may i please request a reaction from the tfc memebrs with an mc who is very quiet and reserved and is an artist? like there's artwork all over their house and they paint dreams they've had? srry if that's too specific lol i just shat out of excitement when i saw requests were open
Reaction: You're an artist
Pierrot would be completely enchanted by your paintings, especially once he learned how many of them were inspired by your dreams. He already finds your quiet, reserved nature comforting; there is never any pressure to fill every silence when the two of you are together, and he quickly learns that you express far more through your art than you usually do through words.
The first time he visits your home, he spends ages slowly wandering from painting to painting, taking in walls covered with strange landscapes, distorted figures, impossible buildings, and places that seem almost familiar despite never having existed. When you quietly explain that you paint your dreams before you can forget them, his interest only deepens. From then on, Pierrot becomes fascinated by the idea that he’s seeing pieces of a world only you have visited, and he treats every canvas almost reverently because of it. He would never rush you to explain a painting, either; if you want to tell him what you remember, he’ll listen to every detail, but if you simply shrug and say the dream didn’t make sense, he’ll happily sit in front of the finished piece and invent gentle little stories about what might be happening inside it.
Secretly, though, Pierrot would begin hoping that one day he might appear in one of your dream paintings. The first time he actually does, even if he’s only a tiny figure standing somewhere in the background, he becomes so visibly emotional that you almost regret pointing it out. To him, the fact that some version of himself followed you into your dreams feels strangely intimate, and he would treasure that painting more than anything else you’ve ever made.
“You painted this from a dream?” Pierrot asks softly, leaning closer to study the hazy landscape stretching across the canvas. When you nod, he remains quiet for a moment before pointing toward a tiny figure beneath one of the trees. “Is that me?” You glance over and smile. “Maybe. I remember someone waiting for me there.” Pierrot’s expression softens immediately as his gaze returns to the painting. “Then I hope I was waiting somewhere safe.” After another moment, he adds much more quietly, “And I hope you found me.”
Harlequin initially underestimates how much work goes into embroidery, and that mistake lasts exactly until he watches you create something from beginning to end. He’d always known you were quiet and preferred occupying your hands while other people talked, but he hadn’t realized the little hoop you carried around was slowly filling with an entire piece of artwork, every tiny stitch contributing to something far more intricate than he expected. Once he understands the amount of patience involved, he becomes genuinely fascinated, though naturally he expresses that fascination by becoming an absolute nuisance.
He sits beside you and watches your needle move through the fabric, asking why you chose a particular thread, whether you can embroider anything, and exactly how offended you would be if he commissioned an enormous portrait of himself. He especially loves the contrast between your reserved personality and the surprising amount of humor or emotion you work into your pieces. If you’re the type to embroider tiny skulls among flowers, strange creatures hidden in elaborate landscapes, or subtly inappropriate phrases surrounded by delicate vines, Harlequin thinks it’s the funniest thing imaginable.
What affects him more deeply, however, is receiving something you’ve made specifically for him. Knowing how many hours went into every stitch leaves him unusually speechless, especially if it’s something personal rather than flashy. After that, he starts proudly wearing or displaying anything you make him, while simultaneously becoming territorial if someone else asks you to make them something similar. Apparently handmade embroidery is an exclusive privilege now, according to rules Harlequin invented five minutes ago.
“You’ve been staring at my hands for ten minutes,” you murmur without looking up from the hoop resting in your lap. Harlequin immediately grins. “Perhaps I enjoy watching talented hands at work.” You glance at him suspiciously before returning to your stitching. “You said embroidery looked easy yesterday.” His expression shifts into exaggerated offense. “I was young and foolish then.” You snort softly, and he leans closer to inspect the design. “Is that for me?” When you quietly admit that it is, his teasing expression falters for just a moment. “…Oh.” He clears his throat and quickly recovers his grin. “Well, naturally. Who else could inspire such artistic devotion?”
Doctor would become fascinated with your sculpting process before he became interested in the finished sculptures themselves. The first time he watches you work, he’s immediately captivated by the technical side of it: how your hands can take something formless and gradually create recognizable anatomy, expression, movement, and personality from it. He would stand nearby far longer than he intended, silently watching your fingers press and smooth the material while occasionally asking incredibly specific questions about tools, structural support, curing times, and why you chose one material over another.
Because you’re quiet and reserved, he appreciates that your studio is one of the few places where the two of you can spend hours together without either person feeling obligated to maintain constant conversation. You sculpt while he reads or takes notes nearby, and eventually his presence becomes such a familiar part of your process that you start automatically clearing a place for him before you begin. Doctor would be particularly interested in any sculptures inspired by dreams, especially the strange ones that don’t obey ordinary anatomy. Creatures with too many limbs, faces emerging from flowers, impossible combinations of human and animal anatomy—he would inspect them from every angle and ask you to describe everything you remembered.
