#actually warm up doodle because I was so busy with work I feel like I forgot how to draw

[brokenpieces-72]

Task force 141! Gangster x Reader

Truth or Pain

This is part 3. Part 2

Leave a comment if you want to be tagged in future posts.

You’re hanging out with Soap again and he watches you work on a your newest piece. You enjoy moments like these. You feel like yourself, and like you aren’t forcing your part. Soap was impressed with your skill. You were very good with your hands, and your work was great demonstration.

“You want to try?” You offer Soap a brush.

“You think I can make somethin as good as you?” He asks taking up your offer.

“Try it.” You say. A small voice in the back of your head suggests getting him on vandalism but you ignore it. He takes the brush and adds a bit of colour to wall… in the form of a very crude doodle of himself.

You finally take a break with him, warming your hands on the hot cup of cocoa.

“So what exactly do you guys do? Like I’ve seen you guys work but… I don’t get it.” You say, breaking the silence.

Soap thinks for a moment before answering. “We do what needs to be done.”

When he looks at you to see your reaction he finds you silently asking for more details.

“The Los Voqueros sell medicines. Simple stuff that’s not easy to afford. Painkillers, allergy meds. Ya know Farah, woman that ‘elped ‘ide us when those cops tried to grab us? She’s a bit of a vigilante, keepin some big corporation from ruin’in her neighbourhood.

“The problems with the world canna be solved by cops and white collars. They don’a’ven want to. We do. We set the world right, and we ‘ven ave a little fun on the side.”

He gives you a soft elbow to the arm. You smile. But underneath there’s a few things going on you’re not telling him. He’s given you two statements. One that can be used on Farah Karim, for aiding two criminals. The other could start a hunt for the Los Voqueros and their shipments of drugs. It wasn’t what you had been sent to find but it was a start. You might actually be taken seriously at the precinct, people might actually start having faith in your abilities. But… Farah had shown you and a few others kindness and trust. Her neighbourhood was constantly being targeted for demolition and businesses. You knew how expensive medications and drugs could be, you had needed them before yourself. As you sat there continuing to sip your warm drink, you started to ask yourself if this was truly what you wanted to do. The cops were bringing down people who were just trying to help. Sure they clubbed and partied on the side but hell, who doesn’t take some personal time?

You decide to keep the information to yourself for now, after all, Graves would only ask for a report on Soap and Ghost. Farah and Alejandro weren’t the priority.

You think back to your father. He was trying to help too. But it got him killed. You couldn’t let a bunch of gangs run free just because they were trying to help. The man sitting next to you had killed people before. He beat up good cops, stole shipments of drugs, and made it difficult for businesses to expand and grow the economy.

The rest of the day goes by fairly casually. You don’t give Graves anything on Soap, because well, he hadn’t given you anything. Nothing you could prove. Graves is frustrated, but he’s honestly too tired to care and leaves soon after.

A few more weeks go by and try to keep tabs on everything you can. The Los Vaqueros approved of the artwork you came up with, and now they were deciding where they wanted it. Hopefully they would give you a chance to be alone to work on it and you could find more evidence. Soap had mentioned helping with recent shipments so maybe you could get something from there.

The location was an old and empty warehouse, practically deserted. Alejandro and Rudolfo went with you to the location to show you where they wanted it.

It was more like where they wanted you though. Next thing you know, Rudolfo has you pinned against the wall while Alejandro is yelling questions.

“What are you looking for?”

“The fuck are you talking about?!” You yell. Rudolfo holds you tighter by your jacket. “Why are you here? What the fuck you want?!” Alejandro is pissed, but you have to stay quiet. You can’t give them anything.

“For the fucking mural! You asked me to!” You choke out. Rudolfo is ordered to drop you and you hit the floor, coughing.

Alejandro is nowhere close to being done with you. A good man he may be, but with traitors? Few could tell you how that went.

You’re met with a boot against your ribs as a warning.

“Why are you really here… out with it.” He warns.

“I don’t kno-“ before you can finish you get the wind kicked out of you.

“You know damn well why you’re here…tell me now.” He orders. Rudolfo keeps an eye out while Alejandro continues interrogating you.

“What are you talking about?!” You manage after regaining some air. He holds up his phone and shows a photo of you… in uniform.

“What are you looking for?” He asks. There’s some lenience as he lets you get to your hands and knees. Alejandro helps you stand by grabbing you and pinning you to the wall again. You try to kick him off, your heart pounding in your chest and ears ringing in your head.

“Start talking!”

“I don’t know what you mean!”

“I know you’re a fucking cop!” He yells. “You’re undercover! I know you are, so start talking! Who else is undercover? What are you trying to find?!”

“Get off!” You yell back. At this point you’d have enough evidence for assault, but right now you were fighting to remain an assault victim.

“Not until you tell me who else is undercover with you.” Alejandro demands, you get punched in the gut making you cough. “Tell me and you walk away!”

“I…don’t…” another hit, this one to the face. There’s footsteps but you barely notice them. He grabs you by the jaw and gets close.

“Talk and I won’t tell Soap… you walk away and nothing happens…”

“…I’m a cop…” you admit. You were scared. You didn’t know how he knew. You weren’t supposed to say anything. When he brought up Soap though… Soap was the only one who seemed to put any trust in you. Losing that would hurt more than anything Alejandro could do to you.

“Where are your partners? Who are they?” Alejandro asks, his rage reducing a bit. Before you can answer though you hear a thick Scottish accent shouting and Alejandro pulled off of you.

You fall back to the ground and see Soap and Alejandro arguing with Rudolfo nearby trying to break them apart. You can barely make out what they’re saying, but eventually two hands grip your arms and help you to your feet just as Soap turns to you.

“Come on kid.” You hear a deep British voice say and you look to see Ghost is holding you, and lead you out of the warehouse while Soap follows not long after.

Ghost gets you to a car, telling you to get in the back which you do and you sit patiently for Soap to come along and sit in the passenger’s seat. They don’t say anything to you, just start driving.

As they get on the road Soap speaks up.

“Where we takin the cop?” He asks.

Your heart plummets when he says it. The way he says it tells you he’s pissed. With you.

“I’m taking Y/N to a hide out. The boss can deal with them.” Ghost said.

Soap looks back at you in the rear view and you look away. Not out the window, but more at the door. Your body was sore from Alejandro, and you were tired. You were too nervous to fall asleep.

When you get to the hideout, you sit up so Ghost can open the door. He jerks his head signalling for you to get out of the vehicle, and you do, keeping your head down. You can’t look at either of them.

Ghost leads you inside with Soap following behind you. He opens the door telling you to sit down, before stopping Soap from going inside and shuts the door.

“The fuck is this?” Soap asks annoyed.

“You’re emotional MacTavish.” Ghost tells him.

“Have fuckin right to be. We trusted ‘em and-“

“They were doing their job.” Ghost finishes the sentence.

“They used us.”

“You knew this was possible… like father like child.” Ghost reminds him. Soap is still pissed and kicks the ground hard in frustration. Ghost just folds his arms, and leans in front of the door frame letting Soap get his colourful Scottish phrases rattle off while tossing and kicking anything he could get his hands on.

You can hear them from outside and you consider running off, running away and not looking back. Soap and his men had given you a chance, a chance you had been waiting for. Soap was your friend, and he would defend you to no end. Any of his men tried to get handsy or get too drunk and go off he was beside you, jabbing back at them. He talked you up to Rudy and Al, assured Farah you were a good person, kept you close to his side… you start to wonder if it had all been for the case, or if you had done it because you felt like you were a part of something for once.

Ghost soon comes back inside, Soap is nowhere to be seen.

“You broken?” He asks. You fight your tears and shake your head.

“Take your jacket off and roll up your shirt.” He orders. You slowly stand and do as he says, showing a couple bruises. Ghost sighs and gets an ice pack from his freezer handing it to you along with a rag. You take it already knowing what to do, while he pulls up a chair and sits in front of you.

“What’s your name?” He asks.

“Y/n… y/n l/n.” You say shifting a little as you placed the ice pack to one of the bruises.

“…you’re a cop.” He says. You nod, despite the statement being rhetorical.

“Soap was aware that could be the case… given your father.” He says. You look at Ghost.

“You…”

“We knew your dad. All of us, including the boss. Good man.” He said as if trying to end the discussion. You two sat in silence for a bit while you mulled over what he said. Your father was a cop, did he do the same thing? Go undercover? Did Graves know?

“Keep the pack.” Ghost says standing up. You follow him to the car and he takes you back to your apartment. Before you exit the car he gives you a piece of paper.

“Text this for a ride.” He says. You take it.

“Could you tel-“

“No.” He says. “Tell Soap yourself.”

You nod and leave the car and go inside to your apartment. It’s late, almost midnight and god knows how long Graves has been waiting.

You knock on your own door and Graves soon opens it. When you walk in you hardly pay him any mind as he’s demanding to know where you’ve been. He keeps asking even while you’re getting some painkillers for your soreness and now headache from Graves.

“Nothing happened.” You say.

“Somethin happene-“

“Nothing… got into a fight that was it.” You say.

“You start it?” He asks.

“…no.”

“Who did?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter sergeant, now start talking!”

“I don’t know anything!” You yell. Your whole body tensed as it felt like you were at the warehouse getting questioned again. You flinched when he got closer. You clenched your fists digging the nails into your palms.

“Sergeant this is getting ridiculous. I have half a mind to take you off this case.”

“Then do it…” you mutter. At this point you don’t care. You’re in pain and this case made everything you had started to care for fall apart. What had Graves honestly done except tell you, you weren’t ready and remind you of the expectations you had being your father’s kid? Soap knew your dad, and never once reminded you of living up to him.

“What?” Graves looks at you stunned.

“Do it. Take me off the case. It’s probably for the best.” You say shrugging. Graves looks at you pressing his lips together. He shook his head.

“Your fath-“

“I don’t give a fucking damn about my father or how I’m his disappointment of a kid okay? You’re right I’m a fucking joke being his kid.”

“I’ve given you a chance to prove yourself!” Graves argues.

“And what have I done? Nothing! I’m a glorified tagger that’s what you said right?! Fine! Then I’ll be one! You gonna arrest me then?” You’re staring him down now. He just looks back, hiding his surprise. If Graves was being honest, he was tempted to do so.

“…I’ll be back in the morning.” He says and leaves your apartment. As soon as the door closes your pain opens. You’re hurting, he can tell. Something happened that scared you and that’s all he sees. He doesn’t know what’s going on deeper. The act was working but on him. The act of joining a gang in order to get closer, but that wasn’t an act to you. Not anymore. You clean yourself up, apply ice to your bruises, and stare at your father’s badge. How much did he know? How much did any of them know? You keep asking questions the whole night.

Price is sitting at a booth in a restaurant going over some paperwork when Johnny strides over and sits in the booth across from him. Price finishes the sentence he was reading and looks up.

“You knew this could happen.” Price says calmly.

“Don’t fuckin remind me…” Soap grumbles.

“How is l/n?” Price asks. “Simon told me he sent her home.”

“He did… Alejandro got to her before I ever could.” Soap comments.

“Yeah well, from what you told me, she won’t be for long. She has my number and if she was talking cops would be knocking.”

“Now what?” Soap asks.

“We wait.” Price tells him.

Taglist : @H0n3y_L3m0n

#cod au #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #task force 141 x reader #alejandro vargas #rudolfo parra #captain john price #cod gangster au #gangster au #phillip graves

[aerodaltonimperial]

(Junglecorpse, 1.4k ish. In my defense, and I know I say this a lot but it's actually true this time, I am very legitimately going through a lot right now, and I don't know if my therapist would approve of this method of self-soothing or no, BUT whatever, Junglecorpse is one of the few pairings that activates my "MUST HAVE FLUFF NOW" toggles when normally I avoid fluff like the plague. I wrote this snippet a few months back or so for Vamp via chat and expanded it today for Myself™️ so I'm posting it here so I can save it on the masterlist. You do not have to read this.)

“Do you think Tony’s gonna lose his mind and create a new pay-per-view every week?” Jack asks, while thumbing up through his Twitter feed somewhat absently. He’s only got his right hand, as Darby has stolen his left. Darby’s got one of his ink pens, the felt-tipped kind he uses to doodle sometimes, and the brush of the tip against the skin on the back of Jack’s hand is calming. Sometimes Jack ends up with skulls littering his knuckles, other times with swoops and flourishes; mostly, he just lets Darby do his thing. It’s familiar.

“Seems like a bad business model,” Darby replies. His head is bowed, chin turned down as he works. Last week, Jack went out to lunch with his sister with a stylized skateboard heading up against the bump in his wrist bone, and she’d laughed for about three minutes straight.

Jack snorts a little, still scrolling. Doom-scrolling, really, though he’ll never admit that to his therapist. “Yeah, people are gonna stop paying if all they ever see is Hanger and Swerve stapling each other’s chests every single month, over and over again.”

“You may be greatly underestimating the public interest in that.” Darby laughs.

“Oh.” Jack frowns at the back glow, squinting a little. “Shit, yeah, you’re right. Man. Should I start up a homoerotic feud with somebody with the sole goal of getting some really violent death matches?”

“Please don’t let anyone else staple your chest,” Darby says, a bit muffled. The brush pen curls along Jack’s skin.

“Anyone else? Whoa, buddy, stapling me was not on the to-do list for this week.”

Darby snorts. “I like you in one piece, thanks. And I’m not a big fan of watching you bleed all over the mats.”

“Oh, sure, but I have to watch you toss yourself spine first off the posts every Wednesday,” Jack says. He taps the screen again with his thumb, pulling down. Something something official AEW twitter, five clips from the last show, and Stokely buying another celebrity Cameo to woo Kris Statlander. Actually, that one’s pretty funny. He got Barack Obama to do it. Jack didn’t even know Obama had a Cameo.

The brush tip swirls, then taps a few times. “Aw. You gettin’ anxious over me?”

“Well, if you die, who’s going to keep my feet warm at night?”

“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to tell you: wear socks. Your feet are fucking freezing.”

Jack huffs out another laugh. The Obama cameo was hilarious. Stokely deserves managing her at this point. “I don’t need socks, I have your legs.”

“Dick,” Darby grumbles.

“But back to this pay-per-view thing. This is a lot of matches. Having even more on Sunday, every month, feels kind of overwhelming. Like, I need to have the roofing guy come look at my place? And I can’t schedule it because Tony keeps creating new shows.”

“Mm.” Another swoop of the brush, then some lines. Jack glides through an update from Prince Nana that reads truly bizarre, a reblog from Bowens that reads genuinely excited, and a post from Danhausen that’s mostly nonsense ending with ‘you’re cursed.’ “Maybe next week. Your shingles? Or the gutters? I don’t think I remember you talking about any other issues.”

“Just the shingles. After that last wind storm, I think a few came off, and now I’m worried the whole damn thing will come down around me one night.”

Darby huffs out a laugh, but the doodling ministrations on the back of Jack’s hand don’t pause. “I think you’d get a bit of a heads up before that happens.”

“Only if someone is physically there to yell ‘heads up’ at all times,” Jack jokes. Another tweet from the official AEW account, and then a reblog. Sammy posted. Ricky posted. Sammy tweeted at Ricky with a bunch of capslock, Ricky quote-retweeted with a gif of a dancing middle finger, and Jack skips all of that. Let them argue on main if they want to. Sammy’s just gonna try to fall on Ricky from the scaffolding again.

“I’ll do it.”

The drawing on the back of his hand stops. “Oh, yeah?” Jack smiles. “Are you volunteering to always…” He looks down at the doodles on his skin, and freezes.

Adorning his knuckles are a series of curves, vine-like, that curl up towards his ring finger where they create a solid horizontal line, and in the middle of his hand, somewhat shaky, given they were written upside down to be read from Jack’s direction, blocky letters spell WILL YOU MARRY ME.

Jack’s chest constricts. He can’t breathe. With his heart roaring against his ears, he whips his gaze up to stare at Darby, whose expression is maddeningly neutral. “Darby. What the fuck?”

“Okay, that’s… a response,” Darby says, with the tiniest of shrugs and a pinch to his lips. “Think it’s pretty clear.”

“Are you… are you serious?”

“Yeah,” Darby replies, mouth quirking up at the corners. “Yeah, I am.”

“You…” Jack’s tongue is ungainly, swollen. “Oh my god.”

“I’m not hearing an answer.”

