “no pictures, those can end real bad for us.”

“But, but you’re so beautiful. If, hic, if pictures are no good, I, I can draw. I draw good, even if no one likes it.”

“Uh, you really wanna sit on a cold beach paintin my picture instead of hangin out at that shindig?” He points up the hill to the brightly lit house. 

“No, nonono, hic, don’t, don’t wanna go back up there, s’awful, hic.” 

“Awful?” The merman sounds concerned, and in the patchy moonlight he swims close enough that Indrid can see the details of his face, “is someone up there hurtin you?”

“No” He shakes his head, “it, it-”

“Indrid!”

“Damn it.” He mutters as the merman retreat beneath waves. As his guests grow closer he stands, carefully picks up all three bottles, and heads uphill to meet them.

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

Indrid shuffles through the house, head pounding, decides he hates the following people, in this order:

-His agent

-Himself

-Whoever mentioned it was a shame there were no Plata River Bridge photos, causing Indrid to drink a whole martini in order to bite his tongue.

It’s not until his third cup of coffee that he remembers the merman. God, he was really rude to someone who was just trying to keep him from drowning.

Very, very carefully, he makes his way to the beach, sketchbook in one hand and thermos in the other. 

“Hello?” He calls across the water. No reply. Of course there isn’t; the merman has the whole ocean to explore, there’s no reason for him to hang around Indrid’s house. He sighs, sits down on a piece of driftwood, and draws. Normally the cold would drive him back indoors, but today it’s bracing, blowing his hangover off of him and down the sand. 

“Glad to see you’re in one piece” 

Indrid sits bolt upright. The merman waves to him.

“You came back?”

“Yeah? I mean, this is part of my rounds, so I come by here at least once a day. More surprised you’re down here when it’s all cold and grey.”

“I, ah, I wanted to apologize for last night. I was being stubborn and rude.”

“You were, but I was kinda grumpy too. At the end of my shift and all that, but I shouldn’t have splashed you.” He smiles, swims closer, “do you, uh, remember any of the other stuff you said?”

“I have a vague memory of begging to photograph you. Or maybe draw, it’s all very fuzzy.”

“You did. I, uh” the merman’s cheeks turn pink, “you were really, uh, well let’s just say you were excited at the idea of drawin me, so I thought maybe, if you wanted to..”

“Yes”  Indrid shifts down into the sand so he can rest his back on the log, “can we do it now? You said you were on rounds, and if you’re working I don’t want to interrupt.”

“I’m done for the day. Should I get on a rock or somethin?”

“Can you come on the sand at all? Oh, ah, it seems you can.” Indrid scoots back as the merman slides gracefully ashore. In the daylight, his tail is a rich green-brown, his hair streaked with grey near his forehead. His eyes, one green and one brown, regard Indrid with curiosity as he turns to a new page. 

“You got a name?”

“Indrid. Indrid Cold.”

“Duck Newton. It’s a nickname.” The mer stretches his arms and tail, and were Indrid in a self-flattering frame of mind he’d say he was flexing for him, “I gotta pose?”

“No, as long as you don’t move too much, I should be fine.”

Duck nods, shifts onto his belly with his tail dipped in the surf. Indrid sets his pen to paper, asks Duck what he does for work and when the tunnel vision of his project dissipates, it’s dusk.

“Oh my, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you so long.”

The merman yawns, “S’okay, it was nice talkin with you, and I got to birdwatch some. Can I see?”

Indrid turns the sketchbook. Mis-matched eyes widen. 

“Holy fuck. You made me look damn good.”

“I simply captured you as you are.” Indrid feels a blush moving up his cheeks as Duck scoots closer. 

“You gonna do this tomorrow?  If, uh, if you don’t wanna draw me again, I can bring you some interestin stuff from the water. If, uh, if you want.”

His schedule for tomorrow starts with a phone interview, after which he was planning to sit in a dark living room and watch mindless T.V.

“That sounds lovely. Thank you, Duck.”

The merman beams, waves, and then pushes back into the sea, raising his tail once in farewell. 

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

“...now, Juno thinks it’s-holy fuck ‘Drid, was that your stomach?” Duck raises his head from where he’s been sort-of-napping, sort of talking.

“Hmm? Yes, I suppose it was.” He has his watercolors out today, a surprise stretch of sunny days rendering the beach and hillsides in glorious technicolor. 

“When did you last eat?”

“..............”

“Oh my fuckin god, ‘Drid, no wonder you look like you’re close to passin out.”

“I’m fine.” 

Duck has that look on his face again, the one he got when Indrid admitted to walking the cliff-side trails when he’s coming back from the roadhouse on the edge of town. When Indrid says he hasn’t slept in two days. 

The merman says nothing, goes back to reading the book of nature essays Indrid brought him. A buzz cuts through the air and he groans, shuts off the alarm on his phone, “I need to go get ready for that interview.”

“You wanna meet up tonight?”

“Yes.”

“Great. But, uh, seem to remember you promised me some of those cookies you say are the best in the world.”

Indrid smirks, “I suppose I did.”

“I want some. But not for dinner, with dinner. You feel me?” There’s an edge in his drawl, as formidable and unyielding as the nearby cliff-face. 

“Alright, I'll bring you some other things to try.” Indrid smiles, suddenly looking forward to a grocery run. 

Duck, now in the water, looks over his shoulder, “Good boy.”

Indrid shivers even as heat blooms in his chest. 

When sunset graces the beach, Indrid is busy setting out a half dozen take-out containers and many plastic boxes of cookies and fruit.

“Damn” Duck slides and wiggles his way onto the sand by the blanket, “you went all out.”

“You wanted a meal. I brought you one.”

“Sure did.” Duck sniffs the air, taps a carry-out bowl of soup, “what’s this?”

“Umm” Indrid peers at the label, “french onion soup.”

“Can I have it?”

“Of course.”

The merman downs the soup as fast as temperature allows, munches happily on the orange segments Indrid peels and samples the cookies. 

“Ahhh” He flops his head into Indrid’s lap, “that hit the spot.”

The human nods, bottle of pineapple soda on his lips. He’s so happy and full. 

Wait.

“Duck? Did you suggest this just so I would eat something?”

The face in his lap only looks a little chagrined, “Kinda. I been meanin to suggest this, and today seemed like the right time. And, uh, I know sometimes I have a hard time lookin after myself for me, but if someone else tells me to do it, or I have to do it as part of lookin after them, it’s easier. Thought that might be goin’ on with you. I, uh, I won’t do it again if you don’t want me to.”

“Nono” Indrid sets a hand in his hair, stroking it so Duck rubs his cheek against his thigh, “you’re right. It was easier to do the kind thing for myself when you told me to. Would, ah, would you be willing to do it again.” 

Duck meets his eyes, gaze bubbling with something dark and alluring, “Sure thing, ‘Drid.”

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

“Before you go, I wanted to give you this.” Indrid holds out the small camera. Duck, perched on a rock, takes it with a puzzled frown. He adds, “It’s waterproof. You mentioned you wish you could take pictures of the things you see in your home. I couldn’t think of a better time to give you than your trip.”

“Thanks, ‘Drid.” Duck leans forward, rubbing their cheeks together, “you remember your instructions?”

“Yes.” He whimpers when Duck pulls back. 

“Good. Want you in good shape when I get home.” Duck’s voice returns to normal, “should be back in a week. I’ll see you then.”

Indrid waves goodbye, keeps waving well past the point where Duck could see him, even if he surfaced. Then he grabs the basket of fresh oysters and heads to the house to call Barclay. 

The phone calls and dinners with one of his few friends in town are part of his agreement with Duck. The mer told him he couldn’t meet every night, so maybe Indrid should find other forms of company. He also helpfully supplies Indrid with fresh shellfish that he has no idea how to cook, but his friend the professional chef certainly does. This dovetails nicely with his promise to Duck to eat at least one full meal a day.

It’s not just the strange dynamic they’ve hit upon that’s improving his life; it’s Duck. The merman makes him feel so safe, like someone cares about the real him and not just the him that makes them money or feeds their morbid curiosity. Not to mention he’s even more handsome than Indrid first thought and he spends plenty of nights jerking off to the thought of a cool, strong tail between his legs. 

He does well the first five days Duck is gone. Barclay and Dani come over for dinner, he paints and draws prolifically, and he even reads up on whether it’s feasible for him to adopt rats (“those are kinda like otters, right?” “close enough.”). Friday night his agent calls, excitedly reporting that it’ll soon be the fifth anniversary of the Plata River incident and the magazine is getting requests for a feature on it and Indrid will be perfect. 

Indrid says he’ll think about it, hangs up, and opens the fridge. He promised Duck he’d only drink if it was with dinner or with friends. He grabs two wine coolers and heads into the living room. 

The next day, he’s idly fiddling with the dating app he hasn’t touched since December when a new profile appears. Very good looking, close by, clearly just passing through town, and interested in Indrid. He invites him over, spends the next half hour getting ready, and even cleans the bedroom because well, that’s what he’d do for Duck, he should do it for anyone else he brings over. 

Indrid opens the door at the second knock. The guy takes one look at him, shakes his head, and returns to his car.

Indrid downs the remaining wine coolers and goes down to the beach to sulk. He tucks his legs up, pressing his forehead to his knees, and rocks back and forth. He’s nearly sober when a voice drifts across the waves.

“‘Drid?” 

He looks up, glasses slipping down his nose, “Duck? You’re, you’re back.”

“Yep. It was fast goin the last ten miles. Brought the camera back, think you gotta be the one to get the pictures off, but I can’t wait to show you all the cool shit we saw.”

“Me neither” He stands and instantly pitches forward, landing on his hands and knees in the shallow water. 

“You been drinking?”

“Yes.”

“You and Barclay have a good time?” He’s giving him the benefit of the doubt, giving him an out, and Indrid decides that isn’t what he wants. 

“I wasn't with Barclay. I got horrible news last night, and today I tried to get laid and got rejected, and I’m at the point in my life where I nearly called after the guy that he could keep his eyes shut and I’d just blow him so he wouldn’t need to look at or touch me. So yes, Duck, I’ve been drinking.”

Duck’s expression swims between concern and disappointment, then comes to rest on neutral steel, “That ain’t what we agreed.”

“I’m aware. But I don’t care, I don’t” he aims a splash at Duck, “it doesn’t matter, nothing matters, nothing will come of it, same as always.”

The merman cocks an eyebrow, “You really think that? You forgettin I said there’d be consequences if you broke the rules?”

“Oooh, I’m so scared.” Indrid splashes him again.

Duck smiles, reminding him that all his teeth end in points, “Didn’t say anythin about scarin you. You really wanna believe that nothing matters, you can head home. Or” he points to a nearby rock, “you go get on your hands and knees, facin the cliffs.”

Indrid crawls gracelessly to the designated spot. It’s dangerous to turn his back on the ocean, but a gentle voice in his mind reminds him over and over that Duck is here. Duck won’t let him get hurt. 

There’s a splash as Duck pulls himself onto the rock. Then a whoosh of air and a sting in the right side of his ass. He yelps, startled, and looks behind him.