However, the moment that truly catches him off guard is discovering you’ve sculpted him. He recognizes himself immediately, despite whatever artistic liberties you’ve taken, and becomes unusually quiet while studying the piece. Doctor is accustomed to observing others, not being observed so carefully himself, and the realization that you studied the details of his face closely enough to recreate them would leave him far more affected than he wants you to know.
“You’ve made an anatomical error here,” Doctor comments, leaning over your shoulder as you work. You slowly turn your head toward him. “It’s a creature from my dream. It had seven arms and its face opened like a flower.” Doctor pauses before looking back at the sculpture. “…Then I withdraw my criticism. There is insufficient reference material.” You laugh under your breath, and his gaze moves toward another sculpture partially hidden beneath a cloth. “What is that one?” Your immediate attempt to block his view only makes him more curious. “Nothing.” Doctor raises an eyebrow. “You are a poor liar.” When he eventually discovers the sculpture of himself, his fingers hover just above the face without touching it. “…You remembered this much detail?” You smile shyly. “I look at you a lot.” Doctor goes completely silent. For once, you’ve managed to make him the flustered one.
Jester would discover your drawings accidentally, and afterward he would become almost impossible to keep out of your sketchbooks. Because you’re so quiet, people often assume there isn’t much happening beneath the surface, but your art reveals exactly the opposite. Pages are crowded with fragments of dreams, faces you’ve seen only once, strange creatures, distorted landscapes, and tiny observational sketches of everyday life. Jester is fascinated by all of it, especially because drawing seems to be the place where you allow yourself to be completely unfiltered.
He would notice recurring symbols before you do and quietly point out that certain shapes, places, or figures appear whenever you’ve been anxious, happy, lonely, or overwhelmed. This might be slightly unnerving, but he never treats your drawings as something to diagnose; he simply enjoys understanding another language you use to communicate. Jester would also absolutely notice how often he appears in your sketchbooks. At first, it’s a hand, the curve of his costume, or his silhouette across the grounds. Gradually, there are full portraits, quick studies of his expressions, and little drawings of him doing mundane things when you thought he wasn’t paying attention. He wouldn’t embarrass you by confronting you immediately. No, that would be too easy. Instead, he’d start deliberately posing whenever he caught you drawing him, subtly changing positions until you realized he knew exactly what you were doing.
Secretly, though, he would be deeply touched by the drawings. Jester keeps much of himself hidden from everyone, so seeing how you perceive him—especially in quiet, ordinary moments—would feel more intimate than he could comfortably admit.
“You draw me quite often,” Jester says casually, turning another page before you can snatch the sketchbook away. Your face immediately heats. “Give that back.” Instead, he studies a small drawing of himself asleep in a chair, his expression becoming unexpectedly thoughtful. “You make me look peaceful.” You hesitate before answering, “You were peaceful.” His eyes lift toward yours, and for once there is no teasing in his expression. “Is that how you see me?” When you nod, something unreadable flickers across his face before his usual smile returns. “How interesting.” He hands the sketchbook back but taps the page gently before releasing it. “…I think I would like to keep that one.”
Ticket Taker would find your pottery deeply soothing, though it takes him an embarrassingly long time to admit it. He first becomes interested after visiting your home and realizing that nearly every functional object around him was made by you. The slightly uneven mug you serve his tea in, the glazed bowl holding fruit on the table, the tiny dish by the door filled with keys—all of it came from your own hands, and he finds that strangely wonderful. There is something about your quiet personality paired with such a tactile art form that captivates him. He loves watching you work at the wheel, seeing the concentration settle over your face as a shapeless lump of clay gradually becomes something delicate and useful beneath your hands.
Ticket Taker is normally incapable of sitting still when there is work to be done, yet he can spend an entire afternoon nearby while you work, reading through paperwork and occasionally glancing up to watch your progress. He would be particularly charmed by the imperfections you dislike. A slightly crooked rim or a glaze that behaved unexpectedly doesn’t make the piece defective in his eyes; if anything, he likes the evidence that it was made by you rather than produced by a machine.
Eventually, you convince him to try pottery himself, which becomes an exercise in watching one of the most controlled men alive discover that wet clay does not care about his authority. His first bowl is terrible. He insists it’s structurally functional. You insist it looks like it suffered a terrible accident. Despite his wounded dignity, he keeps it forever, especially after you glaze and fire it alongside your own work.
“You use this mug every time you’re here,” you point out one morning, watching Ticket Taker automatically reach past three perfectly good cups for the slightly crooked one you made years ago. He glances down at it as though he’s never noticed this pattern before. “It is functional.” You raise an eyebrow. “The handle is crooked.” He takes a calm sip of tea. “My hand is capable of adapting.” You laugh, and the faintest smile appears behind the rim of the mug. “You like it because I made it.” Ticket Taker remains silent for a suspiciously long moment before setting the cup down with exaggerated care. “…Its creator is certainly a contributing factor.”
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