“But… why would you…”

Darby drops his eyes, dragging his thumb over the topmost part of his impromptu design in a caress, and his smile never really diminishes. “Jack, what did you think this was? What did you think this was going to be? I don’t do things in halves, I told you that from the get-go. You know me. It’s you and me, and that’s what I want. Forever.”

“Are… are you sure?” Jack’s gonna choke on everything bubbling up from his chest.

Darby’s eyes slide back up. They reflect the lamplight, bright shiny starbursts. “Yeah, Jack, I’m really fucking sure. And if you don’t—”

“Yes.”

Darby pauses, tongue slipping out to press into the corner of his mouth. “Yes?”

“Yes.” Jack laughs, the sound bubbling up through his throat. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

“Holy shit.” Darby’s smile widens, impossibly stretched. “Holy shit. Really?”

Jack grabs for Darby’s face, clutching the sides of his head. He mashes their mouths together with way too much force, but he can’t stop it, because the rattling in his veins has started to sing. Then he pulls away. “You asked, you absolute loon, how did you not expect an answer? Yes, really. Really.”

And then he’s not really sure of much other than the fact that they’re both laughing, euphoric, and Jack doesn’t care about the roof anymore, or the idea of someone stapling his chest, because all that really pales in comparison to everything else, and he thinks ah, that’s exactly how it should be.

His brain starts to catch up with reality, sluggish. “Where are we gonna live? My place, or your place? This is opposite sides of the country, you know. Oh, wow. We’re gonna have to file taxes together.”

Darby laughs, features pulled incredulous. “What?”

“Should we hyphenate our last names?” Jack’s eyes track over Darby’s face: blue, blue, blue, his eyes are so blue. Should they have blue in their wedding? Should they have a wedding? “Should we hyphenate them in the ring? Wait, I have to go to the grocery store today, and I don’t want to wash this off my hand. Should I take a photo? Or wear a glove? Am I gonna look like Michael Jackson?”

“Jack,” Darby laughs again, high and bright. “Darling. Light of my life. You’re such a fucking idiot.”

“I’m seventeen steps ahead again, aren’t I.”

Darby grabs his face between his palms. “Yes. Yes, you are. Honestly, I don’t know where we’re gonna live. We’ll probably just keep both places. Yes, we’re gonna have to file taxes together. No, I don’t know if we’ll hyphenate our names; I really don’t give a shit. Yes, you can take a photo. No, you will never look like Michael Jackson.”

“You don’t have an opinion about our names?” Jack asks.

Darby hauls him closer, until their noses touch. He’s smiling, smiling, and Jack’s smiling, the expression too wide and aching on his face. “Jack, I don’t fucking care. I just want to be with you and your stupidly cold feet.”

“Does this proposal come with the condition that I have to buy some socks?”

“Don’t you even dare,” Darby replies, his thumb gliding along Jack’s cheek a little. “You’re gonna shove your feet between my legs in the middle of the night and jolt me awake like you always do, and I’m gonna fuckin’ love it, every damn time.”

“Oh my god, you’re such a sap,” Jack says.

“Get to used to that, ‘cause you’re gonna be legally stuck with me after this.”

“Awesome,” Jack breathes, and kisses him again.

#Junglecorpse #tag so you don't lose this shit #This is not worth reading lol #I just needed it here for me

[h3nry-3mily]

Henry thoughts but I feel like my HC for him is so jank in comparison to others bc he's like. Not The robotics guy he doesn't do the engineering despite that actually being a pretty major thing when it comes to canon

And the REASON it's like that is literally just bc my Henry HC is held together with duct tape and hope since I made a lot of it up after just looking at the game lore

But yeah have some Henry (and William) thoughts:

-William handled robotics while Henry made them less nightmare fuel, Henry's talents lended themselves to character design and development. The less involved Henry is the weirder the animatronics get, which is why you can go from something cute like Freddy and Co to some freaks of nature like the human animatronics in SL

-he knows the basics though, he can preform maintenance and repair them fine but he wasn't great at building them from scratch or developing them on his own. He had lots of IDEAS but not the ability to bring them to actualization

-also had a springlocking Incident, ironically due to William's own accident making him worry for the other's safety. Thankfully it was while he was testing the suit for maintenance and not when he was in public and performing

-springlocking messed one of his legs up pretty bad, hence the use of a cane. Decorated it to make it a little more fun looking bc he kinda hated it plain. He can walk without it and preform in fredbear but it'll start hurting pretty bad if he's not careful.

-he very firmly denies having a favorite of William's kids (it is evan. He won't say it but it's evan.)

-trans!! Fat hairy trans man who's content with his body as it is! He got his tits removed but they're still kinda there just because of his build but he doesn't mind, he knows he'd look doofy if he had a fully flat chest.

-him and his wife got along well but they never really loved each other very deeply. Henry never really got over his thing with Will in college and being with his wife never made him feel the same way as that so he kinda just had those feelings on the backburner for like, years, and now he's kinda fucking weird because of it.

-t4t with wife, works out because half the reason either of them got married was they wanted a kid. Henry carried, decided he fucking hated how being pregnant felt, and proceeded to get his whole damn uterus removed as soon as possible after having charlie. She was the light of both their lives though and I don't think they let their own lacking romantic feelings affect how they raised her.

-while he was generally pretty warm and inviting interacting with guests he did not fuck around when it came to the legal and business side of things. Refused to let anything bad happen to his company, it was his child almost as much as his ACTUAL child, hence all the comments about liability and the like that come up throughout basically every game. You will not get him in trouble with your silly little injuries, no sir.

-he always enjoyed drawing springbonnie and fredbear together. Years in the future even after finding out what William did he still doodles them on occasion.

-A solid cook, I think he liked making things and then bringing leftovers over to the aftons

-physical affection above all else, he loves hugs and would pick up the kids in his arms on the regular. Mike got tired of it as he got to his mean teen phase, much to Henry's disappointment.

-got the songs from fredbears stuck in his head all the time, would hum them to himself pretty often

There's more but I can't think of anything to add rn

#henry emily #willry #william afton #God I love Henry Emily #I love engineer Henry too!! I just don't want to have to rework my HCS WAAAA #So for now he's just the business guy #Feel free to like ask me to elaborate on anything #Kinda tried to put some simple ones and also some more lore important ones

[dragonmuse]

When I first read it, Izzy's "turns out that's called clinical depression" line hit me so hard because it was way too relatable (in More to the Story, was mentioned by anon a few asks back). If you'd like, could we see more moments of realisation/ healing/ recovery for Izzy? <3

(you got it! Also inspired by the weather here today. I've never stated it outright, but Izzy does wind up taking antidepressants and that's what this one hinges on. If you were looking for something different, let me know, happy to take another peak in his windows on this as well! This takes place the winter following Laugh with the Sinners)

The morning dawned gray, a threat of snow hanging in the air. Izzy didn’t get out of bed right away. Sweeney was tucked in beside him and was happy to accept a methodical head scratch that he stretched into, purring with gusto. His ragged ear twitched until Izzy took it between his fingertips and rubbed it in tender circles, while the purr intensified until the sound filled the room. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Izzy informed him and Sweeney’s eyes slid closed. 

Without witnesses, Izzy didn’t even feel particularly weird about pressing a kiss to the soft fur between the cat’s ears, catching the faint smell of his fur. Then he rolled out of bed and made it to the bathroom before Sweeney came charging after in his daily attempt to murder Izzy’s feet. 

It was an off day for the gym, but he got in his run, going over his plan for the day. Oatmeal for breakfast, a tablespoon of strawberry jelly stirred through it. Shower, shave and then in a new step in his morning ritual, he shook out one round white pill from the bottle and dry swallowed it. 

Who knew if it was doing anything? Donna had warned him it would take some time. It had been about two months and so far all he’d noticed was that he needed a refill. But fine. He’d promised he’d try it. He hadn’t actually told Lucius, figured he’d wait to see if it was doing anything or if there were side effects. So far, nothing in both accounts and it was pretty far out. He should mention it, probably.

Thinking about him though, reminded Izzy that Lucius would get here before him tonight. He pulled out a pad of legal paper and scrawled, 

L, 

if you want to get started on dinner,  set the oven to  350 and put the pyrex that’s foil-wrapped on the second shelf.  15 minutes should do it.  Should be home by 6, will text. Cat has been fed, ignore him.

-I 

He paused and then with a small smile, added a doodle. He hadn’t doodled much since he was a kid, but he knew Lucius would appreciate the effort even if his skills fell well short of his boyfriend’s. He put in a little stove, heat waves rising from it and stick figure cat with wide eyes and a thought bubble that said ‘I’m a filthy liar’ above it. 

After a moment’s hesitation, ink bleeding into the paper, he made a very small heart between the note and his initial.  

He forced himself to leave it, not scratching it out. 

The leather jacket settled over his shoulders, and then he was out the door. He met Jim at the office and then it was down to business. It started to snow halfway through the morning, the flakes small and infrequent, but definitely present. 

“First one of the winter,” Jim noted, gravitating to the window. 

“You a fan?” 

“Not really,” they watched it with a slight frown. “Prefer it warm. You?” 

He turned and watched the flutter of flakes. For years,  snow had been an annoyance to schedule around. It made flights late, killed visibility and made footing treacherous. What was to like about it? 

The flakes didn’t stick to the windows. They fluttered down like soft cotton.  

“When I was a kid,” he said, molasses slow, “I used to live for it. If we got let out of school early, Jonah would come and get me. Ma and Da would be working, you know? We would kick up so much shit.” 

“You just ran around the city?” Jim pressed fingertips to the window. Their breath ghosted vapor onto the glass. 

“Yeah. Freeze our asses off. Get home and we’d sit next to the radiator to warm up. Thing was a million fucking degrees.” 

“Guess we weren’t too different,” Jim stared blankly out. “Don't really remember."

They both watched the flakes get fatter, a serious attempt at sticking being made. 

“Come on,” he decided, getting to his feet. “Soup kind of day.” 

“You’re eating out?” 

“The deli on the corner is into all that hippie organic shit. I grilled the kid at the counter the other day until he shit himself, it’s clear.” 

It was still too cold to be pleasant outside, but the snow was intent on falling in a picturesque way. Jim’s hat kept it off their face, but halfway there, they tipped back their head and caught a single flake on their tongue. 

They ate matzo ball soup, thick with vegetables and dill. The deli was nearly empty, the chill keeping people home. They both got cups of coffee for the walk back, steam raising from the holes in the lids. 

Their afternoon client was exacting, but between the two of them, they got through it. Jim had notes on hand, Izzy the photos. The man was anxious and fretful, wanting additional information for every thought. It was enough to drive someone to violence, but Izzy felt for him a little. The guy didn’t want to believe his long time business partner was robbing him blind, who would? So he sat, patient as he could, letting Jim take over when his calm ran out. 

All in all, they wound down almost to the minute Izzy thought they would. 

“You want a ride home?” Izzy checked, looking out the window again. Jim followed his gaze. The snow hadn’t intensified, but the wind was gusting now. 

“Yeah. Thanks.” 

It was a little out of his way, but this way Jim went from warm building to warm car to warm building with only a gasp of cool air in between. Wasn’t like they would do him much good if they came down with something in this weather. Anyway, what was a few minutes to him? 

He was still back home just after six, watching the elevator tick through floors until it released him. The hallway smelled like tomato sauce, so Lucius had likely followed his instructions. That was good, he was getting hungry. 

Opening the door intensified the smell and gave him the sight of Lucius leaning against the island, watching the stove like it might explode. He was wearing a thick sweater that Izzy hadn’t seen before, a tightly ribbed thing in a rust color. He had pulled it down over his hands a little. There was water dotting through his hair, evidence of the walk from the subway to the building. 

Izzy didn’t bother saying hello, just stepped in close so he could slid his hand over the sweater, the ridges pleasing against his fingertips though not nearly as much as the solid warmth beneath. Lucius folded his arms around him with a pleased hum. Izzy leaned into him, closing his eyes briefly. 

“Should be ready soon,” Lucius said. “I liked the note.” 

“Mm,” Izzy pulled back enough to press a kiss to Lucius’ jaw. “Want a towel for your hair?” 

“Yeah.” 

Izzy kicked off his shoes and hung up his jacket, then went to the bathroom and got a hand towel. He went back to the kitchen, suppressing a smile when Lucius just ducked his head expectantly. Lazy thing. Izzy ran the towel over his hair, flinging icy droplets around. 

The timer went off and they busied themselves with plates and forks for a while. Lucius told him about his day, describing a back and forth with a gallery owner that left Izzy laughing.   

“What about you?” 

“Eh, Roberts this afternoon.” 

“Bummer,” Lucius sighed. “How’d he take it?” 

“Badly. Don’t know if he’s going to believe us no matter what we show him, but he has it and he’s paying, so can’t ask much more than that.” 

“Still,” Lucius wrinkled his nose. “I can’t imagine going through all that evidence and just deciding to ignore it.” 

“He wants to believe his partner.” 

“Yeah. Geez. Hard to hate on that. Anything else?” 

“Nah, quiet morning. Want to put something on?” 

“Yeah okay.” 

Izzy turned over the morning’s passing thought as the television flickered color over them. When the show ended, he hit pause. 

“Listen, I figured I should tell you that I started taking something.” 

“Hm?” Lucius blinked, then tuned into him, the sudden force of his regard something Izzy could feel on his skin. 

“Donna recommended I try it. Just some antidepressants. Started them seven weeks ago.” 

“Oh, huh, thanks for telling me,” Luicus said neutrally. “You going to stay on them?” 

“Don’t know. Haven’t noticed a change.” 

“No?” 

Izzy frowned, turned to face him more fully, “You have?” 

“I mean I didn’t know there was a reason, but...yeah. A little.” 

“How?” 

Lucius pulled one leg up onto the couch, so he could face him more fully. “Okay...I think you’ve been less irritable. Like not in a pod person way or anything, but like noticeably chiller.” 

“I have?” 

“Yeah, I mean, last week when we had to change our plans, you didn’t complain even a little.” 

“Well, it wasn’t anyone’s fault,” he frowned, but turned that over.  “What else?” 

“Just seem...dunno. Little more open, maybe? Willing? Hard to say. But it doesn’t matter what I think. You have to like it, goblin. If it’s not working for you, then you stop.” 

He thought about the snow. How it meant driving more slowly and getting his socks wet. How he’d had to change his route to get Jim home.  How it had always made his life harder.  

“I think I’ll keep up with it for now,” he decided. “See how I go.” 

“Mmkay,” Lucuis took his hand in his, rubbing his thumb over Izzy’s knuckles. “Want to head to bed?” 

And that was the easiest choice he’d made all day.  

Later though, as Luicus snored lightly behind him, Izzy couldn’t quite fall asleep. He slipped out of bed and went to the window. It was really coming down now, blanketing the world. He leaned his forehead against the glass. 

He could easily imagine two boys, no hats, red ears, darting through the snow. Headed home eventually, but for now alone in the peace of cold and no one yelling after them. It had been a giddy feeling, cut loose and soaring.

Later, there was Faith in heavy boots, trying to get up on her tiptoes to draw circles in white powder, her pink earmuffs dense with caught flakes.

And he could just catch the memory of Eddy, beard heavy and white, eyelashes dotted like pearls and their breath coming out in raw pants as they charged down a street in some windblown country. When she realized what she looked like, she had thrown her head back and laughed, that wild sound that reached into Izzy and scrambled him around.

Maybe he'd liked winter. Izzy ghosted his breath of the window, watched the fog build and retreat. Maybe he'd loved it all along. Even with a memory like his, you were bound to forget things, he figured. When he fell asleep at last that night, he dreamed of ice on a clear wide lake and the echoes of laughter in the air.

#leda house and the kraken verse #ficlet #goblin king and the pup #izzy hands #lucius black

[ofmermaidstories]

hi merms! i hope this doesn't come across as weird or anything. i'm a student stuck at home in a less than ideal living situation and am kind of going through a hard time. your blog just brings me so much joy and i scroll through it at the end of every day because your little updates and doodles have such a warm presence. it's just very lovely and comforting and i wanted to thank you for being a sort of safe harbor.

