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absurdthirst · 1 month

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Evidence of a Date {Tim Rockford x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 10.3k

Warnings: SEX POLLEN(ish), snuff films, power of suggestion, hypnosis, compulsory need to fuck, rough sex, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, oral sex (male and female receiving)

Comments: Asked to assist Detective Rockford with finding evidence on a supposed snuff tape, you find it to be very different from what either one of you were expecting. Leading you to some surprising outcomes.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

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|| MasterList || Tim Rockford MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

Getting called into the Captain’s office is never a good thing. No matter how clean you keep your nose or what rank you are, even as a Detective. “You wanted to see me, sir?” Knocking and opening the door, you are surprised to see Rockford sitting in a chair opposite the captain’s desk.

“Come in, shut the door.” He waves you in and your stomach twists, wondering what the hell is going on. You’ve worked with Tim before, but not recently. You’ve been too busy with your own caseload. “I need you to do something for me.” Captain Carnell is a no bullshit man, a pragmatist who hated sitting behind a desk. “Tim’s got a video he needs to go through, evidence.” You frown slightly, unsure why that should have any impact on you. “It’s a snuff film, supposedly and the forensic team refuses to touch it.” He grumbles and you still don’t quite understand.

Tim shuffles awkwardly. “I need to watch it. And I need another set of eyes.” Your head turns towards him. “You can keep your mouth shut, unlike 90% of the others around here.” It’s true, cops like to gossip and if it is a snuff film, the details need to be kept quiet while the investigation is ongoing.

“I see. And that’s why you called me in?” You ask the captain.

“Yes.” Carnell nods. “Tim asked if your cases could be transferred and you to help him on this, and I think it’s a good idea. That way there’s no talk of sexism if the case goes nowhere.”

You nod. “Of course.” You agree, not sure if you’re dreading watching the video or spending all your time with Tim more. It’s hard working with someone that you are hopelessly attracted to and know that it’s unrequited. “I’ll move my cases over to Robertson and we can get on the case right away.”

Your captain nods, “excellent. After closing time, go to the break room. He’s secured the room so it will be just you two.” Tim nods, crossing his arms and you glance between the two men. “Go back to your paperwork. Half an hour…the office will be closed up after everyone heads out and you can get started.”

You nod and Tim shuffles a little as he exits the office, holding the door open for you. “Thanks for helping with this. It’s - it could be the breakthrough we need and I know it’s gonna be hard to watch but I’m glad you’re helping me with it.” Tim says quietly as you stand in the hallway before you get to the bullpen.

“It’s okay.” You don’t know what to expect. Hopefully it’s not too gory, you have been to plenty of crime scenes, but you had hoped to go to a party tonight after work. Even if you stay late to work on the case, you could get there later. “We’ll watch the tape and then make any notes before we go back through it again.”

Tim nods, reaching out to squeeze your upper arm. He can’t help but think you look gorgeous today. Well, every day really but you’d never want him. He’s older. He’s divorced and has a ten year old son. He’s got baggage and you deserve the world. With a sigh, he makes his way back to his desk, eager to finish the work day to spend time with you. God, he’s pathetic. He’s desperate to spend time with you. Even if it means watching a snuff tape. The day seems to drag by and finally he sees his colleagues starting to pack up and he wipes his hands on his pants, glancing across the room to your desk.

Your cases have been passed off you and endured the grumbling, telling Robertson to talk to the captain if he had a problem with it. Finishing up some paperwork while you wait for everyone else to go home. “You leaving?” One of the other detectives comes by your desk on his way out.

“No.” You shake your head and look down at your file. “Backlog of paperwork. Captain’s on my ass about it.” You know most of them have every intention of heading down to the bar for happy hour. “Drink a beer for me though, okay?”

Tim is asked the same thing except he got waggled eyebrows as most of them know about his crush on you…everyone except you apparently. He sighs and pushes back from his desk after everyone is gone. “You want a coffee before we get started? I’ve got…something to add if you want to take the edge off.” He says, pulling out a small flask as he looks at you.

“Detective Rockford.” You sound scandalized, but you grin as you pick up your coffee cup. “Absolutely.” You laugh as you start to walk towards the break room. “At least if we can’t go for happy hour, we can brace ourselves for what is to come.” You tell him, emptying out the sludge in the pot and setting it to make a fresh batch. Lord only knows how long you will end up staying. “So where did you get this tape from?”

Tim sits down and sets the flask down on the little coffee table in front of the sofa in the break room. He’s slept on the sofa before. Especially when he was trying to crack the case of the old woman who was murdered for her inheritance. It kept him up all night and he ended up sleeping in the office a few times while looking over the case. “I have an inside contact. He’s looking for immunity and he left me a copy of the tape. Some mafia bullshit…it’s heavy. Supposedly.” He tells you, watching you make the coffee.

“So don’t plan on wanting to eat, got it.” You frown, deciding it was a stupid idea to ask Tim if he wanted to go out to that little dinner down the road from your apartment anyway. You were work colleagues, not romantically linked. “As long as it’s not a kid, I’ll be fine.” You admit softly, looking up from where you are pouring sugar and creamer in your cup to get it ready for the coffee. “I hate when it’s kids. I can’t imagine how you feel, having your son.”

Tim shakes his head, rubbing his cheek. “That - any kid - it kills me. Wondering what I’d do…how id feel if someone - I think you’d be locking me up because I’d burn the fucking world if something happened to Billy.” Tim confesses and you come over to the sofa with your cup and a cup for him. “Thanks sweetheart.” He says, grabbing the remote. He doesn’t call you sweetheart in front of the other guys but you’ve always been close to his heart. “You ready?” He asks you, wanting to make sure you’re mentally prepared.

It’s almost embarrassing how much you enjoy when he calls you sweetheart, not taking offense to it at all. It’s almost like an endearment and you cherish it. “I’m ready.” You tell him after taking a deep breath, knowing you need to be professional.

He grabs the flask, pouring a generous amount of whiskey in each mug before he sets it down. “Just to take the edge off.” He says before he takes a sip and hits play on the tape. He’s tense beside you, waiting to see the gruesome scene unfold.

"I hope that we don't have to finish the flask and go find a bottle." You murmur as you immediately take a large sip of your doctored coffee. Enjoying the slight burn before a naked woman walks into the view of the camera. Obviously set up in some kind of bedroom. "Well, fuck." You hiss. "It's gonna be one of those snuff films."

