#i was not expecting to finish this sketch but i guess i did something?

[siennahrobek]

[boydepartment]

quiet nights- hwang hyunjin x reader

a/n: i am sorry this was completely self indulgent :( ik i have requests rn but like… i finished all my work and im just laying down next to my mom watching hyunjins vlogs on the tv so this is FOR ME :(( your girl has been a little tired lately and mentally stressed i usually don’t even write or take requests for skz anymore but……………. omg what’s that behind you???!!!?

warnings- none, fluff, they just talk in the hotel room. not proof read.

wc- 400-500

MASTERLIST

curling up beside your cool hotel pillows was the standard while traveling. you didn’t expect your boyfriend to get back to the hotel room until later tonight. hyunjin was a busy man and his errands for this trip were later than your errands. your errands finished when his started, so needless to say you really missed him.

you fumbled around trying to get comfortable in the dim hotel room, you had all the lights off and you could see the city lights from the open curtains.

since the room was so high up you felt comfortable leaving them open, there was no balcony or any openings so you could enjoy truly enjoy the view of the bustling city.

you sat up and took a seat by the window, taking the throw blanket you and hyunjin bought from your last trip with you.

it was amazing to you that there was so many people living so many different lives, so many lights to signify different things. before you knew it you had grabbed the sketchbook and charcoal out of your bag. hyunjin had bought you and him art supplies while you were out earlier.

you started to sketch out the city in front of you, so focused on the scene. you wanted to challenge yourself to not try and erase or clean up your lines unless it was with the medium.

your brows furrowed and you started to get in your head, not even realizing your boyfriend was back in the hotel room. hyunjin thought you were asleep so he set down the bags of surprises quietly. when he walked further into the hotel room he saw you sitting by the window with the sketchpad in front of you. smiling to himself he watched you for a bit, changing from his outdoor clothes to indoor.

once he was done he went up to you and put his hand on your shoulder, the thin piece of charcoal snapped and you looked up at him.

“you scared me.” you felt yourself laugh a little before smiling up at him. hyunjin looked down at you, his smile never leaving his face.

“i’m sorry, my intended…” he mumbled and leaned down to kiss you.

you smiled into the kiss and set the art stuff down on the small table.

“let’s get your hands cleaned up and then we can head to bed alright? it’s late…” hyunjin caressed your face and kissed your forehead. you nodded and you both walked to the bathroom.

he helped you wash the charcoal off your hands as he told you about his day, “then this lady complimented my jewelry and i found out she was some like high political power that i didn’t even know!” hyunjin whispered through giggles.

“when did you find out?” you asked, giggling aswell, your boyfriend always found himself in weird positions like this.

hyunjin started laughing again, “literally four people came up to me and were like, ‘do you know who that is?’ and obviously i was like ‘nooooo what?’”

that sounded like something he would do and you could so clearly imagine it, “how does this keep happening to you?”

he dried off your hands and kissed your palms, “i don’t know my love! people just talk to me i guess. i don’t even know what they’re saying half the time.”

you started to giggle again and you guys walked over to the bed and got in. it was finally comfortable to you with your boyfriend next to you.

“so tell me about your day?” he laid on his side facing you, tracing your hands with his fingertips, “i had to leave when you got back so i didn’t get to ask…”

“it was busy, i had to talk to a lot of people too, not political powers though.” you teased him, he threw his head back and laughed.

“but it was good, i walked around a bit when you left, picked up a couple things for us too. there’s leftovers in the small fridge.” you spoke softly. hyunjin nodded and scooted closer to you, you could tell he was getting tired. sleep finally knocking on his door.

“i found… i found a nice cafe…” he yawned and pulled you closer to him, “healthy food… nice breakfast…” hyunjin started to shut his eyes.

you relaxed in his arms and started to place with the ends of his hair, “want to go there for breakfast tomorrow?”

he nodded, “then a museum…”

“then a museum…” you repeated and smiled to yourself, sleep starting to come for you too, “we better get rest then…”

hyunjin nodded into your neck, “mhm….” humming.

“i love you..” you whispered, your hand moving back and forth on his back.

“i love you most..”

[gh0stsp1d3r]

i absolutely LOVED what you wrote for my criminology major req. just thought of this..

AU where reader notices Williams strange behavior about the major and does some digging and ends up finding out everything but doesn’t give him up / doesn’t leave him. i’m not sure how to word it but i just thought of it and am obsessed !!

ahh love this. I did pretty good for my finals I’m proud, anyways, I can start writing again now yippee

True love

You noticed the way he acted, the way he spoke, and the way his eyes looked like they had a million secrets.

Of course you had no clue what you were getting yourself into when you started dating Steve. He was attractive, smart, sweet, and he was a gentleman.

And you noticed the way he changed when he heard you were starting criminology. His face dropped for a moment upon hearing, then a fake smile visible on his face. His office door became locked, along with the garage door now.

You sat down in your bed with a bottle of coffee as you scrolled through your work. Reading some article and writing down notes.

Once finished, Steve still wasn’t home. You closed your laptop, hopping off the bed and heading out to the living room. You glanced at the door leading to the garage for a moment.

It was odd, how he never went in. How it was locked every time you tried to open it now. It wasn’t like that before.

Was he cheating on you or something? Is that why his office and the garage are locked now? What was he hiding?

The thoughts ran through your head, and you did something that you never thought you would do to him.

Pulling your computer up again, you typed the words “Steve Raglan”

Of course you saw his work, a few more links leading to the website. Then you started to see obituaries for people with the same name.

You then saw a public record, an order for a name change.

“My complete present name is William Afton. I request that my name be changed to Steve Raglan.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. What? It can’t be the same person. You scrolled through the rest of his profile, seeing his job and even address. Under relatives was his daughter, whom you’ve met once.

What the hell? You quickly closed it and typed in William Afton.

“Owner of Freddy Fazbears pizzeria facing charges of murder.” The title read. A picture of a young man, who did look a lot like Ste- William was underneath. You looked closer at the photo, and the background.

The man had a goofy smile, holding a thumbs up at the person taking the picture. He had blue eyes, light brown hair. It was Steve. You knew it was. You could tell by the smile, the way his eyes twinkled with wonder and joy were the same.

And as horrible as it was, you continued to read through. Once the article finished you stared at the computer, already knowing what you had to do.

You got up quickly, stumbling slightly to the drawer. You rummaged through the files and objects; you then noticed a key hidden deep down.

You tried it to the garage door first, but it didn’t work. Then you tried it on his office one.

His office was clean, boxes in the corner, books neatly stacked, no mess or sign of anything out of the ordinary.

You sat down in front of the computer and turned it on. Your leg bounced as you thought of a password.

After a few tries, you finally guessed it. You opened up a file titled "Work" first, not expecting to find much. Just names of clients, background info. You closed it out and went into another titled "Plans."

In the folder, there were multiple sketches of animatronics, pictures of broken-down ones, and exoskeletons of ones. You then went further down into it, sketches of a dentist-like chair, blades on the animatronics head. Then pictures of bloodied blades, blood from God knows what.

Your eyes widened as you continued through the folder, it got worse as you scrolled. You quickly found out that the animatronics had bodies stuffed in them- children's bodies.

The worst part? Your feelings to William didn't change. You were a criminology student- you should hate him right now! You thought, quickly closing out of the folder and getting off the seat when you heard the car pull into the driveway.

You quickly went out the room. locking the door and making your way to the door where he would enter any second.

You, as always, were there to greet him with a kiss and a smile on your face, asking him how his day was.

[rusmii]

⌞ઇଓ⌝ ─── 𝓭𝓮𝓯𝓲𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓭𝓮𝓽𝓪𝓲𝓵𝓼 𝓸𝓯 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓯𝓪𝓬𝓮 .ᐟ

when an artist from russia is hired to paint the portrait of the first daughter of [Surname], how will their relationship pan out as they start to get to know each other?

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬. painter!fyodor x fem!reader, fluff, reader is a rich girl, fyodor is a foreigner, founding father language, fyodor character exploration, renaissance au.. I think

𝐩𝐬. haihai special early valentines gift for @aureatchi <3 luv ya revrev. NOT edited/proofread. was supposed to be longer, but I got tired and cut it💔

wc: 1.4k

“From where?” A question sprung from her chest.

“From Rus’, my lady,” the butler of [Surname] answers for him. Though her outward expression told him enough, Fyodor took this initiative to smile in respect.

“Yes, sir is correct — I am indeed from Rus’. Nice to meet the fair lady of [Surname].”

In quick addition, Fyodor bows slightly as he takes your hand into his. The gentle kiss placed on top of your white laced gloves still didn't seem to sway your opinion on him, however. How unfortunate.

After acknowledging his confirmation, Fyodor is swept away by the butler as you were with the maidens of the mansion.

Outside of the mansion was absolutely breathtaking. Circling around the fountain and to the main entrance of the tea house, Fyodor admires the new freshness of warm spring flowers.

Akin to that of his homeland, the flowers here in your country serve to be much more beautiful — as beautifully breathtaking as you are.

No third party opinion can convince him otherwise, that's for sure.

But for now, Fyodor must focus on his main job at hand; to draw a portrait of you.

It wasn't a hard job, per say. No, it was very much easy if he said so himself. But what really composed the challenge was the subject of fine details.

When an artist paints, you can easily follow along the very first few blobs of wet paint — the muse being satisfied from just a few pecks of fine strokes and a little bit of color here and there to liven up the look.

But those large specks of blobs soon turn into smaller little blotches of paint that are scattered everywhere on the canvas the higher the muse is willing to pay.

A very fine example of that would be you. A very demanding lady who expects the finest of quality works to be subjected to you when you're the main attraction.

While some had something to say about your ridiculous demands, Fyodor liked to say the opposite.

Because in his eyes, what other artists lacked was the fundamentals of the person doing the art.

It wasn't just confident brush strokes or the signature style of a person's canvas.

No, it was patience.

What others lacked was what he had acquired since birth.

And to him, that was exactly why many artists weren't able to meet your expectations. Why you were so disappointed when you first saw the finished product of your portrait.

Every single pretty piece of you just wasn't you. It was of another girl sitting in your place with the more descriptive details of your face.

In short, he thinks every self-proclaimed artist in your kingdom should rot for even daring to pick up the brush.

Ugly, so ugly that it had become ridiculous. Every pass by on the street, did Fyodor run into these cheap street artists that did nothing but sketch the outline of your body and called it a day.

Every corner turned was a portrait shop in the periphery of his vision. Even then, the finished product looked absolutely hideous.

He now saw why he was desperately called upon from your maidens despite his absent leave.

If he was judgested from the displays of art this kingdom had to offer, then he could guess how horrible you were feeling when you found out that the arts were just disrespected inside the premise of this land.

“We've arrived. Please do try not to fight with each other.” Announcing the arrival of his company, Fyodor bows, and thanks the butler for escorting him. “Thank you for going out of your way to escort me here, sir.”

A smile made its way on the butler's face. ‘Seems as if he's not used to these praisments,’ Fyodor thinks before waving the butler off from sight.

Now that he was alone, he set his eyes on the double wooden door. Its gorgeous carved craft made him question why the artists just weren't up to par as other vapa professions in the area.

“Lovely for you to join me today, Dostoevsky,” the clink of your teacup very well matched your outfit. Seemed as if you were the stylish type.

Not that he minded. In fact, he very much appreciated you being the second most beautifully fitted piece he's laid his eyes on since stepping foot into this kingdom.

“Not at all, my lady,” Fyodor sips his tea, the plaid smile resting comfortably on his face. “Hm.. If I had known how polite you'd be, I'd very much have approached you with a far pleasant attitude.” Ah. Apology accepted, Miss [Surname].

“No, no. I do not condemn you for your misuse of tone towards me. I, too, would have been irritated had I known that the artists of the kingdom I was residing in were.. erm..” How should he put it without offending your nationalism pride?

“Horrid?” You finished the word for him. “Yes, horrid,” his smile grows as a response to you. A mutual smile following the lines of your face as well. Fyodor sets his cup aside, walking over to the art set, sitting next to the beautifully lined vines.

He inspects the canvas and quality paints rowed out into columns. “Do you guys usually have sets out sitting like this?” He asks.

“Just for the occasion.”

“Ah.”

For a few more seconds, Fyodor takes his time to admire the smooth wooden palette. Its edges looked as if it fit a comfortable vice and didn't retain any splinters.

He notices your eyes on him. Indirectly, the light of the teahouse mirrors his reflection.

Turning his attention back to you, Fyodor decides to muse you on your questions. “Care to chat about your questions, my lady?”

His perception almost caught you off guard. Almost.

Coughing up the air from your throat, you sit upright to fix your posture and re-cross your legs to sit in a mannered form while Fyodor sits timely across from you.

“Well, to start off…” Pausing to take a sip of your tea for dramatic effects, Fyodor waits patiently for your first question. “Why did you accept the offer to paint my portrait when you were on absence?”

Without skipping a beat, Fyodor responds with a quick that's a bit personal.

Which led to you choking up on your strings and having him lead the conversation.

Fyodor stirs his spoon inside the teacup. The sugar cube melting away from the light waved of bitterness.

The silence that was started by him now was broken by him. “How did you arrive at the teahouse so early, before me?” A simple question, but still something nonetheless.

“I had taken the short route whilst as I had him give you the scenic view the kingdom could not offer you." A somewhat apology from you on the behalf of the people. An empathic gesture that was not needed from you.

“I see…” Fyodor let out a short witted answer. His interest in this conversation dwindled as fast as the kingdom's normal artisan.

