#isaacking

[writa-anon]

"is that.. supposed to be me?"

francis mosses (the milkman) x artist!reader

a / n ~ boom! first fanfic :3 i was a little inspired by uh.. myself LOL when i started playing tnmn i realized i was horrible at memorizing faces so i started drawing the characters to help me remember and it works sooo much. but anyway, super cute oneshot where they first meet, hope u enjoy :D

content included ~ isaack mauss, francis mosses, reader is an artist and doorman, no pronouns mentioned for reader, use of (y/n), shy n wholesome first encounter

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 4.10.24 | 1.6k words

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Another slow day at work, huh?”

A enthusiatic-ridden voice boomed, instinctively making me look up to meet the gaze of a strong-jawlined man. I cleared my throat and placed my pencil on the scratchy sheet of paper, sitting up in my chair.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Gauss.” I greeted, grinning that customer-service smile.

“Good afternoon, (y/n). I assume work is treating you well?” He said before sliding both his ID and request form through the letter hole. “Only your third day and you’re occupying yourself with side hobbies!” He exclaimed, squinting a little to see my doodle through the glass screen. I chuckled a little as I examined his ID.

“Eh, yeah..” I sighed. “But this actually helps with my job, believe it or not!” I said proudly, pulling out the floor 2 folder to compare his ID number. “I’ve been drawing neighbors in order to remember their features better. It’s especially helpful because of my terrible memory.” I said, shaking my head. Isaack simply chuckled as I placed the folder to the side as I went through his request form.

“That’s pretty smart.” He commented. “Who have you drawn so far?” He asked, curiously tilting his head. As I went through the checklist as I idly thought to myself.

“Umm..” I hummed. “The Schmitts and the Mikaelys are definitely in here.” I finished up the last check before rolling back to my sketchbook, using my finger to thumb through the pages.

“Unfortunate. I haven’t been drawn yet.” He faked pouted. I rolled my eyes before flipping one or two pages before presenting the portrait to him.

“I’m not necessarily finish. Your face is pretty hard to encapture.” I sighed, looking at the smears of led blended together. Isaack was something of a character: a big prominent smile that is not hard to catch a glimpse of in a room full of people. His hair perfectly styled each morning that still manages to maintain its shape by the end of the day. His voice had depth to it, almost like he was born to be the daily news reporter for radios and TVs of all kind. He stared at the drawing in satisfied awe before leaning back.

“Wow, it surely is accurate!” He beamed. I smiled proudly before placing my sketchbook down.

“Thank you,” I politely nodded. I slid his ID back through the letter box. “Everything seems to be good to go. You’re allowed in, Mr. Gauss.” He nodded in his head in gratitude, but however, did not my window just yet. He took a minute to ponder, as if contemplating his next move, before beaming his teeth once again.

“Ah, before I go,” he quickly inputed. “is there by chance Francis Mosses is on today’s list? He’s the local milkman around here.”

I raised my eyebrow a little, not exactly sure as to why Isaack chose to bring up this person’s name. I shook my head gently before folding my arms in front of me. “I’m sorry, Mr. Gauss, but I’m afraid I cannot disclose that information for you.”

“—Ah, of course.” Isaack quickly fixed himself, putting his hands up a little in defense. “I understand. I was just curious is all. I’m sure you know him though, no?” Thinking for a minute, I’ve realized that this is a neighbor I have not encountered yet.

“No, actually..” I pondered out loud. “Huh, that’s interesting. I guess he works a morning or night shift because the name doesn’t really ring a bell.” I noted out loud.

“Interesting.” He muttered. “Well, keep the name in mind. He’s a rather interesting person, and I think you would find him just as interesting.” Before I could say anything else, he gestured a quick wink before walking through the unlocked door. I quickly snapped out my thoughts before locking the door back up again.

Isaack never really mentioned other names— it wasn’t necessarily out of character, but it felt a little outlandish. I looked down to see my pencil in hand again and blank surface of paper. My eyes trailed over to the paper taped on to the wall next to my window, realizing that Frances was in fact on today’s check-in list. Out of curiousity, I located his room number before surfing through the folders. After locating folder 3 and apartment 02, I was able to find more about him.