Tim shifts awkwardly as the woman comes over to the camera, her tits swaying as she adjusts it before she steps back and a man appears behind her. “Yeah. I, uh, I wasn’t told that this was - yeah. Sorry.” He blushes slightly, knowing he’s secretly wondered what you look like naked more than enough times.

"It's okay." You take another sip of your coffee before you look over at Tim for a split second, eyes flying back to the tv. You watch as the man starts to massage the woman's tits. "It's not like I've never watched porn before." You tell him, wanting him to relax slightly. "Caucasian female, approximately mid to late twenties, brown hair, Caucasian male, mid forties, short blond hair." You observe. "It looks like there is a tattoo on his left bicep."

Tim had completely forgotten to take any notes, his mind shamefully thinking about you naked and him behind you palming your tits. He leans forward, clasping his hands together to force himself to pay attention. He watches the couple fondle each other and he feels guilty that you’re having to watch this. “I- I’m not sure if he’s the one that gets killed.” Tim says, paying attention as the man’s hand slides down to rub the clit of the woman.

"Most snuff films, it's the woman who's murdered." You huff quietly, biting your lip and frowning slightly when the screen flashes for a split second. "I-" you shake your head, afraid you might have just imagined it. The woman's moan hadn't stopped so you just continue to watch. Your cunt bottoms out when the man slaps her pussy and then starts to rub again, his other hand still toying with her right nipple. "He's left-handed?" You ask, not quite sure but it's a strong theory. "Most often men finger a woman with their dominant hand."

“This is supposed to be the tape of the victim.” Tim says, trying to work through the evidence despite his cock twitching, suddenly aroused and he puts that down to being close to you.

You hum and lean in, trying to pretend the foreplay in the video isn't erotic, or you aren't getting turned on. It's natural, that's what you are trying to convince yourself of. That your panties would be soaked already if you were just watching a normal porn, alone in your room where you could pretend your hand was Tim's. Clearing your throat, you swear you see the screen flash again, but the audio doesn't stop.

Tim swears he saw something flash on the screen but he doesn’t bother telling you. He is trying to conceal his rapidly hardening cock. Sweat starts to bead on his forehead and he wipes it with the back of his hand. “I - this isn’t a normal snuff tape.” He murmurs, confused as the man pushes his fingers into the woman, her moan echoing in the break room as the image flashes on screen again and he pays attention. “You see that?” He asks, curious if you’ve seen it.

You gasp, but you don't know if it's from the fact that Tim might have seen the same flashes you have, or from how warm you are getting. How your entire body seems to be lighting up, aching for someone, Tim, to touch you. "I- yes?" You almost ask as you try to keep from moaning quietly.

“What - What does it say?” He asks, wondering if you’ve seen it better than he did and he tugs on his tie, loosening it and undoing the top button. Suddenly overheated, he shifts his feet and his fingers flex as he smothers down the urge to touch you.

“I don’t know. It’s- it’s flashing too fast to read.” You know you should probably stop the tape and go back, but you can’t. “Is it- fuck, it’s hot in here, right?” You ask him, biting your lip when the woman cums on the tape, moaning softly as you wonder if Tim would finger you before he fucks you or if he would just shove his cock into your needy pussy.

“Yeah. It is.” Tim murmurs, suddenly boiling hot and he unbuttons a couple more buttons on his shirt, his tie pulled over his head to fling it down on the sofa. The man grabs the woman, dragging her to the bed and he wastes no time pushing into her, her moan echoing in the room and the screen flashes again. This time slower. The word ‘Fuck’ flashes again, and again. Tim is rock hard now, unable to tear his eyes away from the tv.

“It’s saying ‘Fuck’.” You breathe out, unsure why someone would cut that word into a snuff film. “Right?” Your cunt is throbbing and you squirm as you watch the couple fuck on the screen. You bite your lip, trying to keep your breathing regulated and you want to touch yourself, or have Tim touch you.

“Ye-yeah. That’s what I- shit. It’s so hot.” He says, unbuttoning another couple of buttons and he undoes the wrist buttons, rolling his sleeves up. ‘Fuck’ flashes up on the screen again and Tim grunts, unable to resist palming his cock through his pants. “So-sorry. I- shit. I’m so hard it hurts.” He confesses, “you should - you should go.” He says, trying to get you away from him before he breaks.

You snort, pressing your thighs together. “Of course you are. We are watching two attractive people have sex.” You reason. “And it’s been a long goddamn time since a man made me cum.

Tim frowns, turning his head for a second to look at you before he focuses on the screen again. “It has? How? You’re - Jesus. You’re gorgeous. I always thought you had a secret boyfriend or something and just didn’t tell us.” He admits as the man fucks the woman harder and the screen flashes again. ‘Fuck’ Flashes and almost burns in his retinas as he sees it when he blinks.

You squirm again, wanting to shove your hand into your panties and rub your clit. “No time to date.” You groan. “You know how it is. Long hours. Turbulent cases. I just- have a vibrator.” You hiss when the screen flashes again. “Fuck! Why does it keep telling me to fuck?” You cry.

Tim bites his lip, his gaze flicking between you and the screen. The man flips the woman over to push back inside of her, making her cry out. ‘Fuck’ flashes again and Tim shakes his head, “I don’t - shit - I can’t - I need to-” He surges forward to cup your cheeks, pressing his lips to yours as ‘Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.’ repeats in his mind over and over again until he no longer controls himself.

It’s such a fucking relief to feel his lips against yours that you let out a small sob. Pulling him closer and pressing your entire body against his as ‘Fuck’ flashes in your mind again and again. Driven by some unseen force that is practically compelling you to touch the other detective. The need for him clawing under your skin like a drug.

His hands slide down to grab your waist, dragging you not his lap as his tongue slides into your mouth. The moans continue on the tv and the word ‘Fuck’ continues flashing in his mind. “Fuck.” He rasps out. “I- I can’t stop. Tell me to stop.” He managed to choke out despite grabbing your hips to drag you down on top of him.

“Don’t stop.” You gasp out, rolling your hips down shamelessly to grind against his hard cock. You don’t know why you need him inside you, but you desperately do. “Touch me, Tim.” You beg breathlessly. “Please baby.”

He can’t deny you. He helps you grind down on his cock, his hands sliding up to squeeze your tits through your blouse. “I - shit - I need to - to be inside of you.” He tells you, reaching down to work on unbuttoning your pants and he pushes his hand inside to find you wet and ready for him.