Oh Anon. I’m sorry; it’s hard when you don’t have immediate options. ☹️ They will come, eventually, but in the meantime you are doing so well. It’s not easy to stay afloat!!! And sometimes we have to because if we don’t it makes things worse but I think you are doing wonderfully, even if it doesn’t feel like it. You’re so clever for doing school!!!! It might be a hard slog but those options it will give you—they will be golden. 🥺 And I hope they mean nothing but freedom. 🌷

In the meantime, my little love, would you like some inane prattling? It’ll be like we’re facetiming, kinda!!! I guess it’s super one-sided though but uh… let’s pretend anyways. I actually fell asleep last night watching a tiktok live (lmfao) of someone just walking around their city—it was so relaxing, but the next thing I knew I was waking up at like, 2am and the live had ended and tiktok had scrolled me onto a foreign news… channel streaming?

Speaking of tiktok: I saw a really interesting video about someone talking about Mariah Carey re-releasing this secret soft-grunge album she made in the 90s? She’d spend her days like, recording her pop album—the money maker—and then spend her nights with a handful of people writing and recording the grunge album and I dunno—I really admire that! Like, beyond admiring Mariah in general for just being an artist, it’s fascinating hearing about people like—burning the candle at both ends in the pursuit of something creative, you know? I kinda touched on this in my last ask, I guess, but it’s such a luxury to be able to do that (in a way—Mariah was eventually found out by her record company and her controlling husband, neither of which wanted her to make or release that album, so then she got a friend to do the vocals for it and released everything super secretly, like that). But beyond Mariah’s specific case, it’s just—I dunno. I admire the drive to do whatever you need to make that one thing that’s eating away at you. Writing before work, during it if you can—after, when you should be making dinner or sleeping. Humans are so funny. I love it so much (sometimes).

I got the two books I had on hold at the library out, today! I wore my romance novels t-shirt, which was unintentional, but hey at least it was thematic. The problem is is that I think I have been too optimistic about my willingness to devote time to reading, LOL. Where did this hunger come from??? Oh my gosh, no, Anon, listen—if you could do one thing without failing, one thing that would work out perfectly, what would you do? Because I was thinking about this today, right, when I was in the library and looking at books and mulling over how I would answer your ask and I think I would run a little bookshop. Booktok is a plague but it’s also shown that if you give people a genuine community where they can like—talk about things they like (or don’t) and recommend stuff to each other, it like, just seems to remind people, and introduce people, of/to the wonders of reading??? And if I knew I could run a little business without it like tanking and taking me with it, then—I’d have a little bookshop!!! Just a tiny one!!!! Order enough of the popular titles to bring in people, and then throw in some newer authors that sound fun, and then some obscure things. And have romances novels—so many!!!

We have a little bookstore in town and sometimes I like to pop in and browse it—the woman that works there is very sweet. She wrote and self-published a book about how much she loves her horses! But we always chat (she always asks me about the book that I was writing, when I first met her—although I’ve updated her to the fact that we’re writing anime-boyfriend fanfic now LMAO), and about a month or so ago I was in there and she was like, “Don’t panic, but I have to close the shop because I’ve promised next door that I would work their til for them, so I’m going to close the door and if you need me, or you wanna leave, just come through the closet!”

The closet, it turns out, is this actual, teeny tiny skinny silver of space—behind a bookcase. You just pull the bookcase forward and viola! There’s a little corner corridor that leads into the toy shop next door. It’s absolutely magical. I was completely euphoric—I had an entire bookstore to myself, for as long as I wanted: just me and all those books, and then when I left I opened a secret passage that let me into the toy store next door. Like!!!! It was delightful. It makes me laugh. I love knowing that it’s there. I love that little shop. It has a little table in the middle of the store with a vase of flowers, where they arrange books for display and the whole place is brightly lit and behind the counter they have a rack of wrapping paper. 🥺

I dunno, Anon. 🥺 If I could make things easier for you, I would. The very least that any of us is owed is safety and security and a place to thrive. You’re doing well, Anon. And this won’t be forever, no matter what the hardest days try to tell you otherwise. 🥺 You are doing well and you are okay and if you want something silly to distract you then I will do the same thing for you that I’m doing for our other Anon, beforehand—I’ll save up whatever fun or thought-provoking thing I can find and bring them to the table for our pseudo video-chats. 🌷📱💕

#ofmermaidstories-asks #you’re a good egg anon and i am *willing* the week ahead to be good to you 🥺💕

[electrifiedgears]

UMMMM. I haven’t posted in a while because I am in object OC mode (in comparison to actual fandom mode) So I guess I might as well say where you can find information on my OCs until I get back to fandom business?

I have an instagram account which has a LOT of object OC content…….. the most of it can be found here, but it is not very well-organized at all 😅

As well as a Toyhouse which doesn’t have as much, but I hope to put it to more use eventually!!

And yeahhhhh . I’ve also been working on a Wattpad book with object character stories as well!!

But anyways!! Those are probably the best places to go if you want to learn more about my object characters!!! If anybody has any questions feel free to ask because I like talking about my silly object universe =)

ACTUALLY I’ll say some stuff about it because bwahaha. I can.

My FAVORITES to mess around with are Timey (an alarm clock) and Metal Straw (a… metal straw.)

I started using them in June of 2019, for object camps!! Timey was the host for one I made (called Timey’s Fun Object Camp, although it was originally “Timey’s Fun Doodle Camp” but I preferred the acronym “TFOC” over “TFDC”.) Metal Straw was kinda their assistant, and lover💙💙💙 They’ve had MANY ups and downs, but always seem to come back to each other in the end.

In my object universe clocks (I like clocks a lot of you can’t tell) can have their hands affected by physical and mental stress form life, meaning that they’ll be too slow or too fast if they’re stressed or sick. This can be bad for them mentally, but ESPECIALLY if they’re self conscious about having the right time!!

Timey grew up with their dad, Analog, who was very strict about being on time, since he thought being off-time was seen as unreliable. Clocks that are off-time FEEL off-time as well, which can lead to them staying up too late or being late to things. It can also cause them to be early (it depends whether they’re ahead or behind, they can usually sense what time it is if their hands work well.)

Metal Straw doesn’t relate to this clock problem, since he is a metal straw. They DO however have trouble in specific temperatures!! They will often get super cold or super hot compared to other objects, due to being metal, and it’ll be hard to cool her off or warm her up. Metal Straw doesn’t like being compared to actual straws, and doesn’t mind other objects using them, but personally doesn’t like using them himself (clocks however sometimes will feel replaced when an object uses another clock, this is not for every case though.) Metal Straw also feels ashamed in the fact that the sun shines very brightly off of them, when makes it hard for objects to look at it sometimes. Timey however loves staring at the sun (for some reason??) so they do not mind.

There is also magic in my object universe (which is how the objects are alive to begin with) but I don’t feel like getting into that since that is it’s own version of complicated and I don’t want to be typing here all night haha. (But if somebody actually wants to hear about it I wouldn’t mind……….)

Anyways that’s the ramble for today. If anybody reads this??? Hope it was??? At least somewhat enjoyable??? Okay bye bye

#object shows #object oc #object ocs #there are at least ten clocks #I wish I was kidding #it was an accident #object show community #osc #zappyrhinopost

[kurohaai]

"❤️ Well that was-"

"Awful."

--

Thanks @theartisticapparition for dragging me back to my bullshit, I hope you're happy

Took place after the this first image supposedly.

#Hiveswap Friendsim #Zebruh Codakk #Ofelia Asvini #fantroll #Homestuck #doodle #Kuroha Ai #actually warm up doodle because I was so busy with work I feel like I forgot how to draw #(all of my work was done however good job me) #onward to my one week holiday #my poor poor child I'm sorry Ofelia dear this is your life now #her pen fell down somewhere #probably in the janitor closet idk

[statticscribbles]

Doodle

Summary: Newt/Reader; Soulmate AU,whatever you write/draw on your skin appears on your soulmates

All throughout school you’d catch doodles and scribbles on your arms; occasionally the faint sketch of some creature but mostly small flowers or magically drawn birds. You’d never figured out who it was during your time at hogwarts; but when you started working in the ministry; the drawings became a comfort, you often wonder if they play a role in your decision to work in the Magical Creature’s department. You don’t usually respond to the drawings, they either appear in places you can’t easily reach due to your clothes covering them; or you’re working on gathering information and trying your best to do research about the creatures everyone wants to destroy. You hate how wrong that feels and you take more comfort in the drawings of the creatures as if they’re being studied, not hunted; soon lists were added; odd ingredients or items. It was a silly habit but you found yourself buying the plants that were most commonly listed as well as keeping a small hoard of galleons for whatever kept stealing your soulmates. You’d never actually talked to him; but one day after he angrily scraped three underlines under ‘liquid seaweed’ did you draw a small frowning niffler next to it; you added a speech bubble and the words “that stung” colouring in the tears. The reaction was immediate; swirls and flowers and branches suddenly heated your skin, magically drawn on. It sunk in your soulmate never realized you’d returned the doodles; just that they had forgotten how much they’d drawn on themselves.

I’ve never thought I would have a soulmate all my time at ----------- I couldn’t ever remember seeing drawings. You frown and the gap in the sentence; you knew locations and names wouldn’t go through. You draw the niffler again; sitting on your wrist and adding a speech bubble filled with magic hearts I always thought you were too busy with whatever you do.

Research. He responds and draws a heart around the niffler.

You like nifflers? You ask and he draws another bunch of hearts before adding. They're cute but they steal everything shiny he adds a frown and you cross over it grinning as you draw yet another niffler holding a heart. They just want love is all; and all your shinies. You look up jumping when you see Thesues Scamander standing in front of your desk looking unimpressed.

“Sorry sir; what can I do for you?”

“I need the report from the incident with the grindylows from the other day. Murklow said that it could be a cover for a Grindelwald meeting.” You nod pulling your sleeve down and waving your wand to pull the report he’s asking for.

“Here you are sir; anything else?”

“Were you talking to your soulmate?” You flush a little at his question, nodding.

“Well if he likes nifflers as much as you; ask about other creatures?”

“Oh that’s a good idea sir!” You grin and he smiles softly.

“Call me Theseus, Y/N.” You nod, waiting until Theseus leaves and then scribbling on your arm a question that your soulmate leaves blank for two hours. Do you like magical creatures or are you like most others? You’re not sure what you’re expecting but you receive a paragraph along your thigh with only a few of the words blanked. You read through all of it twice grinning at how passionately he talks about how misunderstood most creatures are. You draw a niffler offering a heart out and then ask Have you read Fantastic beasts and where to find them? It just came out; I love it. You grin to yourself when a string of hearts answers your question. What do you think of the author? You chew your lip jumping when your boss calls you for a new case. You scowl at the information; most of the department still believed in the older information of most of the magical creatures. The new case was investigating a group of knarls that were nearing a muggle area. You spend the rest of the day gathering as much information about the area the knarls were last seen and what you’ll need to capture and relocate them.

Sorry work got busy; I love the author, he seems so kind and wonderful. You offer frowning when there’s no reply.

“Y/N!” You turn when you hear your name called and are surprised to see Thesues walking over.

“Yes?”

“You’re working on that Knarl case right?” You nod letting Theseus update you on the whereabouts, apparently the knarls were only in the muggle area because there’s a Jarvey that took over there home.

“A Jarvey.” You scowl sighing.

“Thank you Theseus; this makes dealing with it a lot easier; at least I can sort of talk to the Jarvey.” You roll your eyes and he grins.

“You off home now?”

“No; I’m off to go see if I can find the Jarvey; or the Knarls.”

“You think you can talk to them?”

“The Knarls yes; the Jarvey, hopefully.” You wave goodbye to Theseus as you take the floo network home.

Do you know about Jarvey’s? I have to deal with one soon. You wait for a reply as you pack a bag; drumming your fingers as you get no response before you apparate to the area that the report said they were in.

To catch one? You nod before writing yes. All you get is a half sketch half doodle of a niffler, with a heart and it making what you assume is a thumbs up gesture.

You groan waking up after having spent most of the night trying to convince the Jarvey to leave the Knarls alone and find a better home. You’d been called a bitch and vermin about fifty times before you’d gone to speak to the Knarls; the Jarvey had been offended enough to counter offer your idea of leaving the Knarls home to find a new one for himself. That was after he’d angrily scraped at your arm; almost tearing through the doodled nifflers.

You managed to agree to rehome the Knarls away from the muggle area; and even offered the Jarvey some moles you’d managed to gather before you’d gone to meet them. You’d gotten as close to a thank you as possible from a Jarvey and he even offered to come with you to the ministry to explain what you’d agreed with. You’d assured him while you appreciated it; you didn’t like the idea of him being captured. He’d then drawn a crude sort of star on your palm with a black marker he’d found and you’d returned to the ministry with the Knarls in a cat carrier with blankets charmed to stay warm.

“Good morning Y/N.” Thesues grins and you nod yawning.

“Late night?”

“Yeah; but I got the knarls.”

“You got the knarls?” He looks down to the case and you grin.

“And the jarvey?”

“He’s enjoying his new home and the snack I brought him.”

“You fed the Jarvey? And talked to it?”

“I mean I don’t know how much of a conversation it was; I was explaining everything going on and he kept calling me a bitch.” You shrug setting the knarls; which continue to sleep under your desk as you start to work up the report.

Did it go okay? You grin at your soulmates question, drawing a crude doodle of the knarls in the carrier. We all survived. Minus my pride. You don’t look at the response for a while finishing up the report and waiting till lunch to find your supervisor to ask about relocating the knarls.

The jarvey decided to knock me down a peg. Beside the explanation you doodle the jarvey with an angry face and a little speech bubble with the words bitch and vermin in it. The only response is a frowning face.

Since you know so much about magical creatures; where's the safest place for me to bring the knarls? You chew your lip hoping that wherever he describes won’t be blanked out. Suitcase. Or a large field with plenty of hedgerows; anywhere a hedgehog would live. You nod drawing a circle and question marks around the word suitcase.

“Y/N where are you off to?” You hold up the case, the knarls chattering at you and you frown.

“I’m sorry guys; I just have to have a quick chat and we can get you a nice big field and some new worm hunting grounds.” They chitter again and you sigh.

“I’m heading to drop the knarls off to a much better home.”

“Your soulmate give you advice?” Theseus grins as he walks up spotting the carrier in your hands.

“Apparently I need a suitcase.” You laugh showing Thesues the writing on your arm. He nods glancing from the knarls to your arm and back to you. He doesn’t say anymore simply turning away back towards his department. You shrug and leave the ministry building to apparate to one of your favourite spots in the countryside. You glance to the abandoned cottage before nuding the door open and opening the carrier to let the knarls wander out.

“There we are. Is this an okay spot?” You hum as the knarls seem to vanish. You make a note to check back on them in the coming weeks. You know you still have time for lunch but you decide to return back to the ministry to avoid rushing and being able to have a cup of tea in peace. You’re sitting in the lobby people watching when you can see a figure stagger out from the floo network and almost tackle Theseus to the ground. You try not to laugh when Theseus grins hugging the figure as the figure seems to hang limply in his grip for a moment before his head swivels looking around.

“It’s lunch right now.” You can hear Thesues’ voice and you note how the man next to him wilts. You try your best not to laugh at them returning to your tea before you can feel eyes on you. You don’t say anything feeling the faint scratch of a pen on your arm. Turn around and wave. You roll your eyes turning and waving. The man next to Theseus stares at the ground while Thesues moves towards you.

“Y/N. How’s lunch going?”

“You lost your friend.”

“My brother actually, Newt; come over here and say hello to Y/N she works in the department for magical creatures.”

“Oh; hello.” He walks slowly over extending his hand and you catch a familiar black star shape on his palm.

“Your soulmate?” You question and he nods.

“No clue what they mean by the star; but it’s nice to finally talk to them.” He grins slightly and you laugh a little nodding.

“What about you?” Thesues comments and you look down to your palm at the star shape.

“The Jarvey I talked to earlier. He decided it was a parting gift.” Newt steps closer to examine it; his fingers brushing over your palm; barely touching it.

“Is this the same jarvey that called you a bitch and vermin? I might have to have a word with him.” He mumbles and you try your best not to give anything away with how Newt keeps side glancing to Theseus.

“I was wondering; since you’re the expert here; I dropped the knarls off to a new area; and I don’t know if it’s a proper place for them..” You trail off and can see Thesues roll his eyes.

“You two enjoy your talk about knarls; remember lunch is over in twenty minutes.” Thesues reminds you and you nod waiting as he leaves before you look up at Newt.

“Hey.” He grins watching as you press your palms together to match the stars up.

“Your drawings are much better than my doodles of a niffler.”

“I thought they were very true to reality.”