“If this ain’t okay, need you to say so now.” Duck’s eyes are wide and hungry, but his hands stay on the grey rock. 

“It’s okay.” He can’t believe this is happening, can’t decide if he should tell Duck this is not remotely a punishment. 

Another sharp grin, “Eyes front.”

Indrid’s barely obeyed when the next strike comes. Duck is strong and makes no attempt to hide it, hitting him hard enough that his knees jolt forward in the sand. The pain lights him up each time, forces the thing knotted in his chest up towards his throat. 

When the blows stop he whimpers, pushing his ass back in hopes of more.

“Don’t worry, ‘Drid, I ain’t done with you by a long shot.” Cold fingers undo his fly, bring his pants and underwear down to his thighs. He’s expecting another hit, wiggles his ass in anticipation. 

What he gets are teeth sinking into his skin.

“AH!GOD” He yells loud enough that his throat hurts.

Duck chuckles, “Holler all you want, we both know no one can hear what goes on on this beach, especially with all the wind.” He bites down again, Indrid thrashing and moaning as teeth sink into already reddened skin. Duck growls in reply, savaging the meat of his as and grazing his teeth along his thighs, dangerously close to his balls. He’s already getting hard, the process expedited by warm breath and lips on his body. 

He moans embarrassingly loud when Duck shoves his ass apart.

“Damn, you really did get all prepped for that fella. Shame, he didn’t know what he was missin.” The plug hits the sand to his right.

“You, you don’t have to flatter meEEEoh, oh Duckohmygoodness.” His fingers dig into the sand as the merman teases his rim with a flexible tongue. There’s a muffled laugh, but Duck doesn’t respond beyond that, too busy threatening him with a good time as his tongue gives an experimental push. 

Then it retreats and he turns his head left and right, delivering quick bites to either cheek before his tongue returns. He alternates between the delicious, teasing licks and painful bites, the shift never coming when Indrid expects and causing him to cry out every time. When the mer releases one side of his ass in order to slap his thighs while he continues licking, kissing, and nipping his way across bruised, sensitive skin, Indrid lets out a strangled sound, the thing in his chest now trapped at the back of his throat. 

“You make such cute noises, but they ain’t the ones I’m lookin for. I ain’t stoppin until you apologize.”

Indrid opens his mouth, intending to say something about how this is the wrong way to make him do so. 

“I, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please don’t be angry with me, don’t leave, don’t leave me here, I can’t, I, I don’t want to think about it, Duck please, I’m sorry, so sorry” he;s hunched forward, sobbing into the sand, when he realizes he’s fully clothed and Duck isn’t behind him.

“No” he squeaks, “no please don’t go.”

“I ain’t goin anywhere.” Duck slides up the sand next to him, pulls him into his arms, “I’m so sorry darlin, I didn’t mean to make you cry, I took it too far, I ain’t mad, not really” he eases Indrid’s glasses off and sets them out of harms way, “oh darlin, c’mere, it’s okay” salty kisses dot his forehead and green scales pet his legs. 

“It’s, hic, it’s not your fault. I, I l-liked it, but this has, hic, been building up for months. Years.” He hides his face in Duck’s chest.

“Years?” Duck grabs Indrid’s sweater from where he cast it off, draping it over the human. 

Indrid sniffs, “You know I’m a photographer. But I’ve never told you what I photograph. I, I made my name recording disasters and their aftermath. For a long time I took pride in it; someone has to document those things, so we can’t erase them, so we have to confront them and try to make things better, or try to keep such tragedy from reoccurring. I was so good at recording it I became famous. Wealthy. And I learned that most people like to gawk at horror and then go about their days. I, I tried branching out and...and I ended up with a disaster anyway. A bridge collapse, I chronicled everything from the instant it started to the funerals and it, it was too much. Ever since then I’ve felt trapped by my work. At times, by my life. My agent wants me to go back for the fifth anniversary, he told me so last night.”

“You ain’t goin, right?” 

“I don’t think I can.” 

Duck nods, rests his chin atop his head, “tell me what you wanna do instead.”

He does. He tells him about his other art, about the pitches for childrens books and the plans for a real vacation, about the life that, for the first time, feels in reach when he speaks about it. By the time he’s done the stars are out and he’s much calmer and clear-headed.

“Did you mean what you said earlier? That, that you thought I was attractive?”

“Every damn word.” Duck rolls them so Indrid is on his back, kisses his cheek, “thought so since that first night. But, uh” his gaze flicks down to Indrid’s crotch, “if you want more proof I’m happy to give it.”

“Please?”

“Get your pants off and lay on your sweater.”

Indrid complies, shivers when Duck guides his shirt up and off. 

“Fuuuuck” the mer rubs his hands up and down his torso, “when it warms up, you’re gonna swim out with me so I can get my fill of this while you ride my dick.”

“Yes. Ah, I, I did prep, but it’s been long enough now that lubrication may be an issueOOOh, ooohyes.” He release into the sand as Duck grinds his tail against his cock. The scales feel as lovely now as they do when he pets them, and he wonders if Duck will let him get off by humping his tail one of these days.

“It won’t, trust me. Lemme just--there we go. Open your legs. Heh, eager little thing.”

“I’ve wanted this too long to play coy.”

“Good.”

“Eeep!” Something slick and squirming presses into his ass, “do, do you have tentacles?”

“Kinda? They’re just the tip, for this exact reason. It, uh, it feel okay?” Duck smiles reassuringly and that, combined with the genuine concern in his voice makes Indrid moans and nudge him closer. 

“VeryOH, oohgracious” two more tentacles join the first, pulsing and scissoring him open, “how many are there?”

“About eight.”

He moans louder and Duck laughs, pushes his hips forward, “glad you like it, darlin’. Because from where I’m sittin your ass is fuckin amazin and I wanna be as deep in it as I can.”

“Yes, absolutely, pleaseAHHnnn” enough tentacles now that he can’t keep an accurate count, “please use it as you see fit.”

“As I see fit huh? That’s a tricky question. See, sometimes I wanna, fuck, wanna shove the whole thing in you at once and make you scream while I leave my mark on your neck.”

“AHHnnngod” A firmer shaft pushes in, ridges rubbing all the right places as the tentacles continue exploring him. 

“Other times, think it’s better to tease you with the tip, maybe make you blow me first and jerk you off until you’re beggin for my dick.”

“Yes, yesyesyesyes”

“But tonight” Duck bottoms out with a groan, “I’m gonna take it nice and slow, show you just how fuckin wonderful you are. How much you mean to me. My Indrid.”

“Yours” Indrid twines his limbs around him, “god, Duck, it feels so good, you’re so good, you always look after me.”

“That I do. Because you deserve it. And” the tentacles find his prostate and he nearly howls as Duck continues, “you deserve to learn how t’be nice to yourself. And I, ahfuck, know that ain’t easy, but I’m gonna be here to help.”

“Yes, ohgod, yes, you’re, you’re so perfect, aaAAAhnI, I’m, close sweetheart, you fill me so well.”

“Damn right. Gonna, nnngh, gonna find every fuckin way to fill you, make you feel fuckin amazin, fuck, that’s it darlin, ohfuckyeah” as he starts spilling into him, Indrid cums with a shout, splattering their stomachs. Duck moans at the sight, wriggles his hips as his shaft continues rippling and pulsing. It turns out mer orgasms are long, so long that Indrid is whimpering from overstimulation by the time Duck pulls out. 

A gentle, salt-soaked kiss to his lips, “Lookit you, took it all. You’re so good for me, darlin.”

“Mmmhmm” He doesn’t want to let go, cold, wind, and damp be damned. Duck seems to understand, holds him and whispers sweet promises in his ears until he’s shivering.

“‘Drid, your teeth are chatterin.”

“I kn-know, I s-should g-go home and w-warm up.”

Duck kisses him again, “sooner you go and rest, sooner we can do this again.”

“An excellent p-point.” He stands, blows a shaky kiss towards his future, “see you tomorrow.”

#Indruck #indrid cold/duck newton #mermay fills #mermay

[seanfalco]

The Sketch | Sean Falco x artist!Reader

Prompt: Could you write a Sean fic where the reader’s an artist and has seen him taking photos in the park (or somewhere else like that), and they’ve sketched him and when they decide to give him the drawing (totally not stalkerish) and it turns out he’s used them as a muse for some of his photos? Requested by: Anonymous Word count: 1.1k a/n: I decided to set this post film, after Sean’s taken the photography job in St. Louis and I love a good meet-cute.

——

It was a perfect day.  The sun was shining, people were out walking their dogs, the park was full, and you had the best seat in the park.  That cute photographer was back again today, camera in hand and you could see him perfectly.  You’d seen him a few times now and each time you couldn’t help but keep stealing glances at him -- his curly hair and friendly smile endearing.

After taking several shots he sat at a bench not far from you and you realized this was your chance.  Flipping your sketchbook to a fresh page you quickly began to sketch, catching the man’s likeness on the page.

You’d just about finished when he checked his watch and stood, slinging his camera bag over his shoulder.  For one brief second his eyes met yours and you could’ve swore he’d smiled to himself before he walked away.

The next day it rained, keeping you from the park and you found yourself flipping through your sketchbook, stopping at the page with the mystery photographer and you found yourself wondering about him -- what was his name, was he a photographer by trade or by hobby… was he single?

Biting your lip, you laid your face on the desk, making up your mind.  Tomorrow you’d go back to the park and talk to him, maybe give him your sketch -- that wasn’t creepy, right?

You just hoped he’d be there.

——

The next day you couldn’t even tell it’d rained and you ambled through the park, feeling the sharp sting of disappointment when the man you were hoping to see was nowhere to be seen.  Frowning, you checked the time and plopped down at an empty bench.  Maybe he would still show up if you waited a bit, so you opened your sketchbook and set to work, hoping the distraction would make you feel less foolish.

However, not long after, you glanced up to find the handsome photographer making his way to his usual bench, a cup of coffee in hand and your stomach did a flip.  This was it, all you had to do was go over and talk to him… so why did it feel like you wanted to puke?

Stealing yourself, you closed your sketchbook and pushed off the bench, as you approached, the stranger looked up from his phone at you, flashing you an uncertain smile, a hint of a flush creeping across his cheeks.

“Hey,” you greeted, holding up your hand in an awkward wave.

“Hey,” he replied, watching you curiously and you cleared your throat.

“This is gunna sound kinda weird, probably, but uh, I come to the park to sketch and I…” you paused to grin nervously, pulling the sheet from your bag.  “I kinda drew you… the other day, and I-I thought you might like to have it.”

He blinked at you, his mouth falling open slightly as you held out the sketch to show him.  “Oh wow,” he breathed as he took the page gently, his moss green eyes looking over it with wonder.  “You’re incredibly talented,” he murmured in awe, his accent taking you by surprise and it took you a moment to shake yourself out of it, your pulse pounding in your ears.