His faded expressions sent bells to your head. The commoners bore all too familiar with you.

Trying to find another topic that'll get him to stay, Fyodor abruptly stands up from his seat and stalks over to the set.

His never ending fixation.

“Get up and sit here. Bring your chair too,” he suddenly orders you — his demeanor all too serious from who you were just talking to a second ago.

“Agh. Blasphemous,” he hears you mutter your breath, but chose not to confront you on anything as you were complying with his demands.

“Sit, sit.” He ushers you into a spot under the direct sunlight where it shines the brightest.

You cross your arms, “Don't tell me what to do in my own teahouse.”

Ignoring your words, he grabs a hold of the paint brush lying in the tray. “Chin up, head straight. Posture fixed and don't move.”

Distraught with complaints, your expression sours as you zip your lips to refrain from spouting any irrationally nonsense.

“Loosen up your face,” he says, dipping the brush into the water as he picks up a nearby pencil to measure your outline.

You huff, “Why?”

His soft smile still adorned his face, “To capture your beauty in my memory.”

Memory? Dostoevsky wants to remember your beauty forever?

While thoughts skyrocket out of your head, Fyodor takes this opportunity to start sketching your aloof expression.

The graphite from his pencil marks every curve, dent, mark, and bump of your face to a t. Every color that his brush paints over color matches you perfectly.

Even if he couldn't deny your beauty, you were still a snot nosed brat who longed for praise and compliments at the end of the day.

Still, despite your huffing and puffing — he found you the prettiest when he could stare at your relaxed face.

hi first fyodor fluff fic🫣

taglist (comment on this post to be tagged in future works!): @luvan1 @bfdazai @asqmi @squigglewigglewoo @liviash @doonifox @ishqani @xxcandlelightxx

belongs to @rusmii 2024, don't steal >:((

[rougecreator1]

glad someone is doing Heathers the fandom has been starved. Could you do Heather Chandler x Fem!reader. Could be like strangers to lovers, idc the fandom needs more lol.

Tipsy Hook Ups||

|| Heather Chandler x fem!reader

|| Warnings: swearing, house party, underage drinking mentions, characters get drunk, heather hooks up with reader while drunk (nothing overly detailed)

|| Summary: Reader gets spotted by Heather M and the two become fast friends, resulting in reader joining the Heathers & Veronica. Heather M invites Reader to a house party where drunk!Heather Chandler hooks up with drunk!Reader.

Requests open!

Started: April 19th

Finished: April 21st

~~~

You and Heather Chandler couldn't be any further from different. While she was popular and hot, you were more artsy and "weird". At least, that's probably how she would look at you. You spent most of your time either in the library or art room, places you were sure Heather Chandler would avoid.

And it worked. For a while.

She had no idea who you were.

Until one day she noticed you. That annoying Monday morning where you had decided to situate yourself just below your school locker. Seated on the ground, sketch book in hand. You weren't giving much thought to what you were drawing: just basic anatomy figure sketches. Nothing that was overly detailed or required a lot of thought. You loved art like that. The stuff you could just effortlessly create.

The Heathers walked by your locker, you did your best not to look up and give eye contact to either of them but of course you were noticed anyways. Just not by the Red Devil.

Heather McNamara noticed you. She took one glance at your art and was immediately sitting down next to you with a smile on her face.

"Oh my God! You're amazing at that! What're you drawing?" She asks, leaning over your shoulder. You flinch at her sudden appearance next to you and her energy, glancing at her and then at the others. Heather Duke had her arms folded across her chest, watching you and Heather McNamara with an intense glare while Heather Chandler took one glance at you. Seemed to stop for a moment before she kept walking. You second guessed and thought maybe you had imagined her stopping.

Your eyes shifted from them to Heather McNamara, feeling a little awkward with the blonde next to you," Oh... um... just-"

You're cut off by Heather Duke, though you're almost relieved by that." Heather, let's go!" She makes a 'get up' hand gesture.

"Okay, okay! Just a second!" Heather McNamara replies, looking to you again after looking over at Heather Duke. "Can you teach me how to draw like that sometime? My art score is low and I could use a tutor."

"Sure..?" You raise an eyebrow slightly. That was the last thing you expected to have happen.

"Great! Thanks! Oh! What's your name?" She asks you just as she was about to get up.

"Y/N." You respond, she smiles at you and gives you a quick (awkward) hug.

"Nice meeting you, Y/N! Library after school today?"

"Okay.."

"Great!" Heather gets up and leaves, Heather Duke scoffs and glares at you before they both scramble after Heather Chandler who was a good distance ahead.

That's how you and Heather McNamara became friends. Something you never thought would happen. From what you've gathered, she's much nicer than the other Heathers.

~~~

It's been three weeks now of you tutoring Heather in art, you thought she was getting better at it. On top of it, you both were close friends now. She was just so easy to talk to and genuinely pretty funny once you got to know her.

It was after school, you and Heather M were in the school library. Working on an art project the two of you had been paired together for. You guys didn't have the same art class, but the art teacher was trying this thing where she paired students from different class periods on projects. You weren't sure why, you thought maybe it was her way of getting students to connect with people they normally wouldn't.

"Y/N, I was wondering. Are you busy this Friday night?" She asked you, you looked up from the references you'd been flipping through in a book and shook your head.

"No, why?"

Her smile widened and you immediately regretted not coming up with a lie. You knew that look.

"Kurt and Ram are hosting a house party. I'll have Heather come to yours when she picks the rest of us up!"

Great. Now you're going to a house party. You'd done so well at avoiding those.

"Alright.. but could you come to mine after school first? I have no idea what to wear to a house party." You admit.

