#[ and maybe write a drabble of something ]

[seumyo]

If ghosts were real—well, Bakugou didn’t believe in ghosts, but if they did exist—they lived in the spaces people left behind.

And you happened to have left behind too many.

It wasn’t just the obvious things. Not the clothes still folded in your drawers, untouched. Not the way your books still sat on the shelves, the spines cracked from overuse, the pages filled with notes in the margins. Not even the stupid coffee mug you always used, the one you once swore made everything taste better, still sitting exactly where you left it on the kitchen counter (because it had his and your face printed on it).

No, the spaces you left behind were quieter. More insidious.

Like the empty seat across from him at the dining table, where you used to sit, eating straight from the pot that one night because, “Why dirty another dish?”

Like the sound of the bathroom door not opening in the morning when he’s actually using the toilet—dammit, you didn’t even have the care in the world to give your boyfriend some privacy—the absence of your muttered complaints about how the water took too long to heat up.

Like the other side of the bed, cold and untouched, where he still reached out in his sleep, half expecting to find you there. Anticipating to hold you closer to him.

Grief was a strange thing to Bakugou.

It wasn’t like pain. Pain was easy. A broken rib, a busted lip, the sharp sting of impact—those things, he knew how to handle. You grit your teeth, you clench your fists, you keep moving. That was what you did. That was the kind of man he was.

But grief wasn’t like that.

It wasn’t a punch he could take and shake off. It was a weight pressing down on his chest, invisible but suffocating. It was the silence of an empty apartment. It was the echo of your voice in his head, the way his brain still filled in the blanks in conversations you should have been part of.

It was standing in the grocery store, staring at the shelf, reaching for the brand of tea you liked before stopping halfway, fingers hovering in the air, before dropping his hand back to his side.

What was the point?

He hated how much space you had taken up in his life. Hated how even in your absence, you still lingered, threading yourself through his routine, his thoughts, his goddamn muscle memory.

But more than anything, he hated how much he wanted it to stay.

Because if ghosts were real, then maybe—just maybe—you weren’t completely gone.

He hadn’t cried. Not when he first got the news. Not when he stood at the funeral, jaw locked so tight it ached. Not when he walked through your apartment alone for the first time, every corner of it filled with your presence, your things, the remnants of the life you lived.

But tonight, he was exhausted.

Physically. Mentally. It comes down on him like something tangible, something inescapable—all at once.

And for the first time in a long time, he spoke into the silence.

“…This is fucking stupid.”

His voice was hoarse, rough from disuse.

Nothing answered.

Of course, nothing answered.

Still, Bakugou exhaled sharply, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “You’d be so pissed at me right now.”

The quiet stretched.

Bakugou let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “Tch. You always said I was too stubborn for my own good. But look at you. Still haunting me, huh?”

His eyes flickered to the couch, where you used to sit cross-legged, laptop balanced on your knees, pretending to listen to whatever bullshit he was ranting about while actually getting work done.

A strange, bittersweet feeling lodged itself in his chest.

“…You remember that time you swore up and down that ghosts were real?” he muttered, voice quieter now. “I told you you were full of shit.”

Silence.

His fingers curled into fists. “Kinda wish you were right.”

No answer. No sign. Just the hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen, the faint buzz of the city outside the window.

But in the quiet, he thought—just for a second—he could hear it.

A breath. A whisper of movement. The sound of something shifting just out of sight.

He knew it was nothing. Just his mind playing tricks on him.

But still, Bakugou closed his eyes, exhaled, and let himself pretend.