He was a slim, tall man with a crooked nose and ruffled brown hair. His eye bags were prominent from what I assume to be lack of sleep. As I stared at his picture, my hand moved by itself across my sketchbook, forming a circle to start defining out the headshape. I squinted slightly, trying to feel for each detail in his face. From the way his eyebrows were rotated a little outward, defining more of his tired expression, to the bump in his nose bridge, making it a bit more interesting to draw. It was mesmerizing, almost wishing I could sit here and draw his face in perso—

tap, tap!

I nearly jumped out of my seat. The pencil flung out of my hand, rolling off of the desk. My eyes flickered up—

and there he was.

My breath near caught in my throat as I stared up in shock. The man behind the glass was barely shocked to see my reaction. His white “milkman” hat rested perfectly on top of his brown hair with small curls slightly peaking out. I was swift to regain my composure in my head as I folded my hands in front of me with my legs crossed under the desk.

“Good afternoon, sir.” I smiled. “I haven’t seen you before. ID and entry request?”

He let out a small hum, barricaded by his pink lips, as he took out his paper and ID. He politely slid them through the letter slot before I took the items to examine.

“Mr. Francis Mosses.. Lives on floor 03.. Room 02.. Coming from work as a milkman.” I glanced up to look at him, comparing the photo ID to his face. His expression was exactly alike: tired eyes, slight frown on the lips, crooked nose, and a clean shaven face. I double checked with his file already on my desk, making sure that the ID numbers and the description aligned with his ID. “Everything looks good.” I confirmed as I slid his ID back to him.

“Mmm.. Thank you.” He hummed. I turned around to place his request form in a folder, but once I sat back up, I realized he was still standing at the window, curiously staring through the glass. I raised my eyebrow a little, confused as to why he was still lingering.

“I’m sorry, did I forget something?” I asked. Francis shook his head before pointing down at my desk.

“Is that.. Supposed to be me?” He asked. A tiny bit of emotion seeped into his voice, dripping in interest and curiousity.

“I— oh—” I looked down to see the rough drawing of Francis sitting at my desk, drawn with sketch lines still lightly defining his features, while the harder drawn areas sculpted his prominent details. “Yeah..” I mumbled. “I-I’m sorry if it makes you uncomfortable!” I exclaimed. “It’s just a way to help me remember faces and I was going through the files and I realized I haven’t met you before so I—”

“You make me look so pretty.” He mumbled, almost breathlessly. A faint pink color brushed his cheeks as he was unable to take his gaze away from the paper.

“W-Well.. I do aim for accuracy.” I chuckled, complimenting the man right back. My nerves had calmed down after noticing his calm demeanor. “You could keep it, if you’d like that is.” I offered. It would be awkward if I kept the drawing rather than give it to him— I mean— this is his first time ever seeing me and it was an awkward first interaction right off the bat. It was the least I could do for him. Francis nodded his head and in response, I tore the piece of paper out of the scrapbook before sliding it through the letter slot.

“There you go.” I smiled.

“Thank you..” He replied, graciously taking the piece of paper and admiring it once again. “Oh— um,” He quickly looked up to me. “What is your name? I’m sorry, I’m not really good with.. Introductions.” He trailed off, but something about his shyness and reluctant voice made me grin even harder.

“My name is (y/n). I’m the doorman in training for this building.” I greeted.

“Ah, of course. I’m Francis— Mmm..Though you already know that.” He said, shaking his head a little by the end of his sentence.

“Well, it was nice meeting you, Francis. I’ll be seeing you around, I assume?” I said, sitting at the edge of my chair as I looked up at him.

“More often than before.” He smiled. It was the widest he’d grin throughout our whole conversation. Something inside me told me that he doesn’t pass around smiles like that easily. It made me feel accomplished in some sort of way. But with that, he departed from my window. I made sure to unlock the door and listen for the door closing behind him before locking it again.

Francis Mosses.

I think I have someone to look forward to on tomorrow’s entry list.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

really hoped you enjoyed! replies, reblogs, and even likes are super appreciated! thank you so much for reading :]

[yama-bato]

Isaack Luttichuys

Young woman with an ostrich feather in her hand. (1656)

[history-of-fashion]

ab. 1650 Isaack Luttichuys - Portrait of a Girl

(National Gallery, London)

[robertskyswifeyyy]

@pyschicvoidtale wanted to make you Isaack x Robertsky fan art and I had absolutely no idea what to draw, so I conjured this up from my ass😇

also I’m sorry I couldn’t make it vertical 😭

[trenchgardens-ooc-ooc-ooc-ooc]

do you see the vision...