"Oh my Gosh! Totally! Ee, this is going to be awesome!" She squeals, throwing her hands into the air. Her excited look made it worth it.

~~~

Friday night rolls around, Heather M had helped you get into a nice outfit (whatever you want to imagine) and Heather Chandler had gotten all five of you to the party. The five being you, Veronica, the Heathers.

You weren't sure what to expect. Sure you could guess but all those guesses made you nervous. Luckily, you had Heather M and Veronica keeping an eye on you. In the time you had known Heather M Veronica had become friends with you too.

It was well into the party now, you had a few drinks. Nothing too insane, but you were definitely a little tipsy. Not as bad as the other Heathers and Veronica, who you were surprised to see as drunk as she was.

You were leaned up against the counter top in the kitchen, watching as Heather M poured each of you another drink. Heather Chandler walked over to you with a smirk.

"Hey, nerd. Come over here for a second." She demanded, you glanced at her in confusion but listened.

Without warning, she kissed you. Heather D & M and Veronica stared at the both of you with wide eyes and confusion. Veronica cheered though.

"Yeah! Get it, Y/N!" She's drunk, leave her be.

You blushed heavily and pulled away after a moment, staring into Heather's eyes. You couldn't read her. You didn't want to admit it, but you had been crushing on her as you got closer with the group. Did she pick up on that? What did this mean?

"Come on." Heather C muttered, grabbing you by your hand; dragging you somewhere upstairs and into one of the bedrooms.

You weren't sure whose but you didn't care enough to figure it out. You just simply followed Heather.

When she got you into the room, she had pushed you against the closed door with a bit of force. Kissing at your neck which got a gasp out of you, you moved her off you so you could gather your thoughts.

"What the hell?" You asked, breathless. She smirked again at that and her hand trailed down your side.

"This is what you've wanted, isn't it?" Fuck.

She knew.

You gulped and didn't answer, which confirmed everything for her," Just relax and let it happen. You're hot, let me fucking kiss you." Heather whispered against your lips.

Part of you knew this was wrong. You were both drunk. Her more than you. You were sure both of you would regret this in the morning. But right now? You didn't care about any of that.

Little did you know neither of you would regret it and that it would turn into something more.

[msmargarita]

A little bit about Johnathon's concept art (from an animator!)

These are what we call "thumbnails". They are little sketches we do based on a character's description to explore their appearance. These are different versions of what the character could look like, instead of just Spot wearing different clothes and hairstyles. So yeah, these are not exactly canon. That's why in some sketches his hair is shorter or longer, some straighter or curlier. It's because the artist was still experimenting in this phase.

However, you can see that they are kind of similar in the way that they all seem to have the same skin tone, hair color, and mannerisms. This tells me that the character designer who did these was given a very specific direction to follow. Usually the more important the character is to the plot, the more details you'll get before doing their design.

I'm guessing this character designer received something like this:

"Johnathon Ohnn is a white man in his late thirties. He is (insert height here) and a little chubby. He has long brown hair and a scraggly beard, and wears glasses. He is a scientist and a bit of a hipster. He is messy and always tired from work."

These notes are probably adjustments. Character designers usually make a first batch of thumbnails and then get notes from the art director such as "please use 1's hair with 4's shirt", or "can we get him wearing different pants?"

The first designs of a character don't need to be perfect (and no one expects them to). You just need to know how to develop your idea to get to the final product.

THIS is (most likely) his final design, because it shows up in the movie (if not with a slightly darker skin tone). In my experience, sometimes designs change when the animators are already doing the finishing touches on their scenes. Who knows on what point in production this illustration was made? I'm just guessing based on the information we have.

That being said, just because the thumbnails aren't canon, doesn't mean you can't use them as inspiration for your art or fanfiction. My fic's Johnathon has 2's tattoos for one.

I also always treat the character designer's work as word of god instead of what the executive's paying for the movies decide will be aproved or not. Sometimes a character may have their whole face changed because some boomer guy in a chair says it will make the movie sell better. So fuck them executives!!

FUCK THEM!

[gauloiseblue]

Keep Your Eyes On Me

[Giorno Giovanna × Reader]

Never in your wildest dreams did you think you could paint someone as magnificent as Giorno, but it happened just like that. It all started from a small talk about the weather and the lovely sight of his private garden. But as soon as you talked about the progress in your project, he immediately proposed something you wouldn't expect.

"If you really need a model for your painting, you could've just asked me."

You snapped your head towards him at lightning speed.

"For real?" You asked, and he nodded without hesitation. "I mean—isn't that dangerous? I might end up exposing your identity! Because it's gonna be exhibited in the gallery and—and since your face would be on my painting—" You stammered as you tried to explain, "Someone might recognize you, and—"

"Hey, calm down. You think too much." He said with an amused grin, "No one has ever seen my face, except for the few people I trust."

He tilts his head when you squint at him, “I doubt that.”

“You can change my hair color, or alter my face a little bit if you’re still unsure.” He suggested, “Like I said earlier, I don’t mind becoming your muse.”

An amused snort came out from you louder than you intended, “That’s a bold choice of word, Gio.”

“But you always whine about not having a muse.”

“Well,” You scratched your nose, “What I mean by that is having an ordinary person as my muse, not the legitimate Don of passione.”

“I don’t see what’s wrong with that.” He raised his brow, and an exasperated sigh left your mouth.

“That’s not it…” You mumble while your head’s down, not looking at his direction, “It’s just that… I’m worried about your safety, Gio. I don’t need to be a part of the mafia to know that everyone wants you dead. Not everyone, but you get my point.” You corrected, “I don’t want to accidentally put you in danger, y’know?”

For a moment, the conversation went cold. He didn’t say anything, and you didn’t look at him. But then you hear footsteps, and a hand slips onto your cheek as he cups your face. “You really have the tendency to make me work for it.” He retorted gently, “I offered myself to be your model because I know you want me. But it’s not your job to worry about me, (Y/N). I want you to finish your project first, before you decide what to do with the painting.” He smiles, “Capisce?”

Although you didn’t get cold feet, it seemed like Giorno thought otherwise. Because he holds you still when you step away, and his grip is firm on your waist.

“Alright, alright.” You compromise, “I’ll do it, okay? I’m gonna take my stuff first, so can you please let me go for a sec?”

—

The painting equipment you bring is quite heavy, but you refuse to let his man carry them for you. You’ve surveyed the ideal place for the background, and you quickly set up the easel. While you set down your brushes and color paints, you watch the men arrange a long sofa by the window. With the instruction from the Don himself.

“So you’re gonna lay down?” You asked.

“You expect me to stand for hours?”

“No, but I thought I told you to sit on a chair.”

“It wouldn’t look as good.”

You roll your eyes, “I guess beggars cannot choose.”

He grinned as he dismissed his men, “I would take my clothes off if you wish to paint nude—”

You quickly clear your throat, loud enough until it sounds very constrained. Even though his men keep a straight face, you know they heard him. You glare at him, and he just chuckles in return.

“Shall we begin? You can lay down now.” You told him as you squeezed out the paint, “Make sure everything’s comfortable enough for you.”

“I’ll be more comfortable if you lay beside me.”

“Giorno.” You called him with a frown, which only made him smirk. He doesn’t speak much as he gets on the sofa, and leans comfortably against the armrest. You pick up the medium-sized brush and dip into the green color. You glance toward him, and begin to sketch on the white canvas.

“Hold on.” He said as he unbuttoned his vest, and slid them off his shoulders. You see him throw the black garment away carelessly, before he loosen up a few buttons of his shirt.

“Dio mio, Gio.” You uttered as you put down your palette. “Can’t you at least not throw it to the floor? It’s gonna get dirty.”

“It’s gonna be laundered anyway.” He replied while he rolled his sleeves, and you just scowled as you picked it up.

“Stronzo.” You mumbled as you dusted off the vest, and went back to your place. You drape the thing onto your chair, before you pick up where you left off.

The green color quickly spreads on the canvas as you map out the scene. You use the blue to sketch out the window, and the soft yellow for the sofa. Your eyes dart to him while you paint, and you hate to admit that he made the right choice to get rid of the vest. He fits perfectly into the picture.

You wonder if you ever see him as relaxed as this before. Although you knew him close enough, he still used his refined manner around you. As you draw the black line, you wonder where his attitude goes.

The brush is quickly switched with a bigger one, and you mix some dye until it resembles the color of the wall. You paint most of the canvas with the new color, and add the shadows and light. You look out the window, and find the sky’s clear. You’re gonna need a lot of blues.

As you work on the details, your eyes inadvertently fall on him. He’s also looking at you, with his cheek resting on his palm.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” He asked.

“Like that… like you’re gonna…” You pressed your lips tightly before you shook your head, “Nevermind.”

You turn your gaze away as you focus on your work. The shadows are roughly placed, and you move on to the greenery.

“You know,” He began to speak as you painted, “I’ve had my portrait done a few times before, but you’re the first one who insists on doing it in my garden.”

“Why? You missed your office already?” You sneered.

“No, but I do miss my whiskey.”

Your brows furrowed, “You don’t drink liquor.”

“I don’t drink when I’m working.”

“Huh.” You replied nonchalantly, “Of course, this is just a picnic for you."

He chuckles, “I wouldn’t consider this as a picnic, there’s no wine and cheese platter for us.”

“Us?” You narrowed your eyes, “This isn’t a date, Gio.”

“I know.” He stated, “It’s just a proposal.”

You feel your blood rushes to your face, and you turn away from him. You can’t think of anything as the reply, so you settle with silence. It didn’t surprise you when he openly flirts with you, and you usually just shrug it off. But this time, you can’t ignore him at all, not when he sounds so serious.

The window on the canvas slowly takes shapes, and provides a good background for the plants. You spend the next hour perfecting the tall foliage, without sparing another glance at him. But you don’t have to look to know that his eyes are glued on you.

As you finish the basic lines of the potted plants, you proceed to draw the long sofa. You keep your head down as you blend the faded cream color, and put them on top of the yellow.

“I think I’ll be working on the background detail now,” You announced without taking your eyes off the canvas, “You can take a break Gio, feel free if you want to leave.”

“I’ll stay.”

You bit your lip, he’s going to be a hell of distraction.

Humans can acknowledge if something’s watching them, and you curse your ancestor for passing down that ability. Even when you try to ignore it, it keeps screaming at the back of your head. Because not only does he keep his eyes on you, the intensity of his gaze also sets your alarm off.

He never looked at you like this before, right? Or have you been ignoring the signs? His friends always teased you, saying that you wouldn't be a great detective. But you're never good at reading someone's thoughts, let alone his mind. God knows what's going on inside his head.

If someone matches up the painter's apathy against the Don's preservation, it's gonna take a long time to know who's the winner. But this time, the answer seems to be clearer. And when your eyes met, you realized how terrifying his stubbornness can be.

"Gio," You mused, "Don't look at me like that…"

His lips spread into a half smile, "Like what?"

You grip your brush tightly, you don't have the courage to speak up your mind. It would be silly to ask the most feared Don about what he wants, because he has been declaring it loud and clear.

"(Y/N)." He called you softly, but as tenderly as it was, he still made your heart race, "Did I make you uncomfortable?"

"I don't know." You looked away, "I just… don't want to get the wrong idea."

His smile grew wider, until the lines around his lips became prominent, "Come here, (Y/N)." He stretches his hand toward you, "I'll let you find out."

There's no need to confirm your suspicion, because the words he just said is a confession itself. You look at him and realize that he doesn't hide his infatuation. And you know better than approaching him without thinking. Because if you do that, it can only mean you reciprocate his feelings.

But do you love him? You asked. Despite the path that he chose, and the fact that you'd be plagued by constant worry about his safety. Will you still love him? Even when you know the misfortune will follow the two of you to the end?

Yes. Yes you would.

You gently put down your palette, and wipe your hands on your handkerchief. You've been repressing your own feelings for so long, but you won't hide anymore. Once you make it to his side, he'll know that you love him. There's no turning back.

He sits on the edge of the sofa by the time you walk to his side. When you stop right in front of him, he reaches for your hand and pulls you closer.

"Won't you regret it?" You muttered while he wrapped his arms around you, "I'm just a mere painter."

"And yet,” He tugs your hands and kisses them tenderly, “You could bring me to my knees.”

You blushed when he placed another kiss on your wrist, “Giorno—”

His head perks up, and you reach out to cup his face. He doesn’t resist when you lean forward, bringing your face closer to him. For a moment, you wonder why the thought of kissing him never crossed your mind before. He looks so… inviting.

He puts his hands on your waist as you press your lips against him. You taste his hunger on your tongue, and he guides your hand to his shoulder. You utter a small squeak when he hooks his arm around you and brings you down to the sofa.

The soft cushion puffs out under the sudden weight of your body. You need a second to process what had just happened, before you see him leaning over you.

Before you had the chance to speak, he already kissed you again. You squeeze your eyes shut as you circle your arms around his neck. Having him so close to you makes you realize how many details you missed out about him. The subtle scent of his shirt, the softness of his hair, the warmth of his skin.

Maybe you’re overwhelmed by love, even adoration. But you swear when you look at him, he never looks as magnificent as he is now.

—

The chatter and the occasional clink of glass fill the room as you walk past the visitors. The exhibition is bustling with people, and the champagne flows endlessly. There’s a few acquaintances around, but you only greet them without a small talk.

Giorno promised you he’ll come, even though you’re strongly against it. You’re worried about him making an appearance in public, but he assured you it’s alright.

This might be the first time you’re feeling nervous in the exhibition. Not because of the display of your art, but rather the incoming arrival of your muse.

When you reach the section of your paintings, your tension drops as you see familiar faces. His friends are coming, and you know Giorno is safe when they’re around.

Bruno is the first to notice your presence, and he smiles as you walk closer.

“Ciao, (Y/N).” He lifts his glass of champagne, and you return the gesture.

“Ciao.” You grinned, “Glad you made it here.”

“I would never miss it, (Y/N).”

The rest of the crew greet you, as they give a short praise for your paintings. But not without commenting about the portrayal of their Don.

“What did you do to him? He doesn’t look scary at all.” Said Narancia, “I swear, he looks more terrifying than usual. I could never get used to seeing him like that.”

“That’s because he only smiles when you mess up something, Narancia.”

“I never thought I’d get to see him without his suit on. I mean, he looks like the kind of man who sleeps in two-piece.” Mista jested.

“Now you mention it,” Abbacchio chipped in, “Why did he agree to be your model?”

You shyly answer, “He’s the one who suggested it.”