“Thank you,” he said earnestly, looking up at you with a bright grin before he grimaced.  “I uh… I have a bit of a confession t’make myself,” he admitted, running his hand through his curls as his gaze flitted away and you tilted your head in confusion.  

“What d’you mean?”

“I may have… taken some photos of you as well,” he said sheepishly, chancing a look at you to gauge your reaction.  “You looked so focused while you were drawin’, so peaceful, and I couldn’t help myself.”

“Really?” you asked, an incredulous grin tugging at your lips as the butterflies in your stomach swarmed harder.  “I’m flattered,” you assured him before he could worry, holding your hand out.  “I’m [y/n], by the way.”

“I’m Sean,” he answered, taking your outstretched hand before scooting over and gesturing for you to sit next to him.  “I’m glad that I didn’t weird yeh out,” he admitted with a chuckle, “you’re just so pretty, I--” he quickly cut off, taking a sip from his coffee and you grinned to yourself, feeling your cheeks warm.

“Well, I’d say we’re about even,” you said with amusement and Sean glanced back down at your sketch.

“Do you normally give all your sketches of strangers to their subjects?” he asked, glancing at you knowingly and your face flared hotter, his grin widening.  “Now we’re even,” he murmured coyly.

Biting your lip, you glanced away.  “So, are you a professional photographer or just a hobbyist?” you asked, curious to know more about him.

“Professional,” he answered, pointing across the square to a tall commercial office building, “I work right over there.”

Following his finger, you leaned in closer to him to get a better look.  “So, what do you photograph?  Models?” you asked, half jokingly.

Sean snorted and shook his head, his curls bouncing slightly.  “Oh, God, no,” he chuckled, “I’m a food photographer,” he explained, “y’know like all those adverts for fast food places and such.”

“Ahh,” you mused, noticing the faint way his lips twisted disdainfully as he spoke.  “You don’t like it?”  

Sean offered you a smile at your observation.  “I mean, I’m thankful for the job and I’ve learned some things, but it's not exactly the kind of photography I’m passionate about, which is why I take photos of what moves me in my free time,” he explained.

“Oh, like photos of beautiful strangers in parks?” you teased, watching him flush once more.

“Yeah, exactly,” he replied with a laugh, “but what about you, [y/n]?  Are you an artist as your day job?”

“No, I work as a docent at an art museum, and only draw on the side,” you answered, feeling Sean’s rather dazzling gaze on you.

“I’d love t’see some more of your stuff sometime,” he murmured, fiddling with his coffee cup.

“Me too,” you agreed and Sean nodded to himself.

“I uhm, have t’get back but, uh, d’you think I could get your number and we could get a drink later, o-or coffee?” he asked and you found it was rather cute how nervous he sounded.

“Yeah, I’d like that,” you replied, smiling giddily as you pulled out your phone to add him, sending him a text so he had your number as well.

“It was nice t’meet you, [y/n],” Sean exclaimed as he stood, pocketing his phone and slipping your sketch into his camera bag.

“It was,” you agreed, “I’m glad I worked up the courage to come over here.”

“Me too,” Sean murmured, smiling softly.  “I’ll see you later?”

“Definitely.”

As you watched him walk away, turning to flash you one last smile, you couldn’t help but hope this was the beginning of something good.

#bad samaritan #bad samaritan fic #sean falco #sean falco x reader #sean falco x artist!reader #prompt request #anonymous #my writing

[livesincerely]

you render me in a thousand details

Also on Ao3

00000

“Hey, Davey, can you grab me another can of paint outta the closet?”

Davey looks up at the sound of Jack’s voice. The man in question is perched precariously on top of a ladder, the latest backdrop for Ms. Medda’s new show set up in front of him

He places the book he’d been reading while Jack worked to the side. “What is it I’m looking for?” Davey asks, clambering to his feet.

Jack’s head turns in his direction but he doesn’t take his eyes off his painting, his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth as he carefully adds a series of fluffy white clouds to a cheerful skyline. “The extras should be just inside the closet on the right⁠—I need the dented can with the red stripe on the lid.”

Davey makes his way over to the tiny supply cupboard that Jack has claimed as his art closet. It’s a floor-to-ceiling collection of paint cans, canvases, brushes, and other supplies, and it never fails to amuse Davey how Jack can take one look at the mess and immediately unearth whatever item he needs for a particular project. Most of it belongs to the theater⁠—requested by Jack but paid for by Ms. Medda⁠—but Davey knows that Jack sometimes stores his personal pieces and supplies in there as well, if only to keep them safe from the daily mayhem of the Lodging House.

He reaches for the pull chain and a lone light bulb flickers to life. Davey takes a couple of tentative steps, squinting his eyes against the dust in the air as he scans the shelves for the can Jack had asked for, then lets out a squawk as he immediately trips over an unopened box of paint thinner.

His elbow knocks against something as he fumbles for balance and there’s a loud thunk and the flutter of paper as he sends a sketchbook full of drawings careening to the floor. Davey lets out a quiet curse, crouching down to pick up the scattered pages and tuck them back into place. 

His movements slow as he suddenly understands what he’s looking at⁠—what he’s discovered. Because this is one of Jack’s sketchbooks, but it’s not one that Davey’s ever seen before. And the drawings inside...

Dazed, Davey wanders back into the larger room.

Jack glances back at him, one eyebrow raised. “What, did ya get lost in there? What took so long?”

Davey swallows. When he finds his voice, it comes out tremulous. “Jack, what is this?”

“What is what?” Jack wipes his hands on a spare rag, then comes over for a closer look. He gets within a couple feet of Davey, then staggers to a stop, his face going alarmingly pale. “Where did you get that?”

“I, uh, I knocked it off the shelf by accident,” Davey says. “Why do you have⁠⁠— What is this?”

Jack lurches forward as if to snatch the sketchbook away from him, but stops himself mid reach—like he can’t bring himself to actually tear the pages out of Davey’s hands. He paces in place for a moment, then takes a step back, crossing his arms over his chest.

“What, that?” Jack says, and it’d be a passable attempt at nonchalance if not for the nervous waiver in his voice. “That’s nothing, really. Just practice sketches, and, uh, doodles and stuff.”

Davey looks at him. Then he carefully opens the sketchbook to the first page. There’s an inhaled breath, the tiniest twitch of the hand, but Jack makes no move to stop him and Davey takes that as permission.

He’s quiet as he flips through the assortment of pages. Or maybe it’s that he’s stunned into silence. 

There are all types of drawings. Some are only outlines, vague sketches with just enough detail to be identifiable. Others are fully-worked—entire pages of careful shading and texture and blending. He’d caught a few glimpses in the dim light of the closet, and this closer look only confirms his suspicion: these are all drawings of Davey.

There’s one of him from the other day, where he’d gotten caught in a storm and came back to the Lodging House sopping wet, his clothes dripping and his hair curling up at the ends from the rain. There’s another of him on his building’s fire escape, hands curled around the railing and head tilted towards the stars. There’s a series of drawings that are just of his eyes, all done in various shades of blue and in a couple of different mediums, which are the only bursts of color in any of the drawings so far. Davey asleep at the table in the mess hall with his head pillowed in his arms, a pencil starting to slip from his fingers. Davey sitting on the corner of Jack’s desk at Pulitzer’s, studying his latest political cartoon. Davey with the other Newsies, their bodies drawn in hazy silhouette, Davey standing at various street corners, hawking newspapers to faceless passersby.

A few of the scenes depicted are things Davey recognizes, distinct instances that he can place in his memory. Others are more nebulous, ordinary moments in an ordinary life. He turns to a new page, this time finding a sketch of him reading an unlabeled novel, curled up in the corner of one of the dorm beds. Davey frowns, a little perplexed. Although it’s beautiful, as all of Jack’s artwork is, he can’t begin to imagine what inspired Jack to draw this particular scene. He’s not even really doing anything in it⁠—it’s just Davey being Davey.

He turns to another page and his breath catches in his throat.

It’s a drawing of him⁠ caught mid-laugh with his head thrown back⁠, the morning sun shining brightly behind him and a slew of crisscrossing lines in the background⁠. Davey recognizes it as a moment from a couple weeks ago, when he and Jack had made the trek across the Brooklyn Bridge for a meeting with Spot. 

Davey traces a finger gently along the broad strokes of charcoal. Jack had remembered this moment, had kept the image in his mind until he’d had a chance to commit it to paper, then rendered it in astounding detail. And Davey’s no artist, but even he can tell that this drawing must have taken Jack hours. Days even.

“This is what you think of me?” The question falls out of his mouth, so unexpected that not even Davey had realized he was about to ask it. “This is how you see me?”

“Whaddya mean?” Jack responds, shifting uneasily, his voice a little gruff in his discomfort. “‘S how you look.”

“Jack…” Davey trails off helplessly, unable to elaborate, unable to explain the fragile hope that’s blooming in his chest. He starts flipping through the pages again.

It’s a wash of ink and charcoal and lead, the occasional flash of blue, but all of him. Davey pauses on one particular page, which features a drawing of him from the shoulders up with his eyes rendered in vivid color.

Colored pencils are expensive. Paint even more so. Davey imagines Jack in an art shop, imagines him hunting through the rows of supplies for just the right shade of blue with the same determination that made him start up a strike, deciding that this color is worth handing over some precious amount of his hard-earned paycheck… Davey’s heart starts beating frantically in his ears.

“These are beautiful,” Davey whispers hoarsely. “The way you’ve drawn me… you’ve made me look beautiful.”

Jack’s eyes dart here and there. Davey gets the sense that he’s looking for the ‘right’ way to respond to this statement.

“...I don’t hafta make you look beautiful, Davey,” Jack eventually says, scrubbing a hand along the back of his neck. “You already are⁠—I just draw what I see.”

Davey calmly sets the sketchbook down on the nearest bit of clean, flat surface. Then he steps forward, grabs Jack by the straps of his paint smock, and kisses him.

There’s a split-second where Jack freezes, startled. Then he groans somewhere deep in his chest, wrapping his arms around Davey’s waist to draw him even closer, and the press of his lips against Davey’s is deep and soft and wonderful.

It’s Jack who pulls away first, moving back all of a hair’s breadth, his eyes flitting across Davey’s face like he’s savoring every detail of his expression⁠⁠—like he’s perfectly content to just look at him.

It’s only now that Davey realizes the significance of that gaze: Jack looks at him like he can’t believe his eyes, like he’s something out of his wildest dreams, and he cups Davey’s face between his hands with aching tenderness, like he’s something to be cherished. Davey can only press up into that embrace, can only hold Jack close and hope that he understands, that Jack sees the emotion in his eyes the way he sees so much of Davey’s everything. 

But there’s one question he needs answered. “Why?”

Jack leans in and presses a kiss to Davey’s temple. “It’s just… you have so much to you, Davey. No drawin’ could ever be all of you. But that didn’t stop me from tryin’.”

A kiss on the high point of his cheek. “And once I got started, I couldn’t stop. I would see you sittin’ somewhere, anywhere, laughing or sleeping or shouting and⁠— and you just buzz behind my eyes and I can’t get it to stop unless I grab a pen and some paper and sketch out whatever picture of you I got in my head.”