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[blueberrybeomgyu]

perv classmate!beomgyu drabble *ೃ༄

+*:🍪:*﹤warnings : 18+ mdni, mentions of pillow/desk humping, masturbation, beomgyu kinda has stalker tendences but it's nothing serious he just likes looking at you, he also has sub tendeces bc that's the way my account rolls ong / masterlist

✧･ﾟ: *

classmate!beomgyu who stares at you from across the lecture hall, his pants tightening at the way your eyebrows furrow when you're focused, how your tongue pokes the inside of your cheek, how you carefully apply your lipgloss, and god how sticky your lips look after, it gets him feeling insane, but he can't tear his eyes away, willing his hips to stay still under his desk where they're threatening to grind against the air

and it's so embarrassing, he has to carefully choose a seat that's not near a lot of people, so no one has to witness his fucked-out state just from looking at you, but he has to be close enough that he can admire the way your hair frames your face.

you never look at him, probably don't even know he exists, but he thinks about you the rest of the day, in his remaining classes, in the food court when he's supposed to be hanging with his friends, and when he finally gets back to his apartment, he can't even make it to his room, nearly tripping over his pants in a hurry to get them off, and he collapses on the couch, hand stuffed in his boxers and fisting his cock roughly, daydreaming about the sticky kisses you'd leave around his neck

he needs you soo bad, it's gotten to the point where his hand isn't enough, grinding desperately on pillows, on the corner of his desk, on the arm of the couch, but it's never enough, even if he gets off, he's thinking about you again almost immediately, hard and insatiable

he starts failing his class because he's never paying attention, always distracted by you, but he knows you excel at the subject -- your answers are always right when you raise your hand, and you've gotten plenty of compliments from the professor during class.

he knows you take a minute to leave the classroom afterward, waiting patiently until the professor is done talking to pack up your things. you're never in a hurry to leave, and beomgyu wonders if you'd be that patient with him. he hangs around like he usually does, stealing glances to watch you pack your supplies, how you put certain things in certain pockets, and catches up to you just as youre walking out the door

he stutters around a greeting and almost forgets what he was planning to say when you smile brightly at him, glossy lips shining and tempting. he struggles to get the words out, but he gets there, explaining how he's been struggling in the subject, and wants to know if you'd ever have the time to tutor him. his jaw almost drops to the ground when you say yes kindly, that you can help him whenever. you give him your number, and he gives you his apartment address, and tries to act very normal about the smell of your vanilla perfume, so potent with you right next to him.

when you guys are settled around his coffee table, he tries to wrap his head around the fact that you're in his space, taking up room in his home. he tries his best to listen as you teach him, soaking up the praising words you give him when he gets answers right -- "you're so good at this, you have nothing to worry about." and yes, you are so patient with him when he gets them wrong, telling him "good try, you'll get it next time, yeah?"

you guys set up a date for next session, and beomgyu watches you round the corner to leave his apartment building for your "safety" but he really just can't take his eyes off you, and when you're out of sight, he's hurrying back into his apartment, claiming the spot you were just sitting in, nearly moaning at how strong your perfume is, still hanging in the air as he fucks his fist dumbly, imagining how you'd praise him, how your "good try" would be condescending, teasing if you saw the way he's been struggling to cum.

but the strong scent of you in his living room gets him there, pulling multiple orgasms out of himself cause he just can't stop, can't get you out of his mind no matter what he does.

✧･ﾟ: *

a/n : longer one for u guys since it's the weekend, hopefully next friday i can post a full fic cause im currently working on like four lol, trying to get on a lil bit of a schedule so i don't run out of content tehe <3

[onismdaydream]

Way too close boy best friend denji 😋

You guys are just really good friends and you've known each other since forever and you guys are just affectionate like that ☹️

HIII ANON <333 i love this idea :(( and i have officially caught up with the manga so i can at least write some thoughts down hehe

there's a familiarity between the two of you that other people just don't get. they don't understand why you're so comfortable sitting on denji's lap when there's an open seat right next to him, or why you wipe food from the corner of his mouth and then lick your thumb clean, or why his hands are always on you especially when your boyfriend is right there! and no matter how many times you say "oh, it's just denji though! we're just beat friends!", people always look at you with such doubt.

and it's not like you haven't thought about denji in that way before, i mean... look at him! he's so cute and he's actually funny and maybe you get those little butterflies when his hands rest on your waist like they were made to fit there and maybe you catch yourself staring at his chest when you go swimming but that's just because you love him, totally and completely platonically!!

and yeah, maybe denji also thinks about you and how soft you are when he's alone in his room, how you actually like spending time with him when so many others seem to only like him for their own gain, how your body seems to mold against his perfectly when you cuddle during shitty movie marathons. but it's just because the two of you are such good friends!