“What?” Bruno stares at you wide-eyed, “He asked you to paint him?”

“Sort of.”

Abbacchio strokes his chin slowly, while keeping his eyes on you. “That explains the lack of formal clothes.” He sneered, “So, did he finally succeed?”

“Succeed on what?” You furrowed your brows.

He only sips his champagne as he looks past behind you. The others seem to do the same, and curiosity makes you turn your head.

To say that you didn't expect him to dress up to the nines for the event was half a lie. You know he loves to flaunt, but seeing him like this almost makes you drop your glass. Because not only does he catch everyone's eyes, he doesn't hide his magnetic charm at all.

"Amore." He tugs you close by your waist, and places a peck on your shoulder, then your lips. "Sorry I'm late."

"Gio." You hissed, "I told you—"

"Dio mio!" Narancia gasped as he pointed at the blond, "Did you just kiss her?"

Fugo grabs his head and pulls him away from the group, "Come on now, don't bother them."

The youngest member protested, but he couldn't get away and got dragged further. The rest of the crew just watch them leaving, before they shift their attention to you.

Mista is the first one who speaks, pointing out the obvious, "The two of you are dating?"

"Well," You instinctively rub the back of your neck, "Yeah."

Your lover leans closer to whisper to you, "You don't sound so sure."

"Sorry." You squeeze his hand. "I just don't know how to tell the news to you guys."

"But why?" Bruno's eyes crinkled as he smiles in amusement, "We've been waiting for this moment." His statement made Giorno chuckle, before he pressed a kiss on your crown.

"I miss the time when he didn't care about girls." The silver haired man groans when Bruno kicks on his ankle, "What was that for?" He grunted.

"Aren't you happy that they're finally together?" Mista playfully asked as he circled his arm around his neck, "You used to complain about them all the time."

You raise your brows, but the older man just shoves him away. Mista laughs when he receives the death glare from him.

"Now, now." Giorno spoke up at once, interrupting the early stages of their usual bickering, "If you'd excuse me, I have to go on a date with (Y/N)." He encloses your shoulders with his arm, "She promised to give me a tour around the exhibition."

Bruno gives him a small nod, "Sure," He then adds, "Have fun, you two."

You wish them a good night before Giorno drags you away almost immediately. The drink on your hand almost spilled out as you tried to follow his pace. After walking through the third of the gallery, he stops at the empty corner.

It doesn't take long before he pushes you to the closest wall, and starts kissing you like a hungry man. You voice your protests, but they only get squashed down by his lips. You don't know which, or whose paintings are being displayed beside you, but you hope you won't disturb them by accident.

The two of you finally part to catch a breath, and you just realize that two people just scurry away when they see you. A pang of embarrassment struck you as you're suddenly aware that you got caught making out with him—your own model—on the day of your works' exhibition.

"Didn't I tell you to be patient?"

You put a frown on your face when he softly chuckles. He doesn't seem to mind his manner, which effectively fuels your guilty desire further.

"I've waited for long enough." He expressed with a coy smile, "Don't you think I deserve fair compensation?"

[crimsonredfeathers]

Favorite

Tamaki Amajiki x gn!Reader

Warnings: none, just some fluff for you to enjoy

Word Count: 641

🖤💜🖤💜🖤

🖤💜🖤💜🖤

"Y/N...?" You didn't hear Tamaki's soft voice through your headphones, blasting music on the highest volume. You were sitting on your bed, happily scribbling away on a piece of paper, trying to come up with a new invention for your favorite student and his quirk. Upon realizing that there was no way you could have heard him, Tamaki took a moment to take in the sight in front of him. His breathing became ragged as he watched your completely oblivious form doing what came so naturally to you. His lips turned and twisted into a quivering smile - how could you be so cute?

As you put your pencil down and turned around to grab your drink, you jumped in surprise, startling Tamaki just as much. "Tamaki!" You snickered and put a hand on your chest, right over your fast-beating heart, removing your headphones with the other one, music still going. Tamaki swallowed, avoiding eye contact. "H-hey... I'm sorry, I..." he trailed off. Maybe he shouldn't have come to see you. He'd startled you and distracted you from your work. He must have been such a nuisance already.

"Don't worry, it's good to see you!" You gestured for him to enter your dorm room. Did you really mean it? How was it good to see... him? But then again, you never seemed to be annoyed by him or his demeanor. To the male student, it was a miracle. It took Tamaki a moment to steady himself and take a deep breath before he stepped into your room and closed the door behind him. You patted the duvet, urging him to take a seat, loud music still blaring from your headphones around your neck. With a deep red blush on his cheeks, he complied.

Tamaki took a seat on your soft bed, keeping some distance from you for good measure. He looked down to his hands, fiddling with his fingers, avoiding eye contact at all cost. "I have something I wanna show you, Tamaki!" You stood up and walked over to your desk. You grabbed your sketchbook, turned off the playlist on your phone while you were at it, and plopped back down next to your visitor. "Look, I was thinking about your visor the other day! It's already pretty cool and everything, but I noticed that this little piece over the bridge of your nose is leaving marks on your skin because it's probably too tight. So, I have been making a few adjustments, and your new visor will be finished by Monday. Also, I was just working on something that might come in handy," you moved a little and grabbed the piece of paper you had been working on minutes ago to show him, "but I guess, I'll talk to you about this in detail tomorrow, when it's not only a rough sketch anymore."

You turned your head to look at him, expecting some affirmation or denial on your proposal, but all you were met with were Tamaki's indigo blue eyes, staring at you, and a soft smile gracing his quivering lips. "Y-you..." He breathed shakily. "You m-made all of this... F-for me...?" You nodded in response. "I'm part of the support team, remember? I'd do anything for my favorite student," you proudly stated.

Tamaki gasped and covered his eyes with his hands. Never in his life had he felt this flustered before. You were just that cute, and did he really just miss everything you explained because he was staring at you? But what he did recall was what you had called him. Your favorite. "Y-y/n... I," and that's when the both of you heard a whistle coming from the direction of your door. From the inside of your room.

"Wow, sorry, you guys," Mirio sheepishly stated. "I didn't know you were both in here together. Did I interrupt anything?"

[eruden-writes]

Scent Match - Part 2

(Note: Started with an anon asking for the phrase prompt, "Oh. Oh.")

Summary: When Amber Dyer decided to attend a Creator Con, she never expected to run into Of Wolf and Blood lycan hearthrob, Augustine Prime.

But, there he was, stooping over her table, asking to buy the unflattering drawing of his character. Valuing integrity over taking money from a celebrity and running (though she was sorely tempted,) Amber finishes the sketch and delivers it to Augustine.

However, he continues to doggedly pursue her and entwine their lives.

All because of her scent.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Previous | Masterlist

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Hours later, Amber found herself sitting on a bench in the corridor that led to the VIP section. It had to be a large meeting hall, she decided, after a bit of watching. Con staff flew in and out of the door, some bringing in food and drink while others checked papers on clipboards while appearing stressed. Thanks to room dividers expertly placed just inside the doorway, no wayward fans could even glimpse the bigshots inside.

Anxiety clawed up her back as she stared down at the sketchbook laying atop her thick thighs. For now, it was closed, but she could feel the damned drawing burning a hole in her sense of propriety. She really should just forget about this. Augustine paid upfront and likely wouldn’t even remember her or her silly little art. 

“So are we going in?” Next to Amber, Addie piped up. She twirled her bright pink curls - a voluminous wig - around her index finger while noisily snapping her gum. Beside her friend, Amber felt a little dull in her jeans and tee-shirt and hoodie. Addie had brought her A+ cosplay game with the low-cut and high-hemline intricate dress of a popular character from a dating sim.

Closing her eyes, Amber took a steadying breath. Her friend refused to be left at the booth while she made this particular delivery. Which meant Amber had to wait near Artist Alley closing to give Augustine his… commission. Though she couldn't blame Maddie for her disbelief. Amber barely believed her story herself. “Give me a minute.” 

“This isn’t helping your credibility, Amby," Addie giggled, a wry grin curled at her lips. 

When Amber's eyes opened she shot Addie a frown. This had been a repeated topic of conversation since Maddie heard what happened. “How else do you think our cashbox was so much heavier?” 

“Good question." Addie leaned back, making a show of considering Amber's words with a chin-stroking hand and over-the-top hum. With a snap of her fingers, she grinned at Amber and wiggled her eyebrows as she guessed, “Maybe you did do a commission for someone while I was gone, but not for Augustine Prime. Did you take my advice and start taking NSFW comms?” 

“No, I haven’t.” Not that Amber hadn't considered that potentiality, but it wasn't exactly something she wanted to discuss in the middle of a busy hall.

That was the kick in the pants she needed to get moving. Pushing herself to her feet, Amber strode to the attendant near the door, Maddie trotting behind her.

The con staff by the door was a burly gargoyle, expression seemingly in a perpetual state of 'extremely not impressed.' They watched silently as Amber approached, only inclining their head as they asked, “Name and reason for entry?” 

“A-Amber Dyer. I have a commission for Augustine Prime.” Trying not to feel like she was raising a shield, Amber held up her sketchbook. She immediately regretted that, as well. It was like a prop for a weak lie.

The attendant raised an eyebrow. “Do you now?” 

Amber pressed her lips tightly together, before raising her chin. “Yes.” 

Evidently put out, the gargoyle sighed and held out their hand. “We will make sure he receives it.” 

“Fine,” she said after a beat of thought. They likely had to deal with all sorts of fans with harebrained schemes to get in and see their favorite stars. There was no point pressing the issue. If they throw her drawing away, she had already gotten paid, as well.

Having already paper clipped the drawing to a receipt and one of her business cards, Amber held the small stack to the attendant. “Can you please give him the art and his receipt?” 

With a heavy sigh and a roll of their eyes, the attendant glanced down at both the drawing and the paper. Their expression pinched at the sight of the less-than-flattering caricature of Mr. Prime’s infamous character, their gaze flickis back up to Amber as if to gauge if this was a joke. She steadily met their eye, somber expression relaying that no, it wasn't a joke. 

With a shake of their head, the attendant disappeared into the VIP Lounge without another word to Amber. 

— 

Inside the VIP Area, it was like an indoor caravan camping out under fluorescent lights. On the outer edges, cabana-like tents lined the walls. Each housed whoever had been wrangled into coming to the convention. TV show and movie casts, TouYuber celebrities, influencers from an array of social media, voice actors - who most often dipped from one cabana to another - and some notable pillars of various nerd communities.

In the middle of the large room, catering had been set up. Cellophane-wrapped sandwiches, rows of soft drinks and water, decadent cupcakes or other treats, plus a few tables from popular eateries. Screens in the corners of the room blared the schedule, which had mostly completed by this point of the day.

In the OWaB camp, Augustine currently sat in a chair, one leg thrown over an arm as his back leaned against the opposite side. “Do we have any media obligations tomorrow?” 

“Our big one was done today. Showrunners and writers have a few panels or workshops tomorrow, I think,” answered Delilah, the actor that played the battle-hardened lycan protagonist of the show, stretched across a loveseat. Her sharp blue eyes angled to Augustine, an eyebrow raised in curiosity. “Don’t you have that charity auction?” 

“Fuck, you're right. Winner gets to have dinner with me.” Augustine groaned, head flopping back against the chair’s arm. In a fit of theatrics, he threw his arm over his eyes for good measure.

“Why so bummed about it? Usually you enjoy being fought over.” From their own spot on the floor near an outlet, Camry shot Augustine a curious look. In their hands they held their tablet, currently plugged in.

“If that artist came by, I was hoping to ask them to dinner.” He sighed, slumping further in his chair as he slid his arm off his face. 

Thinking of their face, eyes wide with shock and a pinch of a blush on their cheeks made something in his chest twist. The memory of their scent - indescribable and warm, twanging at something in his chest - coupled with the awry curiosity of how they’d feel under his palm. Though they had been sitting and somewhat obscured by a hoodie, he was aware enough they were curvy and round, certainly soft and warm. His fingers flexed, his imagination feeding him phantom sensations. “Guess I could ask them out tonight.”

Just as he finished, Theo entered with a tray piled high with catered food in hand. The human actor gave a knowing snort as they inclined their head to Augustine. “Talking about the smelly artist?” 

“They’re not smelly. They’re fragrant. And you wouldn’t even be able to scent them.” Playfully, Augustine tossed a pillow at Theo. It had been a careless and sloppy throw, since the other man merely turned aside to block it from hitting his face.

“I’m pretty sure they’re not coming, Auggie.” Delilah hummed as her castmate shot her a dirty look. She gave a defensive shrug, her voice softening an iota, “From the way you tell it, I think they were off-put by you.”

“Easy $200 for them, that’s for sure,” Theo laughed as he settled down in an empty chair, placing his goodies on a nearby end table. 

Augustine grumbled to himself, eyes glued back to his phone. He really should have dallied longer at the table and paid more attention. There was probably plenty there with their name or even online handles. He'd been flustered after finally locating the scent that had been plaguing him since arriving at the convention. He didn't know what he expected when he finally found it. Realizing it belonged to someone versus something just hadn't occurred to him.

“Mr. Prime, an artist dropped this off. Claimed it was for you.” 

Those words made his head snap up so fast, his eyes apparently intense as the staff member nearly stumbled backward at his expression. Before Augustine could jump up and snatch the paper from the employee, one of his co-stars beat him to it. 

“Oooh, I see what you mean," chuckled Theo, holding the paper at arm’s length while fending off Augustine with his other hand. “They definitely have a talent for catching your essence.” 

“Lemme see!" Camry jumped up from the floor, making grabby hands at the innocuous piece of paper. Theo dropped it to them and they snatched it up like a monkey stealing fruit. As soon as they glimpsed it, a cackle escaped their lips.

A flare of heat licked up Augustine’s body, his wolf ears pinned back against his head and bristling tingles spread down his back as he lurched for Camry. “Oi, I should be the first one to look at it!” 

Alas, he was too late as Delilah plucked the drawing from her shorter co-star. Sticking her tongue out at Augustine, she grinned and held it away from him, “Shouldn’t have been so slow about it.” 

Glaring up at Delilah - usually his height, but currently given a slight advantage with her heeled boots - Augustine had to swallow down a frustrated growl. She smiled viciously down at him, blue eyes almost glowing with a challenge. The chemistry between Montos and Laira, in-show, was aided by the natural playfulness between the actors that often transmuted into challenges. Not to mention the fan-made enemies-to-lovers content that plagued the fandom sphere.

His gaze shifted from Delilah’s gaze to the paper, quietly agonized by the slight crumpledness after exchanging so many hands in such a careless manner. Not to mention the artist’s own scent being lost, obscured by his crewmates’ hands. 

His pride was no match for the desire clawing at his thoughts. Ears and tail drooping, Augustine’s lips pursed as he held out his hand to his colleague. “Please, I don’t want it to rip.” 

One of Delilah’s eyebrows jumped up, her ears flicking forward in quiet interest at his reaction. Her grin grew, flashing sharp teeth as she held the paper out to him. “Fine, fine. Put that diabolical pout away.” 