"Fuck." You whimper at the first touch of his thick fingers against your clit. "Yes, need- fuck, I need your cock." You groan out, reaching down around his own hand in your pants to squeeze his cock through his. "Now Tim." You insist.

Tim groans when you squeeze him and he slides his fingers between your folds, groaning at how wet you are. “Fuck. I- stand up. Take your pants off.” He demands, working on his belt buckle and his cock is aching, he’s in pain. The word ‘Fuck’ keeps flashing on the screen as the moans continue to pour out of the tv speakers.

Scrambling to your feet, you nearly fall over in your haste to strip down. Pushing down your pants and kicking them off with your panties, your knees shake in need and you are panting like you've just finished a marathon. "Oh fuck." you turn back around and find Tim with his cock in his hand, pumping it furiously. "Oh shit, let me- I need-" You dive back onto his lap, eager to sink down on his thick, uncut cock.

He grabs your ass as you reach between you to grip his cock and he groans when you start to sink down onto him. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck” starts to echo on the tv but Tim isn’t paying attention, to obsessed with the way you are sinking onto his cock. You’re so wet and tight and he loses his ability to breathe as you settle into his cock.

The slightly intense, grim detective looks amazing as he moans for you. Feeling his cock scrub against your walls in the best way as he breaks you open. Making your mouth drop open and a loud moan of his name, your arms wrapped around his neck to keep you upright.

“Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiittt.” He hisses in delight, groaning your name as you start to rock on top of him and his hands slide up to work on the buttons of your shirt, wanting to feel every inch of you. The buttons become tiresome so he just rips your blouse, sending buttons flying across the room and he groans when he finally gets access to your tits, pulling them out of your bra so he can duck down and take a nipple into his mouth.

“Oh fuck!” You cry out when his mouth attacks your breasts. Never imagining he would be such a dominant lover. Tearing your shirt off has you clenching down around him and squeezing him tight in your walls. “More.” You beg, tangling your fingers into his hair and tugging on it, pressing him into your breast. “More, baby, fuck.”

He bites down, sucking on your tits, alternating as he groans into your flesh and you whimper, making his cock twitch inside of you. ‘Fuck. Fuck. Fuck’ continues on the screen, the moans stopping from the couple as yours replace them, the words on the screen flashing constantly and Tim hisses as he grabs your ass, lifting you up to place you on the sofa so he can fuck into you.

“Oh fuck.” You whine when his cock slips out of you but the second he is driving back into you, your scream rings out. Scratching your nails down his shirt, you wish he was undressed. At least so you could feel his skin under your fingers.

He grunts, leaning down to kiss along your neck. “Imagined this so many fucking times.” He admits shamelessly, “imagined fucking you on my desk. In my bed. In here. In the captain's office. Imagined you a fuck ton. Shit. So tight. Knew you would be.” He rambles, his thrusts deep and slightly frantic as the mantra continues around you.

You moan, unable to believe that he would imagine fucking you. You have never thought he noticed you beyond working together. “Imagined how good you’d feel. How thick you would be.” You confess as he punches deep inside you. “Better that I could have imagined.”

Tim groans, spurred on by your words and the repeated mantra urging him on and he hisses your name as he pushes deep. “Wanna - wanna feel you cum.” He says, reaching down to rub your clit.

You shudder, clenching down around him and digging your nails into his shoulder as you lunge up to bite his chin. “Yes, fuck, fuck me harder.” You beg, driven by this invisible force.

He clenches his jaw, pushing deeper, harder, faster. Sweat beads on his forehead as he kneels on the sofa, lifting your thigh over his hip to get even deeper inside of you, his fingers rubbing your clit.

“Tim, oh fuck, oh fuck.” You choke out, feeling that familiar polling in the pit of your stomach. Except it’s better than using your toy at home. The nerves screaming in pleasure and you kiss every inch of skin you can reach.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck” repeats over and over and Tim hisses as he rocks into you, trying to get you to cum. It’s like he needs you to cum like he needs to breathe. “That’s it. Shit. Gettin’ so wet on my cock. Cum for me. Cum for me.” He begs, his cock twitching as he gets closer to his own orgasm.

The harsh, jarring thrusts are everything you need and more. Pushing you closer every time his hips snap forward and if there was ever a question of Tim Rockford’s ability in bed, this answered it. “Gonna baby.” You squeal, not making any sense, but it doesn’t matter. Your orgasm crashes through you and all you can do is cry out wordlessly.

“Yesss. That’s it. Good girl.” Tim hisses as you clamp down around him and he swears he could fuck you all night long just to hear you cry out his name like that. He rocks you through it, his jaw clenching and he releases a deep groan as he buries his cock deep and cums inside of you, painting your walls.

You whine, loving the feeling of his hot cum filling you up. Panting as you try to catch your breath when he drops his head on your shoulder. “Fuck.”

“Fuck.” He echoes, his cock still hard inside of you. The mantra is still playing on the tv and it’s wiggled into Tim’s head, making him ache for more. “I need - wanna fuck you from behind.”

You are surprised that he can keep going, but you can’t deny that your body still aches for more. “Yessss.” You hiss, clenching down around him and biting your lip. “Fuck me again. Never stop fucking me.”

Tim groans, pulling out of you and his dark eyes focus on the cum dripping out of you and he watches you shift onto your knees. His fingers wrap around his cock as you position yourself until he’s notching himself at your entrance and pushes into you with a groan.

“Fuck!” You cry out, enjoying the sharp ping of pain when he pushes deep and his cock hits the back of your cervix from this angle. “Jesus how are you single with a dick like that?” You moan.

“The job.” He chuckles, grabbing your hips and he starts to push deep, setting another harsh pace. “Divorced. Father of one. Not exactly - exactly Prince Charming.” He says breathlessly as his cock hits hard against your cervix.

“Fuuuuuuck.” You whine, dropping your head down onto the back of the sofa and rocking your hips back. “Don’t- fuck, don’t stop.” You beg him, barely getting the words out as he slams into you over and over again.

“I can’t.” He says truthfully and he slams into you, over and over. Desperate to hear and feel you cum for him again. “Can’t fucking stop. You’re - shit - this pussy is - fuck. Never wanna pull out.”

Moaning softly, all you can do is clench around him while you take his cock over and over again. Feeling like he's in your guts every time he snaps his hips forward and you want him even deeper. "Don't." you pant over your shoulder. "Just fuck me forever."