A kiss right at the corner of Davey’s mouth. “And I couldn’t never show ‘em to nobody, couldn’t risk anyone seeing ‘cause there’s too much of my heart in ‘em and I couldn’t⁠—”

Davey lifts up and kisses him again: slowly, reverently. He whispers into the seam of Jack’s lips, “I love you too.”

#newsies #javid #Jack Kelly #davey jacobs #*the writing desk #*editor's note #*final cut #this is so soft y’all #self-indulgent fluff for the win #(and now back to the smut...) #;)

[youtuberswithalex]

Little Virgil gets in trouble for the first time. Lots on anxiety, lots of fluff!

(Super old ask jfdksj sorry for the wait)

“Virgil Sanders!”

Virgil whirled around, the marker in his hand streaking the portrait in front of him. His eyes widened when he saw Patton standing at the end of the hall with his hands on his hips and a disapproving glare on his face.

“What do you think you’re doing?!”

Curling in on himself, he took a step back. “I was-- I was drawin’!”

“We do not draw on the walls in this household, mister,” Patton firmly said. He walked over and pulled the marker out of Virgil’s hand. “Go to your room.”

Tears sprung to his eyes. “But--!”

“Now, Virgil.”

Holding back a sob, Virgil put his head down and scrambled around Patton and up the stairs. As soon as his door was shut behind him, he let the tears fall.

---

There was a knock on his door about an hour later. “Kiddo?”

Virgil dove under his blankets as the door creaked open; he held his breath as best as he could in the silence that followed.

There was a soft sigh, and then footsteps approached the bed. The mattress dipped down at the same time that a hand rested on his back. “Can we talk about this, Virgil?” Patton asked.

“Don’t wanna,” he whimpered.

The hand began to rub in soft circles. “That’s alright,” he whispered. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. But can I at least say something?”

Virgil hesitated, but he eventually relented with a soft “Mm-hm.”

“I’m sorry for yelling at you like that. It wasn’t fair to you,” Patton said. “You didn’t know any better. I should’ve told you what you did wrong, and explained why it was wrong, instead of punishing you like this. I’m sorry, Virgil.”

He sniffled and shuffled. “’S okay, Daddy.”

“No, it isn’t.” Patton’s weight shifted, and there was a tap on his shoulder. “Can you come out of there for a minute, please?”

Slowly, Virgil pushed the blankets back just enough for his eyes to poke out; Patton offered a soft smile before leaning down and pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“Look, drawing on the walls isn’t okay. Okay?” he said, brushing Virgil’s bangs from his forehead. “It was a really nice drawing-- really, it was! --but it can hurt the paint on the walls, and it’s hard to get off. If it gets stuck, we have to repaint it, and that’s a whole ordeal and a half. Next time, please just ask one of us for some paper or something, okay?”

“How come Ro’s allowed?”

Patton frowned. “What do you mean?”

Scrubbing his eyes, Virgil pushed the blanket away and sat up. “Ro paints the walls in his room, like Rapunzel does. Why can’t I?”

Understanding melted onto Patton’s face, and he let out a sigh, a smile forming on his lips. “Kiddo, that’s because it’s his room. He’s allowed to do what he wants in there. If he was painting outside of the kitchen like you were, he’d be in a lot of trouble, too.” He let out a soft laugh. “Probably more, actually. You know Logan’s got a soft spot for you.”

Virgil looked down at his blankets. A thought crossed his mind that had him gripping at the fabric, and his shoulders started to shake.

“...Do you still like me?”

A gasp slipped out of Patton; before Virgil had a chance to process, he was being scooped up and held tight in his arms.

“Oh, honey, of course I do!” Patton exclaimed. “There isn’t anything in the world that you could do that could make me not like you! I love you, Virgil, so, so, so much, no matter how many bad things you might do. Okay, sweetie? I’ll always love you.”

Virgil sniffled and grabbed onto Patton’s shirt.

“Love you too, Daddy.”

#may i write you a ficlet #sanders sides #toddler virgil #patton sanders #virgil sanders #ala #alex writes #look! i actually got it done before midnight today! #kelseyybreauxx

[nico00235]

Monkey boy, happy boy

#lego monkie kid #mk lego monkie kid #lego monkie kid mk #qi xiaotian #lmk mk #i just love drawin him with that frowned face #drawing the stickers was ny little treat #he is my baby boy

[blackbirdmuses]

Storm || Monologue

Heavy, black clouds hung over the skeletal trees at the edge of Halloween Town. Darkness swiftly descended and the first roll of thunder boomed in the distance. Storm sat on the roof of the treehouse, watching the horizon with expectant green eyes. There had always been something about encroaching tempests that had relaxed him. While his mother jolted at every flash of lightning, Storm stared up, wide eyed as the sky filled with jagged light. Perhaps it was because he was born during a colossal, raging storm, or maybe it was his namesake, but he’d always held an affinity with gloomy weather. He would nestle himself among the broken slates, pressing himself to the hollow base of the dead tree, then, he’d wait patiently for the first droplets of rain to fall from the weighted heavens.

However, something more than an anticipated downpour had coaxed Storm to his perch on the roof today. He’d had an argument with his twin brother, Thorn. It seemed as though, in their ten years of living, neither of them had ever had a very serious disagreement; until today. The boys had got into trouble over a piece of graffiti on the back wall of the Town Hall (a drawing that Storm had concocted) and, instead of taking his share of the blame in encouraging Storm, Thorn had placed all the blame on Storm and managed to escape punishment. Now, Storm would have to spend his entire weekend cleaning the wall by himself. The twins had fought, loudly shouting at one another and stomping around until Thorn had retreated to their bedroom and Storm had run for the rooftop. 

With his knees up at his chest and his hood firmly hooked over his head, Storm watched a bright flash illuminate the billowing clouds on the horizon.  “Stupid Thorn,” he muttered. “Wasn’t even my idea. Always getting me into trouble for nothin’.” 

He kicked a slate from the roof, watching it slide down the edge until it smashed on the ground below. With a huff, he heard a gentle scuffing sound behind him. It was probably Thorn, so he ignored it.

“Thought I might find ya out here,” That wasn’t Thorn’s voice. Storm turned around and looked up to face his father. The shadows dropped away from his sides and he leaned one arm against the dead tree. “Mind if I join you?”

Storm licked his lips and shook his head, shuffling aside to allow him to sit next to him. Now he was in for it. His father hadn’t been around when the Mayor had berated the twins for their graffiti, but he had assured the twins that he would tell him all about it when he saw him. Thorn hadn’t taken the threat seriously, but Storm had. Look who was right, he thought.

Oogie lowered himself into a seated position next to Storm, casting a glance towards him. “Ah,” he breathed, pointing at his hood. “Probably a good idea.”  Storm blinked, watching as his father scooped a hand down towards the shadow of the dead tree and swept it over his shoulders like a cape. When the darkness parted, a dark green hood appeared over his brown curls and covered his shoulders.

Against himself, Storm couldn’t help but smile. “Cool,” he muttered. Oogie looked towards their view. “Won’t be long ‘til that storm hits us, huh?” he commented. “Your mother will pro’ly want us to come inside before it starts gettin’ too close, though.”

Storm sighed, scratching at his hands. “I don’t wanna go back inside.” He could feel his father looking at him again. “That ‘cause of your fight with Thorn?” he asked him earnestly. Storm didn’t answer. “I heard ‘bout what happened today. You ain’t in trouble.” Storm blinked, turning back to him. “I’m not?”

Oogie shook his head. “I thought your drawin’ was pretty gruesome, actually,” he admitted. “Although, you pro’ly shoulda picked a different wall-” Storm shifted around. “That’s what I said! But Thorn wouldn’t listen! He said that wall looked too boring and needed kickin’ up a notch!” Oogie chuckled under his breath. “Well, it’s certainly a lot more vibrant now, that’s for sure. I like the colours you chose, neon green an’ red? An’ that skull with the snake comin’ out of it? You got a real gift, Storm.”

Storm smiled. He’d always hidden his artwork in sketchbooks before, just doodling in the margins of writing pages or on the corner of napkins. It had been Thorn that had noticed his talents and suggested the idea of street art, but after the Mayor and some of the townsfolks’ reaction, it had felt as if Thorn had encouraged him just to get him into trouble. Thorn had insisted that wasn’t the case, but Storm couldn’t help but feel betrayed nevertheless. “Does that mean I don’t have to clean it off the wall?” he had to ask.

Oogie heaved a sigh. “Afraid not, fella,” he confessed. “You kinda covered up an important notice board with ‘Boogie’s Boys’ an’ some folks ain’t very happy about that, but...I guess y’know that already.” Storm looked at his feet dejectedly. Off in the distance, the thunder continued to ominously rumble and lightning cracked through the clouds.  “I wish Thorn would listen to me,” he muttered. “I told him it was a bad idea...and now everybody hates me.”

“Hates you?” scoffed Oogie. “Storm, nobody hates you. All you did was upset a couple ghouls, but forget about ‘em! The Mayor changes moods as quickly as he changes faces an’ the other ghouls will have forgotten all about it in a week.” Storm sniffed. “I thought you’d hate me.” Oogie’s gaze softened. “Me? Why?” Storm buried his face in his knees. “Because...you’re friends with the Mayor and Uncle Jack and they were mad at me and that��d make you mad and then you’d hate me-”

Storm looked up as he felt an arm wrap around him, pulling him closer to his father. “Stormy, kiddo...” he breathed. “...I could never hate ya, okay? Never. You’re my son an’ I love you. One li’l’ badly placed wall doodle ain’t gonna change that.”

Swallowing thickly, Storm wiped his eyes and rested his head on the side of his father’s chest. Storm had almost expected his father to lose his temper and lecture him about how disappointed he was, as he had done on the couple of occasions where he and Thorn had almost fallen into the acidic vat of sewage or played among the - mostly - dismantled sharp instruments in the Lair. It had seemed as serious as that when the Mayor was huffing and puffing at him in town. 

“An’ you know someone else who could never hate you?” asked Oogie. “Thorn.” Storm pursed his lips and sat up straight, looking into his father’s eyes. “But, he deliberally got me in trouble, Dad!” Oogie hummed and shook his head. “I don’t think he did. I figure that Thorn really thought his idea was a good one, an’ when he saw you gettin’ in trouble...he panicked.” Storm frowned. “Thorn? Panic?”

Oogie leaned in, looking left and right before he whispered: “Wanna know a secret? Somethin’ that even Thorn’ll never tell ya?” Storm blinked, nodding enthusiastically. “He’s real scared of bein’ caught red handed when you guys set up pranks.” Storm’s eyes widened. “He is?” “Oh, you bet! An’ I should know, because I’m the-” “Boogieman!” hissed Storm, amazed. It suddenly made sense why Thorn was eager to ensure their pranks were quick, concise and failproof every time they set them up. Storm had always assumed that he was just being efficient, but this made a lot more sense.