Augustine had to temper his eagerness as he took the piece of art from her. Looking at it, it was much like how he remembered, except a little more refined. Overall, it was a wonderful caricature of Montos in his second season grimy glory, dirty and in tattered slack with a furred cloak. Mid-shifted his wolf ears peeked out from the mass of chaotic hair that haloed his head.

A beard stretched around his large sharp-toothed - if goofy - smile as he reached out to the viewer. Near his head, a line of fan favorite dialogue and oft-used nickname for Laira hovered: “I’ll give you a bone, Little Bitch.”

Indeed, in his slacks just before the image cut off, there was a hint of an excited bulge. Or maybe it was just a bump to let viewers infer Montos’s - ahem - size. Regardless, there was the implication of stuffing having been utilized, considering the edge of a coin sack stuck out from his trouser’s waistband. 

His eyes continued to scan the drawing until he found what he had unconsciously been looking for. A scribble of a signature adorned an empty space near the bottom of it. Narrowing his eyes, Augustine realized it was too difficult to decipher. Damn.

“Bummer that they didn’t come in though, right?” At his elbow, Camry piped up, peering at the drawing once more with an amused smile.

“Yeah,” Augustine glanced up at the staff member who still lingered close, perhaps surprised by the delight over the unflattering and crude drawing, “Why didn’t you escort them to me?” 

“They, uh, they weren’t on the list,” the gargoyle stammered, lifting their clipboard as if to provide evidence. 

“Shit.” Augustine stared at the signature on the drawing, but no amount of squinting could decipher the squiggle. His head snapped up, gaze landing on the gargoyle once more. “Were they out in the hall when you came in?” 

Relief fluttered through the attendant’s voice as they answered, “Yes, I can-” 

They didn’t have a chance to finish as Augustine tore off for the exit. 

— 

Amber and Addie stood by the door for a few minutes, waiting for the staff member to return and formally dismiss them. At the very least, if Augustine did not accept the drawing, Amber wouldn’t have minded having it back.

Eventually, Amber sighed with a shrug, condemning herself to the thought of the drawing being pitched into a trashcan. “Guess that’s it.” 

“I suppose so.” Disappointment made Addie’s demeanor slump a little. Trying to rally some humor, she shot Amber a teasing smile. “Still doesn’t prove he actually paid for it.” 

“I know,” Amber groaned, her shoulders slumping as she exhaled and started down the hall. It didn’t really matter if Addie was believed or not. She herself knew the truth. Of course, that didn’t keep her friend from ribbing her, all the same. 

There were a few moments of quiet as the two strolled further down the hall. Since they had packed up the booth early and now Artist Alley would be closing in fifteen minutes, there was no point in heading back. 

“So, what should we do for foo-” A sudden commotion from behind interrupted Addie’s words. Alarmed, both women turned to spot whatever chaos was happening behind them. 

A searing tingle shot down Amber’s body, watching as Augustine - with full almost-a-beard stubble already -  approached while waving her drawing over his head. 

Relief fluttered through Augustine the second he spotted them. They'd gotten aways down the hall, but not so far that Augustine couldn't shout at them. “Mx. Artist, your handwriting is terrible. I cannot make out your name!” 

Movement at his feet caught her eye and she was startled to find him partially tangled in a curtain. She quickly recognized it was one of the room dividers. Her eyes flicked back to the door to the VIP section and, sure enough, staff were desperately trying to gather up the fallen pieces of the divider’s frame. One even tailed after Mr. Prime, weakly calling after him.

Had he seriously barreled through privacy screens just to catch her?

She watched as he kicked off the curtain - to which the con staff member gratefully collected the fabric - and trotted the rest of the way to her. Dazedly, Amber mumbled, “My business card is attached to the receipt.” 

Augustine blinked, glanced down at the paper in his hand, then flipped it over. Indeed, stapled to the back was her business card. For overlooking that, he'd blame his co-stars and their teasing. He plucked it from the paper, careful to not completely ruin either receipt or card, before peering at it. 

AMBER DYER She/Her/They/Them Artist - Writer Creator of Hell’s Promise

As he scrutinized her business card, Amber dutifully ignored Addie’s bugged eyes and barely contained excitement. It was harder to ignore the buzz around her or now the other woman grabbed onto Amber’s arm. It didn’t help that a flush threatened to burn over Amber’s cheeks every time her friend’s big eyes jumped from herself to the actor. 

Something in Amber's chest jolted as Augustine looked back at her, that damn charming smile on his lips. “Ms. Dyer, please come back. My co-stars want to meet you.” 

“Why?” Taken aback, Amber wasn't even able to censure herself. 

Her seeming surprise at simple actions tickled at Augustine’s senses. It was charming, he thought. In response to her, his smile tilted crookedly and he brought his hand to his chin. “They said you captured my essence perfectly.”

“You showed other people?” Amber blanched as her checks heated up. The drawing hadn’t even been her best work. Hells, it had been subpar and kind of mean, if she was being honest! Did his reportedly tight-knit castmates want to rake her across the coals for it?

She was certain he was just low-key harassing her by asking for the drawing. Other than it being some weird powerplay, what explanation was there?

“Of course, why wouldn’t I?” A breathy chuckle escaped him as he shot Amber a curious look. Was it so hard to believe he’d want to let others see it? “That’s the point of art, right? To show people.” 

Oh, this way something her brain could understand. Amber latched onto his flippant words, eager to gain some footing of understanding in a world that made nose sense. “I mean, there’s other reasons. Why we make art is a philosophical-” 

“Ugh, don’t start in on that boring stuff!” Addie finally butted in, shaking Amber's arm dramatically. She flashed a delighted smile in the actor's direction as Amber was startled into silence. “We’d love to come meet your co-stars!” 

Still smiling, but blinking blankly, Augustine registered the other person's presence for the first time. They were shorter than the artist and seemed to be wearing a cosplay he couldn't place. Generically attractive, with a round face and full lips upturned with vague amusement at the corners. Pleasant to look at, but something in the air around them put him on edge. 

Tilting his head to her, his own lips mirrored her faint grin. “We?” 

“I’m Addie Kline, she/her! Amber’s friend, roomie, and the one who talked her into even coming to the con." Addie's chest puffed out as she stepped forward, hand jutted out in a demanding request for a handshake. A sly expression crossed her features as she eyed Augustine. "If it wasn't for me, Amber wouldn't even have attended!"

“Ah, well, the more the merrier.” Augustine's expression brightened, now silently thankful to this previously ignored attendee. He took her hand, giving it an enthusiastic shake. “Are you a fan of the show?” 

“Big OWaB fan since day one! I can’t forgive the writers for leaving us on such a heinous cliffhanger last season.” Addie released Amber’s arm, stepping closer to Augustine. Her voice dropped low, into faux inconspicuous territory, as she asked, “Between you and me, care to share what might be in store, Mr. Montos?” 

He made a show of glancing around and Amber had to bite back a smile as overt eagerness radiated from Addie. When the man stooped closer to the other woman, Amber involuntarily held her breath.

“There are too many prying ears here,” he growled, using his character’s lilt. The corners of his lips twitched a little as his attention flicked to Amber, watching her expression carefully. 

“If you two wish to accompany me…” He let the pause languish as he curled a lip in a mean smile, running his tongue over his sharp teeth before finishing with a bit of gravel, “Perhaps I can be persuaded to talk.”

He couldn’t actually reveal anything, but talking around the questions was something he had learned for media interviews. 

Amber bit her tongue to keep from reacting to his eyes gliding over to her. The way his tone shifted, becoming more like Montos, sent shivering sensations over her body. Judging from the way his smile twitched, she thought he knew she was reacting like that. Which only convinced her to batten down against the sensation more. 

It didn’t help that others were stopping and staring, snapping photos with their phone and whispering. That realization sent another sizzle of heat through her.

He offered a hand to the bubbly woman, who delightedly took it, before offering his other to Amber. At the very edges of his awareness, her scent taunted him. Despite the relatively scant distance, the urge to bury himself against her throat burned at his thoughts.

She stared at his appendage like it was a venomous snake. A quick glance to Addie, noting her smug look and slight nod as she leaned into the man’s side, finally convinced her to give in.

With a sigh, Amber Dyer took Augustine Prime's hand, happy to be led somewhere less public.

Hopefully, she could get her head on straight by the time they made it to meet his co-stars.

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[lildrabbles]

Chapter 5: Getting to know each other

2007! Raph x Female! Reader

Summary: It's been a long day, but you finally get to know more about the turtle.

Warnings: swearing

A/N: sorry for not updating in a couple days! Kinda forget about it, but I just needed to add a couple more things then I was done!

You were extremely tired by the time you got home. You had to take the subway, which was as usual, full of sketch heads. You fumbled with your keys when you arrived at your apartment door. You heard a door open from down the hall, making you look up. It was your nosey neighbour, Brenda.

"Oh hello there!" She smiled happily.

You smiled to be polite. "Hello Brenda." You quickly got back to fumbling with the lock so you didn't have to talk to her.

"So have you heard the news about this Nightwatcher? I think it's just crazy!" She said, walking over right beside you.

You cringed a little. "O-oh, yeah, it is crazy.."

"Well I personally think he should just stop, I mean it's the police job to do that kind of stuff! He's just putting more people in danger!" She exclaimed.

"Mmhmm.." You nodded before finally getting the key in the hole. "Well, I gotta get going-"

"And that whole thing about the police chase last night was absurd!"

"Yeah haha, ok I gotta-"

"Oh! And that new restaurant that opened in town, you and I should totally go some time for a girl's night!"

"Yes that would be great, but I really have to get going now." You finally managed to finish a sentence.

"Oh yeah of course, of course! Have a good night, hun!" She then turned away, flipping her hair as she walked back down the hall.

You groaned quietly as you walked in your apartment, slipping your shoes off as you relocked your door. You looked around. "Raph?" You called out, half expecting no answer.

To your surprise, you heard a "Through here!" With the gruff, Manhattan accent you had already somehow gotten used to, despite it only being a day.

You walked through to the living room to find him sprawled out on the couch looking at his sais.

"You're still here?" A hint of surprise in your voice.

"You said to stay, didn't ya?" He quirked an eyebrow up.

"Well yeah, I just didn't expect you to..."

"Listen? Yeah I get told that a lot." He said before throwing his sais down on the coffee table, then sitting up, winching a little but otherwise was fine.

You walked over and sat beside him. "What did you do all day?"

Raph shrugged. "Nothing really... I uh, took a bath earlier, if you don't mind."

"No of course not!" You smiled up at him.

He smiled a little back at you, before clearing his voice and looking away. "How was work?" He asked with a gruff voice.

"Eh, tiring." You shrugged, leaning back. He nodded. Silence fell over the both of you, until you decided to break it.

"So um.. when are you planning to go back to the sewers?"

"Depends, when will Doc Y/N declare me healthy again?" He smirked a little.

You giggled. "Well, you still need to let it heal, but... I mean, if your family is worried then it must be best to go back. Do you have first aid down there?"

He nodded. "Yeah, Don has some."

You looked up at him questioningly.

"Oh, he's uh, my brother. My other one is Mikey."

"Didn't you mention something about another brother?"

"Hm?" He furrowed his brows.

"Well, last night you said 'my brother's are probably worried about them, 2 of them at least' or something like that. So do you have more than 2 other brothers?"

He chuckled. "Well, aren't you observant?" He sighed. "My other brother, he's the oldest, his name is Leo, but.. he left a while ago, and I think he aint coming back for a while. Cuz he has to be 'worthy' or some shit." He scoffed.

"Oh..." You didn't wanna pry too much cuz he seemed upset about it, so you moved on with a different question. "So are you all turtles?"

Raph nodded. "Yep. Mutated freaks. Well, I guess there's my dad, too."

"Is he a turtle too?"

"Ah... no, actually. He's not our biological father, um... he's a mutated rat. We're just a family of mutants."

Your eyes widened a little. "Oh!" You then smiled. "Tell me more!"

He grinned a little, happy to finally have someone to talk to.

You both ended up talking for hours, asking each other questions. Raph knew he could trust you. Which was weird cuz he didn't usually ever trust anyone. But there was just someone about you that... he knew he could trust with his and his family's secret.

It was starting to get dark by the time you started running out of questions to ask.

You finally sighed. "Well, you probably wanna be heading back down to the sewers, huh?"

"Eh, yeah probably.. don't wanna worry my brother's TOO much." Raph chuckled.

You stood up and smiled. "Give me a minute, I have something for you and your family."

You then walked over to your kitchen area behind the counter, grabbing a random bag along the way. You started to pack some extra food you had, and some snacks for them as well as some drinks. You then grabbed a small piece of paper, writing your name and phone number on it before sticking it in the bag with the rest of the goods.

You quickly ran to your bathroom to grab your first aid kit and grabbed some extra bandages and gauze and ran back to stick them in the bag as well, just in case they ran out. When you were finished, you handed the bag to him.

He looked dumbfounded."Uh... Y/N this is great but I can't accept this, what about you-"

"Don't worry about me silly, I can buy stuff, you can't. Just... please, take it. My numbers in there too... j-just in case of an emergency or..."

"Or?" Raph tilted his head in confusion.

"... or maybe if you ever wanted to hang out again. You seem like a nice guy, and I would love to see you again other than just the news." You giggled a little.

He blushed a little. "Uh, y-yeah, I would like that too." He smiled. Actually being referred to as a guy and not a turtle mutant freak gave him a funny but enjoyable feeling in his stomach. After he realised what was happening he cleared his voice. "Well i best get going.."

"Right! Right.." You smiled awkwardly up at him while walking him to your window.

Before he stepped out onto the fire escape, he looked back at you. "And uh... I guess I should thank you, Y/N. You saved my life."

"And you saved mine." You smiled. "Ok go, before someone gets suspicious."

He smirked before jumping out, then somehow jumping off the railing and onto the ground on his feet, stumbling a little as the hand holding the bag came up to grasp at his wound. You heard him mutter "fck!", before running off into the night and disappearing into the shadows. You worried about him, but you knew he would be fine.

[hauntedbestie]

Hide 'N Seek

Bo Sinclair/F!Reader

word count: 2.7k

summary: Bo gives you the chance to win your freedom. But what if you don't want it?

warnings: implied stockholm syndrome, references to self-harm, references to physical/mental torture/abuse and murder, im back on my bullshit

It was meant to be a game.

Hide and seek, but with a twist. The twist being that you were technically being held captive, and this little game was how you’d win your freedom. Bo would let you out, generously giving you an hour to run and hide somewhere and, should you make it to sundown without him catching you, he’d let you go. You weren’t stupid enough to believe that the man who incapacitated your friends so his brother could turn them into wax figures would actually let you go after what you’d seen, but the thought of getting to roam freely for a couple hours was very nice.

This would be the third round, your third attempt at besting Bo in his town. The first had lasted about an hour, he found you hiding behind his mother’s casket in the church but did give you the privilege of walking yourself back up to the house because he had something to tend to in town for Vincent. Not one to even try to betray his trust anymore, you went straight to the house and to his room and he found you there two hours later.

“Did ya eat?”