“Is this why you mentioned a suitcase.”

“Yes; did it help you catch on?” he tilts his head and you gasp. He grins as Pickett pokes his head out.

“Not now Pickett.” Your hand drifts upwards and Pickett’s hands reach towards you and climbs on your hand.

“Oh. Hello there sweetheart. Aren’t you just the most impressive bowtruckle I’ve ever seen.” Pickett taps his little hands on your figner nails and Newt sighs.

“His ego is big enough; please don’t lie to him.”

“It’s the truth. No harm in reminding him. He really is incredible though. His leaves are a beautiful green shade.” You grin and Pickett taps faster on your hand before scurrying towards your shoulder as Newt reaches for him.

“Pickett no!” he scolds trying to grasp at the bowtruckle as he hunkers down  on your shoulder.

“Newt it’s alright; I can show you where the knarls are anyways.” He looks towards the clock and you catch your supervisor's attention.

“Yes Y/N.”

“I dropped the knarls off sir; is there anything else?”

“Oh good; we have two new cases one involving; what else were you going to ask.”

“Well sir; I’ve just found my soulmate and I was hoping-“

“Go home! Talk with each other. For Merlins sake Y/N; you have enough vacation days regardless of  the soul week you get to spend off. Go on.” He nods and you grin.

“Thank you.” You grin and Newt waves to him, you laugh a little when he falters and glaces to both of you.

“Theseus is going to kill me.” He grins and you quirk an eyebrow.

“Really?”

“Yes; I was just talking about how I finally realized I do have a soulmate and he all but demanded to see what we’d written. He lost it when he saw the writing; I guess I know why. He recognised your handwriting.” You smile at him nodding to the Floo network.

“Here; hold my hand.” Your hand twines with his as you step into the floo-place and close your eyes speaking the area of the countryside.

“Here we are.” You grin and Newt looks around.

“This seems perfect for knarls.” You grin back at him.

“Now may I show you the first option?”

“The suitcase?” You look confused and he grins holding his hand out. You close your eyes; you’re not sure why but Newt grins.

“Okay open!” you spot his face; halfway obscured by a young Occamy curling around his neck.

Support My Writing?

#newt scamander #newt scamander x reader #newt scamander x you #newt scamander x y/n #fantastic beasts and where to find them imagine #fantastic beasts and where to find them #fbawtft reader insert #fbawtft imagine #fbawtft #eddie redmayne #eddie redmayne imagine #newt x reader #harry potter imagine #harry potter reader insert #harry potter #soulmate au #stattic

[whaleofatjme1920]

SCP 49 general romance headcannons. Maybe with a D class

SCP 049 Dating a D-Class

[GN!Reader]

[Warnings: I mention murder in the beginning? It's very vague though.]

[AN: I like writing D Class as straight criminals so that's uh, getting worked in here lol. Lets me work in my enemies to lovers trope. Also no, I refuse for this to be seen as an "uwu Reader was just misunderstood" Reader will be appropriately called out for murder.]

Let's get into the meat of it who exactly are you? You were a nurse assistant in a relatively busy hospital. You worked in a senior ward and often helped where you could. However, you had some extreme misguided empathy and would "put people out of their misery" for things you deemed far too hard to deal with. And suddenly, 15 people were dead under your care. Of course, the hospital found this suspicious as the deaths were just too convenient even if the victims were elderly and you were uncovered as their killer. Of course, this is messed up both morally, ethically and in the eyes of the law. You were sentenced and put on death row.

And that leads you to now, with 049.

When D Class are thrown in with 049, it's largely understood they'll end up as one of his little pet projects, a mindless drone that becomes a monster when provoked.

Weirdly enough, I think that 049 kinda knows what the D Class are visiting him for? He's managed to manipulate research and observation staff into giving him info on the D Class being shoveled in because his tendency to want to experiment on them goes up the worse the crime they committed is.

049 finds out what you did and he's absolutely confused. Appalled, kind of gets it? He just has to talk to you.

You end up really fleshing out a relationship with him. It's deeply philosophical, and slowly the two of you start getting closer. He's kind of at odds with you because he doesn't think it's really your place to decide life or death for anyone, but at the same time, he did that for Dr. Hamm under the false notion of "I want to cure him."

He calls you a murderer a lot. It's sneered and you do the same thing back. You know who you're in the presence of.

But that's stuff I'll flesh out later, you wanted romance, it's time for the romance aspect.

You and 049 have a very odd relationship. He's not entirely gentle with you. It's kind of carved out through playful banter and wanting to one up each other.

You two still cannot touch. Because his clothes are a physical part of his body, the two of you cannot touch unless he's wearing like, legitimate gloves of you're in a full on hazmat suit. The Foundation doesn't care about your romantic relationship, so the two of you are often just barely touching each other.

He speaks to you in French and says such sweet, loving things to you. If he's speaking in French, it's pure poetry. He adores you and will let you know in his most beloved tongue.

The two of you don't always feel like talking out loud, so you'll share a notebook and write little notes to each other. Entire journals filled up with secrets, words of love, parts of your life... If you've ever seen those doodle dates where you exchange drawings every 10 minutes, it's a lot like that.

You try to gift him things when you can, and that's pretty sweet of you considered the Foundation doesn't really care about your romantic relationship. It's keeping 049 stable, so that's all they can really ask for.

You and 049 like to dine with each other in the same room.

When he's cuddling you, full hazmat no skin to skin contact, he's warm and purrs! He pecks the side of your head and wishes he could actually kiss you, but for now, this is good enough.

Sometimes you assist him in experiments.

Loves to hold your hand when you're both gloved. He thinks it's very sweet and one of the purest forms of affection and love.

#scp x reader #scp headcanon #scp 049 headcanons #scp 049 x reader #scp 049

[glowingbadger]

Physical affection hcs for Diluc please ? Like, if he's touchy, it he's even the type to be physical, what kind of stuff he does or prefer or something, stuff like that? (in my hcs he's inconsciously very love ans touch-starved but won't think about it in the first place, but off you go~)

So nice to see so much love for our grumpy redhead lol :3

((wasn't sure if you wanted SFW or NSFW, so I just separated the spicy ones below the cut- Enjoy!))

Diluc physical affection HCs

x Gender neutral reader SFW

I definitely agree that Diluc would be fairly touch/affection-starved, and this would have never occurred to him until he’s finally found someone he desperately wants to show his feelings to. His love language is generally more about acts of service, but the moment he unconsciously places a hand at the small of your back as you’re walking around the vineyard one evening, he notices the way your body leans into his touch, then the near-overwhelming rush of warmth in his chest. He’s completely caught off guard by how much he enjoys the sensation.

Still, you’ll never catch him showing outright physical affection in public or during work hours. The most you can expect then is an arm around your waist, or a brush of his hand against yours. In private though, this man is a cuddler. He loves nothing more than to spend a quiet evening in bed or on a couch with you lying on his chest, both of you doing some light reading and periodically chatting (he’s mastered the art of juggling a book in one hand while his other arm remains firmly around you)

He tries his best not to let on, but Diluc does experience some joint and muscle pain in his hands and arms- after all, he spends half of his day on paperwork and the other half swinging around a sword as tall as he is. If you take his hand in yours while you’re relaxing for the evening and massage away the aches and pains, he absolutely melts. The feeling of you touching him so familiarly and intimately, and the thought that you would do something so kind for him is nearly too much for his heart to bear.

When he’s tired or exhausted, he’ll pull you close with your back to his chest, close his eyes and rest his head at the crook of your neck. Maybe it’s because he’s not accustomed to showing this more vulnerable side of himself, but he won’t say a word, and won’t let it show on his face- he’ll simply let his body relax against you and just feel you there with him.

Diluc has a habit of kissing you for seemingly innocuous reasons. You’ll catch him watching you intently as you read or doodle or work on cleaning up a bit- entirely every day activities that he’s suddenly enthralled by because it’s you doing them. When he sees you’ve noticed him staring, he’ll silently tilt your face up towards him with a finger, place a soft kiss on your lips, then turn back to his own business.

NSFW 18+

I’ve touched on this before, but Diluc loves to adore and worship your body. He’ll take his time running warm but calloused hands down your sides, gripping your thighs around his waist. All the while, he nuzzles your neck, placing light kisses across your skin and whispering to you how gorgeous you are and how deeply he desires you.

Because he knows his own physical strength, he’s actually a bit nervous at first about hurting or overwhelming you in bed. He’s committed to foreplay to begin with, but pair that with how delicately he’ll treat you, and you might eventually have to convince him to be more forceful with you.

Related to this- he quite enjoys giving oral pleasure. This is partially because he figures he’s not likely to be too rough on you with his lips and tongue like he might be with his hands- though it’s also related to his body-worship kink. While not necessarily submissive, he does want to make it extremely clear how much he adores you, and that he’s ready and willing to do anything to make you feel good. The feeling of your body arching beneath him and your fingernails dragging through his hair while he licks and kisses you and pulls you closer by your hips is so intoxicating that he’ll be rock hard by the time you climax.

#diluc #genshin impact #diluc headcanons #diluc x reader #genshin headcanons #not sfw #not sfw text #fluff headcanons #diluc imagines #genshin x reader

[demonicheadcanons]

Can I get the brothers reacting to finding MCs sketchbook and it’s filled with drawings of the demon who picked it up? All of them are masterpieces and some are angsty or sad, others happy, some just them doing mundane things. When confronted, MC just says “Of course I draw you all the time, you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. You’re my muse.” Thank you in advance, if it’s too complicated you can skip.

AN: This cute prompt has been sitting in my inbox for far too long. Thanks for sending this in Nonny <3 I love this idea. I tried to keep each scenario short so I could get this done quickly, as you’ve waited long enough for it. Tried is the key word here ;u;

You’re maybe already dating the boys in these? Or very close? They’re not explicitly romantic but have some affection. I also didn’t make the MC say these exact words, or even anything at all in some of these prompts, but the general feeling is still there. I hope that’s alright!

Lucifer

You left the book behind when studying together, rushing off to meet up with Mammon after you realised you were late and would hear hell for it. He notices it sometime later, too busy relishing on even the short period of time he’d gotten to spend alone with you in relative peace.

He picks it up and, curious, with no worries that you might not really want him to look through it, he flips it open to the first page. He realises what it is right away, and continues to flip through the pages until he gets to a drawing of him. Its such a perfect represention of the moment that he can recall exactly when you must’ve drawn this.

You’d come into his room to have a break from all the noise in the rest of the house, and you had laid on your stomach on his bed and worked away at something as he went through paperwork at his desk. He’d wanted to ask you, at the time, what had you so focused, but he hadn’t wanted to ruin the sight.

He continues to flip through the pages, and frowns slightly for every drawing he sees of one of his brothers, but his lips twitch up every time there’s even a simple doodle of him. He counts, unconsciously, and realises you’ve drawn him more than anyone else. Pride swells in his chest, so very familiar and not at the same time.

He hears the tapping at his door and calls out, immediately, for you to come in. He knows that knock, after all, and you’re one of the few members of the house that he wouldn’t hear coming down the corridor. He leans against the front of his desk, holding your book open in front of him, not bothering to hide the fact that he’d looked through it.

The particular sketch he’s looking at is one where you must’ve been close - you’ve detailed in every long, delicate eyelash, his hair falling in front of his face and his lips slightly parted, only the faintest frown on his face as he focuses hard on his work. He smiles as he tips the book forward, watching as your eyes are drawn to it. To his surprise, you only smile, relieved, raising a hand to your chest.

“Thank goodness, I did leave it here after all.”

You walk over and hop up onto his desk, leaning towards him as you try to see which sketch he’s looking at. He slouches a little more to make you comfortable and shows the sketch.

“You’ve drawn me a lot,” he comments.

“Of course. You’re beautiful, how could I resist?”

He presses a kiss to your temple and rests his head against yours, smiling. He doesn’t often like people commenting on his appearance - he was confident enough about it, knew how he looked, but he didn’t need to hear about it all the time. Still, from you, it didn’t hurt. Especially not if you felt inspired enough by it to draw him.

.

[[Other brothers are under the read more]]

Mammon

Mammon had burst into your room and you weren’t there. Frustrated by your absence and unsure of when to expect you back, he decides to pick through your stuff. He wasn’t going to steal any of it - he’d been called out by Beel about that, before, and whilst he’d denied it at the time he knew it was true. He’d much rather steal something for you than from you.

The book is open on your desk to a page full of mindless doodles. It piques his curiosity, and he grabs it and sits down, kicking his feet up on top of your desk. It wasn’t like you were there to tell him not to, and you’d left without telling him where you were going so he was going to do whatever he wanted until you got back.

He flicks back to the start of the book, and honestly his first thoughts are about how you could easily sell these drawings for a lot of Grimm. Sketches of the Devildom, of flowers and creatures you couldn’t find in the human realm, of how the Devildom looked all lit up with the moon overhead, from the highest balcony in the RAD building. He’s in awe, mouth a faint ‘o’ shape as he continues to turn page by page.

The first drawing of him makes him freeze up. He was a model, Mammon knew he must be handsome. But he’d never felt it like he did now. In the drawing, he’s sitting on the floor, cushion in his lap as he plays some game on a controller. His expression is somewhere between frustrated and delighted, his hair fluffy and messy because he’d been running his hands through it.

He remembers - you’d been having trouble adapting to the Devildom so he stole- borrowed a console from Levi, but you were too tired to play. He played anyway, hoping that at least watching him would distract you enough, and to convince himself that he was in part doing it for him too and not to entertain some random human.

You walk in and he slams the book shut, but its too late - you’ve seen him holding it. You don’t seem mad about that, though, and instead glare at how he has his feet up on your desk. He adjusts quickly, fumbling as he tries to put on his confident act, walking over to you as he waves the sketchbook in the air.

“What’s this, then? You’ve been drawing me without asking me first?” he asks, teasing lilt falling flat in his voice. His face feels far too warm, as it often does when he’s around you.

“I couldn’t help it. You’re so pretty I just had to.” You shrug, nonchalant. You swipe the book from his hand and sit on your bed, tapping the space beside you. “How far in did you get?”

Mammon pouts as he goes to sit beside you. “Not far.” As he sits beside you, he grabs your sides and pulls you to lay down, holding the sketchbook open up in the air. He’s desperate for some attention right now, but he wanted to keep looking at your art. “Let’s look through the rest together.”

.

Leviathan

Levi was flustered. You’d been spending time in his room, and he loved your presence but it took him so long to get used to it each time that you stopped in to hang out with him. You’d brought the book you always had with you, and were working away on something, laying on your stomach on the floor with a Ruri-chan plushie in one arm.

He fumbles with his controller and sighs as he misses yet another jump in the game he was trying hard to distract himself with. Every time he glances over, he wants to ask what you’re doing, why you’re here with him when you could easily do your work elsewhere or with any of his brothers, if you were really happy to just sit in his presence like this. His voice dies in his throat and his face flushes when he catches sight of you, so he never does get to ask.

He’d messed up one too many times and was starting to get frustrated when he glanced over and realised you were looking at him, too. Heat floods into his face, and his frustrations die before he can even mumble out his signature ‘this is so unfair’. You smile, going back to your work before dropping your pencil. You wiggle around until you’re sitting, cross-legged, and hold out your sketchbook.

It was a drawing. You’d been drawing, and you’d been drawing him. Levi leans closer hesitantly, wanting to get a better look at it, trying not to think about how giddy and anxious your proud smile made him feel. He works up the courage to take the book out of your hands and looks over the drawing. It takes a long time before he can say anything, too busy focusing on all the little details - how his face is scrunched up from frustration and concentration, how his headphone cord is coiled around his fingers from when he’d been playing with it and hadn’t untangled it fully, how his head was tilted to stop his hair from fully falling in front of his eyes.

“You... its really good, but, I don’t... I’m not this handsome,” he mumbles, face bright red, and he flinches when you laugh.

“You are. More-so, actually, but its hard to capture from this distance.”

Levi can’t respond, just swallows. You sigh, something fond in it, and walk on your knees until you can fall against his side, cuddling up to the Ruri-chan plushie.

“Look through the other drawings. I only draw what I find beautiful. That’s why I drew you.”

His smile is faint, but its enough. He’s hearing your words, even if they’re hard to process for him. He relaxes and flips back to the front page, ready to look at the rest of your work with you.

.