“An’ I’ll betcha anythin’ that he was just as scared of gettin’ in trouble as you,” continued Oogie. “An’ I know for a fact that he’s real sorry ‘bout it, too.” Storm made a face, looking off onto the horizon. Rain was beginning to fall in the distance, making dark spots on the ridged grass at the edge of the moors. Against his frustration at his twin, Storm had to admit to himself that he was missing his brother. They were rarely ever apart for longer than a few hours, and it felt like much longer than that today. 

“I guess I could talk to him,” sighed Storm, watching the rain getting closer.  “Atta boy!” breathed Oogie, ruffling his hood and looking into the distance. “We should get inside real soon, huh?” Storm looked up at his father. “Think Mom’ll mind if we stay in the rain for a little bit?” Oogie returned his gaze to the approaching rain. “As long as neither of us catches a cold an’ we dry off when we get inside, I don’t see why not.”

“Thanks Dad.” replied Storm, lifting his face as the rain came thundering down upon the roof, soaking the two of them within seconds.  Storm broke into a peal of laughter and he could hear his father join him. Rain cut through his jacket and onto his t-shirt, weighing him down as the thunder roared above them. “Okay, let’s go!” shouted Oogie, wrapping an arm around him. Darkness covered them both in a blanket, and the next thing he knew, he was flopping into the sofa with his father sitting next to him, the sound of the storm far above them.

“That was fun.”

#| monologue: twins #[A quick monologue from when the twins were younger :3]

[drcrushers]

Here’s a prompt to YEET into your inbox: An AU (specifically one you’ve never seen done yet for the couple)

OOOH. I HAVE SO MANY. 

but let’s go with something that’s both hadestown and mythology AU.

the fire crackles and sends another shower of sparks into the air, the logs shifting slightly. persephone glances up briefly, eyes narrowing as she takes in the darkness that the fire doesn’t quite reach beyond the mouth of the cave. she isn’t worried; they’re relatively safe for now. a rarity in times of war, but they’re promised at least one night’s rest before what she suspects is another round of fighting that could keep them busy for days, if not weeks without end.  she twists her arrowhead in her hands, admiring it’s fine point before she sets about lashing it to the shaft. it’s sharpness reflects the fine craftsmanship of it in the glint of the fire, her gift from the cyclops creatures that are camped with the giants just over the next hill. she’s eager to use them, to see how well they dig through the armor and skin of the titans as promised. there’s a shiny new bow laying to her left, far more styled and sturdy than her wooden one.  “here.” she glances up as hades holds out a cup of ambrosia to her. she smiles her thanks, taking it so he can join her at the fire with his own cup. it burns when it hits her tongue, flooding her with more warmth than the fire ever could. “are they arguing again?” she asks idly, jerking her head toward the back of the cave where she knows the others to be settling for their night.  “per the usual. hera and deme still disagree with zeus’ plan. but it’s the only one we’ve got.” hades stares into the fire, watching the flames as she finishes building the arrow she’s on and adds it to the growing pile between them before picking up another.  “it has to work.” she frowns, brows furrowed. “i don’t like it either, but it’s our best shot.” a pause. “but i don’t like you being that close to them. invisible or not.” “about as much as i like you crackin’ open gaia more than she already is.” he remarks, and persephone huffs. no, gaia is already scarred up and entirely barren in some parts from the war. years of fighting have a way of leaving their marks - physical and emotion. on gods and environment alike, her mind supplies. she and hades both have their fair share.  “tartarus is too good for them, my opinion.” she mutters. “they oughta be destroyed.” a pause. “sorry. i just - i forget how hard it is on you. i know your momma means well.” her fingers still in their work, and she tilts her head to look at hades. his lips twitch as he regards her, the fire flickering in those dark irises.  “i just wish she’d joined our side. i don’t understand how she can still love him.” hades rumbles. yeah, his father is a right bastard. which is why persephone feels vaguely unwell at the idea of hades going anywhere close to them. if something happens - well, there won’t be any stopping her in a quest to avenge him.  she reaches across the small gap between them, taking his hand in her own. he lifts her hand to kiss her knuckles fondly, brushing his thumb across the back after he does.  “just promise me you’ll be safe.” persephone says quietly. “that you’ll come home to me.” hades’ expression softens, and he nods, a few strands of loose hair escaping the low ponytail it’s tied back with. she reaches up to brush them back behind his ear.  “promised, didn’t i?” he adds as they both take a sip of ambrosia.  “you and i know you’re about as likely to be careful as a dog has fleas.” persephone remarks dryly. hades’ companion (new, but more loyal than most of his siblings) lifts one of his heads from the other side of the fire. “present company excluded, beastie.” she adds to the canine who has yet to have a name.  “this war ends, we’ll all be better off.” hades holds her hand between his own as they sit. persephone looks down to her lap for a moment, studying the liquid in the cup of her other hand. “that offer to marry ya still on the table when this is done?” she asks, and hades looks vaguely amused.  “of course. you plan on takin’ me up on that offer?” “thinkin’ on it.” she grins, and leans over to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “though i dunno if i can take livin’ up on that mountain we’re fightin’ for with that motley crew of yours.” “wherever you’d like.” he says, a bit too quickly. his face is flushed golden and she can’t tell if it’s heat from the fire, the ambrosia, her, or some combination of all of the above.  “we could set ourselves up real nice somewhere, once they get done drawin’ straws for realms.” she adds the last as an afterthought. another contention of the fights that frequently break out among his siblings and frankly, she’s glad to have no dogs in the damn race. “soon as we send the titans straight to hell.” hades replies. “i wanna marry the woman who stood beside me through all of it.” a pause. “thank you.” persephone laughs. “for what? for being stupidly in love with you?” “that,” he laughs with her. “and for bein’ on our side.” “wasn’t even a question when you asked, lover. i may not have the same stakes in it as you, but this war has been a disaster for everyone.” she rests her head against his shoulder, and they watch the fire continue to burn. she feels him drop a kiss to her hair.  “if i gotta keep my promise, you gotta keep yours.” he says in the quiet silence that settles between them.  “i will. we’re gonna survive and then you ain’t ever gonna get rid of me.” persephone muses. “though i reckon we both get wiped out it won’t be a problem anymore.” “----always the optimist.”

#hadestown #few notes: persephone is not demeter's daughter in this but she's the daughter of gaia #so no persephone is not hades' sister #also the cyclops are the ones who gave the olympians their tridents/weapons for the war #hence why persephone got the arrows #i love this au #Anonymous

[paintedwithapalette]

Presenting a lovely commission I recently received from @wingbladeweaver1357​ of Naminé and Kairi from my Memories of You fanfic where they’re twin sisters! I’m absolutely in love with it! 

Decided to write up a quick snippet to go along with it as well that may or may not show up in the future of Memories of You itself! Enjoy! 

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

Memories of You:  Naminé and Kairi 

Word Count: 1,383

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

"Knock, knock," Kairi called. "Dinner is served."

Kairi backed into Naminé's room with her hands preoccupied with a tray of grilled meat and curry rice. Naminé sat at her desk, lost in her own world as a zest of inspiration compelled her to look over her work with a great amount of scrutiny as she scribbled into her sketchbook. 

"Thank you," Naminé replied, her eyes unmoving. "Smells great. On the bed is fine."

Kairi paused. Did she hear right? For the first time in weeks, Naminé’s voice didn't sound like it was desolate of all life and energy. "So, I suppose asking you to come downstairs and eat at the table with us like a normal family for once is out of the question?"

"What was that?" Naminé asked, not tearing her eyes away from her drawing.

"Never mind," Kairi said tiredly, complying with her sister's earlier request and set her dinner on the mattress. "Just promise me you'll at least touch your dinner this time?"

"Don't worry, I will. And I'll be at breakfast in the morning. Promise," Naminé assured her offhandedly. Kairi couldn’t claim to be convinced. She had heard it a million times before. "If I don't show up, I'll do your chores for a month."

"Deal. I’ll hold you to that, you know.” 

Before leaving, she stole a stealthy glance at Naminé and took note of her seemingly more animated posture. It was far from the first time she had seen her sister absorbed in her own world. But this time, something seemed different; whether it was the way her pencil scraped against the paper sharply, or the way she chewed her lip, or the slightest bounce etched in each of Naminé's movements. It was a subtle something that only a sister of sixteen years could pinpoint.

Kairi peered over Naminé's shoulder to get a glimpse at whatever kind of artistic spectacle was in the works. "Soooo, whatcha drawin'?"

"H-Hey! Do you mind?" Naminé was quick to press her sketchbook against her chest. "You know I don't like when people look."

Kairi raised her hands in a show of no ill will. "Sorry, are my unrefined commoner eyes tainting your latest masterpiece?" 

"Why, yes. Yes, they are. Glad you understand."

Kairi scoffed. "No need to get uppity. I was just curious because you seem a bit more excited than usual."

"Excited? What do you mean by excited?" Naminé chuckled nervously. "I'm not excited. Who's excited? Are you excited? Can I not just be immersed into the wonderful world of art without arousing baseless accusations of this so-called excitement?"

Kairi snickered at the transparent façade. "Subtle."

Naminé frowned. "Don't you think your food is getting cold or something?"

"Funny, I was just about to say the same thing to you." Kairi giggled at the dirty look from her sister and headed for the door. "Fine. I can take a hint. I'll be downstairs if you need anything." 

When Kairi turned towards the door, Naminé gave a look of gratitude and returned her focus to her sketchbook. However, when Naminé was least expecting it, her sketchbook was quickly swiped from her work station. With eyes on the brink of popping out of her skull, Naminé looked over to find Kairi making a mad dash towards her own bedroom with a most evil cackle trailing behind her. 

“Kairi!” Naminé cried, immediately rushing out of her room to give chase. 

“Sorry, little sister, but I couldn’t resist,” Kairi called, her eyes running over her sister’s sketch as she sped walked down the hall. It was an impressively constructed piece of Roxas with an insurmountable amount of attention to detail resulting in an insanely accurate depiction of the boy in question. “Aha! Just as I suspected.” 

“Kairi,” Naminé shouted, her voice coming off more whiny than anything. As Naminé chased after her sister, she couldn’t help but remember when Roxas took her most embarrassing doodles of hers when she was little, teasing her all the while. What was with these two and their incessant need to humiliate her? “Give that back!” 

“But this is so good,” Kairi said as she entered her room. Naminé hurried inside soon after and sprinted towards her sister with the intent of tackling her to her bed, but Kairi simply raised a hand to catch Naminé’s face, ignoring her muffled moans and whines as she pathetically reached for her sketchbook. “No wonder you were so focused. It’s like... almost a photograph.” 

“Thank you very much. Now hand it over.” 

Kairi gave it one last look, a wide smile spreading, before handing it back to Naminé. The bespectacled girl held it close to her chest protectively and adjusted her glasses. 

“Look, I know I might look like a bit of a weirdo,” Naminé started, “but it really was just an excuse to practice portraits. That’s all.”

“Mmm hmmmm,” Kairi mummed in disbelief. “If that’s the case, why choose Roxas?” 