“No,” you’d murmured, looking up at him when he asks why. “You didn’t tell me I could get food. You just said to go back to the house.”

“Baby’s learnin’,” he had praised, leaning in to kiss your head. You do your best not to cringe at the contact, it was still very unfamiliar to have that kindness extended to you. “I like that.”

The second attempt lasted four hours. You’d guess he found you in the movie theater at around noon based on the sun’s positioning. It was then that you learned that Bo knew exactly where all the figures should be – since he’d counted your extra head in the fifth row on the left side. That time he didn’t send you home, instead keeping you by his side as he tended to basic maintenance around the town.  

“You really know where everyone is here?” you asked, watching as he screwed in the new lightbulb.

“Sure do. I’m the one that had to put ‘em there. Mama had a plan all sketched out, we’re just finishing it.” He sounded proud, and you crack a smile when he looks down at you from his perch on the ladder. He doesn’t smile back, but you know by his tone that he’s not upset with you. “I reckon you’re starting to get used to where everything is by now.”

“I’m not sure about that.” You really aren’t. There were places you’d seen a lot of, the church and the museum itself, that you probably did know the layout better than you should. The town as a whole, though? Not so much. That’s why Bo always won the game.

And here you were on your third attempt, listening to Bo as he talked to Vincent and Lester. Something about staying out of your way today, acting like you weren’t even there if they saw you because you were allowed to run around today. But this was your time, and you move back to Bo’s bedroom and climb out the back window – intentionally pushing off the wall to avoid the trap that you knew was in the bushes beneath the window. Lessons learned the hard way.

The game had started at dawn, technically, and now it was 6:45am. The sun was still working it’s way into the sky, but you still had some darkness to work with as you made your way to your chosen hiding spot this month. You’d thought about it over the last couple weeks, and now you knew what Bo expected of you. He was going to look low, in places that were easy for you to get in and out of – he was not going to look up.

There was one house that you knew had a ladder behind it and a chimney you could hide behind should you need it. You were going up hang out up there until you couldn’t, then when the sun set, you were going to get out of here. That was the deal that Bo made with you. And then you’d head for-

Oh, fuck, where could you go? You’d been in Ambrose for…how long had it been? At least three months where you’d been kept in the house – Bo’s room specifically – but there was a while where you were in the basement of the gas station at the start of your stay. How long was that? Was anybody still looking for you? Did your family think you were dead? Had it been so long that they’d given up?

The thought had you stopping midway up the ladder, uncertain that winning this game would even be worth it if everyone thought you were dead. Life here wasn’t so bad these days; Bo was nicer to you now that you stopped crying and trying to escape so much, Vincent would let you watch him work (he’d even started to let you work with his wax to make your own art), and Lester, well, you didn’t get a lot of time with Lester but he always gave you extra snacks and that was enough.

“Smart girl got a head start.” Bo’s voice nearby has you startled, and you freeze on the ladder to avoid making any unnecessary noises. Based on sound, it seemed like he’d be heading towards the church, so you give it a moment before slowly continuing up the ladder. You had dressed light, ready to move at a moment’s notice and used sunscreen to prepare for sun exposure. You were more than just smart, and you bask in that information as you lay back on the roof.

The only issue with this plan was that, if it worked, you were about to be bored as hell.

If the plan was going to work, you’d have to keep still unless you absolutely had to move, since you did not want to draw any attention to your little rooftop. You didn’t have any sort of mp3 player or game to play, all you could really do is watch the clouds and listen to Bo try to stay quiet as he cussed his way through town trying to find you.

The time gives you the chance to really think about how long you’d been there. You knew for certain at least three months, that part was easy. It had been wintertime when you’d watched your boyfriend at the time be rendered immobile by a well aimed knife to the spine; the plan was for your group to travel for a basketball game, college sports had been a big deal to your boyfriend, and it had been his birthday weekend. The marks on your arms that you’d given yourself to keep track of the days in the gas station basement had long since healed, thanks to Vincent’s caring touch, so the count you had of the early days was gone. You did know that it was October now, thanks to the calendar kept in the house, and it was….January (you think) when you’d left for that weekend trip. Nine months, give or take a week or two, which was a long time to be missing.

Nine months of fear, pain, tears, and hunger; but there’d also been light in the darkness. Life in Ambrose was a life where you had very few responsibilities. You did laundry and stayed out of the way, that was pretty much it. Sometimes the brothers would hurt themselves in their work, and you’d tend to those injuries if the opportunity presented itself, but that wasn’t much of a responsibility. The care was returned; Vincent’s care over your injuries, both the ones you’d inflicted upon yourself and were inflicted upon you in your captivity, Lester making sure you ate enough, and Bo sleeping in the living room chair for three weeks after moving you into his bedroom in the house. You’d been given your own bed in the large room but clearly, he was aware that you weren’t comfortable sharing a space like that with him at that point. Obviously, the man cared enough about you that he’d do that, and that was enough for you right now.

The world outside might have forgotten about you, but you knew the brothers here wouldn’t.

You don’t even register how long you’d been on the roof until it starts to get cold. You must’ve fallen asleep at some point, since the sun is now setting, and you decide that if Bo hadn’t found you yet, he likely wouldn’t. Which meant that you won, but was getting out really a prize if you had nowhere to go?

“Oh you’re fuckin’ kidding,” you hear Bo from down below, and turn your head to see him looking up at you from the street.

“Hey,” you greet, turning so your legs dangled off the edge of the roof. “Spend all day looking?

“Fuckin’ everywhere, and you were up there this whole time?”

“Pretty much, yeah,” you confirm, watching as he moves out of your line of sight towards the house. It’s only a couple moments before he’s sitting on the roof beside you, a quiet settling between you since you both know what it means now that you’d won. “I expected that you’d be looking anywhere but up.”

“People do tend to go low when they hide. You’ve been paying attention.” The praise is rare, and to an extent you hate that you grow warm at his words. Bo meant what he said when he was giving compliments, though, that’s why the words meant so much. “Where do you wanna go? I’ll take you there, give you money for a bus ticket, whatever you want.”

The moment of truth, and you shrug as the daylight continues to fade into dark. The stars were becoming visible, and you look up at them as you try to prolong your response. Because you didn’t know, and you didn’t want to make any decision like that. It was too much to think of; the idea that your family had given up, that everyone you knew before thought you were dead. Maybe it was better that way?

“Well?” he prompts, and you look over at him to see that he’d taken his hat off and was holding it tightly in his hand.

“I’d like to stay here, with you, if that’s okay?”

That wasn’t a question either of you had expected to come out of your mouth, but you knew deep down it was what you wanted. Why try to become someone else somewhere else, declare yourself alive again and have to answer questions you didn’t want to answer? Put the Sinclair brothers in danger when you really didn’t want to? Life would be easier if you stayed here; better, even, you were sure of it.

First he nods, and you take the opportunity to scoot closer so you can rest your head on his arm. He tenses at the contact but relaxes quickly, and you crack a smile when you feel his hand on your back. Bo was….abrasive at worst these days and you found a weird brand of comfort in him letting you stay and be so close to him without him explicitly initiating.

“Yeah, sweetheart, you can stay here with me.” The verbal confirmation has you relaxing, and your eyes close when you feel a hesitant kiss be pressed to your head. Were you sure what was happening here? Not at all. But in this moment where you’d just denied your opportunity to go back to the life you once had to keep the life you have now, you needed the comfort and were grateful that Bo was allowing the close proximity. “That’ll make Vincent happy. He really likes you.”

“Does it make you happy?”

This time he pauses, but you don’t move to look up at him. You don’t want to see the uncertainty in his features or look him in the eye should he lie to you.

“I chose you all those months ago, to have you finally choose me is a blessing.”

“Then why give me the chance to leave?”

“Because you’re not a pet. At first it was kinda like that, yeah, but then it became more than that.” You still weren’t proficient at translating Bo-speak, since the man kept anything that was vaguely reminiscent of a “feeling” close to his chest unless he was so mad that he snapped, but you supposed that he was saying that he cared about you. The fingers on your back begin to gently tap, and you look up at him finally to see him looking at you. “Look, I care, and I want you to be happy. I just have a fucked up way of showing it, according to Lester.”

“It is a bit fucked, yeah,” you agree, letting out a small laugh when he rolled his eyes. “But I’ve come to care about you too, Bo. Vincent and Lester, too, but you’re my favorite - don’t tell them.”

“I’ll be sure to keep that nugget of knowledge between us, sweetheart.” The assurance has you smiling, but he looks like he has more to say so you keep your gaze on him as he cracks a small smile of his own. “But Mama always said that good things come to those who wait, and also something about God sending angels in different forms, and I think I got both of those in you. Just needed you to actually want to be here.”

“I like playing this game, but we’re going to have to figure out different prizes for winning since I don’t want to be anywhere but here.”

“You think you’re going to keep winning?”

“Plenty of hiding spots here. You just have never had to think about it.”

He nods at that, and you take a moment to rest in the fact that you’d never really just sat and talked to Bo. Small couple minute conversations while he was working on something and you watched, or short questions that didn’t require lengthy answers or follow up from him were the norm, not sitting side by side chatting like this. You hoped there was more of this now that you weren’t going anywhere, since changing your mind about staying wasn’t on your agenda.

“I’m heading out to town tomorrow; you’re welcome to join if you want.”

“I’d like that, Bo,” you murmur, feeling him relax a bit more. This was nice, surprisingly comfortable given the circumstances that brought you to him and the events of the past nine months, but you weren’t going to question anything about it. You knew better. Questions would destroy your outlook on the situation. Bo cared about you, and you cared about him. Perfect world, no need to question it. “Thanks for not killing me after I punched you in the face that one time.”

“It was one helluva punch, that’s for sure.” The compliment has you smiling, your eyes closing as he leaned in again and the familiar feeling of his kiss on your forehead has you sighing. “Told you that you’d learn to like me.”

You weren’t going to tell him that ship had sailed over a month ago. You don’t have a chance to, as Lester is calling out for Bo to see if you’d been found yet. Bo stands, and you look up at him as you realize the moment is over now and he’s putting his hat on so he can go be an elder brother.

“You can stay out here as long as you like. House’ll be unlocked, I think I’ll have to make dinner since I doubt those two did. Hopeless, both of ‘em.”

You could stay out, but instead you stand while volunteering to make dinner if it was needed. Bo hated cooking, and was terrible at it, and you’d had enough time to yourself on that rooftop for one day. So he heads down the ladder first, watching closely as you make your way down after him, his hand settling on your back for added support when you were in reach and staying there until you were on solid ground. That warmth leaves your back, but your hand does brush against his multiple times on your way back up to the house as Bo tells you about how his supply runs usually went to prepare you to tag along on tomorrow’s run.

[ceapa-mica]

Thrawn's Proposal 💍 - a headcanon

I can't stop myself when it comes to this man help

I have been very busy thinking this through and writing it down, and here it is - the engagement headcanon I promised you guys! 😘

Enjoy!

🔞 NSFW content 18+ only! 🔞

Reader's gender is not mentioned.

So you made a certain Grand Admiral fall for you and have established a relationship? You're doing amazing, sweetie!

I bet you can guess what the next step in your relationship is. (Who am I kidding, it's literally in the title)

The moment Thrawn knew was when he discovered a painting you had made that you kept from him. Whether you're a good artist or not doesn't matter, to Thrawn every painting is worth looking at. And seeing a sketch of him made by you made his heart swell.

He analyzes art unlike anyone else. To him this drawing was a visualization of your feelings for him. Your unwavering loyalty, your keen mind, and all the little quirks to your character he has fallen in love with. On top of that you’re the most stunning person he's ever laid his crimson eyes on.

It was at that moment he looked at your painting that he knew he wants you by his side for the rest of his life - and he hopes you want the same.

He has gifted you jewelry before, but an engagement is something else entirely. In his culture engagement and marriage are taken very seriously and he knows he can't just give you an ordinary ring from some Coruscanti high-end shop.

No, you deserve better. You're not getting engaged to anyone, you're getting engaged to Mitth’raw’nuruodo of the Chiss Ascendancy and Grand Admiral of the Galactic Empire. An ordinary ring won't do!

He contacts his people and explains the situation. It takes a while, but when he receives the ring he looks at it with a satisfied smile. It's so unique, just like you!

During your relationship you have learned to read Thrawn. He may keep up a stoic facade most of the time, but you have started to notice little changes, like the way he pronounces words or the varying brightness of his glowing eyes. You think even Eli Vanto can't read Thrawn that well.

The night he wants to propose to you he takes you to a city on a planet you've never heard of. It's late in the evening and you can tell from his stiffer than usual posture that he's nervous.

You're worried, ask him if he's alright and he simply nods. He's a bit absent-minded too, you notice.

You finish your dinner and afterwards go for a walk in the warm air of what you assume must be early summer or late spring.

Away from prying eyes he removes his green shade sunglasses and takes your hand in his.

Your walk takes you to a park, away from busy speeder lanes. You have some easy conversation, but you can't help but notice how tense he still is. You think you might have to help him relax in his quarters when you're back on the Chimera.

To anyone else you two would look like a cute civilian couple enjoying a walk in the moonlight.

Some of the flowers on this world bloom at night, spreading a silvery light along with the lanterns lighting the paths. You think this particular lighting makes Thrawn look ethereal.

The scent of the flowers lingers in the air, the safe feeling of his hand in yours makes your heart flutter in bliss and the soft waves breaking on the shore of the lake mixed with the occasional sound of nocturnal birds has something so fundamentally peaceful.

Distracted by your beautiful surroundings you don't realize at first when Thrawn lets go of your hand, takes a small black box out of his pocket and drops to one knee in front of you.

You're taken by surprise, the look in his eyes shows a vulnerability you have never seen before.

He pops the question in the most charismatic way possible. I mean, what did you expect? He makes it clear that he intends to spend every day of the rest of his life with you. The choice is yours.

You see the stiffness leave his shoulders when you tell him ‘Yes!’

He puts the ring on your finger. The gem, not too big, looks unlike anything you've ever seen. In the light of the lantern it looks dark blue with swirls on the inside of the crystalline stone that reflect the silver light.