[whumpasaurus101]

I cant get the picture of defiant whumpee being beaten by a group of people (maybe 2 or 3) who Whumper ordered them to.

Cue the splatters of blood. The sound of a fist connecting to skin with a hard thud soon followed by a weak and rasped cry.

Bonus points for at the end Whumpee’s eyes meeting with Whumper’s whos sat back on their chair, a cigarette lazily sitting between Whumper’s two fingers.

Whumper soaks in how utterly pathetic Whumpee looks, a beaten mess on the floor, looking up at them.

A beautiful sight if you ask me.

[starry-sophrosyne]

me realizing i havent ever posted my initial designs for tox and leo/ive stopped talked about ttos as a whole:

[owl-bones]

I mean, in defense of people who are hesitant about trusting fae dream... he did turn someone into an exotic pet before.

that didn't actually happen, that was just a drabble i developed and people asked for elaboration on sldfjlsfjs. it's technically a non-canon event, it's just on the blog and tagged and all that because it's still a (hypothetical) part of the story and there's some characterisation stuff in there. but the MC wasn't his pet, they were just a bird for the deal to work. he still treated them like a member of his court.

and i get where people are coming from, but if you're hesitant about trusting Dream you should extend that hesitancy to all the fae. especially Nightmare. between the two of them Nightmare is far more likely to trick you into a deal that you don't like, or that causes you to lose something of importance. it's just that nobody's asked about anything like that, so all they've seen is Dream being the poster-child for fae shenanigans lskdfjlsdsljfkd

like. Blue is the 'nicest' fae out of all of them when it comes to avoiding deals and giving humans leeway and helping them out, but that doesn't make Dream the worst (that'd be Killer)

tricks and wordplay are a major part of fae stories, and to ignore them completely to sanitise the characters and make them more approachable is disingenuous. Dream's a nice, friendly guy, yes, but he's still a fae and will trick you. Nightmare is cold and aloof but fair, and he will also trick you. Dream's not the bad guy, there is no bad guy, that is just their nature ദ്ദി ꒦ິ꒳꒦ິ )✧

[rmd-writes]

if you have good writing vibes to spare, can you please send them my way? I’m tired of being plagued by writer’s block and the thing I thought was sucking ny creative energy is done and there’s a fic I actually want to start writing 😭😭

[shanklin]

https://www.tumblr.com/shanklin/777747384573755392/unfinished-drabble-incoming-in-the-cold-mornings

^ As the anon from this ask and the one asking about the brothers thinking Ford is their Pa.

Prepare yourself.

TW CHILDREN DEATH

Some nights were colder than others, Shermie was certain. But recently it had been harder to get food, despite, Stanley’s attempts.

It seemed harder now, Stanley would leave them safe car, for longer periods of time, and would come back with bruises. But the most worrying thing, recently was his brother’s harsher breathing, Shermie wasn’t too sure, but it didn’t sound right. When Shermie would ask, Stan would just redirect the topic.

Eventually… his brother must have found a way to consistently find food, because he started to come back with large amounts of it.

Shermie didn’t ask where he got it, even if he wanted to know. The haunted look in Stan’s eyes and the scars on his stomach told him enough.

They curled up to eachother as they slept. But…that night’s dinner tasted wrong… Shermie’s stomach felt off. He tried to wake up Stan, his older brother looked at him with concern.

Shermie didn’t make it through the night, neither did Stanley, unaware of the chemicals that laced their food.