“Because, uh...” Naminé stumbled. “I-I like his hair?” 

It wasn’t a lie, anyway. 

Kairi smirked, shaking her head as she set her hands on her hips. “Little sister. Have you not learned your lesson that your lies hold no weight over me, your true evil overlord?” She gradually began to speak in a dramatic tone. 

 “Would you please stop calling me your little sister? We’re only minutes apart.” 

Kairi grabbed Naminé by the shoulders and shook her. “Your meager attempts at diverging the topic of our current discussion do not sway me, woman! I know thine heart hath a penchant for the boy who hails by the name of Roxas and your denies are futile!” 

“And stop talking like that. It’s starting to freak me out.” 

“Just admit it,” Kairi said, her voice returning to normal. “I’ve admitted to you about how I feel about Sora. The least you can do is return the favor. Don’t you trust me?” 

Naminé eyed her up and down with scrutiny. “Do you really want me to answer that question?” 

Kairi rolled her eyes. “Do you like Roxas? Yes or no?” 

Naminé bit her lip as her eyes moved all over Kairi’s room in an attempt to avoid that gleam of anticipation of hers. “I... maybe, okay? Maybe. Now, will you leave me alone?”

Naminé hurried towards the door, but Kairi read her like a book and swiftly stepped in front of her as she blocked her exit. “So, you admit it!” 

“I said maybe.” 

“Which basically means you want to bear his children!” 

Naminé felt a blush sneak up on her at the accusation. “W-What...?”

Kairi snaked one of her arms around Naminé’s shoulders. “Hee hee! You wanna know what I think?” she asked, her voice returning to normal. 

“After that comment you just made, not particularly.” 

“I think you should give it to Roxas as a gift.” 

“Kairi,” Naminé said plainly. 

“I’m serious. You know how much he loves your art. I’m telling you, he’d fall head over heels for you!” 

“T-That’s not really the point,” Naminé said, her eyes running over her sketch. “Isn’t it kind of creepy? Drawing somebody without their permission?” 

“Maybe if you didn’t know the person, but we’re talking about your friend, remember? Our friend. A friend who adores everything of yours he’s laid his eyes on. Also, helloooo? His birthday is coming up next week. The time is now!” 

Naminé’s look of uncertainty didn’t waver much, her eyes repeatedly switching from her sketch to her sister’s hopeful eyes. “So, you’re saying I wouldn’t look like a creep if I gave this to him?” 

“Not at all! You should give Roxas more credit. He’s not some judgemental jerkface, and you know this. He’d be thrilled. Just have a little bit of courage and I’m sure it’ll all work out.” 

Naminé still looked unsure.  

“How about this,” Kairi continued. “I’ll be right there beside you when you give it to him. If you ever get discouraged, I’ll be right there to nudge you in the right direction.” 

“I don’t know about this, Kairi...” Naminé whispered, lifting her sketchbook over the bottom half of her face to hide her quivering lips. “Are you sure this is a good idea?” 

Realizing that Naminé was beginning to warm up to the idea, Kairi noticeably brightened and clenched her fists. 

“I’m positive!” 

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

If you’re interested in seeing more of their sisterhood, feel free to check out Memories of You on ff.net! It would mean the world to me! 

#namine #kairi #kh commissions #kh fanfiction #wingbladeweaver1357 #commissions #kingdom hearts

[leeyuunmi]

Love & Producer KR: Gavin Rainy Day Date 「비 오는 날 데이트」 Part 4

Text version of Gavin’s Rainy Day Date.

So sorry for the delay, been caught up with other things. This is definitely one of my favorite dates because of how bold the two are...

Enjoy!

Video version to be updated.

Please do not repost this anywhere else.

—————

The sound of rain gradually became further away. In Gavin’s arms, my anxiety and embarrassment melted away.

The raindrops on his body was cold. His arms were hot. His body temperature that passed over my thin cloth reassured me.

MC: Sunbae, how did you find me?

Gavin: I kept looking along the way. I’m glad nothing happened to you.

In his voice, there was a fear that had not yet gone. His arms that embraced me gave me strength.

Gavin: I never broke my promise with you.

MC: I know.

I nodded in his arms and sniffed, calming my sore (itchy?) nose.

MC: If I wait for, you will come, it’s always the case.

Gavin: Don’t do this nextime.

Gavin let me go, but still supported most of my weight using his arm, and looked anxiously at my ankle.

Gavin: Did you twist it that badly?

I looked down on where Gavin was looking. I tried to move my ankle and felt the pain as if an electric current was flowing.

MC: It’s not that serious, but I still don’t have strength.

Gavin frowned and leaned against one side to make me sit slowly. Then he knelt down and grabbed my ankle and placed it on his knee.

I felt awkward and tried to move my feet, but Gavin looked up at me.

Gavin: Stay still. Let me take a look.

Gavin: Does it hurt if I do this?

A cold wet finger slightly touched the sore spot. I felt comfortable for some reason.

MC: No.

Gavin: Now?

His fingers pressed gently along the ligaments. I couldn’t stand it and breathed.

MC: It hurts.

Gavin: It will feel better if you endure a little.

Once Gavin confirmed, he sighed and placed my feet down.

Gavin: It’s not a fracture, just a sprain. Still, it would be better not to move recklessly now.

MC: Okay.

The soft touch left the area he had grasped relieved from stinging pain.

I lifted my head and looked at Gavin looking around.

MC: How’s the situation down the mountain?

Gavin: The bridge was broken by the flood. It is being repaired by relevant department, but it will take some time. Communication will be restored soon.

When I heard the news, a sigh of relief came.

MC: That’s good to hear.

Gavin: Now the rain is too strong. Let’s move again when it gets lighter.

Gavin said that and covered my head with his coat again to prevent rain from falling on me.

His body was already wet. Wet clothes clung to his skin, revealing the contours of his body.

MC: Please wear the coat sunbae.

Gavin: It’s okay. This rain is nothing.

MC: But you will catch a cold.

I didn’t give up and tried to grab the coat from my head and return it to him. Then Gavin wrapped my hand in his palm and asked:

Gavin: Do you feel my body temperature?

I blanked. The back of my hand felt the hot temperature transmitted from Gavin’s hand.

Gavin: Do you still think I’m cold?

When I didn’t answer, he took my hand and placed it on his neck. I felt his body temperature and his stable and powerful pulse.

My heart starts beating faster without me knowing. I was embarrassed and pulled my hand.

MC: Ah, no.

Gavin: So you don’t have to worry about me

Gavin laughed lightly and sat facing me. The space was narrow and made of shrubs and vines, so I had no choice but to fold my legs. (Not sure sure about this)

All I heard was the heavy rain against the background of sounds heard from a distance. The sound of tapping of leaves was also heard.

The rain soaked scenery was so delicate and fantastic but I couldn’t feel it for some reason. I unconsciously approached Gavin and felt this body temperature.

MC: It’s romantic to hear the sound of rain like this, if only we weren’t in this situation.

I tilted my head to look at Gavin.

A single drop of rain rolled off his lashes distracting the softness in his eyes.

MC: Sunbae, don’t we look like the cats we met before?

Gavin: Is that so? It is a bit similiar.

As if something came into mind, Gavin’s mouth went up gently.

Gavin: However, it’s not bad to hear the rain together.

He came close and pulled up the slipped coat from my head and held it tight.

As I looked at his pupils looking at the rain, I thought about what was written in the guestbook.

MC: Sunbae, after you went out, I found the ending of the unrequited love story in the guestbook.

Gavin: How was the ending?

Maybe because we were too close, Gavin bowed his head and I immediately met his eyes.

MC: It said “after the rain, we got together”, it was a happy ending.

Gavin: Then, either one of them opened the door.

MC: Yes, but if they want each other from the beginning, would it be necessary to wait so long?

He was silent for awhil and barely opened his mouth. His voice had a bitterness that was hard to notice.

Gavin: The person in the rain wasn’t afraid to knock on the door, but there might have been other reasons.

I recalled the bloodstained letter and our misunderstanding and him leaving silently. Him waiting in the library seemed to be drawin in front of him.

MC: But when the rain stopped, the two of them missed each other.

My fist clenched itself. My voice trembled a little.

MC: If it was you, what would you do?

Gavin: If it was me...

Gavin stopped talking and put his hand on the coat on my shoulder, and wiped thewater droplets on my face with his other hand.

Gavin: I will keep waiting in the rain.

He stared at me with deep eyes. At this moment, I feel like he was saying it to me.

And it made me sad for some reason. And the rain poured around us without stopping.

MC: But the rain will eventually stop.

Gavin: No.

This time Gavin did not hesitate and said in a confident tone:

Gavin: I will wait for it to rain again.

MC: Why?

Suddenly, his slightly rough finger slipped along my face to my lips. I ran out of breathe.

Gavin: There will never be a person like her again.

He touched my lower lip lightly. At the same time his hot breathe fanned on my face.

My hands were suddenly on his neck. I couldn’t suppress my desire to get closer.

Gavin: Only you can find the real Gavin.

He continued. My heart trembled more everytime his lips move.

I wanted to stop him but my heart was pounding and I felt dizzy, so I couldn’t say a word.

This moment, we were so close, I couldn’t escape fromn his gaze. My heart thumped like crazy. It seemed like the rain from the sky was falling into my heart.

MC: Sunbae...

Gavin: No one found my real heart until I met you. Because no one else can go there.

Gavin: Only one person can go inside.

Finally his lips touched my lips. His cold and wet bite and breath penetrated my sensed without any resistance.

His eyes filled with emotions. He tasted a bit, but didn’t go deeper.

His lips fell as soon as they touched, and only his hot temperature remained on my lips.

Gavin: I just knocked on the door.

Gavin raised his mouth and smiled softly.

A raindrop that fell on his body caused a splash of water unexpectedly.

My sight turned bluish, like the water fog.

As if someone touched the softest part of my heart, there was a rush of emotions that I cannot control.

I put my arms around Gavin’s neck and pulled him closer. Then I closed my eyes and put my lips on his lips.

Gavin froze, as if short of breath.

But the next moment, he held my head and opened my lips with his tongue and entangled my mouth deeper, as if he would not give me a chance to run away.

I feel the taste of rain water on my lips and tongue, and I would hear our breathing, but I wanted to continue this moment.

Maybe... before I knock on the door, I might have already jumped in the heavy rain and stayed with him.

Searching for my slipped hand, Gavin held my fingers tightly.

The raindrops on the leaves that I see between my blurry eyes glistened.

Rain continued falling like it won’t end.

We waited for the moment of dawn in the rain.

————— END —————

Just translating this makes me feel... something... xD

I loved their romantic moments in this date.

Thanks for reading~ Hope you enjoyed it as much as I did!

Will be putting on the subtitles on the video today, hopefully I can finish it today.