When you ask him about it, he explains that this rare mineral can only be found in the depths of his homeworld’s glaciers. It's very expensive, even within the Ascendency, and is used as a symbol of status in Chiss society.

He kisses you deeply when you shed a tear or two of joy, the scent of the flowers mingling with Thrawn's own crisp musky scent.

His lips wander from yours down to your neck, but since you're in public he doesn't go much further.

You wait with that until you're back aboard the Chimera where he carries you to his bed and takes you exactly the way you want him to.

He makes sure you cum at least five times that night - on his mouth, on his fingers and on his cock.

He doesn't require much sleep and could last all night, but he knows after a day of work and a very special evening you must be very tired.

This is one of the rare instances where he gives you the next day off. For one, because you deserve to sleep in after the first night being the Grand Admiral’s fiance, second because after he fucked your tight heat for hours and hours you visibly walk funny, and Thrawn is not a fan of the gossip about his private life that makes its rounds among his crew.

Decisions would have to be made. Would you continue your service to the Empire as his wife-to-be?

All he knows is that he wants you by his side. It's where you are safest and also where you want to be.

No matter how much he dislikes the gossip about his private life, he will eventually have to tell the crew about his engagement.

When he does announce it, he does it with you by his side, holding his hand. Another step you take together.

Let's just say that nobody is surprised about your engagement. So many crew members you know from the bridge congratulate you, even officers and troopers you have never talked to congratulate you in passing.

Your future with Thrawn looks bright. While planning a wedding is extra stressful with a workaholic like Thrawn as fiance, both of you manage that together too.

Thrawn lets your contract with the Imperial Navy end the day before your wedding.

In the Imperial Navy you can't work for your own husband, it would be a conflict of interest and neither of you want you reassigned to some other ship, away from each other.

You can search for different ways to earn credits after your wedding though. In fact, Thrawn encourages you to find work for yourself that you find joy in.

Being engaged to Thrawn is the happiest you have ever been so far. You're excited, well fucked, and feel a sense of belonging you have never known. If you believe in soulmates, then you believe that you have found exactly that in Thrawn.

Well that was fun to write! Thank you guys so much for liking my work! 💙 Next up will be ✨the wedding✨ headcanon.

[pencil-peach]

G Witch Onscreen Text: Episode 11

This is part TWELVE!!! Of my attempt to transcribe and discuss all the onscreen text in G Witch (and also just to talk about things I think are cool.) We have reached Episode 11: The Witches from Earth.

<<Click here to go back to Episode 10!

I have to hide..! (Under the cut)

So before we start, I had forgotten to mention something rather important in the last episode, that being that in the final scene with Prospera and Delling, we get a look at Quiet Zero (Or perhaps, the components that were being stored at Plant Quetta.)

We can see that the progress of this component is at 89%, almost completely finished. Bel comments later when she confronts Prospera that Aerial wouldn't need a permet score of 8 to complete Delling's original plans for Quiet Zero, and we can see that here, considering the machine is almost done.

Prospera also just outright gives Delling Aerial's Permet Score 6 data, telling him that with it, Quiet Zero can proceed to its final stage. I think it's really important to remember that the attack on Plant Quetta was not something Prospera had expected, especially with it having been done with Lfrith models. Her original plan was probably just to have Aerial reach Permet 8 and then just like. Kill Delling and take over Quiet Zero. (Maybe torture him a little. For fun.)

But the existence of the Lfrith models threw a wrench in that plan. A majority of her actions in season 2 were done in order to locate and destroy the source of the Lfriths, because the existence of an army of Gundams was a threat to Quiet Zero.

Anyway, speaking of the Lfriths, did you know that the show's OP changes slightly depending on what's happening in the story?

At the start of the show, this scene has Delling appear, and he fades out into Prospera.

But starting with episode 7's OP, shadowy images of Ur and Thorn appear behind Delling, and then disappear before Prospera fades in.

And in Episode 11 - 12, the scene is completely different, showing clearer images of Ur and Thorn, with Sophie and Norea appearing in front of them, turning to the camera.

Also, did you notice that the Ur and Thorn are color coded to Sophie and Norea, but backwards? Ur is colored like Norea, but is piloted by Sophie. Thorn is colored like Sophie, but piloted by Norea.

You'll have to excuse me, I'll probably be spending a lot of time talking about non text stuff as this episode is actually incredibly light on text...

In the opening scenes where the Earth House kids have just reached Plant Quetta, you can see Miorine silently moving away from everybody in both of these shots. Since our perspective is with Suletta for a majority of their conflict, we don't get to see a lot of Miorine's side, but I think it shows in these little moments. She doesn't understand why Suletta is acting so strange and it's frustrating her, so she's just avoiding her and hoping she sorts herself out.

A lot of their behavior in this episode is reminiscent of what they were like before they'd met each other.

Norea is sketching Thorn's face. Damn she's really good...I tried to draw Aerial one time and I got so mad I had to go bed early.

It's an understated thing but it's truly sad to me that Guel is nearly killed trying to defend the honor of his father's company in this scene, not knowing that his father was the one who provided them to the Dawn of Fold.

TEXT: T.S. - TO - D.O.F SYNC MAIN CONTROL SYSTEM MIGRATION: COMPLETED

This is the display shown on the monitor of the DOF member who hacks into its systems.

My best guesses as to the meaning of the acronym are: TERMINAL SYSTEM TO DAWN OF FOLD SYNC TRANSPORT SHIP TO DAWN OF FOLD SYNC TS might also stand for the name of the ship, which we don't know.

We get a look at the Earth House Space Ship's Map Data here, aptly titled EARTH HOUSE SPACE SHIP It's got everything. Two Cargo Unloading hatches, one at the Fore and Aft of the ship, 8 Mobile Suit Hatches across the middle, an Airlock, a Cieling Hatch, and a Bridge..! So cool...

I really love this scene where Nika and Miorine are talking about Suletta. I love how Miorine is just mostly confused the whole time. Cause she really just doesn't understand.

When Miorine says she'll send Suletta a video about Aerial, Nika asks why she can't tell her herself. And she replies, "Why?" Like, "Why would I do that? There's something bugging her, and she doesn't want to talk, so I'll just send her a video about it instead."

And when Nika asks her what happened between her and Suletta, she says "Don't say it like I did wrong." Like she probably didn't even assume there was a problem between them to begin with. In her mind she didn't DO anything, so what issue could there possibly be if nothing happened?

"Not everyone can be like you, Miorine." Nika concludes, and Miorine just says, "What's that supposed to mean?"

Miorine's never really met anybody like Suletta before. When she has a problem, she'll make it clear when she does. She's completely confident, and not afraid to stand up for herself, but Suletta isn't like that. At her worst, she can be frustratingly timid and scared, and won't say if she has a problem so as to not make any trouble for people. There are 5 days between the end of Episode 10 and the start of episode 11, and that whole time Suletta was probably acting really weird and avoidant, and Miorine probably just assumed if she needed something, she'd tell her. So she just left her alone.

That's why their eventual collision is so nice. They're communicating their needs.

I think it's really nice how Kenanji gained weight because it's been 20 years since Vanadis and it's treated as completely fine. Like yeah people tease him for it or are surprised when they see him but it's not presented by the story itself as like, a fall from grace or him letting himself go. He's still a strong and capable pilot, and he's still fully confident in himself. He just got fat. It happens !

(Also the delivery of the workers on "CAPTAIN KENANJI?!!?!" is another one of my favorite comedic line deliveries in the show.)

We also see in this scene where Jeturk's plant patrol fleet (Wormblood) are during the incident. They're heading towards the moon.

The completely emotionless way Prospera delivers this line haunts my fucking dreams. What's she thinking here? What is it about Suletta and the rest of GUND-ARM finally bringing to fruition Cardo Nabo's dream that fills her with such apathy? Such disdain? Is she bitter that it's the daughter of her family's killer that's bringing that dream to reality? Is it a constant reminder of the path she didn't, couldn't take? Is it the fact that the technology that could have saved her daughter's life wasn't allowed to be pursued until it was far too late?

Is she having to reckon with the infinitesimally small doubt remaining in her mind that maybe, just maybe, she did the wrong thing?

When Suletta calls Prospera on the phone, she tells her where they are, and that Suletta should come to see them. When Suletta starts running away from Miorine, she runs in the direction of C Block, towards her mother. (We know this because the rest of the Earth House students, which is where she started, aren't in C block when it gets disconnected from the rest of the plant.)

You should rewatch this scene and see how many times Miorine eats shit on a wall. Also this is one of my all time favorite Miorine frames. She is a kind of creature here.

TEXT: (Monitor) ELECTROMAGNETIC SPECTRUM CAMOFLAUGE SYSTEM OPERATIONAL

(Notebook)BIOINFO: IDENTIFIED PMET LINK: CONNECTED DESULTOR

Here we see the cloaking program Olcott, Bessie, and Gristan used to get close to Plant Quetta.

We also see what the Info on an unregistered Mobile Suit looks like, only displaying the status of the pilot and the MS.

Here we get a look at the control room for the plant. It's got a cool hologram...

The Desultors also launch COMP-JAM-PODS, which disables all normal comms within a wide area, and is why the DOF switch to a hopping transmission after launching them.

Here we see in the hallways that there are STRICTLY ENFORCED SPEED LIMITS (of 15b) within the hallways of Plant Quetta. (At least in C block.)

But when the Emergency Starts, all the signs change to EMERGENCY B1, with a reminder to PLEASE CHECK YOUR REGISTERED DEVICES, presumably for the B1 emergency procedures.

TEXT: EMERGENCY PLEASE EVACUATE EMERGENCY B1 OUT OF SERVICE COMMUNICATIONS NETWORK UNAVAILABLE TARGET AREA: Throughout PLANT QUETTA ACTION REQUESTED: Please put on suit and take shelter immediately. EVACUATION GUIDANCE: Please refer to faculty map below for locations of emergency evacuation suits and designated shelters for each block. C BLOCK MAP PLANT QUETTA Safety Control Center

The emergency alert sent out by the safety control center to everyone in the plant.

When Sophie and Norea prepare to disconnect C Block from the rest of the plant, the command prompt that appears on the monitor is C-BLOCK PLANT QUETTA PURGE.

Also, it goes without saying, but the Monitor UI and cockpit layout of Ur and Thorn are nearly identical to that of the base Lfrith models, complete with the real time Monitoring System updates on the lefthand side of the screen.

That's all for now! Wow...next episode will be the end of the first season...we've really come a long way haven't we..?

I...I'm glad we made this journey together....it means a lot to me that you've stuck with me for so long....(blushing a little)

Unfortunately I have reached the dreaded image limit...so I have no gift to share...forgive me....

Click here to go to Episode 12...if you want..>>

O--Or you could..go to the Masterpost...!

[khazadspoon]

mmyeshello prompt: "Blondie has a kitten in his hat" type scene but with Manco and Mortimer

Sorry it took so long! I had forgotten I had an ask and got caught up 😔 here’s a little cute thing

——

If Colonel Douglas Mortimer is anything, it is a man who knows what to expect in life. Few things surprise him after fifty years of hunting bounties, of taking and sparing lives, of surviving on his wits and skills.

And yet, when he hears the soft mewling and low rumble of a purr from Manco’s poncho, he finds himself surprised. He blinks, lowers his pipe, and leans forward to take a peek.

Sure enough there is a small, content looking kitten curled up in Manco’s lap. It kneads happily at the coarse fabric of the poncho as it purrs, its eyes half closed in a display of pleasure and trust.

“Where’d you find that?” He asks, more perplexed than he wants to admit.

Manco smiles. The expression deepens the lines around his eyes, makes him look younger and less cynical about the world. It’s a good look. Mortimer won’t admit to that, either. “He was under the porch of the hotel, came right out and curled around my foot. Couldn’t resist the little fella.” There is a hint of something nostalgic in his voice that intrigues Mortimer, but he doesn’t know how to ask about it.

Nothing about Manco is clear, he doesn’t talk about his past anymore than Mortimer does, maybe even less. He doesn’t even know the boy’s real name.

Manco smiles again. He fusses the kitten, ruffling its dark fur with long fingers. “Reminds me of the time I found one down in some bombed out town during the war. Scrawny thing, but scrappy.”

Mortimer lights his pipe and watches his companion curiously. “You weren’t a soldier,” he says.

Manco huffs, glances up at him as he scratches lightly at the kitten’s fur. “How’d you know?”

“No discipline, too headstrong. No… you’re not a military man. What did you do in the war?”

Manco’s smile falls away as he looks down at his lap. He chews his lip and shrugs. “Something like what I do now, I guess, but with fewer… rules. I had a partnership at one point, nothing like ours. It- it was untied a couple of times. Kinda messily. I got a few regrets from that time.”

“I see.”

He doesn’t, not entirely, but the barebones of the sketch is there. He can see it in how Manco is holding himself; turned inward and thinking of times gone by. Two people tied together, tighter than men like they are should be, chafing against the closeness but needing it nonetheless. Not entirely unlike how he feels about Manco, if he is honest with himself.

The kitten mewls and the smile drifts back onto Manco’s lips. “I might tell you the whole story one day, Old Man, when we’ve finished here.”

Mortimer reaches out and strokes the kitten’s soft fur, feels the rumble as it purrs. He wonders if Manco’s hair is just as soft. Maybe it is coarse from too much sun and wind. Maybe Manco would purr, too. “I’ll hold you to that.”

[lemissingmask]

[ID: Sketch of Jacob Stone enclosed in a glowy blue column and sitting on a stool, holding one arm with a bandaged right hand, looking at Cassandra beside him, who is calculating something in her head, and with Jenkins in the foreground watching them. End ID]

-

Day 6: Mind control

Ficlet explaining this below the cut

-

Stone hadn’t been acting right.

First, he kept spacing out.  Getting lost in thought in a way he usually only did if studying artworks, portfolios or works of literature.  Except, when he sat down to actually do that after they’d finished an artifact retrieval, Eve didn’t see him write a single note.

He had dismissed her concerns with, as she expected, a kind but guarded smile, and a simple, “I’m good.”

That didn’t do anything to make her less concerned, but she did conclude that maybe it was something personal.  He had a lot of pain in his past, and Eve barely knew the smallest part of it.  Add that to his habit of thinking a lot…maybe he just had periods like this, triggered by something none of them could guess.

Except, then he showed signs of pain.  Or, not pain.  Discomfort.  Pressing the heel of his palm over an eye, wincing from apparently nothing.  And, when she picked him up on this, his, “Nothing’s wrong,” was sharp and unfamiliar.  Nothing like the soft smile Stone had offered a couple of weeks before.

She backed off but kept close watch.  Close enough that she saw when he recklessly - almost deliberately - threw himself at their claw-endowed foe in the middle of a fight.  Ezekiel saved him from a very probably fatal injury, managing to use the distraction to pull the evil ruby from the back of the crab-looking, scaled created, just in time for it to crumbled into fragments before that massive claw could cut Stone in two.

Ezekiel had grinned as he held up the gem, said something expectedly cocky, and the day was saved.

Stone looked angry.  Ferocious.

Eve only placed the expression hours after they were back, after Cassandra and Ezekiel had gone to grab victory drinks.  Well aware of the sadness discord among the group caused Cassandra, Eve waited until then, grabbing Stone’s arm to hold him back from joining them.

She didn’t waste time with skirting around the question.  What was wrong with him?  Why had he been so reckless?  He needed to get it together or someone was going to get hurt.