Satan

Books were commonplace in his room. They were part of the furniture - quite literally, as they were piled up everywhere, even on top of his bed, although he’d made an effort to stop putting them there so long as you were spending time with him, so that you had somewhere comfortable to sit or lay whilst you were reading.

And yet, he always noticed when one was out of place, or when a new book had joined his collection without his knowing. Sometimes this happened because his brothers had found something interesting but weren’t willing to say aloud that it had reminded them of him, or that they bought it because he might enjoy it, so they’d simply popped into his room and added it to a stack. It was normal at this point.

That’s why he didn’t question it when there was a new book left on his bed, and when he didn’t hesitate to lay down and open it up, curious as to what story one of his brothers had left for him this time. Instead, he’s met with drawings. Amazing drawings of the Devildom, of his brothers... and of him.

There are notes, as well, few and far between, that allow him to place this as being your book. He knew that scrawl. He felt guilty to look through your sketchbook without your permission, but now that he’d already opened it, he was too curious to leave it be. He’d be honest about it later and deal with the consequences then, or joke about how you’d been drawing him without his permission so you were equal now.

The drawings were beautiful, more detailed that he’d seen for casual doodles left in a book without being shown to the subjects in them. He takes his time to look over each page carefully, each drawing filling his heart with something foreign, sweet and sticky like berry pie. He spends extra time focusing on each drawing of himself, wonders how and why you’d made him look so soft. It was hard for him to get portraits done as his presence could invoke anger in others and leave harsh and angry lines and brush strokes on the canvas, but clearly he didn’t have that same influence on you - instead, each drawing of him was more delicate than any of the others, like you’d put more effort in.

Satan returns it to you later, a smile on his face. He does apologise immediately, for looking at the drawings without your permission.

“Its alright. I’m just glad you found it for me.” You’re completely cheery, not bothered at all, and Satan sighs in relief.

“You’ve drawn me quite a lot,” he notes.

“Well obviously. I spend the most time with you,” you say, smiling when you catch the faint pout he covers up. That wasn’t what he had expected or wanted you to say, clearly. Nor was it all you had to say on the matter. “Also, you’re very beautiful. I wanted to try and capture that and keep a little for myself.”

He smiles now, content, and pats you on the head. “If you want me around, you only have to ask.”

.

Asmodeus

You’d been working away at something as he picked out an outfit and fixed his hair, and he’d been dying to ask but he just needed to adjust a few more strands first - you were going out to Majolish together and he wanted to look perfect. He always did, of course, but when the two of you were going out together he put in even more effort than usual.

When he finally finishes, he jumps up out of his chair and rushes over to you.

“How do I look?” he asks, beaming, full of confidence as always.

“Fabulous,” you say, reaching out to readjust a few strands of hair that had fallen out of place from his quick movements. He sits down on his bed beside you and pulls you up until you’re sitting beside him, hugging you around your waist.

“What were you doing whilst you were waiting? You looked so focused, it was adorable~” Asmo chirps, looking pointedly at the sketchbook. His eyes widen in genuine surprise. “Wait, is that me?”

You nod, lifting your sketchbook up so that the two of you could see it properly. You’d been drawing him, just little sketches as he flitted about the room doing this and that to get ready. You couldn’t have spent long on each one, and yet they captured him perfectly. He looked elegant in each, determined and beautiful.

You flicked back to the previous page before he could comment, and Asmo’s breath caught in his throat. This drawing was him, it was so brilliant an example of everything that he was. He was looking at you and smiling, and you’d captured the love and admiration in his eyes so perfectly he wondered if this was somehow a photograph.

Asmo tears up and hugs you tighter, burying his face against your neck. You can feel him smile wide against your skin. He stays like that for only a moment before his excitement bubbles up to the surface and he litters your cheek, nose, and forehead with feather-light kisses. He’d do anything for the one who saw him as he was.

.

Beelzebub

Beel had a pretty normal schedule for each day - he’d exercise, go to school, spend time with you and Belphie or his other brothers if they were around and alright with it, and of course, he’d eat quite a lot. You had a good idea of where he’d be throughout the day, and when you had the time for it, you’d accompany him so he wasn’t alone. Whether that meant sitting on the counter as he dug through the fridge, or laying on the sofa with your head in his lap and your feet in Belphie’s, you just liked to spend time with him.

And, a lot of the time, he noticed you had this little book with you. He’d caught you glancing at him many times, but didn’t think anything of it. He glanced at you a lot, too, so maybe it was only to be expected. He’d gotten used to the butterflies in his stomach when you two randomly linked eyes and you grinned, twirling your pencil around in your hand.

A lot of your time was spent together in relative silence, as well, and he was accustomed to hearing your pencil scratch against the paper. But he never asked what you were doing, because if you wanted to tell him you would. He trusted you to do that. And his trust paid off, when you were both watching a show together.

He notices early on that you're paying more attention to him than the screen, and when the episode finishes you tap him gently on the shoulder before stretching out your wrists. He looks to you, tilting his head in curiosity until you hold the book open in front of him.

It was a drawing of him, focused on the screen, odd lighting casting shadows against his form. He had something in his hand, some sort of food, but you’d put more attention into actually drawing him. So much attention that he was sure no matter how long he looked, there would always be something more to notice.

“Its me?” he asks, unsure lilt in his voice. He looks bashful, like he’s done something wrong. “Why?”

You stretch out your arms again, thinking, and finally answer, “Because you looked beautiful, and I wanted to draw you?”

It was neither easy nor hard to make Beel blush, and most of the time it just seemed to happen. You hadn’t caught onto the pattern yet, hadn’t been able to perfect it so that you could make it happen whenever you wanted. But you smile in silent victory now as his ears and cheeks flush a reddish pink, pairing nicely with his wide eyes.

His surprise gives way to a smile, and he leans over to wrap his arms around you, holding you close. All he can manage is a thank you, but with that you know how much he appreciates it, how much he appreciates you.

.

Belphegor

Belphie would often drag you off to the attic, and whilst he enjoyed the times where you would curl up in his arms and nap with him until you absolutely had to get up, he knew he couldn’t expect that of you constantly. You were still human, and you could only sleep so much before you had to get up to stretch or eat or just do something else to occupy your mind.

You’d built up a habit together, now, where if you wanted to get up you’d tap his arm twice and he’d reluctantly let you go. He’d stay awake if you left the room, just enough so that he’d be able to tell when you returned. If you didn’t, he’d have to go seek you out again by himself to drag you back with him and absolutely not just to make sure you were okay. If you did return, he’d go back to sleep and let you do what you wanted, opening his arms up if you tapped on them again to crawl back into his grip. It was peaceful, and though he never said it aloud, he loved it.

Often times, when he did wake up, you’d be sitting nearby in a little bundle of pillows and blankets that you’d made with a book and pencil in hand. You were quick to notice when he woke up, so Belphie could never just watch you to figure out what you were doing, which frustrated him to no end but at the same time it was nice to be known. Still, he was determined to figure it out.

His determination is unnecessary, because one day he wakes up and you’re looking straight at him, smiling contentedly. He woke up too fast, then, heart pounding as he tried to remember that expression. Did you admire him so much to look at him like that, even when he was just sleeping?

“You’re awake,” you say, voice light and cheery.

“And you were watching me sleep, as always,” Belphie scoffs, pulling the blanket up over his face to cover up his blush. “What’s new?”

You pout and stick out your tongue at him, and he lowers the blanket enough to return the gesture. It was hard to remember just how old he was when he acted like that.

“With good reason,” you tell him. He raises an eyebrow, and you smile and hold out your sketchbook. He takes it immediately, trying to act nonchalant as he opens it up and flicks through the pages. You barely catch how his eyes widen, how his breath catches and he slows down, taking in each drawing carefully.

“There are... a lot of drawings, of me sleeping,” Belphie says, swallowing, raising the book enough to try to cover his smile. Too late, you think. You’d caught him.

“You look cute like that. Plus, its the only time you sit still enough for me to draw you.”

“Or you’re just that obsessed with me. Weirdo.” He closes the book and hands it back to you, sitting up to stretch. He keeps his eyes on you, notices when you frown the tiniest bit. Was his teasing too much?

He sighs and slides out of bed, sitting in your pile beside you. He leans against you, like a cat looking for attention without wanting to admit it, and takes your hand in his, playing with your fingers.

“Thanks, MC.”

#surprise request! i felt like writing and it just all kind of flowed out with this one #Anonymous #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #my headcanons #my writings #fluff #i had a lot of fun writing this ashdashj even tho i only did bc i couldnt sleep ;u;

[bestruction]

Levi + thigh riding

not me being a sub for Levi again

When you married Levi, you already had in mind his busy schedule.

To help Erwin with missions, with papers, and sometimes with cadets.

He barely had time to sleep and take care of himself, which improved after he met you. You always reminded him to set boundaries, and as much as he didn't always hear you, he was more than grateful to see you waiting for him to finish or taking him a cup of black tea during the night.

He loves you, and for you and your puppy eyes he can give in sometimes.

Today was yet another night when you don't see him coming to bed. One more night in two weeks.

With the Expedition approached, he needed to review the strategy with Erwin and Hange until late, supervise Eren, and train for the battlefield.

You understand, but you miss him.

You missed hugging him to sleep, to play with his hair, his bad mood and acid comments, his hands in yours, his hands on your body. You miss your man by your side.

After turning from side to side in bed for hours, you give up and get up.

You put on your sandals and dressed only by your nightdress go to the kitchen to prepare a cup of tea for him.

Your reason for insomnia was at the office with a grumpy face and so concentrate that didn't notice you enter the room.

" A break is not going to kill you, you know?"

He raised his head and straightened his posture after noticing you there with slightly messy hair, wearing a lavender nightgown and cup in hand. 

“Thank you, darling. Can't sleep?”

You shook your head, and he pulls his chair away from the table in a silent ask to you sit on his lap. Levi is not the best person with words, but it was these little gestures of care that made you fall in love with humanity's strongest soldier.

He likes to pretend not, but you know he has a big heart.

You waited for him to finish the tea in long sips and then put your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck.

Levi hugged your waist and inhaled your perfume, quenching his own longing, and brought the chair back to the table again to read and sign the papers again.

It wasn't the first time you did it, but you usually avoided going to his office so as not to disturb him while working. So he understood that at times like this, you needed it, the two of you actually.

It was much better to be in the warmth of the Ackerman's arms than in the cold bed.

You were already beginning to feel your eyes heaving and your body relaxing inside the dimly lit room, and with the noise of the pencil doodling the papers.

Until Levi starts to bobbing knee up and down.

It was a clear sign of stress. He was probably trying to figure out the best way to elaborate something or understand Hange's lyrics for the millionth time.

But the way the swing makes your body go up and down, again and again, makes you shift in his lap almost innocently.

Almost.

You settled on Levi's lap so that his thigh was between your legs.

The movement of the knee causing a more than welcome friction and light up your body.

You looked at your husband's frowning face to make sure he didn't notice what such a simple movement was doing to you.

You tried to ignore the warm feeling that was growing in the middle of your legs. After all, he was working and tired, but the more you watched Levi's serious countenance, the wetter your panties became.

Timidly you moved your hips over his thigh as slowly as the way you breathed, trying not to get caught.

Back and forth, feeling the stiff muscles of his toned thigh against your wet and needy pussy.

In that second, your mind reminds yourself about how much you missed your husband, but this time about others of his details.

Like the way, he pulls his hair carefully when he takes you from behind just because he knows how much you love it.

Or the way he put your knees on your chest when he wants to go deeper inside you.

Damn, you miss him.

Lost between these thoughts, you start to roll your hips with less shyness to stimulate yourself and becoming increasingly thirsty for friction.

“What are you doing?”

He says while his strong hands hold your hips.

You freeze without knowing what to say, and an accusatory blush takes over your face.

He calls your name and whispers in your ear.

“I just want to know, darling”

Levi leaves a small kiss on your shoulder and squeezes your hips still in his hands, and you tell the truth.

“I miss you, Levi”

You grind on his thigh once more, and he bites his lips, noticing how you are so needy for him.

“Keep going. Finish what you start”

“Yes, sir”

You tried to keep your moans low, but the more the fabric of your panties rubbed against that of his pants, the more your eyes rolled.

Your breathing became heavy when his hands came down to your ass, squeezing the flesh hard as he spread wet kisses all over her neck.

Levi knows your body too well. He knows you're about to come when you start to hug him tightly.

You kept rolling and rubbing yourself on his thigh until you reached your climax, squeezing his thigh between yours in the process while moans the name of the man who hadn't even touched you and still leaves you soaked.

Levi grabbed your chin with one hand and kissed your lips hungrily before placing your left leg on his waist and pinning your hip tightly to get up from the chair.

He laid your body on the bed with his on top of yours, making you feel his boner.

“You are not finished yet what you started. Let me do it for you”

“Please, Levi”

That's all you need to say, and you know he'll. 

#levi x reader #levi ackerman #shingeki no kyojin #shingeki no kyojin x reader #i need an aot boy #levi attack on titan #aot x reader #aot x you

[starcrossedkaiju]

Kingslayer AU: Chapter One

Finally! I’m sorry this took so long, I’m a nervous wreck.

Notes: this was originally a warmup for character interactions/setting. It is very dialogue heavy.

\\ Warnings: alcohol //

A single tumbleweed was all that crossed Scott’s path when he arrived in the Red Desert. It was rather comical, he stood and watched it roll away until he couldn’t see it through the sheets of sand blowing over the ground.

In the distance, the only mountain located in the desert biome loomed over the horizon. Imposingly backlit by the red, swirling, tendrils of the world border. Most residents kept away from the thing, as it was meant to give off an unsettling aura. Although Scott never minded it. The wall of his room was almost right up against it after all.

On top of the mountain was a barely visible “castle”, which looked as if it was built by someone wearing a blindfold. The inhabitants of the castle, and the aptly named “Monopoly Mountain” could be accurately described as menaces.

Clumsy when it came to forward thinking, and leaving hidden traps around so frequently that traveling through any wooded area required either a very long stick, or someone willing to take the business end of a TNT trap for the team.

They also happened to be Scott’s nearest allies. It hadn’t always been pleasant between them, but circumstance led to circumstance, and now Scott was making his semi-weekly visit to Monopoly Mountain to shoot the breeze.

Typically the only person at the base would be Grian. Scar liked to make himself elusive by causing problems elsewhere and returning late into the evening with a story to tell over dinner.

The base of the mountain was void of a bubble-elevator. To reach the top one must climb an absurd amount of stairs. Scott huffed and resigned himself to the task in front of him.

As his perspective grew higher and higher the rest of the map revealed itself. The roof of Joel’s house peeked over a swathe of trees, and the tall barricades of Dogwarts stood out as a stark silhouette against the sky. Scott took a few minutes to regain his purchase, shielding his eyes from the whipping wind.

The season was gradually descending into winter. Made obvious by the deciduous trees’ leaves choking out the last of their green pigment for fiery shades of red and orange. The weather was far less pleasant to endure. Everywhere outside of the Red Desert had to deal with bitterly cold conditions, although there hadn’t been snow yet, the sky churned with a constant overcast. Threatening to storm at the drop of a coin.

Scott rubbed his arms to fight off the oncoming chill and continued his ascent, hoping someone had installed a fireplace since the last time he visited.

Finally he rounded the last of the stairs and gazed up at the tall, thin roof of the Sand Castle. The Red Desert flag strung on the tallest rooftop flapped around in the wind. Pizza, the pet lama, grunted in Scott’s direction when he approached the front door. He hesitantly reached out to pet her (she bit him once and he’d never fully gotten over it) from over the fence of her pen, and she let him rub her fluffy bangs.

Scott knocked on the door three times and gave Pizza one last pat, anticipating someone to open the door. It would be a shame if he’d hiked all the way out only for nobody to be home.

Thankfully, the door swung open with a welcoming screech of it’s hinges.

“Hey dude,” Grian welcomed him from the front steps.

“Hey,” Scott greeted in return, “may I come in?” he asked.

“Of course! It’s freezing out here,” Grian replied and stepped away from the door, which slammed with a squeak behind the two of them.

Scott closed his eyes and waved to the resident enderman, who greeted him with a friendly, distorted “hello”. A furnace was running to warm the living room.

Scott took his coat and hat off. He draped them over the arm of the couch before swatting a layer of sand from the cushion and sitting down, observing the scene in front of him. There was always something going on in there.