#mr love: dream date #mr love: queen’s choice #love and producer #dates #gavin dates #baek gi dates #gavin #baek gi #mldd #mlqc #러브 앤 프로듀서 #러프듀 #gavin dates in text

[neerasrealm]

just imagine this: slender and jack are going out and bc all the responsible pastas are out they hire a babysitter (y/n) to look after slendra. she’s rlly shy at first but eventually she and y/n become best friends (and they steal slender’s gramophone to play some music while they make cookies and maybe wreck the kitchen in the process depending on y/n and slendra’s combined skills)

I ABSOLUTELY ADORE THIS REQUEST AND I HAD A BLAST WRITING IT sorry it took so long school murdered me plus I was jumping from draft to draft and just. A lot happened ok. I didn’t get all the prompts in because I couldn’t work em in but I feel like I did good. I loved writing y/n just subtly noticing that this house Is Not Human and it- it was a fun dynamic to do gshdjdshj Also new hc this is the origin story for y/n in the poly slenjack fics

You're starting to have regrets about taking this babysitting job. Maybe it was that you'd seen too many slasher movies, or maybe you were just paranoid. Or maybe it was the fact that you were dragging your bike through the woods in order to get to the address you'd been given. The sane part of your brain is saying that this is dangerous and you should turn back, but the broke millennial part of your brain is saying that the $500 paycheck is too good to pass up. I mean- $500? For babysitting for one night? That's insane! It’s gotta be a joke right? Maybe it is. Maybe you are going to be murdered horribly tonight in the middle of the woods. 

You’re broken out of your thoughts by the sight of- a house. Presumably the house you’re supposed to be babysitting in. It’s gigantic- more of a mansion than a house. The outside looks refined and welcoming. There’s even flowers planted around the place. Cute pink pansies and blossoming bushes of roses. You look around hesitantly, then wheel your bike along up to the front door. You very carefully lean it against the wall and look around some more. How come you never heard about this place? I mean- a giant house in the woods? Why has that never come up? You’d think someone would talk about it, right?

As you’re looking around this odd place you realise something. It’s sprawling with cats. At first you only noticed a couple, and assumed they were pets, but now your counting has hit the double digits. Why do cats hang around here? Are they all pets? Is the owner of this mysterious house a cat person? Or do they just- kidnap cats? What if you’re babysitting a cat…

Okay no that’s dumb. You turn around again and knock on the front door. It’s silent for a moment, and out of awkwardness you look down at your feet. You’re standing on a fancy doormat that reads ‘welcome’ in elegant cursive. The door opens and your head shoots up to attention. 

Standing in the doorway is a tall man. Far taller than you. His skin is deathly pale, almost white, and his hair is neat and blonde. He’s wearing a suit, and as he looks down at you you realise his eyes are the brightest blue you’ve ever seen. 

‘’M-mister Schlankwald?’’ you ask, stepping back and away from this strange man. He nods and smiles.

‘’That’s me.’’ he holds out a hand to you. ‘’You must be y/n, yes? The babysitter?’’ he smiles gently, and you realise he actually- looks kind of nervous. That’s a tad reassuring. You take his hand and shake it. You nod.

‘’Yeah, that’s me.’’ you say. He steps aside and you cross the threshold. As you take your coat off you look around. Past the small entryway is a large living room. There're three whole couches, and a few more armchairs scattered around. There’s a large TV surrounded by cabinets full of DVDs and videogames- it looks like a very luxurious place. And also there’s more cats just- hanging around in various places, but you’re not really paying attention to them. Your attention is grabbed by the person standing in the living room. He’s- insanely tall, with long black hair, striped socks and sleeves, feathers on his shoulders for some reason and- bandages. Just wrapped around his torso. He’s also wearing a grey crop top, and what you assume to be white face paint. His nose is striped too, and cone shaped. Everything he’s wearing is either black or white. You stare at him in surprise and just- disbelief. He raises a hand in greeting.

‘’Ey.’’ his voice is deep and rough. ‘’Ye’re th’ si’er?’’

You blink for a moment, not sure what he- even just said. ‘’Y-yes?’’ you say, hoping that’s the right answer. Apparently it was, because he smiles at you.

‘’Ah!’’ he steps towards you and leans down, holding out his hand. ‘’Me name’s Jack. pleased ta mee’ ya!’’

You shake his hand and nod. ‘’I’m y/n.’’ you murmur. Jack stands back up and you look over your shoulder at Mr Schlankwald. He gestures to the other male.

‘’This is Jack, my husband,’’ he explains. ‘’Do excuse the makeup. He’s a performer, you see.’’ 

‘’Ah.’’ you relax a bit. A performer...that makes sense. I guess. You look around a bit. ‘’So uh- where’s the kid?’’ In all this strangeness you almost forgot why you hiked into the deep dark woods. 

‘’Righ’ ‘ere.’’ You turn to look at Jack again and watch him step aside to reveal a small girl who’d apparently been hiding behind him before. Her eyes widen as she comes into view and she stares at you. Her skin is a dark, almost reddish-brown colour. Her face is peppered with freckles and her hair hangs around her shoulders. It’s bright blonde, like Mr Schlankwald’s, but a bit more yellow. She quickly skitters back to Jack’s leg and hides behind him again. You frown. Jack looks at you. ‘’She’s a bi’ shy.’’ he murmurs. He crouches down to the girl. ‘’Ey, luv, i’s okay. Th’ si’er isn’ gonna ‘urt ya.’’

‘’Wh-wha’ if I scare ‘em or say somefink?’’ she mumbles. She has the slightest hint of her father’s accent, but more- refined almost. And a lot easier to understand.  

‘’Ye’re no’ gonna, ye’re a smart girlie, ain’t ya?’’

Mr Schlankwald taps your shoulder and you look over at him. ‘’We- haven’t gotten a sitter before, so she’s a little nervous about the whole thing.’’

You nod. ‘’That’s alright, I’ve had shy kids before.’’ you smile at him. He seemingly brightens up. 

‘’Righ’,’’ Jack’s voice interrupts you two. You look at him as he stands up. The girl shyly steps out from behind him and Jack lightly pats her head, ruffling her hair. ‘’We’d be’er ge’ goin’, luv.’’

‘’Of course.’’ Mr Schlankwald says. He shakes your hand once more and then looks at the girl. He holds out his arms and she quickly runs over, hugging him tight. ‘’Be good now, won’t you my dear?’’

‘’I will.’’ she mumbles. Her parents step away, with Jack heading for the door. Mr Schlankwald looks at you again.

‘’Her bedtime is at nine thirty, snacks are in the kitchen,’’ he nods towards a door behind you. ‘’Feel free to help yourself.’’

‘’Got it!’’ you chirp back as they leave. Once the door has closed it’s just you and the girl. She turns slowly and looks at you. You smile at her and lean down to her. ‘’Hiya.’’ you greet. ‘’I’m y/n. What’s your name?’’

She gulps and steps towards you. The tiny child looks you dead in the eyes and holds out her hand to you. ‘’I’m Slendra. Slendra Jackson.’’ she says with all the authority of a business CEO. you almost, ALMOST, crack up laughing but force yourself to take her seriously. You shake her hand.

‘’Well nice to meet you.’’ she retracts her hand. ‘’How old are you, Slendra?’’

‘’Fo-’’ she stops. ‘’Eigh'. I’m eigh'.’’ she folds her hands behind her back, just like her father did. You smile at her. She takes after her father, you suppose. It’s cute. 

‘’So what do you like? Got any hobbies?’’

‘’Uhh…’’ she toys with the sleeve of her striped shirt. ‘’I like...music...and bakin'...I like readin' too and uh-’’ she shrugs. ‘’That’s abou' it, I guess.’’

You nod. ‘’I see.’’ you smile at her. ‘’So what do you wanna do? We got…’’ you glance down at your watch. ‘’Three and a half hours to kill.’’ She shifts on her feet and shrugs again. You tilt your head at her. ‘’We could watch TV...maybe draw something? Are you hungry?’’

She seems to perk up a little bit. ‘’I have drawin’ stuff in my room,’’ she says. ‘’We could do tha'.’’ there’s a glint of excitement in her eyes. ‘’I-if you want to.’’

‘’Of course I do,’’ you stand up and smile at her. ‘’Lead the way.’’

Slendra smiles a little in excitement and turns, heading quickly up the stairs. You follow after her, looking around curiously. This place is massive. Upstairs is a hallway with doors running all along the right. Each one is decorated differently. One is striped, with ‘laughing jack’ written on it, another is pink with a castle-shaped sign on it that reads ‘Sally’ and under it ‘& Dina’ is written in what looks like sharpie. The one right across from the stairs that Slendra climbs up has a metal sign on it, decorated with a skull and crossbones, that reads ‘Kate’s room, keep out!’

You follow Slendra up the staircase and arrive on the third floor. Slendra leads you to her room. Her door is also decorated, with flowers and butterflies and bowties. Her walls are purple, and the room kind of reminds you of...and office. She has a large desk covered in boxes and papers. Shelves are piled high with toys and trinkets, and she has a massive bookcase stuffed to the brim with- well, books. Fairy lights hang over her bed, which is large and round and covered in pillows and plushies. Glow in the dark stickers decorate her ceiling and walls.

Slendra grabs a large plastic tub from under her desk and drops some paper sheets onto it. She picks up the tub and smiles at you. You frown. ‘’Isn’t that heavy?’’

‘’Huh?’’ she looks at the box. ‘’I guess- I’m kind’ve strong though.’’

You smile a bit. ‘’I bet you are.’’ you step towards the door and open it. ‘’C’mon. If you need help with that I’ll take it.’’

Slendra shakes her head and walks past you. ‘’I got it.’’ she says, holding her head up proudly to show off how big and independent she is. You smirk a bit and follow after her. You walk past the hallway of odd doors and through the living room into the kitchen. Slendra places her box on the dining table and smiles over her shoulder at you. You glance around the kitchen. it’s- well, a normal kitchen. The fridge is covered in children’s drawings and magnets, but oddly no photos. Thinking about it now, you haven’t seen a single photo up on the walls. Odd.

‘’So you like drawing, huh?’’ you say to Slendra. She pulls out a chair, which has a big ginger cat sleeping on it. She pets it and nods.

‘’My brother Helen is an ar'ist. He lets me join 'im sometimes, and he teaches me a lo'.’’ she smiles over at you.

‘’Your brother’s name is Helen?’’

‘’Yeah.’’ she tilts her head. ‘’It’s a unisex name innit?’’

You- don’t really have the heart to say no, so you just nod. ‘’How many siblings do you have?’’ you ask, watching the ginger cat roll over. Slendra scratches its stomach. 

‘’Ten.’’ she replies without batting an eye. You freeze for a second. You blink. Huh- so- Mr Schlankwald, the strange gay man who lives in a mansion in the woods, apparently has eleven children. You slowly tilt your head.

‘’How many people live here…?’’

‘’Fourteen, though my uncle Ivan sometimes comes to visi', so maybe fifte- oh!’’ she’s interrupted by the ginger cat suddenly jumping down off the chair and wandering off somewhere. She climbs up onto the now empty chair and looks over the table at you. "Dad left snacks for us," she points over at the counter by the fridge. "Do you wanna grab some?" 