Tim nods, sweat glistening on his forehead and neck as he pushes into you over and over again. “I will, baby. Oh I fucking will.” He promises and groans when you clench around him. The tv keeps flashing and he hears ‘Fuck’ in the back of his mind over and over. “Jesus Christ. Never wanna stop.”

Your eyes slip closed. 'Fuck' flashing in your mind over and over again. Like you are possessed by this need to fuck. You moan his name and push your hips back. Needing more. Needing him deeper inside you. It doesn't matter that you've always dreamed of having sex with him, you need more of it. You whine, biting your lip so hard that you almost feel your teeth break the skin. Humming in agreement as you push back more forcefully. Letting his hips slam against your ass hard enough to rock you forward and press your chest against the back of the sofa.

“Good girl. That’s it. Yes. Yes.” Tim grunts, loving how you are pushing back against him. “Keep going. Keep - fuck - need you to cum again.” He pleads, leaning over your body to kiss along your neck, his hand cupping your tit to squeeze and pinch the nipple.

Gasping at the pain, you reach down. Frantically rubbing your clit as he hammers into you from behind. Striking that perfect spot deep inside you. "Gonna cum!" you squeal seconds before you clench down around him.

“That’s it, baby. Cum. Cum. Shit - need you to-” He chokes when you clamp down on his cock and he groans when you soak him, his cock nearly trapped inside of you but he manages to move to work you through it and he’s so close. “Shit. Baby. I- I’m gonna - I gotta - fuuuuuuckkkk.” He growls as he cums for the second time, painting your walls.

Whimpering Tim's name, you relax into the sofa, feeling him coating the inside of your cunt in his seed. Closing your eyes and sighing at the feeling, a small smile on your face. "So good. Feels so good." You moan quietly.

Tim exhales shakily, turning his head to see the screen has gone gray and he pants, leaning in to kiss your neck before he slowly pulls out of you, his cock finally going soft. “Shit.” He hisses and shifts to sit down on the sofa.

You turn slightly, grabbing your ruined shirt to sit down so you don’t leak cum all over the sofa. Other officers use it too. “God.” You pant, flopping back and trying to catch your breath. “That was- holy shit.”

Tim’s chest heaves, the mantra finally leaving his mind and he leans against the sofa after tucking himself away. “I guess…I guess it’s not, uh, it’s not a snuff tape.” He chuckles breathlessly.

"No." You frown slightly, wondering why it was said to be a snuff film when you think you saw both people in the film, alive and exhausted. "I- it was so strange. I kept seeing the word 'Fuck' flash on the screen between the scenes. Did you?"

“Yeah. It’s like - it’s like it burned into my retinas and all I could think of was fucking you and Jesus…I - did you want me to - or have I just-?” He can’t even sound out his thoughts, too horrified at the thought of it being what it could be.

"No!" Your eyes widen and you quickly shake your head. "I wanted you to." You promise, rushing to reassure him that it was something you had been very enthusiastic to experience. "I needed you too. It was like I had to have you or I was going to go crazy." You admit. "I thought I was pretty good at hiding my feelings."

The detective’s head swivels over to look at you. “You mean you- this wasn’t just the crazy hypnosis snuff video? You - Christ above, sweetheart. You have any fucking idea how many times I’ve thought about touching you…about being inside you…about loving you.” He adds softer than his prior exclamation.

You bite your lip, trying and failing not to grin at his confession. It seems like what could have been something troubling has turned out pretty fucking good. "So, I guess it was a good thing that you watched this with me rather than Robertson." You joke softly.

Tim’s eyes go wide as he turns to look at you, “thank the fucking Lord.” He runs his fingers through his hair. “That video…I don’t know what the fuck that was but we, uh, we gotta report it because this - it might not be so consensual for the next ones that get it and it could be dangerous.” He says, trying to focus on his job again instead of the way your lips look utterly kissable again.

"Who gave you this tape again?" You ask with a frown. "Why would they tell you it's a snuff film when it's.....obviously not?" It is concerning that it was given to a detective, and you wonder if it was meant to cause havoc in the department. Or the crime lab. "Normally this would be examined by the crime lab......not us."

“Yeah. The, uh, you know Greg? He gave it to me. Told me the crime lab didn’t have a working VHS so I’d have to watch it if I wanted to get the evidence from it.” He says and frowns, “he - he kinda knew I had a thing for you. Might’ve mentioned it when he noticed how pissed I’d get when the others talked about you behind your back.”

"Others talk about me?" You frown slightly, although you know shit talking is a part of being a cop. Especially a female detective in a male dominated field. "And Greg told you to watch this...with me?"

“They - they talk about your body. Your ass…what they wanna do to you. I- I try to shut them down. Say it’s disrespectful and yeah…he told me to get the captain to have you assigned to the case and I thought it was just to have your brains on the case…not - not this.” He gestures to the tv.

"Do you think Greg knew what was on the tape?" You ask quietly. reaching out and taking his hand and squeezing it gently for his kindness. For sticking up for you.

Tim looks down at your hands and shakes his head, “I don’t know babe. I- shit. I’m so sorry I put you in this situation. We gotta try and trace this tape back. We can’t let this shit get out.” He says, caressing the back of your hand with his thumb.

"I know." You nod as you look over at where the tv is still displaying a gray screen. "Maybe we need to take the video out of the station." You hum. "You know how nosy all these assholes are."

Tim nods, “I can take it home. Hide it.” He says, squeezing your hand again. “And I- I wouldn’t mind going to dinner with you sometime.” He adds, staring at the gray screen as he anxiously awaits your answer.

"I don't think we are going to get much work done tonight." You admit. "And I don't know about you, but I'm starving." You shrug. "I would say let's go to that dinner around the corner, but you ripped my shirt, so how about I make you dinner at my place?"

Tim nods, “how about I meet you at your place and I can pick up some Chinese food. Save you cooking.” He adds, “and then maybe we can talk about what happened when we are clear headed.”

"That sounds good." You agree, standing up and picking up your panties and pants after you tuck your boobs back into your bra. You wonder if he will blow you off, or if he wants to actually meet you at your place.

He knows your order from late nights in the station with everyone. He stands up, adjusting his shirt and he grabs his tie, shoving it into his pocket. “Sorry about your shirt. You, uh, want to use my jacket?” He offers, knowing you’ll want your decency when you leave.

"I've got an extra shirt in my desk drawer." You tell him with a grin. "For those all nighters." You know he understands that. Most detectives keep a complete change of clothes in a drawer just in case. "But help me hunt down the buttons?"