This time, a myriad of blueprints were strewn across the floor. Each of them depicting heavily annotated structures and what looked like plans for redstone. Grian had planted himself on the floor with a pencil, and was furiously erasing a line of text.

“What’s that?” Scott pointed over his shoulder.

“These,” Grian held one of the outlines up to the other’s face, “are the blueprints for our secret bunker,” he explained.

“You hear that? Secret Bunker, so don’t go telling anyone about it m’kay?” He tapped the paper with the end of his pencil.

“Okay, fair enough. Is that redstone?” Scott slid another sheet of paper towards them with his shoe.

“Yup. I’m gonna equip it with a lava trap,” Grian said proudly.

“And this one will work?” Scott teased.

“Hilarious,” Grian pushed the other’s shoulder, “yes it will work, it’s going to be my best yet,” he assured.

“Oh good! That’s not a very high standard to meet then,” Scott congratulated.

“Blah, blah, blah,” Grian mocked back, “you better be careful what you say with twenty five reputation points,” he said.

Scott threw his hands up in surrender, still laughing at how the other man’s ears turned red.

The house fell into a comfortable silence after that. The sound of scribbling and wind served as a calming ambience. Scott intermittently shared a few words with the enderman, who seemed to understand more of what Scott said to him than the other way around.

“Hey, Grian?” Scott turned over on the couch to face his friend.

“Yeah?” The other said without looking away from his work.

“Do you think you would have still been friends with Scar if he hadn’t died from that creeper?” Scott asked.

There was a pregnant pause, then Grian said, “I don’t know. I never thought about it,” he doodled absently on the margin of his paper.

“Hm,” Scott replied halfheartedly. He mainly asked because whenever he visited Grian was alone. If they were even home at all. Other than that him and Scar were always attached at the hip.

“Why?” Grian asked in return.

“I don’t know, forget it,” Scott waved him off. Not wanting to get into it.

“When’s he gonna be back?” he asked instead.

Grian sat up and stretched his back, “uh, I don’t know actually. He said he went to gather resources but you can never really count on him doing what he says he will,” he explained.

“You didn’t go with him?” Scott asked.

“I don’t want to babysit him anymore. If he gets in trouble that’s not my problem,” Grian said. He stood up and wandered over the the kitchen, carefully avoiding the blueprints on the floor.

“Ha! I would drink to that one, Jimmy is the same way sometimes,” Scott replied and watched as Grian contemplated the contents of their cooler, reaching in and pulling out a bottle of red wine.

“Well then, let’s drink to it,” he held the bottle up with a grin.

“Where did you get that?” Scott vacated the couch and made his way over to his friend, taking the bottle and studying it, “I haven’t seen the fruit of the vine in years!” he recalled.

The bottle had clearly been tapped into before, although not much was absent from its contents.

“I have my ways,” Grian rummaged around in a cabinet and pulled out two glasses.

“I would say it’s too early for this, but for once, it’s five o’clock somewhere,” Scott uncorked the bottle with a satisfying pop and poured each glass a third of the way.

Grian cleared his throat, “To the safety of our stupid partners,” he raised his glass.

Scott nodded in return and connected their drinks with a polite clink, then they drank to the sentiment.

The conversation traveled to the dining table, which was more of a booth. Talking points ranged from preparing for winter to future plans to expand their bases.

“I’m not going to get anything done with the weather coming on,” Scott complained over his drink, “I don’t handle the cold very well,” he downed the last of it.

“Well you can always move in with us for the season, the attic is vacant,” Grian offered.

“Never in a million years. I’d rather be sick at home than spend a week living with barbarians,” Scott refused the offer.

Grian rolled his eyes, “it is not that bad,” he defended himself.

Scott raised an eyebrow and shoved his hand in between the cushions of the booth. Pulling up a handful of sand, which he deposited on the table.

“We live in a desert! What do you want us to do about it, of course there’s some sand in here,” Grian threw his hands up.

“Some?” Scott repeated.

“Okay,” Grian glanced under the table and shuffled his foot around, which scraped across a layer of sand, “a lot of sand,” he corrected himself.

“Get a vacuum. For the hundredth time, get a vacuum,” Scott demanded.

“We have a broom that works perfectly fine,” Grian stood up and opened a linen closet to reveal a single broom leaned up against the wall.

Scott didn’t comment on it, but he had a feeling that broom never left the closet.

The conversation was effectively halted when the front door screeched open, letting in a gust of wind and sand. It blew a few papers off the floor and scattered them around the living area.

“Hey,” Grian called out, “Scar? You back?” he asked.

“Yeah,” came from the front of the Sand Castle.

“Okay! We have company by the way,” Grian prefaced.

Scar’s head poked around the doorframe, he waved at Scott who returned the gesture.

“What have you guys been up to?” He inquired at the sight of the wine on the counter.

“Just hanging out. It gets a bit lonely up here you know,” Grian closed the linen closet and took Scar’s backpack from him. He opened it and looked at the contents.

“Oh, you actually did what you went out to do,” Grian revealed a bundle of wood from the bag.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Scar crossed his arms.

“Never mind, go wash up. I assume you’re hungry,” Grian opened a pantry and took some spices out, “are you staying for dinner Scott?” he asked.

Scott leaned out of the booth to check the time on the clock above the door, “mmm, yeah why not. I’m already here,” he decided.

“Let me just page Jimmy and tell him I’m gonna be home late,” Scott patted all his pockets but found no sign of his communication device.

“Hey Grian? Can I use your pager?” he requested.

Grian fished around in his back pockets and pulled out his pager, tossing it towards the other who caught it with both hands. Scott thanked him and flipped the screen up, selected the address he needed to contact, and typed out a short message. Making sure to say it was from him and not Grian before sending it to Jimmy.

“What’re we making?” Scott asked once he finished, intent on trying to help in the kitchen.

“Well, it’s Spaghetti Friday,” Grian declared and revealed a bag of Rigatoni pasta.

“That’s a thing?” Scott inquired, taking the bag and examining the packaging. It was pretty simple, mostly cardboard with a plastic window. Presumably from the village on the other side of the map.

“We’ve gotta have some fun around here, come on now Scott,” Grian said.

“You’re right, how can I help?” Scott said. Grian side eyed him.

“You can add the salt when I say you can add the salt,” he offered. Scott crossed his arms.

He wasn’t that bad at cooking. He’d only burned a few things, smoked the house out for three days once, and set scrambled eggs on fire.

“That one time was just a rookie mistake,” Scott retorted. It’s not like he did it on purpose.

“A rookie mistake that almost burned your flower forest down. I wouldn’t let you near the kitchen if I was Jimmy either,” Grian set a pot down on the stove.

Scar came back in the kitchen then, and was pulled into it almost immediately.

“A man can’t even sit down in his own house without his culinary skills being put up for debate?”

Grian laughed at him, sliding the pot under the water pump.

“That’s not an answer at all! Can you or can’t you?” Scott demanded to know, holding a salt shaker.

“I can cook,” Scar’s gaze wandered into thought, he started counting on his fingers, “pasta, assorted vegetables, mac and cheese, cornbread, mashed potatoes, and I can bake a half decent carrot cake,” he recited.

“I worked in a supermarket before the borders. We made some of our own stuff for the bakery and the buffet,” Scar said. It was the first mention he made of what he did back when things were normal. At least to Scott.

Scott was pleasantly surprised. He nodded, seeing as he’d been given a satisfying answer.

The spaghetti went off without a hitch, Grian was surprisingly good at making it. Scott had the sense that he’d done it many times before.

“Remember, you can put the salt in but you can’t take it out. Here taste the sauce and tell me if it’s alright,” Grian fished a spoon from a drawer and handed it to Scott.

“Hmm,” the other pondered after trying a spoonful, “maybe a bit more salt?” he suggested.

A window was propped open to let the steam and heat out. It was getting dark now, and the world border stood out against the purple hues of night falling over the server. The brightest stars made themselves known to the east as the sun set to the west. It was peaceful, the wind had died down. Scott wondered if anyone else was watching.

Personally, he enjoyed stargazing a lot more. His servermates knew next to nothing about the cosmos, which made him wonder who was teaching them about the greater universe. Clearly they’d never been out there.

“Yo,” Scar called him out of his trance. He handed the other a ceramic bowl.

“Thank you,” Scott said and waited to serve himself.

The spaghetti was pretty good. Decent meals were hard to come by, especially with the limited resources outside of villages.

Over the course of dinner, Scar explained his excursion of the day. He had been gathering wood to stockpile for the winter months (no wood in the desert, better to have a source available and not have to hike out and get more constantly) when he came upon Etho’s base.

“It’s entirely made of wool,” he recounted.

Grian raised an eyebrow in confusion, “All of it? Why?” he mused.

“Dunno. There was nobody around,” Scar replied.

“You didn’t steal from them did you?” Scott interjected.

“Not this time,” he said, which earned him a jab in the ribs from Grian.

The three laughed it off and switched the subject to current server affairs. Who had the best gear, everyone’s respective allies, the phantom problem, and the pros and cons of a vacuum.

“Well, I would say this is a fine work of spaghetti,” Scar complimented when he was finished.

“Indeed, couldn’t have done it without Scott. The best salt dispenser among us,” Grian agreed.

Scott tried to look offended but couldn’t repress a smile. He stood up, about to take his bowl to the sink; but Scar insisted that he was the guest, so he handed over his dish and sat back down. Preparing his “i’m out of here” pleasantries.

He settled on, “Well, I’m out of here,” after a few more minutes of banter.

“Okay! Thanks for keeping me company dude,” Grian gave Scott a hug as thanks.

“My pleasure,” Scott replied.

Scar offered to accompany Scott back to the Hobbit territory, but he refused.

“No need Scar, you’ve been out all day. I’ll be fine,” he assured as he adjusted his hat and jacket for the chilly walk home.

“Alright then, let me walk you out,” Scar proposed instead.

Final waves and good wishes were exchanged and Scott started back down all those stairs. It was quiet, save for the gentle buzz of the world border which sat right against the Red Desert.

Lost in thought for most of the journey, Scott traveled into the dark canopy of leaves. There weren’t many mobs out due to the moon being in its Waning Crescent phase. Scott rubbed his hands together and shoved them in his pockets, wishing he’d brought his mittens.

As he crossed over a clearing, an arrow whizzed over his shoulder. Scott ducked down in surprise, turning around and expecting to see a skeleton, but there was nothing there except a dreadfully dark bank of trees and a vacant plot of land.

Scott squinted into the darkness.

Then the handle of a weapon was brought down on the side of his face, and all the lights went out.

#THAR SHE BLOWS. #Time to get this monster out of my system! This au gave me brainrot. #hahaha! it only gets worse from here #kingslayer au #3rd life smp #3rdlife #3rdlife smp #grian #goodtimeswithscar #scott smajor #mcyt #cas types

[miss-choco-chips]

F’coffee

-.-.-.-.-.-

Honestly. What did Bruce even think would happen? He should have known better.

Tim wasn’t Dick, indoctrinated from a young age to be a good, somewhat (when convenient) obedient son. Tim only went along with Bruce’s shit because, more often than not, it aligned with what he himself wanted. He also wasn’t Damian, so easily manipulable when one knew which buttons to push. And he certainly wasn’t Jason, who would sink his own ship to kill the captain.

So, when Tim and Bruce fought, and his adopted father decided to pull the ‘you live under my roof and work in my company, so I’m the boss all the way through’ card, well…

Yeah. Tim wasn’t going to take that lying down. He had a childhood of zero authority figures to obey and an overabundance of sass, plus a complete lack of fucks to give.

It was bound to go down like this.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

And, well. Tim had money. Like, an absurd amount of money. Even before being adopted by playboy billionaire Bruce Wayne, Tim had his own no small fortune stashed away, a couple of properties gathering dust, two trust funds and more antique cars that he knew what to do with. So he could just… burn through that money, or sell the cars, or make a living of renting the buildings he owned, and he would barely even scratch the surface of his deep wealth.

But it wasn’t about being able to live comfortably with minimum effort. Tim was trying to prove a point here. What point, fuck if he knew. But a point.

So here he was, on the other end of the wooden counter, a cute red cap falling over his eye as he looked dead into his friend’s eyes.

“Tim. Tim, you’re rich. Why are you working in a coffee shop?”

Seeing as Kon and Cassie were currently too busy being shocked, Tim shrugged and went back to cleaning the cup in his hands.

It was a plastic cup. It didn’t need cleaning, he could just toss it away. But it was his favorite plastic cup, and he was gonna save it as a family heirloom forever.

(The fact that the pretty customer from the morning shift had drawn cute little doodles all over it had nothing to do with it’s worth.)

“Teenage rebellion”, he finally said, carefully putting his treasure away.

“You are twenty.”

“Time is a social construct and I’m but a slinky falling down an endless flight of stairs.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Your face doesn’t make any sense. How is it so symmetrical? It defies nature.”

-.-.-.-.-.-

“What can I get for you?”

“I'll have a mocha caramel latte-chino, made with skim milk, no whipped cream.”

“Bart, no.”

“Please put that in a grande cup”

“I’m begging you, don’t do it.”

“But use the same amount of coffee that you'd put into a tall.”

“I’m warning you, you don’t want to do this.”

“That way there's about an inch of extra room on top.”

“I wish you had an extra inch so I could look straight into your eyes when I murder you.”

“To stir in my own nutmeg without spilling any coffee at all.”

“You’re dead to me. Also, I AM going to make you that drink and you WILL finish it or so help me God.”

“What do you want, Kon?”

“To not be here when Tim’s looking like he’s planning both our unsolved murders.”

-.-.-.-.-.-

When Kon entered the shop, the messenger bag slung over his shoulder bumping against his hip as he rushed in to get his caffeine intake before his evening classes, he wasn’t surprised at the scene.

Cassie being there was a given, since there was always at least one of them there at all times, supporting Tim in this ‘independence’ thing he was dead set on trying. Kon himself had his Tim Shift later that day, after his creative writing course. Bart had probably just left, considering the amount of empty cake platters littering the counter.

Tim being face down in said counter, uncaring about the mess, was also old news. The dude barely ever seemed to leave (Kon was almost completely sure he actually owned the place, since he’d never seen any sort of manager and Tim’s hours seemed to work around his weird sleep patterns all too perfectly), and distraught was his general state of being, so. Normal day as far as he could see.

Still, he had to ask. “What is it today?”

Cassie, eyes never leaving her magazine, chin resting in one hand as the other one scratched at Tim’s scalp, snorted.

“A cute boy started working in the tattoo place next door. He came in for a morning fix, when Tim was barely awake, and he said something stupid, so he’s been having an existencial crisis ever since.”

“I said ‘you too’, Kon. He said ‘thanks for the coffee, I’ll enjoy it!’ and I said ‘you too’. What is wrong with me?”

Kon snorts a little. Tim doesn’t seem to be very interested in doing his actual work, so he just jumps over the counter and starts working the machines himself.

“You know that’s a question you can only ask your therapist, Tim, but if you need to know, I’d say you’re highly sleep deprived and a dysfunctional bi?”

At that, Tim does turn to look at him. There’s some cake frosting clinging to his eyelashes, and his hair is a mess. It looks cute, to be completely honest, and Kon has to leave his unfinished latte on the side so he can hug the little shit.

“Aw, don’t pout, Timbo. I’m sure he thought you were cute. Just try to sleep a bit more tonight, so when he comes back tomorrow you’ll be a little more alert and won’t embarrass yourself.”

“What do you mean, when he comes back?”

“I mean, if he works next door, he’ll probably get his morning coffees here all the time, right?”

That seemed to drive Tim back into the distraught spiral. He smashed his head back into the counter, making dying whale noises until Cassie’s hand returned to his scalp.

Kon privately thinks Tim’s life is starting to sound like fanfiction. He wonders which type of background character he would be, in it.

-.-.-.-.-.-

The shop is called F’coffee. That’s why Cassie is convinced Tim is the actual owner; no one else would really think that’s a proper name for a serious establishment. Kon isn’t convinced all the way yet, but with Bart on her side and Tim staying silent on the subject, it is just a matter of time until she convinces him it’s totally okay for him to do his gym routine there. She thinks, with Tim being his own boss, no one would tell him to stop it, and it would help his friend’s business to bloom with new customers.

The place's general aesthetic is exactly what you would expect, with old wooden tables, comfy chairs, potted plants hanging from the walls and tall windows just a little bit stained. The smell is constantly of the strongest brew Tim has, Death Coffee (which he’s actually not legally allowed to sell, so he keeps it for himself), and just setting a foot in makes her feel instantly awake. It's also always warm, and the sweets on display look mouth watering no matter your personal preferences.