Selfish Shellfish AU - Masterpost

The original drabble

A response to the first part of this

Hey, hey.

Dearest Shermie Anon, why don't you come closer, I'd like to have some words with you 🥰

WHAT THE FUCK

Look. Look.

I know I started this. But come on 😨

You straight up poisoned them???

Did someone do it on purpose? What about the scars on Stan's stomache? Am I missing something??? Or did they just eat rat poison or something?

Good thing I already gave them a potential hopeful end. I wouldn't survive otherwise.

[v-thinks-on]

They all stopped and stared at the ostentatious old mansion. Charles stayed back with Erik as Raven led the others on an irreverent house and garden tour. Erik’s gaze looked distinctly unimpressed, but Charles could feel his mingled disdain and envy.

“I know, it’s a bit much,” Charles said.

Erik scoffed. “I should’ve guessed you grew up in a place like this.”

Charles bit back a frown, though he knew it just made his expression look pinched. “Unfortunately. At one point, I hoped I would never have to come back, but of course there’s no helping that now. Shall we?”

[selfmenticide]

oh the sick and twisted desire to write the wilford and actor from my dark's canon divergent backstory...

[bakuliwrites]

I haven’t ever necessarily wanted to write a crossover fic before, but between Julian, Lucio, and Astarion, the temptation is mighty. What would going to a tavern with them be like??? Or shopping??? Or a heist??? The absolute chaos that would ensue would be mind boggling. The fucking drama that would occur if the three of them were in a campaign together.

[camels-pen]

"Hey, Sanji."

"Hmm?"

"Have you ever fallen in love?"

Sanji paused to take a drag of his cigarette.

"Well, we sail with two gorgeous-"

"Sanji."

He sighed. "Yes, I have."

Usopp turned away from the night sky to rest his head on Sanji's shoulder, squinting at him.

"I have!"

Usopp squinted a little more before turning back to lay flat on the grass. "Tell me about them."

Sanji blew out a puff of smoke. "Why the hell should I?"

"C'mon just do it." At Sanji's stubborn silence, Usopp turned to him with a pout. "Pleeeeease?"

After a few more moments, Sanji scowled and blew smoke in Usopp's face. Usopp turned away to cough and rub his eyes.

The moment Usopp turned back to face him with complaints, Sanji said, "I haven't known him long, in the grand scheme of things." Usopp's brows rose high and he settled back against the grass. "He didn't seem like much at first. Just another passing face. It didn't take him long to impress me with his skills. I mean, that brain of his is incredible.

"And don't get me started on all his different types of weaponry. I'm still not totally sure how he manages all of that with random shit you can buy from any old merchant." Sanji sighed. "And he's absolutely gorgeous. Just the prettiest man I've ever seen-"

"Even more than Zoro?" Usopp asked quietly.

Sanji's nose wrinkled. "Disregarding the low bar you just set, yes. Prettier than the mossball by a landslide." A fond smile grew on his lips. "And he's brave. So so brave. He's afraid of so many things, but he never lets that stop him from helping his friends when they need him. He's amazing at what he does and he's-"

The words caught in his throat. Just as they always did.

"He's a king," Sanji finished lamely. "Of a really stupid island."

Usopp's mouth quirked up. "When did you have time to meet a king?" he asked, eyes glued to the sky.

Sanji shrugged, unwilling to name the place they just left. To avoid bad memories. To avoid being found out. "I know people in high places," he said, proceeding to bite his tongue the next moment. Different words, too close to more bad memories.

"Huh. Cool." Usopp's words were clipped. Neutral. It was odd hearing it from such an expressive person. " Did you-" his voice wobbled a moment before he cleared his throat. "Did you meet any other royalty?"

And though Sanji wasn't the resident storyteller, nor did he know why Usopp suddenly seemed so upset, he did his best to weave a tale of having to defeat a stupid grass covered dragon to save a beautiful princess locked in a tower.