Tim nods, kneeling down and he blushes when he sees how far the buttons went. “I was - Jesus. That video made me feral.” He admits and picks up a few buttons. He hands them to you and when you stand there, he gently reaches up to cup your cheek, his eyes meeting yours as he leans in to kiss you softly.

You've kissed, but it had been frantic and needy. This is so much more gentle. A real kiss that is not because of that video. "I- thank you." You murmur quietly.

“You deserved better than that for our first time.” He murmurs as he pulls back, “I’ll make it up to you.” He promises as he looks at you. “Lemme grab your shirt from your desk just in case.”

“I don’t know.” You admit as you pull your pants back on. “I think multiple orgasms and being fucked within an inch of my life was a great first time.” You laugh. “Although I’m a little disappointed I didn’t get to suck your cock.”

Tim smirks, feeling confident now that you want him again and enjoyed earlier. “Don’t you worry baby. Maybe later…we can explore each other a little more.” He smirks and you giggle. “Let’s get out of here.” He says, walking over to the TV to eject the tape.

“That’s an amazingly suggestive tape.” You hum as you watch him analyze the tape like it might tell him its secrets. “Let’s go, Rockford.” You order with a smirk. “I’m starving and the captain authorized overtime, but I’d rather have our next viewing of the tape be in my bed.”

Tim’s eyes widen, “you wanna - I’d rather have you without watching the tape.” He tells you and you smirk, nodding, “that’s exactly what I’m suggesting.” He grins and follows you into the bullpen so you can collect your things. “You wanna come in my car or I can follow you?”

You smirk and shrug. "I might as well take my car." You tell him, "since I think that we won't be back in the office until next week." You wink at him. "Might cause some rumors if I leave it here."

Tim nods, willing to follow your lead and he grabs his things as you put the shirt on. “Come on, babe.” He says once you’re ready and he guides you out of the station to your car, glancing around to check out the surroundings like he always does.

You smile at the way that his hand rests on your hip. Protective and possessive. Waiting until you unlock the door to hold it open for you. "I'll meet you at my place?" You ask, glancing over at him. "You remember how to get there?"

He knows where you live, having dropped you off during late night stakeouts and ops. He waits until you’re in your car with the door locked before he makes his way over to his vehicle, quick to leave the parking lot and follow you to your house.

It's a bit nerve wracking, knowing Tim is following you. Excited in a way that you don't understand, you keep watching his car in your rearview mirror.

He grips the steering wheel, a little nervous actually to be going to your place if you are regretting sleeping with him. He calls up the Chinese restaurant to place your orders and he makes his way there. After picking up the food, he makes his way to your place and rings the doorbell with the food in hand.

In the spare time you had while Tim got the food, you had jumped into a quick shower. Bare feet and comfortable clothes are what greets him when he knocks on the door and you open it with a smile. "Hi." You greet him, waving him in. "Do you want a beer? Something stronger?"

Tim chuckles, “tempted to have something stronger but a beer will do. I don’t wanna be on anything around you. Especially after that fucking tape.” The tape is currently hidden in his glove box. “I wanna be sober around you.”

You nod in agreement and lean in to press your lips to his. "A beer it is." You hum, closing the door behind him and leading him into the kitchen. "I'll get the beers and some plates."

Tim checks your door is locked before he follows you into the kitchen, setting the bag of food down on your counter. “I haven’t been in here since you hosted that party after Samson closed that cold case.”

“Yeah, that’s been awhile.” You open the fridge and grab two beers to open before you turn back to him. “That was right after you and your wife divorced.” You wince slightly. “I’m sorry about that. I know it was rough. I hated that you were under a lot of stress during that time.”

Tom shakes his head as he takes the beer from your hand. “It was over a long time ago. We - we stayed together for our son and - shit. She really gave me hell.” He confesses, “anyway. I, uh, I guess I never really asked about your dating life. Never wanted to know if you had a boyfriend that I could be jealous of.

“No dating life, not when I wanted someone at work.” You confess.

Tim's eyes widen as he absorbs your words before he chuckles, "you mean you were lusting after Jackson?" He teases, knowing the nearly retired old man is not the one you wanted. "I, uh, seriously though...I didn't know. I was a little busy eying you up without being a creepy asshole." He admits, licking his lips.

“You shouldn’t have worried about being creepy.” You smile softly. Despite the fact that you had been junior to him. It’s one of the reasons you respect him, he wouldn’t abuse his authority. Now both of you are equals, so there is no worry about improprieties. “Although now you can eye me up however you want.”

"Well that's good to know." His eyes slowly trail along your body, enjoying the fact that he can unashamedly admire you. "You're so fucking pretty, baby." He says after a moment, his fingers flexing around the beer bottle.

“Do you want to eat and talk, talk or just eat?” You ask, not sure what he wants to do. Despite the fucking that had happened at the station, you still want to touch him, but you know you can’t just act like a horny teenager.

"Let's talk and eat. You need to eat after how I - you know." He clears his throat and blushes a little. "I kinda - I kinda wanna touch you again but only if you want." He adds, suddenly nervous.

“I want to touch you too.” It’s endearing that he had fucked you so hard earlier and now he’s blushing. “If you want, of course.” You smirk slightly as you turn back to the cabinets to get the plates and silverware.

Tim’s eyes drop down to your ass as you get the plates. “Of course I want to.” He scoffs like you asked him a ridiculous question. “Baby, let’s sit down and eat. You need food after I - well, I’m starving.” He admits, taking out the containers after opening the bag.

You hum, dipping out some of the food onto plates and take them over to the small table while Tim carries the beers. “We do need to refill the tanks, so to speak.” You laugh. “I have to admit, I was shocked when you kept fucking me.”

“So was I!” Tim exclaims with wide eyes. “I ain’t eighteen anymore and I- shit - that kind of stamina…not my normal gig I gotta be honest. Usually I cum once and that’s it. I need a nap and a snack before I’m ready to go again.”

“A nap and a snack, huh?” You giggle at that, finding him too cute and you lean over to press a kiss to his lips. “I’m normally a ‘once and I’m good’ kind of girl too. But tonight?” You point to his sweet and sour chicken. “Eat your snack baby.”

He grins, liking the way you think and he must admit he’s eager to have you again. He grabs a plate to start serving up his food and he grabs his beer and follows you into the living room after you’ve grabbed your own plate. “You wanna watch something on RV?” You ask and Tim bites his lip, “maybe not the best considering the last thing we watched.”