In short, it looks like something out of a movie. It’s a tad too perfect for her friend, but she thinks it also fits his obsessive need for perfection.

Except for the board. Oh, the board. Cassie loves it more than life itself.

Tim has divided the drinks in categories. And made up names for all of them.

“Yes, hello! I’d like to order a grande, iced, sugar-free vanilla Latte, with soy milk, but I can’t seem to find it in your menu…”

Tim’s dead eyes turn to Cassie for a second, before facing his customer again.

“You’re probably looking into the Normal People section”, he points out, before raising his hand to signal a bit to the left. “There you have the Pain In The Ass selection. There’s nothing just like you asked, but you have the It’s Britney Bitch beverage, which is almost exactly the same except I’ll add a middle finger drawing in the cup and charge you extra for emotional damages. Also, we’re out of soy milk.”

Or…

“Hey, good morning! I’d like to order…”

Tim raised a hand, stopping the chirpy, good looking young man dead in his tracks.

“Don’t tell me, I know what you need. I’ll just go ahead and prepare it.”

“But you don’t even know what I/”

“You’ll have a Cougar Bait. It has cacao cream, a strawberry pucker and some grenadine seeds. I think it's fitting, for you.”

And also…

“Hey, hum… Sorry, I just have to ask… what’s on the ‘Barista’s heart’ drink?”

“Cacao powder, almond milk and espresso. Also some organic coconut ash, that gives it the blacker-than-night color, that’s just a shade lighter than my soul.”

“...noted.”

Cassie snorts into her cup of Jack it up (coffee that tastes just like a Jack Daniel’s; having Tim working here has opened up her eyes to the possibilities), watching as Tim makes his own usual.

“What’s in that one?” She asks, out of curiosity, when she’s sure there’s no other customer close by.

“Six espresso shots.”

She waits for a second. Tim finishes the drink, carefully handling the dark liquid inside his favorite plastic cup.

“...okay, and?”

“And that 's it.”

“Tim, that-- that would kill you?”

“Duh. Why did you think it was called The Last Sip?”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

#my writting #tim drake #kon el kent #cassie sandsmark #bart allen #core four #core disaster week #day 7 #coffee shop au #no powers au #civilian!tim #civilian!Kon #civilian!Cassie #civilian!Bart #Barista Tim Drake #Bi disaster Tim Drake #fluff #attempt at humor #can't say for sure if it worked lol #IM DONE WITH THIS CHALLENGE OKAY BYE

[cinnaminsvga]

Sweeter than Strawberries | Jungkook

→ summary: at euphoria bakery, seasonal changes also bring seasonal menu items. when you find out that your favorite strawberry shortcake milkshake was phased out after the end of summer, it takes only one puppy eyed look from you for jeon jungkook to make it for you anyway—just don’t tell his boss about it, alright?

→ genre: bakery!au, s2l, fluff → warnings: none unless you count the fact that i’m writing shy!jungkook again :^D, we love mutual pining in this house ex dee → words: 4.5K → a/n: this was commissioned by @ihatemathanal​!! i was super stoked to write this bc it’s really cute and sometimes it’s nice to just write happy fluffy things every once in a while (aka zee is turning into a fluff writer jfc) it got a lil longer than it was supposed to, but that’s bc i got carried away lol anyway i hope you guys enjoy!! (ps: this also works for the bgw bingo so... tyg for s2l fics!! let’s get it!!)

For the most part, the beginning of autumn is usually your favorite time of the year. When the tree leaves begin to yellow and the air gains a significantly colder bite, this signifies the end of pit stains and sweaty thighs and the start of sweater paws and chapped lips. Above all, you are most excited, of course, for an excuse to gorge yourself on steaming mugs of hot chocolate, paired with delicious mountains of warm gooey brownies.

For the most part, these are all things that often get you excited for the coming chill. What you do not think to remember, however, is that while these seasonal changes bring more good than bad, there still remains a little snag: a small oversight, if you will. As businesses all over the world begin the annual transition to the colder months, so does your favorite bakery across the street from your university. After all, summer ingredients grow scarcer as the year nears its end, so it’s understandable for bakeries to switch up their menu to keep up with both the supply and demand.

What does any of this have to do with anything? Well, long story short—

Your favorite strawberry shortcake milkshake is about to get phased out. No, scratch that—it’s already been phased out, right from under your very nose, no less!

You shouldn’t have been surprised, really. You have always known it was a specialty drink; your best friend had even been the one to introduce it to you just near the end of your summer classes:

“This is Euphoria Bakery,” Namjoon had said with a smile, waving cheerily at the two boys manning the till. You heard him chuckle in amusement when your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets, staring longingly at the sweet treats and baked goods lining the display case.

Namjoon had stolen your attention away, however, when he pointed to the chalkboard menu on the wall. As it turned out, the bakery also doubled as a cafe, serving the usual coffees and teas while also making the occasional specialty drink for different seasons or holidays. The chalkboard was decorated beautifully, the menu items written out in neat cursive with tiny little doodles littering its margins. On one of the boards, there was a new drink item being advertised in bold pink letters—a great summer treat!—or so it said.

“Jungkook-ssi, can you get me and Y/N a strawberry shortcake milkshake? Extra whipped cream for me, please!” Namjoon called out to one of the boys, startling the younger of the two. The boy, Jungkook, must have been busy fiddling with the cash register that he hadn’t noticed your arrival.

“N-Namjoon-hyung? Sorry, I was just busy counting the money—” Jungkook stopped short in his speech, his tongue getting caught in his mouth when his eyes landed directly on you. He had made a strangled sound, like he had swallowed his spit too quickly and was struggling to regain his composure. “H-Hello?”

You realized belatedly that he must have been greeting you, as you had been distracted by his fidgetiness. His nervousness was cute, if a little bit contagious; you couldn’t help feeling anxious too, like your heart was missing every other beat, even though you had no reason to be. “Hello! My name is Y/N. It’s my first time coming here, but Namjoon says your new summer menu item is really good? I wanted to try it out for myself.”

Jungkook nodded, still staring wide-eyed at you as if in a trance. You expected him to start... well. You weren’t an expert on how bakeries or cafes are run, but you were pretty sure he should’ve started doing something after you had spoken, perhaps ring up your order on the register, or start working on your drinks. Instead, he’s still frozen in place, like he’d somehow short-circuited within the last two minutes.

It seemed you weren’t the only one who noticed his odd behavior because the man working with him suddenly pushed Jungkook to the side, a brief smirk flashing across his face before it was quickly replaced by a more subdued, professional smile.

“Sorry about him. He’s usually my best baker, but sometimes he can get a little... distracted when he’s confronted with sweet things,” the man said nonchalantly, but it seemed that his innocent-sounding comment had embarrassed Jungkook greatly.

“Jimin-hyung!” Jungkook whined, stomping his foot not unlike a bunny. If you squinted a little bit, you could definitely see the resemblance.

Namjoon, who had been quietly watching everything unfold, chose that moment to pipe up. “Oh, I see. I didn’t know you had a type, but after thinking about it—” Namjoon shot a surreptitious glance at you, before turning back to Jungkook with a teasing grin, “—I can definitely see why.”

At the time, you had no idea what was going on, mostly confused as to why Jungkook had suddenly become so red-faced while Namjoon and Jimin giggled like a couple of high school girls. It seemed like you were somehow the main reason for his embarrassment, so you were quick to poke Namjoon in the stomach, effectively silencing him.

“Hey! Stop teasing the poor boy. He’s just being nice,” you said, pointing a soft smile back at Jungkook. “Sorry about him. I’m sure you’re an excellent baker, judging from how wonderful and cute all these cakes on the display look.” Somehow, your praise had only made Jungkook’s cheeks brighten even further. He cleared his throat as if to say something in response, before changing his mind and scuttling away to the back room instead.

“I’m going to start making your milkshake! D-don’t mind me!” He called out from behind the door, causing Jimin to finally break down into raucous giggles, nearly doubling over from his own mirth.

“Aish, that kid. He never learns, huh…” Jimin sighed, but the smile on his face is kind—the sort of fond look an older brother might have for his kid brother. He turned back to you and Namjoon with that lingering softness as he rang the two of you up, before chatting idly with you as you waited for Jungkook to finish making your drinks.

“I’ve never seen you around, Y/N-ssi. Jungkook—sorry, I meant I definitely would’ve noticed you if I did. You go to the same university as Namjoon-ssi, right?” Jimin asked, flipping a pen between his fingers with incredible dexterity. You were slightly distracted by that, faintly jealous of how his short fingers could somehow manage such a feat.

“I—yeah, I do. I’m assuming you’re also a student?”

“Yep. I actually met Namjoon-ssi when we took that one music theory class together. I was handing out flyers for this bakery after class and he happened to be one of the first people to actually come,” he said, winking at Namjoon. You watched with much interest when your friend turned a faint shade of pink, his hand coming up behind his neck—a signature tick of his whenever he was feeling shy or nervous.

“I-It was nothing… I mean, your seasonal drinks are always so good! I remember your old snowman-shaped donuts with the raspberry filling? I still dream of it sometimes,” Namjoon sighed, eyes going glassy for a moment.

Jimin laughed, his eyes crinkling into cute little crescents. “Oh, stop it! I remember how you’d come here even after we stopped serving that donut and you’d beg us to make them again.”

“And yet you never did, even though I know you have the ingredients to make them,” Namjoon pouted, but there’s endearment dancing in his expression.

You chuckled, shaking your head in disbelief. “I never pegged Namjoon as a sweet-tooth guy, so this is honestly all a very big surprise to me. I should be pumped for this milkshake then, huh? Hopefully, you aren’t just hyping it up and I’ll end up disappointed.”

Before either Namjoon or Jimin could retort, Jungkook had reappeared from the back room with two large cups in hand, almost tripping over his untied apron string but managing to get to the counter in one piece.

“Here you go. I hope you won’t be disappointed when you try it,” he said, gaze averted downwards when he hands you your cup. Your fingers grazed each other for a second, nearly causing both of you to drop the drink like it was on fire.

“S-sorry,” you laughed it off, feeling your ears get a little red from your blunder. You pointedly ignored Namjoon’s arched brow, no doubt enjoying your sudden shyness. Without waiting for him to get his own cup, you casually tear off the straw wrapper and take your first sip of the drink.

“So?” Jungkook asked after a while, watching with bated breath as you take a good gulp of the milkshake. “How is it? Is it worth the hype?” You don’t speak for a moment, further aggravating the two bakers as you carefully chewed on the bits of strawberry in the drink.

“This—” you said, speaking slowly for increased dramatic effect. You could hear Namjoon groan beside you, used to your need for unnecessary anticipation. Even as you paused for a moment longer, you could already feel the smile creeping up your face, unable to completely hide your giddiness. “—is fantastic. Show-stopping. Best thing since sliced bread! I could live on this shit alone.”

Jungkook released a breath he didn’t know he had been holding, chuckling in relief as you began to completely devour the treat in mere minutes. “I’m… really glad you like it,” he said with a wide, toothy grin. You were so immersed in your drink that you missed the way he sighed softly, hand gently cradling his chest where his heart would be.

Namjoon had taken his own sip as well, sighing dreamily as the creamy and sweet flavor overtook his palate. “Truly the best drink in existence. If I was a Twitch streamer or some shit, I’d promote this regularly for free.”

His comment made Jimin giggle softly, but his gaze is trained on something else entirely. “I’m flattered, but maybe don’t promote Y/N’s cup, over here. We don’t typically have strawberries and hearts doodled all over our cups,” he said, smirking slyly.

Lo and behold, your cup did have small doodles littering its sides whereas Namjoon’s was just a plain white paper cup. “Oh,” you said, blushing furiously when you finally noticed. Your flush was nothing compared to the one on Jungkook’s cheeks, however. The two of you refused to make eye contact after that, both of you trying (and failing) to silence the amused snickers of your respective friends.

Despite that slightly embarrassing (and heartwarming) experience, that had marked the start of your love for the tiny bakery and their special strawberry shortcake milkshake. You returned to Euphoria Bakery as often as you could throughout the summer, even going to visit it without Namjoon most of the time. You would even occasionally go out of your way to visit the bakery, even after your summer classes had ended and there was really no reason for you to be around the area.

It also didn’t hurt that the boy behind the counter was especially cute, with his big doe eyes and melodic laughter that always got your heart beating erratically in your chest. It hadn’t taken long for you to admit to yourself that you had a not-so-tiny crush and every visit to the bakery only made you fall deeper for him.

Namjoon has assured you that Jungkook clearly has a crush on you too, but you’re quick to shut him down. It is one thing to be shy and awkward around a girl and another to have a crush on the aforementioned girl. As you visited the bakery more and more, you do notice that Jungkook is more reserved when it comes to other female clientele, although, dare you hope? He does seem a little bit more… nervous, when he talks to you, but that could be your lovesick eyes playing tricks on you.

Never mind the fact that he only ever seems to leave cute doodles on your cups alone, but that could just be a coincidence, right? After all, he can hardly hold a conversation with you when you try to speak with him, always eager to rush to the backroom to make your drink.

Your visits usually consist of making idle chit chat with Jimin after greeting both him and Jungkook. The younger boy often dips the moment he sees you through the glass door, automatically going to prepare your favorite summer treat without even having to ask for your order. He never stays to stick around long enough to make conversation, as he eventually excuses himself to do some chore or another. During one of your trips, you tentatively asked Jimin if Jungkook was avoiding you, to which the blonde boy just laughed heartily at your query.

“Don’t worry about it, Y/N. He’ll come around eventually; he’s just nervous. Don’t tell him I told you this, but…” he trails off, peeking over his shoulder to make sure Jungkook wouldn’t accidentally overhear him. When he turns back to you, the smirk on his face is equal parts amused and mischievous. He looks a little impish, though you aren’t sure if he’d take that too kindly. “Jungkook always stares out the door, waiting for you to arrive. I’ve caught him red-handed far too many times for it to be a coincidence.”

Your cheeks flush warmly at his words but don’t say anything after that. You suppose all you can do is wait for him to start warming up to you eventually, and you hope the day comes sooner as the summer days grow shorter and shorter.

Of course, that day does come eventually, but probably not on the day you wished it would happen.

Like all good things, summer comes to its close and so does the summer menu options offered at Euphoria Bakery. Jimin had already told you a week beforehand that your favorite strawberry shortcake milkshake would get phased out as soon as July hit, but you refused to listen. You had hoped that as his regular customer and friend, perhaps Jimin would make an exception and prolong the milkshake’s lifetime for your sake, but it seems that Jimin has made it clear that friendship and business are two separate entities that he will not allow to coincide.

“Please Jimin? Just one more time? I’ll even settle for a small size,” you beg, your entire body draped over the cashier counter like the pathetic plebeian that you are. Thankfully, since you have made it a habit to pass by the bakery when it’s close to closing time, there aren’t any other patrons left to judge your pitiful display. Unthankfully, that also means Jimin is free to flick you on the forehead with no holds barred, leaving a large red welt where his finger hits.

“I already told you that I won’t budge, not even if you licked my Balenciagas. Besides, we’re out of strawberries anyway.” Jimin huffs, rolling his eyes at your pained whines as you grasp your head in agony. “Oh stop it, will you? I didn’t even hit you that hard.”

“I beg to differ, hyung.” Jungkook pipes up, startling both you and Jimin. Jungkook is usually content to wiping down the glass displays or tables while he passively listens to the two of you bicker, humming occasionally to indicate that he’s still listening, so it comes as a small surprise whenever he does decide to speak up. He must have noticed this too, as his ears quickly begin to redden as he scrambles to finish his sentence. “I-I mean, hyung might have small hands, but his finger flicks are no joke. You could break someone’s skull with that thing.”

“Who are you calling small, huh?” Jimin growls, but the playful smirk on his face tells you that he’s just teasing. He pulls Jungkook in a headlock, who surprisingly doesn’t seem all that bothered by the fact that Jimin is actively trying to block his windpipe with his strong forearms. “Take it back!”

“Never,” Jungkook wheezes, effortlessly removing himself from Jimin’s grip. He dusts himself off, not even breathless. “Also, why’d you lie to Y/N like that? We still have strawberries in the back. How else would we make our strawberry jam tarts?”