In short, an earful.  The sort of lecture she rarely needed to give the librarians anymore.

He had responded with confusion, a hurt and lost expression, and then suddenly that ferocity again.  No word accompanied the changing demeanour, and he walked away without saying a single word in his defence or apology.

“Did I miss something?” Jenkins asked, watching the empty space Stone had just vacated.  The question was really just a prompt for the explanation he had to know was coming.

“Stone’s acting wrong.”

Jenkins hummed the ‘I believe you are right’ hum, “I too have noticed the change.”

She shook her head, “Today, in a fight, he almost got himself killed.  And it didn’t look like an accident.  He just threw himself into the danger without a plan or a decent strategy.  Which, maybe two years ago, could be normal, but now…” “And it takes no pleasure in art,” Jenkins added, “Is distant.”

“And angry.  He looked angry when Ezekiel defeated that crab…thing.  Like he wanted to be the one to do it.”

Jenkins hummed the ‘you are wrong’ hum.

Eve sighed, “Do you have any theories?”

“I may…but it would…”

“Baird!  Jenkins!” Cassandra sprinted in, catching herself on the doorframe to keep from literally sliding beyond it in her haste, “We need your help.  Stone’s…”

She broke off, choking on a sort of sob, and shook it off, “Just come!”

Eve caught Jenkins’ worried glance for a split second before they were both on their feet, running after Cassandra until they saw what she had called them for, and Eve sprinted ahead.

Stone was lying on the floor in the corridor, outside one of the innumerable rooms, a pool of blood beneath him and his left shoulder soaked in it.  From years of habit, she assessed that along with several other wounds - his hand was scored in a row of three deep gashes, the left side of his head was reddened and grazed, and he wasn’t moving.  Ezekiel leaned over him, his own shirt balled up and pressed onto Stone’s shoulder.

“He tried to fight that big ass scorpion thing!”

“The Aqrabuamelu?” “Whatever!” Ezekiel moved back to let Eve and Jenkins take over, “We were going to ask him to join us and he just ignored us.  We followed and then he just walks in.  Stands there and the scorpion guy went for him.  We dragged him out, but…”

But he had once again almost got himself killed in an act far too stupid for someone so intelligent.

The reasons could wait.  Right now they needed to deal with the very severe, deep wound that cut deep into his shoulder.  Deep enough she could see bone beneath the confusion of blood and flesh.

“Do we have anything in the library that can help with this?  It’s not a magical wound, right?”

Jenkins pursed his lips, “Let us hope not…first we need to put pressure on the injury and bind it, hold the sides of the gash closed…”

Eve fell back into an old habit.  She listened to the resident medic, did as they instructed to stabilise the injury, transport the victim, assist in the treatment, clean the victim up.  It helped.  Helped her not to think about the two pairs of terrified eyes watching everything, of what might be going on with their art historian to cause him to be so reckless.

In the past when this happened, with an injury like this, it often culminated in the soldier being sent to a proper hospital as soon as possible and from there home, or the soldier dying.

This time, Jenkins had a useful elixir that helped stem the bleeding and knit the wound partially closed, leaving only a moderately deep cut that they could dress and bind.

That part was better than any previous incident like this.

Worse, however, was that when Stone woke up a few hours later, he was back to that ferocious anger again.  Silent, but with hatred in his gaze.  Specifically, hatred for Ezekiel and Cassandra - the ones who had pulled him to safety.

Jenkins watched this thoughtfully, then, speaking over the indignant words of Ezekiel directed at their ungrateful rescuee, “Colonel, please bring Mr Stone into the annex with as much force as is required.  Miss Cilian, if you could assist me, please.”

He walked off, Cassandra running after, with a final, worried, look back towards Stone.

Eve hesitated, briefly became the object of that angry gaze, and grabbed Stone by the back of his shirt collar and his uninjured arm to manhandle him after the former knight.

In the annex, Jenkins stepped in to take Stone from Eve and push him unceremoniously onto one of the stools.

Immediately, a blue light erupted from beneath him in a tall column of light.

“That should keep him from doing himself further mischief for now,” Jenkins said with evident satisfaction, “And give us time to resolve this matter.”

“The matter of Stone trying to kill himself,” Ezekiel clarified.

“No,” Jenkins held up a finger, “Trying to get himself killed.  There is a distinction.”

“Not in the outcome.”

“The outcome is not the important factor here,” Jenkins continued, “Colonel, when did you say you first noticed this strange behaviour?  About a month ago now?”

“Yeah.”

“Shortly after you retrieved the lead-covered tome from Malta.”

“I think so…”

“Just so,” Jenkins nodded, “He was distracted, lost interest in his passions, grew agitated, and finally began to put himself into fatal situations with apparent deliberate intent.”

“Yeah.”

“There is a creature…” he left the sentence hanging as he went to retrieve a book, returning and continuing as he leafed through it, “Called a remora-”

“The-”

“Ah, yes, no,” he cut off Cassandra’s exclamation, “A different remora.  The fish was a…well, one should not undertake the classification and naming of creatures after two quarts of neat spirits.”

He stopped at a page and stepped back so they could peer collectively at the etched print of a slug-like creature with three rows of sharp teeth.

“This remora is a magical creature.  Was, in fact, human once.  Before Zeus took a disliking to him and, well, did what Zeus does.”

“One of the things Zeus does…” Eve muttered.  Stone had been telling her some of the stories of Greek mythology while he was studying some recently uncovered pottery sent to be examined by one of his aliases.

Looking back to Stone where he sat now, she saw nothing of her friend there.  Just cold anger.  Hostility.

“The unfortunate human had been a particularly handsome sailor, reputed to be unrivalled in his ability to get the greatest speed from any ship, beloved and admired by all those who saw his abilities.  On transforming, the creature was compelled to latch onto ships moving through the water, seeking what was familiar to him, and yet his doing so could stop the ship entirely.  He became hated and feared by sailors.”

“That’s so sad,” Cassandra whispered.

“As is the fate of most who angered Zeus during the height of his power.”

“Okay, but this doesn’t explain Stone trying to kill himself.”

“Get himself killed,” Jenkins corrected, “The remora has been known to enter into humans, latching onto them as it will with any surface, and burrowing inside.  Its home, where it wants to be, is the water.  The open oceans, and on finding itself inside a host, it seeks escape.  This it does by attempting to control the host.  Just as it can control ships, to an extent, it can control living beings.  Not entirely, but enough to eventually find its way out of the host.  Pliny the elder, for example.  Sailed directly towards an active volcano, impelled by the remora, and met his unfortunate demise.”

“And you think Stone picked this remora up in Malta?”

“It may have been attached to the book you recovered, or perhaps free in the water at the time Mr Stone went in.  In any case, it found its way into him, and since then has been gradually gaining control over his mind.”

Eve looked again at Stone.  The remora had his expression fixed in something cold and angry, but apparently indifferent to their presence and their discussion.  It was watching, but not really seeing.

“So,” Ezekiel prompted when the silence had extended for too long, “How do we get this remora guy out of Stone?”

“Death of the host is the only means ever documented.”

“Well we aren’t killing Stone, so let’s find a new way.”

“An exorcism?” Ezekiel suggested, “Or, like, some kinda variation on one?”

“Exorcisms are very specific rituals, Mr Jones.  Variations on them to the extent of eliminating formerly-human creatures with a physical presence in this plane do not exist.”

Ezekiel huffed and they fell silent.

Stone shifted in his seat, pressed a hand against the barrier containing him, glowering yet more coldly when it didn’t yield.

“Why did that thing get in him anyway if it just wants to get out again?” Eve asked.

“There would have been no intent behind the action.  An accident.  Latching onto a surface not as resistant as the hull of a ship.”

“So, maybe it just doesn’t know another way out,” Cassandra said with that spark of excitement that foretold some genius, “If we can guide it out the way it came…”

“How do we do that?” Ezekiel waved a hand in front of Stone’s face, and received that same empty coldness - aware but not really observing.

“We use something it wants.  The ocean or a ship…do we have an ocean or a ship?”

“We have several rooms with some sort of oceanic portion to them, but they have existing uses.  I would prefer not to introduce the remora into any of our occupied rooms.”

“And we can’t let it loose to do this to more people.”

“What about shipwrecks?” Cassandra said a stream of confusing statements about velocity and currents that apparently led her to the conclusion, “If we pass something that resembles the hull of a ship past Stone at a precise velocity in a body of water with salinity matching the ocean where we found the remora, it should move out of him and to that.  The cut in his shoulder would provide an easy path so it should be able to reach the external medium before the falsity becomes obvious.”

“Okay…” Eve nodded, understanding enough and trusting in Cassandra’s judgement, “Then that’s what we do.”

-

Holding one of her best friends down, half underwater while simultaneously trying to stop him from drowning himself, at the same time as two other friends orchestrated a carefully timed motion of some copper-covered wooden planks over the immersed part of the first friend…Eve reflected once again that her life had become incredibly bizarre.

Stone’s relentless efforts to immerse his head in the water prevented her from any deep reflection, since she had to prevent that while also keeping him from knocking the fake ship’s hull and ruining the illusion.  There was also the small matter of his very much open injury seeping blood into the water around him.

Somewhere beyond her head, Cassandra was using a pulley to move the object through the water, while Ezekiel and Jenkins used yet more string-linked objects to create the correct motion of water to suggest a ship to the remora.  Cassandra had drawn out a diagram of the fluid dynamics required and how to create it, and now Eve was poised over the water - hanging from a harness Ezekiel assured her was secure - trying to move as little as possible as the obscure procession of wood began.

As soon as the wood moved close, she released Stone, trusting the calculations and theory that this would work and she hadn’t just let Stone go and drown himself.

The fake ship passed slowly over, Stone remained motionless beneath the surface of the water.

Ten seconds passed.  Fifteen.  Twenty, and the ‘ship’ suddenly stopped.

Beneath it, Stone moved, tried to sit up, hitting his head against the fake ship.

He scrambled out from beneath the immobile copper-coated wood, blood blossoming behind him, and emerged from the water coughing violently.

Eve unfastened herself from the harness, dropping the couple of feet to the water.

“Stone?!”

He was trembling, breathless and not just from the water, and suddenly very pale.

Gripping her arm, he nodded, and turned to look back at the wood, still unmoving in the water.

Beneath it, a small, dark shape lurked.

“Thing has…so much hate,” Stone murmured, voice weak and unsteady, “All this…built up anger.  A-An’ it doesn’t even know why.  It’s got no…no memories left.”

Those fractured, almost inaudible, words, were all he said of the remora aloud.

They treated his shoulder, made a room for the remora, and carried on.  Bizarre and dangerous events were part of their daily life, and this soon became just another of those.

But not for Stone.

Eve knew that he spent a lot of time visiting it, sometimes with his laptop, sometimes with a book.

Several months later, when the entire incident felt like nothing more than a distant memory, Eve saw Jenkins reading an academic paper on little known Ancient Greek folklore, authored by one of Stone’s aliases.  She skimmed over it herself, and found a detailed, sympathetic, extensively researched background to The Remora.

Stone’s way of helping the creature that was beyond help.  Telling its forgotten story, and recounting the few times that a ship had been saved by its sudden, abrupt and inexplicable deceleration in the water.

-

[no0t2]

@checkadii

I literally just woke up so this is the worst time to post this but ngl I have this problem where I wanna talk about it but I blank so fucking hard and fall flat on my face that I end up not talking about it anyway out of sheer embarrassment.

I'm not good at structuring my thoughts properly either because of ADHD, but here goes I guess.

I usually gotta segway into the topic if it's relevant to the conversation usually via,, friend convo, I don't know how people do deepdives of characters and whatnot I can't do that. I'm not sure why that is, this always has been a thing for me where I've got some level of understanding and my own HCs and such but they're not written or anything, so I can't express them.

To me Postal is just a silly series (minus P1 and Redux), not to be taken too seriously. So I don't really think about the "lore" that it has so much. I can ramble about Postal: Brain Damaged tho, that's probably my favourite cos of gameplay... And the designs as well as the soundtrack. It's just such a good game, I never thought shooters would ever be a genre I'd like to play, as I was so against playing them (thanks Half-Life for opening up my eyes). I can say definitely with confidence that retro styled FPS are especially something I find fun? Not on intense difficulty or anything either, I usually can't go above normal.

I've listened to "Straight Outta Suburbia" for like over an hour straight, I'm pretty sure even during while I was drawing one of my BD sketches lol

Back to Postal in general, I frankly haven't done enough "research" on it where I can properly speak about it aside from the games I've played (P1, P2, Paradise Lost and P:BD) And they're all games that are super different from each other (aside from P2 and PL, but even then). I'd also say I'm still pretty new to the series, speaking as I haven't played all of the games yet. Frankly, I was planning to just stick to P2 and that's it, glad I didn't.

Postal 1 I remember making me feel all sorts of weird things when I both played it and after I finished it. The load up intro scared the shit out of me the first time I opened the game, to where I had to pause for a minute. And it kept spooking me each time I did open it. I think that was kinda the point of the game as it's pretty dark compared to it's counterparts. I won't get into the lore of the 1st Dude cos I've seen people pluck at each other's feathers over the interpretation of him. But essentially, guy looses his shit during an episode, starts killing everyone. (Or just, "hostiles", depends how you play the game.)

P2 is so wildly different (aside from the fact that you can shoot people) that when I first opened it I was so confused how I was met with THAT Dude. I was surprised to hear him talk more beyond than just "BLEED" or "Only my weapon understands me". At the time I was also wrangling personal fears and feelings(which I don't know if I wanna get into, let alone if people would even wanna hear it lol) over playing the Postal series, so my initial expectation towards the game was:

"Okay, I know this is going to have some offensive shit in it, there's parts that won't be fun probably." And hoped for the worst, surprisingly a lot of the stuff in it I didn't find that bad, most of it is definitely fucked up, but nothing I couldn't handle, surprisingly. I played neutral-y, so I only attacked whoever attacked me, but I'd bail if I had the chance.

Paradise Lost plays similarly to Postal 2 (as it's literally the same branch of game just in the form of DLC). But I've found myself enjoying it way more than Postal 2, mostly cuz I found some of the jokes in it actually funny.

P3 I haven't played because I got rick rolled by RWS on the website so I'm not gonna play it out of spite </33 (But I've seen gameplay)

Postal: Brain Damaged is like, even more different than the previous entries as it's a retro styled shooter. But it has the charm of a Postal game and MAN is it good, I think the fact that it was released more recently is what made me enjoy its humor more. And it just!! Is so fun in general like wow, I'm still processing playing the game and I've already been thinking of replaying it because of how much I've enjoyed it. Definitely recommend trying it out.

AND WOWWW this has gotten long oops. Sorry.

I wanna note tho that, although there are aspects of Postal I enjoy, there's a lot of them that I don't, namely the offensive bits, some of them are genuinely fucked up where I can't go past them even in a comedic sense. Which I think is OK. I still enjoy other parts of it :^]