You snort and nod, biting your lip as the two of you sit down. “So, where do you see this going?” You ask quietly. “Something serious? Causal? I wouldn’t blame you after the divorce.”

Tim sets his plate down on your coffee table, "honestly? I kinda want to date you. I want to take you out for dinner and see where this goes." He admits, "unless you want casual but...I'm not really a casual kind of guy."

“I don’t really like casual either.” You admit, turning towards him after setting your own plate down. “I would have put up with it for you.”

He's taken back at your confession and he smiles, "guess we both suck at casual. I was thinking about asking you out, you know? I just didn't want to be that creepy older guy that asks you on a date and makes it awkward at work when you said no."

“I would have said yes.” You promise, leaning in and touching his hand. “Tonight just….sped up the timeline.” You joke. “And will give us one hell of a first date story.”

Snorting, he nods as he takes a bite of orange chicken as he squeezes your hand with his free one. “Yeah. Maybe we can edit it a little bit.” He teases, “and hopefully you include the detail of me having a big cock.” He jokes, winking at you.

You giggle and your cunt clenches. “Don’t worry. That fact will be repeated with the high praise on how well you use that cock.” You promise. “Don’t think I’ve ever been fucked so well.”

Tim can’t help but grin with pride at your statement and he swears he will make you feel that way if you let him touch you again. “Sounds good to me, sweetheart.”

Both of you finish your meal, chatting about different things, different cases you had been working on. Setting your plate down with a content sigh, you drain the last drops of your beer and look over at Tim. “So, do you want to go back to my bedroom? We could take a nap, or….”

He watches you for a moment, “bedroom…I wanna touch you in a bed. I wanna have my mind be my own when I touch you next.” He says, reaching for your hand to pull you closer so he can lean in and press his lips to yours.

You can agree with that. As much as you needed him back at the station, you want to be in control. This time, your arms go around his neck because you want to keep the kiss going, slowly feeling his mouth out as it starts to deepen.

His tongue slides against yours and he groans into your mouth, loving how you feel as your fingers tangle in his hair. “Fuck.” He grunts into your mouth when you’re a little rougher but he loves it.

You love how his embrace is solid. The steady weight of him beside you makes you shift to straddle him. Settling back into his lap and pressing close, there’s not the urgency of before, but you are learning each other

His hands trail along your body, enjoying how you feel pressed against him, and the kisses are slow, passionate and he loves it. His hands slide down to squeeze your ass and he can’t resist slapping your cheeks before he grabs them again.

“Tim!” You gasp into his mouth and laugh, enjoying the smug smirk on his handsome face. Reaching up, you tangle your fingers back into his hair as you continue to make out. You know how he feels inside, but this is almost more intimate.

He kisses along your jaw, down your neck and bites gently over your pulse. “You’re so Goddamn beautiful. Inside and out. Why you want me, I’ll never know.” He confesses, knowing he’s fucked up but he’s gonna take this opportunity to be with you by the fucking horns and ride it as long as you want him.

“Because you are a good man.” You’ve seen plenty of men who pretend to be good but they are rotten at their core. Tim Rockford is honest, noble. “I want to take you to bed,” you confess softly. “Can you go again, or should we just cuddle?”

Tim nods, "I can go again." He is surprisingly half hard and he rocks up to grind against you, showing you he can be ready. "Let's go to your bedroom." He says, smacking your ass again and you stand up. He stands up after you and takes your outstretched hand as you guide him to your room.

In your bedroom, that’s where your personality shines. The bright, beautiful colors of your bedding and the natural light. The bookshelves are loaded down with novels and the slightly messy open closet door. “Sorry.” You move to close the door. “Didn’t think I would have company today when I left.”

Tim snorts, "this is nothing. You should see my place. It's chaos. My boy leaves his fucking legos on the floor and guess who steps on them in the middle of the night?" Tim asks you, eyebrows raised.

You giggle, imagining him cursing and stumbling over the blocks in the dark. “Ouch.” You wince sympathetically. “I know that hurts.”

"It does." He tells you with wide eyes, glancing around your room before he exhales softly and steps closer to you. He reaches up to cup your cheek, "I really do think you're beautiful." He murmurs, his dark eyes burning into yours. "Can I eat you out?" He asks, curious if you'll be happy for him to do that.

It’s your turn to be surprised by the request. “I- yes.” You sputter. “It’s- are you sure? You want to do that? I mean, I’m not complaining, but we- you came inside me.”

Tim snorts, “I put it there. I’m sure I can clean up my mess.” He says and smirks at you, reaching for the hem of your shirt. “Let’s get naked. I wanna see all of you. Wanna taste every inch of you. Take my time.”

“It’ll be nice seeing you this time.” You admit with a grin, letting him pull your shirt over your head and reaching for the buttons of his collared shirt. “Never had a boyfriend who would go down on me after sex.” You admit with a giggle.

Tim lets you push his shirt off of his shoulders and he’s a little self conscious. He’s not toned. He’s strong but he’s not abs and no body fat. He likes his food and he doesn’t tend to have a lot of time to exercise. He flusters slightly when you run your fingers down his chest.

“Sexy,” you coo softly, wanting to touch and kiss every inch of him. You knew that you were attracted to Tim, but your cunt is dripping at the sight of his chest and he hasn’t even removed his pants yet. “So fucking sexy.”

“You are.” He hums with a smirk and he reaches for your bra, unclasping it to pull it down your arms before he flings it across the room. “Baby. Fuck. You’re so sexy.” He murmurs and reaches up to cup your tits, squeezing them. “Great tits.”

You laugh, amused at the awe-filled look on his face as he palms your tits. As if he can't believe that he is touching them. "You've got a great cock." You hum, reaching down and cupping him. "Feels good. I want to see how it feels in my mouth instead of my pussy."

Tim groans at your filthy words. "Shit baby. You - you are fucking incredible." He compliments you as he gropes your tits. "Wanna - wanna make you cum. How do you wanna cum?" He asks, curious and eager.

You whine, eyes closing at the feeling of his hands on your body and the promise in his words. Anything you want is yours it seems. “I want you to eat me out.” You admit breathlessly. If his head game is good, this man is the complete package.

"Fuck. Take your pants off." He demands, his cock aching in his pants and he decides to push them down after unbuckling his belt. His boxers soon follow after he kicks off his shoes while you strip down to nothing. "Shit. So fucking gorgeous. Lay down." He demands again, the edge in his voice is raspy but commanding.