Jimin squawks indignantly, folding his arms. “How dare you sell out our company secrets! I could fire you for that!”

Jungkook scoffs, bumping Jimin with his hip. Jungkook must also not know his own strength, because he accidentally causes Jimin to stumble a few steps back, nearly toppling over one of their bread racks. “You’re joking. If you fired me, no one would be able to make the bagels in the morning because you never know how to proof them correctly.”

“Slander!” Jimin hisses, pinching Jungkook’s side in retaliation. You and Jungkook laugh at his childish pouts, but the older boy can’t hide his own mirth for too long. “Fine. You can stay. But you,” he points at you this time, eyes narrowing with suspicion. “You better not seduce my boy over here to make your strawberry shortcake milkshake. I have eyes and ears everywhere.” He drags his finger to the corner of the walls, where there is—

“There’s nothing there?” You follow where he’s pointing, but all you can see is a stray cobweb that Jungkook must have missed while dusting this morning. “Am I supposed to be looking at something?”

“Jimin is thinking of installing surveillance cameras soon. He’s convinced that someone is trying to steal his banana cream pie recipe.” Jungkook shrugs. He slings an arm around Jimin’s shoulder, glaringly delighted when their height difference becomes even more apparent while he stands close to him. “Anyway, I promise I won’t get ‘seduced’ by her, or whatever you want to call it. Why don’t you head home early for tonight? I’ll close up and I’ll try to convince Y/N to try our other pastries as a replacement.”

You open your mouth to try and protest, but Jungkook sends you a cheeky wink, making sure that his boss doesn’t catch him in the act. Bemused but interested to see what he’s up to, you decide to keep quiet and wait for him to continue.

“Don’t try and think you’re being slick here, buddy,” Jimin says, closing in on Jungkook’s personal space by pressing his chest against his. “If I see that you break the bakery code and serve her that drink… There will be consequences.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes, sighing dramatically as he gently pries the smaller man away from him. “Yeah, yeah. I got you. No funny business, I promise. Now get out of here, hyung. Leave the rest to me.”

Jimin gives him one last firm look before squinting warily at you, lips pursed tightly. “No seducing,” he repeats, wagging his finger at you. He unties the apron around his neck, throwing it haphazardly at the coat hanger on the back door where his jacket was hanging. He folds it over his arm and points at the corner of the ceiling with his free hand once more before exiting through the front entrance, the soft bells hanging above the doorway tinkling in his wake.

When he’s gone, you release a breath that you hadn’t realized you had been holding. “Well, that was easier than expected. I didn’t think you’d be able to get him to leave. He must trust you a lot, huh?”

Jungkook shrugs. “Nah. He’s just lazy. He hates closing the bakery and will jump at any opportunity to go home early.”

You nod. “Seems like him.” There’s a beat of silence. “So… How much seducing am I gonna have to do to get my milkshake, huh?”

Like you guessed, Jungkook immediately turns red at your words, spluttering and stammering over his spit for a few seconds before managing to come up with a reply. “O-oh, there’s no need for that. I was gonna make the drink for you anyway.”

“But what about the quote-unquote consequences?” you ask, still worried that you might be getting Jungkook in trouble. You’d rather have your arm cut off than have him get punished, no matter how small it might be.

“No need to worry about that. Jimin might pretend to be a prickly old man sometimes, but he’s mostly just full of hot air,” Jungkook snorts, shaking his head in amusement. “He’ll just make me treat him to some skewers or something. He’s just teasing.”

“If… If you say so? I just really don’t want him to get angry with you…” you say, voice turning small as you tried to reign your embarrassment in. “I know I made a fool of myself just moments ago and begged like a baby for the milkshake, but I was just exaggerating…”

“Something tells me that you aren’t, but let’s pretend for your sake that you are,” Jungkook says. You huff indignantly at his teasing, but you’re more overjoyed by the sight of his cute bunny smile. You had only seen it in passing a few times in the past, but seeing it directed at you is an entirely different experience. Because of you, your mind helpfully supplies.

He heads over to the backroom to begin preparing your drink, but he keeps the door open this time so you can see him even from behind the counter. You can mostly only see the large industrial ovens and bread racks filled to the brim with all sorts of pastries proofing for the night, but you do catch a glimpse of the sole blender near the back. Jungkook grabs the glass jar first and then walks over to the fridge just out of your sight, most likely to grab the ingredients needed for your milkshake.

The bakery is mostly silent, save for the sound of Jungkook moving and assembling everything. You rack your brain for some sort of conversation starter, as the atmosphere between the two of you has begun to return to its usual awkward state as you skirt around each other, unsure of where either of you stands. You might have known him for a while now, but today is the most you’ve ever spoken to him and the tension is palpable.

“So.” You clear your throat, heart beating a mile a minute in your chest. “I… guess this is going to be the last time I have this drink, huh?”

The sound of Jungkook chopping on the cutting board pauses for a second. You can only see his left shoulder from where you’re standing, but you can see it tense even then. “I… I mean, will you stop coming over to the bakery if it is the last time?”

There are so many things you want to say all at once, but the words somehow get caught in your throat. You want to say that you love coming to the bakery to see them (though it’s mostly Jungkook if you’re being honest) and that the strawberry shortcake milkshake had just been an excuse to visit for a while now. You want to keep visiting for as long as they’ll have you—but you don’t know how to say it without hot humiliation running down your spine. You don’t want to weird him out by confessing to him all of a sudden. And so, you clam up, not knowing how to respond.

When Jungkook throws in all the ingredients in the blender, he doesn’t turn it on immediately. He tilts his head to the side, not fully looking at you but giving you a view of his beautiful side profile. You see his Adam’s apple bob for a moment, his tongue poking out to wet his lips before he speaks. “Because… If that’s how it’s going to be, then maybe… buying a couple of skewers for Jimin won’t be so bad.”

You freeze. “What? Are you saying that...”

“I’ll keep making the drink for you, even if it’s not on the menu anymore?” Jungkook finishes, turning fully to face you. There’s a shy grin on his face, coupled with the ever-present pink flush high on his cheekbones. “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying. We’ll have to be sneaky about it, though. You’ll have to come to the bakery only when I’m closing so that he doesn’t catch us but otherwise…” He scratches the tip of his nose, looking embarrassed. “If… If you’re fine doing that, I mean.”

It feels like an eternity before you can remember how to function like a regular human being again. Your insides feel like molten lava and you’re certain that your internal organs have begun to self-destruct right after that super-effective hit from Jeon Jungkook, super baker boy extraordinaire. It’s mind-blowing how effortlessly cute he can be, making you realize belatedly that his quiet demeanor over the past few weeks had been a blessing and not a curse. If he had been this sweet with you from the get-go, you’d surely be melted butter on a sidewalk by now.

“I would love you—I mean, I would love it if you did that for me, actually.” You stammer, resisting the urge to punch yourself in the tit. You’re thankful for the lack of mirrors at the bakery, for you are positive that you must look like the devil’s blazing red testicles at this point.

“Great,” Jungkook smiles softly. He turns the blender off, pouring your drink into a paper cup. “Oh, before I forget…” He grabs a marker from the small tin can near the cash register, and you watch as he quickly scribbles a few hearts around the circumference of the cup. “There we go. Now it’s done.”

As Jungkook hands your drink to you, you’re hit with a moment of déjà vu when your fingers brush just like the first time you had met. You sense the same familiar shock of electricity when you touch, but instead of pulling away like before, Jungkook surprises you for the third time that day.

When he’s sure that you have a secure grip on your cup, he grabs your free hand with his, unfurling your fingers until he can get a hold of your pinky. He curls his pinky into yours, linking them together with a bashful smile on his lips. “There. Now we pinky promised to each other.”

“Y-yes. Of course,” you mumble, giggling lightly when he still refuses to let go. “I pinky promise.”

.

.

.

Five minutes away from Euphoria Bakery, Jimin sits quietly in his parked car, his figure hunched over the small screen of his phone as he chuckles loudly to himself. There is a tiny video of two people, a boy and a girl, with their hands held together. Despite the quality being grainy and warped, Jimin needs no confirmation as to who those people are; he’s always known, after all.

“All according to keikaku.” He whistles happily, already salivating at the thought of all the skewers Jungkook will have to buy for him.

#yoonkooknetwork #bangtanarmynet #networkbangtan #bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #jungkook x reader #bts x reader #bts reader insert #bts fanfiction #bts #bts imagines #bts fluff #bakery!au #jeon jungkook #jungkook fluff #bts fanfic #bangtan #beebeebooboo... hello world i am a fluff writer now :D #haha... not suspicious at all... owo #anyway pls tell me what u think!! yay for commissions ^q^

[jeminy3]

old archie x maxie (hardenshipping) doodles i never posted, from 2017 or 2018. they were related to some of the doodles in this post.

I have a lot of unpublished drawings of these guys, and i never did elaborate on my headcanons for them. The truth is, I was (and still kinda am) very anxious and embarrassed about this fixation, probably because it centers around villains and “woobifies” them, but also because after playing and researching more into ORAS, i discovered that my personal canon was contradicted by actual canon and i felt invalidated.

For the sake of posterity, I’ll summarize my old headcanons below. (It’s still pretty long, ugh)

A grunt in Team Magma’s hideout says that Archie and Maxie “used to be on the same team.” In canon, this probably implies that they worked together on New Mauville, Sea Mauville, or another unnamed project, depending on how old they are and how long ago those projects started and ended.

However, like many other fans, I thought this meant they used to be in Team Rocket together, and I elaborated an entire backstory based on that:

+ Maxie and Archie were part of a group of Rocket recruits attempting to start a branch of Team Rocket in the Hoenn Region. The project failed because soon after they arrived, Giovanni was defeated in Kanto and officially dissolved Team Rocket, causing a schism to form within the Hoenn team over whether to give up the project or not. This eventually lead to the team splintering into two factions, one lead by Maxie and the other lead by Archie, which eventually grew and rebranded themselves into Team Magma and Team Aqua.

-Maxie and Archie met and connected enough to start dating, though they were emotionally dysfunctional. As problems arose and the Team began to splinter, their relationship also broke down and their separation was very messy.

Maxie clung to the ambition of staying in Hoenn and building up the Team as a paragon of human industry, pushing away Archie and anyone else he deemed as “not useful.”

Archie also wanted to make the Team work, but not in the way Maxie and his side wanted, at the expense of nature. Archie felt hurt and betrayed as Maxie pushed him away and disagreed with him, making him contradict and lash out at Maxie even more.

This all culminated in a huge fight between Archie and Maxie and their respective sides, involving both Pokemon battling and actual fist-fighting. Local authorities were called in, causing the teams to scatter, but not before Archie and Maxie promised to face each other again, reforging themselves as bitter rivals.

-- Maxie

+ Maxie is (the pokemon equivalent of) German/Japanese, and was born on Cinnabar Island. His birth name was Maximillian Matsubasa Von Brandt, but he prefers simply “Maxie”. He IDs as bigender, asexual and demi-homoromantic.

His father is a Kanto businessman named Masaru Matsubasa. His mother is from somewhere in or near Kalos, named Melissa Von Brandt. They were both wealthy and successful business people who frequently left on business trips, Masaru travelling between Kanto and Johto and Melissa to her home country.

Maxie was often left alone or with a nanny at home. He was well-provided for and self-sufficient, but he was lonely and emotionally stunted. He had a passion for geology and engineering, and showed interest in contributing to helping Cinnabar’s local issues, which were often tense because of the limited land space. Homelessness and unemployment were high, and development plans to alleviate these were stymied by parties who lobbied for the preservation of the local Pokemon wildlife by any means.

Maxie’s parents were skeptical of his choice in career but still supported him, if only half-heartedly. This lead Maxie to study Cinnabar’s volcano, which he found to be very much active and possibly dangerous. He developed a plan to build in and around the volcano in such a way that it would utilize extra space inside the mountain for housing/businesses and its magma for natural energy to power the city, possibly circumventing its eventual eruption.

He presented this plan to Cinnabar’s city council, but was practically laughed out of the meeting for such an ambitious and dangerous idea, especially by the wildlife parties. This damaged his reputation and caused him to be fired/demoted from his job. His parents reprimanded him, regretting their decision to support him.

Lost and disgusted with his life, Maxie found recruitment with Team Rocket and left Cinnabar to join their efforts on the mainland. When he presented his research to their higher-ups, they were impressed enough to pass it along to Giovanni himself, and Maxie ended up contributing to the construction of some of their underground lairs, like in Celadon City.

This also made him a prime candidate for the Rocket Hoenn project as a lead engineer and scientist, and he joined the project with high hopes.

+ His interest in Pokemon was soured by his past and usually only extends are far as his ambitions, which means he views Pokemon only as things that can be useful to whatever projects he’s working on, otherwise they are a nuisance. After becoming the leader of Team Magma and having to train a personal team to defend himself with, he warms up to Pokemon a bit more.

+ Maxie plays up his confidence and genius, but does have moments of crippling self-doubt and anxiety. Deep down, he’s socially awkward and has trouble expressing his feelings, tending to bottle things up until they spill out in moments of anger.

+ Maxie used to be a semi-heavy smoker in his youth to cope with his anxiety. After becoming the leader of Team Magma, his health was suffering and his grunts were visibly uncomfortable around him, so for the sake of his own health and that of his team, he quit, with help and advice from Courtney and Tabitha.

+ Maxie hates his parents and hasn’t contacted them since he left Cinnabar, which was over ten years ago by the end of ORAS events. He avoids them to the point that he uses a forged identity in Hoenn, named “Maxie Stormfront.” ‘Stormfront’ is a reference from one of his favorite metal bands, the Doom Hounds, because he is a nerd.

+ Years later, Cinnabar’s volcano did erupt and destroy the town, displacing its human population. Maxie has mixed feelings about this – he’s not sure if it’s righteous karma for the City Council rejecting his plans, or a sign that his old plans were doomed to failure and he was better off leaving Cinnabar after all.

-- Archie

+ Archie is (the pokemon equivalent of) Black/Hispanic and a Hoenn native. His birth name is Archibald Rodriguez. He IDs as a cis man (or trans?), pansexual and panromantic.

He was born to his father, Alexander Rodriguez and his mother, Alicia Fuentes (Rodriguez after marriage) in a small fishing town on one of Hoenn’s coasts, with its fishery being its only major industry. Most of its residents are middle-class or poor, and few members pursue an education after high school, usually joining the local fishing industry.

In his youth, Archie didn’t care much for school or work, preferring to spend his days playing with the local water Pokemon and his friends, Matt and Shelly. However, this exposed him to the effects that overfishing and pollution had on the local wildlife, and he eventually grew to want to pursue a career as a Veterinarian, specifically for water pokemon.

His parents didn’t believe he would be successful and his town had few resources to help him. The most he could do was research at the local library and a then-primitive internet.

Worse, his town was outright apathetic to the damage their industry was causing to the local wildlife because they depended on its capital to survive.

+A possible traumatic memory involves a young Archie nursing a sick Magikarp back to health for weeks, only to later discover it trapped in the nets of the fishery his father worked at, doomed to become food/products. When he attempted to cut the nets and save the Magikarp, his father restrained him and reprimanded him, claiming “it’s just a fish, boy! They’re all just stupid fish!”

Eventually, Archie was a depressed drifter in his 20s, unable to hold onto work and unable to afford to leave to a larger city. He often fought with his abrasive father and his mother was coddling, but unsupportive. This made Archie a prime candidate for Team Rocket recruiters as they arrived on Hoenn, promising a way out of his backwater town, decent pay, and a career where he’d be appreciated and be able to work with Pokemon to change the world.  He joined as a lowly Grunt, but was talented and well-respected within the Team.

-Archie has limited contact with his parents since he left home, only calling them once a year or so.

-Archie doesn’t like being referred to as his full name, it feels pretentious and brings back uncomfortable memories of his family.

+I used to headcanon Archie and Matt as biological brothers because of the “bro” thing, but I’m not sure about keeping that. If so, Matt’s name would be short for Matthias Rodriguez, because their parents liked pretentious names.

-Like some of his dialog implies, Archie is kind of depressed, pessimistic and cynical deep down, but hides it behind his boisterous, reckless attitude. At his worst, he’s downright bitter, uncaring of his own life or the lives of humanity in general, in favor of Pokemon.

#hardenshipping #aqua leader archie #magma leader maxie #rocket hardenshipping #pokemon oras #jeminy3 art #jeminy writes #long post #headcanons