[bagel-here]

Forgot 2 post thiz here

Tnmn object au real

[goeticgalaxy]

made a room for one of my fantrolls and sprites for her moms

[englishknightsky]

nightmare mode is hilarious bc it's literally a nightmare. we spend all day doing our job and then we go to bed and have nightmares where our neighbours are monsters but not the monsters we already see during our actual job

[sargewood]

made the mistake of going in the f1 tag

[thebaroquehuman]

1658-1663 Young lady with a fan - Isaack Luttichuys

[the-whispers-of-death]

he turns the big 2 7!! which seems really young now that i'm looking at him,,,,

oh wel!! i haven't actually had time to write him anything specific so i might just polish a draft and call it a day

He's turning 27!!

Stone just went "He's so young" in my head. I guess an eight year difference is a lot in his head.

[mewomanjericao]

If the RPG me and my friends play was an actual media (comic/book/series/etc) i think I'd be obsessed with it tbh. Changing pfp and hanging posters in my room and writing fanfic and making fanart and only thinking about it all the time and all.

[trenchgardens-ooc-ooc-ooc-ooc]

cherub grub my belerub grub

[mabusepl]

Isaack Clarke vs heavy Bramble

[gregdotorg]

I guess if I could figure out wtf is going on in this overpainted painting, I should have an Old Masters booth at TEFAF. Nevertheless, he blogged on. Based on Dickinson's dates and attributions, Luttichuys, the portrait painter, was dead 12-17 years when Backhuysen added his seascape to this 30-40yo panel. Why?

Dickinson describes it as surreal, which, clearly. I wonder if there was a philosophical angle, a reference to the giant on the front of Hobbes' Leviathan?

Anyway, the head and surgical overpainting was only discovered in a recent cleaning; for a couple of centuries, it was just a boring ass little seascape. Can you imagine all the generations who missed out on seeing this?

Ships on a stormy sea, painted over a fragmentary portrait of a young man (c. 1655-60 for the portrait, c. 1685-90 for the seascape), attributed to Isaak Luttichuys and Ludolf Backhuysen. Courtesy of Dickinson.

A less fearsome but equally compelling artifact resembled a 17th-century digital collage—an inadvertent artist collaboration. It began as a portrait of a young man by Isaak Luttichuys (c. 1655–60), later overpainted with a stormy seascape attributed to Ludolf Backhuysen (c. 1685–90). Rather than fully obscuring the figure, the second artist let the young man’s face emerge eerily from the waves. Eventually, the portrait was painted over entirely, and by the 1950s, it was sold as a pure seascape. Only recent cleaning revealed the original face, confirming it was no accidental palimpsest but an intentional, possibly satirical, intervention. “It’s a very strange oddity,” said William Bayliss of Dickinson in London, who can trace its provenance back 150 years.

[rafeslittlepup]

What did bunnywife!reader and rafe do for their honeymoon? Like where’d they go and what activities did the two of them do?

-🧁

— honeymoon states

it was unusual, surprising. so not the expected st. barths or marrakech rich honeymoon. they could’ve done that, “that’s for tech bros and losers who wear sunscreen. not us.” rafe said, and you, of course agreed.

you hop in the bronco the morning after the wedding. he doesn’t even let you take the dress to the cleaners first, he just shoves it in the backseat and says, “we will deal with it later.” he’s shirtless, just in his jeans. it’s just the two of you, windows down, sunburning shoulders as you drive deeper into the south. south carolina, georgia, alabama… stopping at little gas stations for a cold coke and boiled peanuts.

you check into this dusty peach-colored motel with buzzing neon lights that say “heartline inn”, the air conditioner sounds so loud it seems haunted and the tv only plays two channels, local news and old westerns. you get into your frilly lingerie, as rafe lights a cigarette.

you eat every meal at those old diners, sipping milkshakes with a straw while rafe watches you like you’re the only thing in the world worth protecting. you dance barefoot by a jukebox playing wicked game by chris isaack, and he swears he almost proposes again right then and there.

you have sex in the car, in the shower, on the motel balcony with the sticky heat pressing against your backs. you sit on the hood of the bronco like you’re miss america 1965. of course he buys you tacky souvenir tees and gives you piggyback rides down empty roads.

on the third day, you find a dive bar with a mechanical bull. you ride it while rafe smokes a cigarette and shouts, “that’s my fucking wife, y’all!” but then you fall off and laugh.

it was the best week of your life, you still have the motel room key on your keychain.