You shiver, laying down and wondering why it’s so sexy that he is taking control. You watch him, greedy as your eyes roam over his nude body. “Come here.” You beg, wanting him to touch you.

He shifts to kneel on the bed, his hands trailing along your thighs until he's pushing your legs open so he can take in the sight of your cunt. "Fuck, I-" He can't say another word as he surges forward to bury his face in your cum slick folds.

Crying out, your hands tangle in his hair. Closing your eyes, you enjoy how eagerly his tongue flicks over your clit. It’s magical, breath stealing as he devours you. Making you so glad that you had invited him home.

He groans into your flesh, loving how you taste, and he hisses when you tug on his hair in a way that makes his cock twitch against your sheets. His fingers dig into your thighs as he keeps you spread open so he can devour you.

Tim isn’t proper when he is eating you out. He’s messy, ravenous. The sexy little grunts and sighs as he takes you apart with every flick of his tongue has you moaning his name, rolling your hips down to meet his eager tongue.

"Fuck. You taste-" He groans as he pulls back for a second before he surges forward to bury his face in your folds again. He loves the tangy taste of your arousal and the salt of his cum. He doesn't give a shit about tasting his own essence on your flesh and he laps at your clit.

“Tim, oh fuck, baby.” You moan, rolling your hips again and whimpering his name once more when he tightens his grip on you.

He shifts, letting go of your flesh so he can push two thick digits inside of you. Calloused from holding a pen all the damn time and he curls them before he resumes sucking on your clit like a candy.

“Shit.” You hiss, shuddering and your breath catching at the curl of his fingers deep inside of you. Pressing perfectly against that magical place that makes you squeal out his name when he presses again.

He groans your name, “that’s it baby. That’s it.” He mumbles into your cunt when your walls flutter around his fingers, pressing against that spot over and over again. “Cum for me.” He demands before he resumes sucking your clit.

It doesn’t take you long. Only a few more minutes before he is pulling you apart. Your nerves fraying and your entire body bursting with pleasure when you start to come apart. Crying out his name and flooding his mouth with your cum.

Tim eagerly laps up every drop. He pumps his fingers into you, loving how you moan and writhe under his mouth. He caresses your thigh as he works you through it until he feels you relax, practically melt into your mattress.

You whimper, letting go of his hair and trying to drag him up to you for a kiss. Desperate to give him the same kind of pleasure that he had just given you.

His lips meet yours and he slowly withdraws his fingers, enjoying the way you slide your tongue against his and his wet digits grip your thigh. “Wanna be inside of you again.” He murmurs between kisses he presses to your jaw, needing to hear you say you want him again.

“You don’t want me to suck your cock?” You ask breathlessly. You’ve imagined it so many times but if he would rather fuck you, you are all for it. “I will always want you inside me.”

Tim bites his lip as you lay under him. “I kinda want you to suck my cock. Then I want to fuck you.” He decides and you giggle, pushing on his chest. He obediently shifts to lay down, his hard cock resting on his stomach and you move onto your knees.

“Fuck.” You whimper, wrapping your fingers around his cock and giving him a slow squeeze. “Imagined myself on my knees for you so many times.” You admit. “Even wondered if I could fit under your desk.” That makes you giggle again, imagine having his cock down your throat while he types up a report. “Now I get to taste you.” Lowering your head, you wrap your lips around the tip of his cock, tongue pressing against the bead of pre-cum.

“Oh fuck.” Tim hisses when you take him into your mouth, your lips wrapping around the head of his cock. “Baby. You look so pretty like this.” He murmurs, unable to close his eyes, wanting to see every second of this and burn it into his memory.

You preen under his praise, taking him deeper and wanting to give him the best blowjob he’s ever had in his entire fucking life. Holding onto his hip while you take him down to the back of your throat and swallowing around him.

“Jesus.” Tim hisses as you swallow around him, your jaw almost unhinged as you take him deeper and your eyes are watering. “Fuck, sweetheart. Look so good.” He murmurs, reaching down to caress your cheek, enjoying the feel of his cock pressing against your cheek.

You hum, letting it vibrate through him with a grin. Enjoying the feeling of his hand on your cheek while you concentrate on not choking. You want to take him deeper, to wrap your lips around the base and you slide your fingers out from around the base to hold onto his hips.

“Oh oh oh shittt.” He hisses before he pants, his cock twitching down your throat as your nose brushes the coarse hair at the base of his cock. “Baby. Baby. Shit. You gotta - I can’t - it’s too much.” He admits and grabs the back of your neck, trying to pull you off of his length.

You lift off of him with a gasp of air. “You don’t want to-“ you bite your lip but Tim shakes his head. “Want to be inside you.” He reminds you, rolling your body under his again and your legs fall open to brace on either side of his hips.

He’s slower this time. Hovering over you, he reaches down to grip his cock and he positions himself at your entrance. He pushes into you, his eyes flicking up to meet yours as he braces his hand on the side of your head.

This time, he slides into you an inch at a time. Slow enough that you swear you feel his heartbeat fluttering against your pussy walls. Letting you moan softly and wrap your legs around his back, heels pressed into his tiny ass as you enjoy being split open by him again.

He exhales shakily once he’s fully inside of you. Groaning your name as he leans down to press a soft kiss to your lips. “Fucking perfect.” He murmurs, cock twitching when you clench around him. “Gonna take our time. Want you to cum again for me.”

As frantic as the time in the station was, this is equally as slow. More like love making than anything else as Tim slowly pushes and drags his cock in and out of your walls. It's a good thing, since you are a little sore from earlier, but you wouldn't have him stop for anything in the world as you two kiss.

His lips press against yours over and over again, his weight shifting onto his forearms so he can press his body against yours. Your heels dig into his ass, pushing him impossibly deeper with every thrust into you and he swears he could stay like this forever.

You moan his name, holding him tight as you move with him. Wanting to be as close as you can get without crawling up inside his skin. “Fuck.” You whimper, his pelvis rubbing against your clit as he grinds down into you. It’s intense and totally consuming in the best possible way as he builds you back up.

"So fucking beautiful. So fucking smart. Too good for me. Too fucking good for me." He murmurs as he kisses along your neck while he rocks into you, his hand reaching back to lift your thigh higher so he can grind even deeper into you.

“Why?” You gasp out, unable to comprehend why he would think you’re too good for him. “Handsome, smart, sexy, capable.” You groan, clenching around him. “You’re a fucking catch.”