"Oh uh- sure." You walk over to the counter Slendra pointed to. There's some plates and a bowl covered in tin foil, probably to keep the cats from eating whatever's been left for you. You grab one of the plates and peel away the tin foil. You're greeted by a plate that's sectioned into thirds. Each third contains...snacks? Of some sort. One section is miscellaneous coloured potato chips, one is full of little black squares that look like...seaweed? Maybe? And the third section looks like- thin slices of various vegetables. Dried out to a crisp. You slowly glance over at Slendra.

"What're uh- what're these?"

"Oh! Dad's healthy snacks. They're real good." She smiles. "Try one!"

You hesitate, then reach to grab one of the potato chips. They're all different colours. Orange, red, yellow- even a couple purple ones. You grab a yellow one and very carefully bite into it. Your eyes widen as you chew. It's...good. really good. A nice balance of cheese, onion- are those chives? Yeah! Chives. Fancy. You pick up a second, orange one and toss it into your mouth. It's a bit sweeter, but still just as good. 

Pulling aside the foil on the bowl you're greeted by popcorn, nuts, and various shaped potato chips that also appear to be homemade. You grab one and toss it into your mouth, and get hit with soy sauce and spices. Surprising, but still really good. It reminds you of asian takeout. You take the foil off the last plate and- "Oh! Cookies!"

"Yep! Dad made 'em especially for you." Slendra says as she opens the box she brought down and pulls out a few things. "He always tries to make sure we have food for guests. Every time we ge’ a visitor he tries to feed 'em."

"Huh…" you grab the plates very carefully and carry them over to the table, setting them down between you and Slendra, who's already begun her drawing. "What is your dad like anyway? How'd he afford a giant place like this?" You ask as you wander back over to grab the bowl you left.

"Oh uh- well-" she suddenly seems nervous. "He said tha’…" she pauses for a moment, like she's thinking. "He invested in stocks b'fore the economy wen’ bad." She finishes, speaking like she's reciting a line. You smile a bit.

"I see." You put down the bowl of various snacks and grab another potato chip. Slendra reaches over and grabs one of the black squares of seaweed, biting into it and crunching on it happily. "Weird that I never heard about this place, huh? Giant mansion in the woods…’’ Slendra stares at you, eyes wide. ‘’...That’s full of cats for some reason…’’

She nods and smiles sheepishly. ‘’Heheh, yeah…’’ she puts down her pencil and grabs a thin, dried out tomato slice, crunching on it quietly. ‘’Dad feeds 'em. He loves cats.’’

‘’Huh.’’ you grab a cookie from the plate and bite into it. It’s soft and crumbles in your mouth. Like shortbread, but with deliciously sweet chocolate chips. Without thinking you reach for a second one before you’ve even finished your first. ‘’So what’re you drawing?’’ you tilt your head at her. 

‘’Fairies.’’ 

‘’Oh yeah?’’ you lean over to get a look. You were expecting to see friendly, childish drawings of little people with wings, but instead...you’re greeted by creatures with odd proportions, eyes in odd places, sharp teeth and mean expressions. ‘’...oh.’’ you regain your composure quickly. Kids sometimes draw scary things, it’s normal- probably. ‘’You’re really good at drawing.’’

‘’Ehh…’’ she shrugs. ‘’I guess. I’m still learnin'. Helen says I’m gettin’ better though!’’ 

You smile a bit. ‘’Keep practicing. By the time you’re ten I bet you’ll be amazing.’’

Slendra laughs a bit. ‘’I only really draw when Helen asks me if I want to.’’ she murmurs. ‘’I mostly like to sing.’’ 

‘’Oh yeah?’’

"Uh-huh. Dad taugh’ me to play piano, and pops taugh’ me the accordion." She grabs a handful of popcorn, chips and nuts from the bowl and calmly grabs a single nut, putting it in her mouth and crunching on it softly. "I'm learnin' ukulele right now."

"Wow," you tilt your head at her. "Guess your parents can afford a lot of tutors for you, huh?"

"Nah, we're all homeschooled."

"Oh." You blink in surprise. "Does your dad do all of that?"

"Uh-huh. He's real smart." Slendra puts down her pencil and neatly puts her page aside. She delicately grabs a couple more snacks. She has awfully good table manners. A thing that comes from her father, you guess. ‘’He makes learnin’ fun too. My brothers say school is real borin’.’’

‘’Huh…’’ 

You spend a couple hours sitting there with her, watching her draw odd creatures and talk about her even more odd family. The cookies have been eaten, and most of the other snacks are gone completely. Including the seaweed squares, which weren't actually all that bad when you tried them. And now you're lounging back in your chair, petting a chubby chausie cat that's apparently named Brian. 

"So...he covered up...the hole in the wall...by making more holes."

"Yep."

"...No offense but this Jeff guy sounds pretty dumb." You say. Slendra laughs a bit as she puts away her coloured pencils, dropping them back into the large box of supplies she brought down. 

"Jeffery is a good boy, he means well." She murmurs. She grabs the last of the dried out tomato slices and crunches it down. "Wha’ now?"

You shrug. "I dunno. Whatever you want." you smile at her. She frowns in thought, then suddenly perks up. 

"Oh! I could practice my music," she looks suddenly excited. "Dad has a lo’ of records in ‘is office. Could we listen to those? And I can play along with my ukulele."

You shrug and smile at her. ‘’Sure, I don’t see why not,’’ you tilt your head. ‘’Where’s his office?’’

‘’Downstairs.’’ Slendra hops off her chair and grabs the box. ‘’I’ll grab my things! You go wait.’’ she adds before quickly leaving the room. You laugh a bit and grab the last couple potato chips, then the half-empty bowl, just in case. After nudging Brian off your lap you walk down to the basement and look around. There’s a few rooms, but the thing that catches your attention the most though is the lounge area that’s full of comfy looking chairs and cabinets stuffed with videogames. And also the cats, there’s even more down here, but you’re kind of used to them by now.

You glance around at the doors down here. There’s three doors on the left, and none of them are really decorated. There’s a couple other doors, and one of them has a large padlock on it for some reason. The one next to it, surprisingly, is decorated. Fish and deep sea creatures are painted onto it. You’re pulled out of your thoughts by footsteps on the stairs. You look towards them and see Slendra running down them with a ukulele in hand. She grins at you as she walks up to you. You notice she has a small concertina accordion hanging off her waist from a shoulder strap. ‘’Dad has the door locked,’’ she says as she walks past you towards the last door on the left. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out...a cat claw…? You frown. ‘’I can ge’ it open though.’’ 

You watch her attempt to pick the lock with the claw. ‘’uh...I don’t think that’s gonna-’’

‘’Click!’’ the door opens as if to spite you. Slendra grins over at you. 

‘’Told you!’’ she chirps. She walks into the office and you follow her in, bemused. Inside the office is...odd. Grey walls and carpet, lots of bookshelves, a cat tree in the corner, and comfy looking wicker chairs in front of the desk. On the walls are photos of Slendra and other kids who you assume to be her siblings. There’s an...odd painting hanging on the wall across from the door. It contains two faceless white beings, a similar being with black eyes and no mouth and a strange creature with similar black eyes and a wide smile. You frown at it. Abstract art, you suppose. The creatures remind you of Slendra’s drawings. 

‘’Here we go!’’ Slendra catches your attention again. She’s knelt on the ground, looking through a drawer stuffed with records. You glance over at a table in the corner of the room. To your surprise, it isn’t a record player, it’s a gramophone. An old looking one at that. Must be an antique. It honestly wouldn’t surprise you if Mr Schlankwald was a collector or something like that. Slendra gets up and very carefully places a record on the player and drops the needle. It’s silent for a couple moments and then a delicate piano starts playing. Slendra strums her ukulele and begins to sing.

‘’I know...you belo-o-ong to so-omebody ne-ew…’’ her voice is almost...mesmerising. You relax despite yourself as she sings along. ‘’But tonight, you belo-ong to me.’’ Maybe you’re imagining it, but you swear you can hear multiple voices coming from her. Or maybe it’s just the vocals from the record. You’re not really paying attention. Instead you sit down in one of the wicker chairs and watch her. ‘’Although…’’ she smiles a bit. ‘’You’re a apa-a-art, of my he-e-a-art,’’ her eyes catch yours. They seem to glint a moment and something- odd, passes over you. You suddenly feel extremely relaxed, all tenseness leaving your body. You lean back in your chair. ‘’And tonight, you belo-ong, to me.’’ 

-------

You don’t remember much else from the evening after that. Just that Slendra continued singing along to the greatest hits from the fifties and sixties. Things start to become a bit less fuzzy around nine thirty. Her bedtime. You read her a bedtime story, told her goodnight with a wide smile, and took a seat on the couch downstairs. Which is where you are now, watching a movie in the dim lighting. You feel...good. Really happy for some unknown reason. Not that you’re complaining.

The front door opens and you glance over as Mr Schlankwald steps inside. He closes the umbrella he's holding while Jack shakes himself off, kind of like a dog. Mr Schlankwald looks over at you and smiles. 

"Ah, hello." He steps towards you, with Jack following after. He strides past the blonde and collapses himself in one of the armchairs. Somehow his makeup is still flawless despite the rain outside. "How were things?" He asks, tilting his head. He seems nervous, slightly. Jack opens one eye and looks over at you.

"Good," you sit up. "No trouble at all. She behaved excellently, we just sorta...chilled." you smile a bit. "She's the most well behaved kid I've ever looked after honestly. She didn't even complain when it came to her bedtime."

"Oh!" Mr Schlankwald smiles a bit. "I'm glad to hear that- we were worried, eheh." He reaches into his pocket, pulling out his wallet. He frowns. "Hm...Jack have you got three hu-"

"Righ' 'ere luv." Jack reaches into his striped sleeve and pulls out a small wad of notes. Mr Schlankwald smiles and takes them, folding them up neatly before holding them out to you. 

"Five hundred, as agreed." He says as you quickly count the money. You knew you'd be getting that amount but still, actually holding the money now you can hardly believe it. You stand up quickly.

"Thank you." You barely manage to get the words out. "I had a great time babysitting her- I uh- I've babysat some real demons before so uh- heheh-" you're just rambling now because of the sheer elation of actually being given five hundred fucking dollars. Mr Schlankwald smiles, as polite as ever.

"Well, if we ever need another sitter we'll call you." He says, walking over to the door. He grabs your coat from the coat rack and holds it out. Quickly, you walk over to him and take it. He opens the door while you put it on. "Do get home safe," he murmurs. "Does your bike have a light? Do you need an umbrella?" He frowns at you, apparently worried. 

"No, no. I'll be fine." You give him an anxious smile while you pull your hood up and step outside. You grab your bike, flicking on the light on the front of it. Mr Schlankwald smiles at you, pleased to see that you won't be in the dark going home. You walk off towards the forest path you followed earlier and wave over at him. 

"Get home safe!" He calls as he waves back.

"I will!" You turn away from him and smile wide.

That's the best babysitting gig you've ever had. 

You really, really hope they call you back for another night...

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