When Usopp eventually headed back to the men's quarters though, he still couldn't help the nagging in the back of his head that he had forgotten something. Something very important.

"Oh, Usopp!" He paused midstep, but didn't turn back to Sanji. "I never asked, but what about you?"

"What about me?"

"Have you ever fallen in love?"

Usopp stayed silent a long moment. Sanji had nearly chewed through his cigarette when he spoke.

"I did with Kaya- she's a girl from Syrup- and I get crushes here and there, y'know?" Usopp waved a bandaged hand and continued forward. "Ask me again some other time though, maybe I'll have a better answer for you."

Sanji watched him go, a heavy set to his heart. He muttered to the empty deck, "You're lying."

-

Two years later, the two of them found themselves spread out on Sunny's deck once more, admiring the night sky on their way to Dressrosa.

"You knew I was talking about Sogeking?!"

"Yeah, but I didn't think you knew he was me! I thought you just really liked superheroes! Like, a man's romance, y'know. Like how me and Luffy and Chopper get excited whenever Franky pulls out something new."

"You- I-" Sanji made a frustrated noise and took a deep drag. He inhaled long enough that Usopp was starting to get concerned, before finally, he blew out a big puff of smoke. "Okay, go on."

"There's not much else- I just thought Sogeking was a lot cooler than little old me and I never stood a chance against him."

"Usopp. You. Are. Sogeking."

"Yeah, but y'know. Y'know."

Sanji shook his head. "I really don't."

Usopp started to hum his old theme song. It was just as ridiculous as Sanji remembered it.

Just as it came to the end, Sanji whisper-shouted, "Lock-on!"

The two of them fell into hysterics, clutching their stomachs and trying desperately not to release the laughter bottled up in their throats. The kind that would echo across the ship and wake up most, if not all of their crewmates, and certainly their guest.

"You remember that?" Usopp said, wheezing.

"It's the only part I remember perfectly." Sanji said, hand on his mouth. "You used to scream it at the top of your lungs, of course I remember!"

"It was to build confidence!"

"It was because you got too into your performance!"

They giggled quietly, the built up laughter slowly fading away, until they were relaxed once more.

Sanji turned his head to stare at Usopp. Take the time to admire the way he'd changed and grown in their time apart. There were the physical changes of course- Sanji was a big fan of those- but also his boost in confidence. His surety of his place on the crew. With the crew.

And more than the changes, Sanji saw Usopp's carefree laughter, his passionate storytelling, his terrified shrieks, his quiet tinkering, his annoying pranks-

God, Sanji missed him- loved him- so much.

And then a thought came to him.

"Hey Usopp."

"Hmm?"

"Have you ever fallen in love?"

Usopp smiled, squeezing their interlocked fingers.

"Yes," he said, bringing up their hands to kiss the ring on Sanji's finger. "I have."

[abyssal-ilk]

bellara 🤝 rook 🤝 davrin

rook should have two hands and I stand by that

REAL. can't wait for the day when someone makes a multi-romance mod for datv. if it were an option i would be romancing dav and bell at the same time with saar, and i'll probably write fanfic at some point for the three of them. i dunno yet if bellara and davrin are also holding hands but i do know that i love them both

[whumpasaurus101]

“Stay with me,” Whumper whispered, their hand tracing over Whumpee’s trembling hand which clung to the door knob.

“You can’t face the world on your own.”

Whumpee let out a shaky breath before uncurling each finger from the door, fully leaning into Whumper’s grip.

Whumper smirked, leaning in close and whispering in the other’s ear, “I am all you need.”

[starry-sophrosyne]

... @toadettely @sopping-wet-cat-wizard y'know, april fools is over, BUT...

"No, what am I saying- That's too mean, I can't do that-" "Fufufu~ But I can~"  (｀▽ ´) // "YOU-" (/｀ᗣ ´ )/

(also for reference bc GUESS WHO CAN PEN- XD /hj /lh /silly):

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(TW: blood/gore, death, car crash incident, graphic imagery)

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

S&S: There is a world where Brent never meets Eevee. There is a world where he wakes up one morning, yawning as he rubs his eyes. He'd been somewhat exhausted by his gaming session with "Sofist" last night, not that it was unenjoyable. He gets ready for the day as per usual, nothing out of the ordinary. It's all regular, for now, that is. Walking out of his apartment, he raises an eyebrow at the suspicious amount of cars stuck on the local road. Oh well, a crash of some kind? He shrugs and continues walking down the road. Ducking under some construction, he carefully avoids all the prying eyes and workers, taking his shortcut to the cafe. What he sees when he turns the corner, however? Well..

It's graphical, distraught to say the least. He can see the limb of somebody, splayed across the road in a pool of blood. He winces. Damn? They'd been sloppy setting up the perimeter apparently, blocking it from normal eye-witness view, but not from here. Either way, he couldn't make out too much between the ambulance and the police cars stationed in the intersection.

As for the authorities, he can make out them questioning certain people and speaking into their walkie talkies. Their faces are far away but filled with concern as they discuss with each other. Meanwhile, the paramedics tending to the body on the ground, and.. For some reason, he pauses. It's not in any of his good interests to watch this, to get involved with some random traffic incident of an unfortunate civilian, and yet? Something tugs at him, opposing his normal desire to stay out of conflict and general indifference/apathy. He doesn't know why, why this moment specifically?, but it doesn't.. feel.. weird. It's weirdly urging, instead bringing him to stop in his tracks. As he choicely watches the paramedics ready the body bag, he catches a glimpse of the poor man who had faced the consequences.

His hair was curly, coifs of coffee brown tinged with blood. His facial hair was the same color, and his gaze relaxed. His eyes were partially closed in a stereotypical thought of sleeping, with a glint from the sun revealing his hazed over green eyes, devoid of any brightness. What catches Brent's eye immediately, however, is his bright purple coat. Most of it is soaked with crimson gore, now a dark maroon, but even still. It's such a stand out, he can't help but wonder how the man even got hit in the first place.

After a few more seconds, the guided feeling seems to go away, and he turns his head away from the scene. (Unbeknownst to him, he'd been watching for, comparatively, far longer than a few seconds.) Best to move on, for whatever reason he felt compelled to watch EMTs deal with the body, almost as if he was making sure they would properly take care of him. It was weird, but whatever. He didn't have enough time to stay around and see him get sent off, realizing he was late for his shift. Despite his sudden spike of empathy, it was just another day, just with an unfortunate incident. He prayed for the man though, as he finally set foot onto regular sidewalk. May his soul, and whoever he is, rest in peace, for meeting such an untimely end.

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

Walking into the cafe, the door closed behind him with the bell's signature jingle. Vern's head shot up, his face twisted with a hint of concern as he rushed over to Brent, who'd barely placed his bag on the desk before Vern grabbed his shoulders, gripping them firmly and causing Brent to jolt a bit out of surprise.

"Brent! Oh my god, you scared me-" "?" "-I saw the crash nearby, and you- came in a few minutes later than you normally do, and- oh god I'd just thought the worst!" Vern could hardly control himself from his ramble, spilling out his emotions, but he paused when he noticed the rather amused look on Brent's face. Brent only chuckled at him, despite the severity of the situation/his anxiety. Vern gave him a dirty look, but let out a sigh of both relief and annoyance relief, glad to know his friend was okay.

As Vern let go of his shoulders, Brent starting unpacking stuff from his bag. Placing his log sheet and charger down in the little table within the break room, Vern asked:

"Why were you late anyways? You normally show up before I even get here. Did something.. actually happen while you were getting here?" He added tentatively.

"..." He paused, his hands tightening around his laptop, contemplating if it was worth it to tell Vern. About the man he'd seen, eyes hazed over in death, body dull and cold, hair stiff with dried blood. It was something in it of its own right, something that he wished he hadn't seen. But at the same time, the death of this random civilian weighed heavier than it should've in his heart. He didn't know why, but still, maybe it was the sight of his eyes; ones that pierced his soul, staring at him even after passing. They were so.. cold. Almost as if they were blaming, in hatred. His blood chilled, thinking about it all, and a heaviness set in the room. Oh. Man, he'd never felt this way before. He'd just witnessed death, hadn't he? How was he acting like this was all okay?

He held in a sigh, settling for a tight exhale as he shook his head, not looking up from his stuff. No, it was best not to trouble his more emotionally affected friend with his.. issues. Were he to tell Vern, he'd likely become more aggrieved than him. Even still, looking up and noticing Vern's still apprehensive gaze, he feigned a small smile; keeping it up even as he looked back down in the black expanses of his duffel bag, now empty. He couldn't bring himself to meet his eyes. "I'm serious dude, nothing happened. Don't worry about it."

"... Alright, if you say so." The air was thick with tension, the silence being left unbroken. Vern's footsteps were soft as they padded against the tiled floor, the door slowly creaking closed behind him. One last glance behind his shoulder, before he fully shut the door, putting on a smile to greet the guests that had entered the cafe. Meanwhile, the room had become dimmed sightly with the waning sunlight as the light from the cafe dissipated. Brent stared down once more, as if questioning the true morality behind what he'd seen. With a sigh, his shoulder slumped. Sitting down onto the rickety foldable chair, he put his head in his arms, on top of the table. He wasn't ready to go out. Not just yet. Not while the green eyes of someone haunted him. He couldn't just go and pretend everything was okay, even he had no damn idea why the death of some random stranger had messed him up so badly.

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Vern found him struggling to think of positive messages to write atop his orders for the rest of the afternoon. Brent did not come out of the break room for a long time, and even once he did, he was silent as he worked. Nick didn't come in for coffee that day.

[dellephone]

thief + landoscar

Oscar doesn’t usually pay any mind to magicians, especially on the side of the road. So it’s a bit of a surprise that this one manages to grab his attention. He’s got curly hair and a bright smile as he asks the woman in front of him if he’s got the right card, holding it out in front of him. When she winces, shakes her head no, he doesn’t fret. The man simply says, “Oh, sorry! I meant this one,” and pulls another card from behind her neck. His wide smile distracts her from her necklace clasp opening and disappearing into the crowd. She laughs good-naturedly along with the crowd, talks with her friends as they move away and on with their day none the wiser. Oscar almost pities her. Then again, ignorance is bliss, and she seems happy enough.

The man's gaze catches next on Oscar, and he gestures him forward with one hand. As he makes his way to the front, the magician shuffles his deck, putting on a show. "What's your name?"

"Oscar."

"Oscar, I'm Lando." Lando reaches his hand forward to shake his. Oscar can almost feel his fingers ghost over the inside of his watch, feeling for the clasp, identifying the best way to open it. "Would you like to play a game with me?"

Well, Oscar's not on a tight schedule, and the man's pretty enough, so. He can play along for a bit. "Sure. What's the game?"

The man explains the game, a mostly generic 'pick a card, any card' type of show, all the while shuffling the deck between them. They proceed with the game, Oscar keeping his eyes on Lando's face. He's sure he notices with the way his lips twitch every time their eyes meet, probably thinking about how easy of a mark he is. Finally, he pulls the card from Oscar's sleeve, presenting it triumphantly first to Oscar, then to the crowd.

Oscar pretends not to feel the watch slip from his wrist as the magician pulls back. Oscar's only taken one step back when he hands the card back to Oscar with a wink, "So you'll remember me."

The change in routine gives Oscar pause before he extracts himself from the crowd. As he's walking away, he flips the card around to find a number written in sharpie. He regards it for a moment before tossing it in the nearest garbage as he passes. He briefly wonders how soon Lando will notice his newly empty pockets as he clips the watch back onto his left wrist.