Tim chuckles against your neck. “I fucking - I got more baggage than a Goddamn airport, baby girl. I gotta - I have an ex wife and a son. It’s not - most women don’t wanna get involved in the drama.” He explains breathlessly as he rocks into you.

“No drama.” You moan, tightening your legs around him. “Mileage.” You tease playfully. Despite having an ex-wife, you know that he’s a good man, not a perfect one - but a good man. His son, well, he would be part of the deal and you couldn’t imagine thinking otherwise.

“Mileage.” He repeats with a chuckle. “Like an old corvette.” He jokes and slides his hands under you, getting even closer to you. His hips rock against yours a little faster, wanting to feel you cum around him.

“Classics are still fucking sexy.” You whimper when he hits deep inside you, striking the perfect angle. “There, fuck, right there Tim.” You beg, digging your nails into his shoulders.

He frowns, concentrating on that spot to make you cum. He pushes into you a little faster, not changing the angle of his hips and he watches your brow furrow and your mouth fall open. “Shit baby. Look so good.” He murmurs, “You gonna cum for me?”

“Yes!” You gasp, feeling the tension nearly snap the next time his hips rocket forward. Almost cumming right then. You just need one more thrust. Your body lurches when he pulls back, lifting up to meet him, and you squeal his name when he thrusts back into you, making stars erupt behind your eyes.

“Shit.” Tim hisses when you clamp down on his cock. “That’s it baby. Shit. So tight.” He pants, loving how wet you feel around him as your nails dig into his back. He works you through it, slow and deep despite the vice grip on his cock, and he kisses slowly along your neck.

“So good.” You whimper, panting for breath as you come down from your high. “Want you to cum.” You murmur softly. “Fill me up again.”

Tim clenches his jaw, his pace picking up a little more as you tell him to cum. He pants, rocking into you harder and faster, practically folding your body in half as he seeks his own high until he chokes, his body coming to a halt as his cock twitches. His hot cum paints your walls and he hisses your name as he rides his orgasm.

He’s fucking gorgeous when he cums. His eyes are closed, jaw slack with pleasure as he pumps you full of cum. Groaning and twitching deep inside of you, making you moan again. “Fuck baby.” You coo, caressing his neck and cheek. “Amazing.”

He exhales heavily as he relaxes. His lips meet yours as he leans down to kiss you. The kiss is slow, his tongue caressing yours, and he enjoys being inside of you.

You let the kiss linger, not in any rush to pull away and you don’t drop your legs from around him until your breathing has calmed down.

Tim nudges his nose against yours, shifting onto his side with you while he's still inside of you, not wanting to pull out just yet. "So I should definitely take you on an actual date." He says, his dark eyes on you.

“Maybe.” You smile as you answer him, leaning up for another kiss. “Maybe a romantic crime scene. We can flirt over evidence markers.”

Tim chuckles, “we do that anyway. But I mean, an actual dinner. Wanna take you out. Wine and dine you. What do the kids say nowadays?” He teases, nudging his nose against yours. “Well, they say Netflix and Chill.” Tim snorts, “pretty sure we already did that. Snuff Tape and Fuck.” He jokes before his face gets serious, “dinner. Wanna treat you right.”

“That sounds good to me, detective.” You murmur with a smile. While you don’t know why the film came to be in your possession or who had made it, you’re sure that you’ll figure it out. After all, Tim Rockford is a legend on the police force, solving cases and in this case, putting this one to bed.

#pedro pascal #tim rockford #tim rockford x reader #tim rockford x you #tim rockford x f!reader #tim rockford smut #tim rockford fanfiction #tim rockford imagine #merge mansion

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valeriianz · 1 year

Text

Thinking about how we, as a fandom, seemed to have forgotten the ridiculousness of the mistletoe tradition. Oh, to be kissed by a stranger under a parasitic plant in public! Why yes, sign Dream up.

Thinking about Hob decorating the New Inn for Christmas. Dream drops in unexpectedly (but certainly not unwelcome) as usual, curious to see Hob draping multicolored lights along the open shelves of liquor behind the bar.

“What are you doing, Hob?”

“What does it look like I'm doing?” and Hob would turn back to his work, and Dream would watch, fascinated. Listening to the cheery music playing through the speakers, listening to Hob speak of the centuries past, how the celebration of the Christmas holiday had been pretty steadily thus since the mid 1800’s.

“The pagan holiday?” Dream would inquire, dragging his fingers along the taped up holiday cards along the backsplash of the bar, like moth’s wings stuck out and on display. Some even transferring soft glitter on Dream’s fingers, making him rub them together curiously.

“Well,” Hob would shrug with a grin. “The Christian bastardization of it.”

“Hardly,” Dream mused. “The Romans celebrated Saturnalia in this time, honoring the god with a feast and gifts.”

“No foolin’, eh?”

And, since it was late and Hob was feeling good about the work he’d done, he’d pour Dream a glass of red and offer him a seat, both of them sitting at the bar and admiring the twinkling lights, the smell of pine from the fresh garland, the garish oversized stockings tacked to the walls, and– Dream noticed with puzzlement, a single bunch of berries and leathery leaves hanging from the ceiling in the middle of an archway.

“I do not recognize this.”

Hob followed his friend’s gaze and, “oh,” he’d laugh. But it sounds… off-kilter, nervous or embarrassed.

“It’s mistletoe. Just this– parasitic plant–”

“Why does it have a bow on it?”

“For fun.” Hob would level Dream with a look like, lighten up. Get into the spirit.

“Elaborate.”

And Hob would hmm and haa about this relatively silly tradition about kissing under a mistletoe, how the “rule” had kind of faded away in the past decade or so, but it was still a fun little thing and Hob, ever the purveyor of all things dreadfully human, wants to keep the tradition alive, even if no one really follows along anymore.

And Dream, knowing full well he doesn’t need an excuse to kiss his immortal, very human partner, decides to humor Hob.

He slips from his seat, hearing Hob snicker from behind him, probably knowing full well what he’s about to do, and Dream walks to stand directly under the plant.

The bar is closed, no one else is in the building, but Hob looks around anyway, like there would be anyone else who would take advantage of this opportunity. Dream has to physically bite down a delighted smile as Hob shrugs– well if no one else will– and all but jumps from his stool, slowly walking toward Dream with his hands in his jeans’ pockets.

Without even touching Dream, Hob leans in and pecks him on the mouth.

Dream’s brows rise up to his hairline. “Is that it?”

“I’m afraid so, love.” He points up to the plant above them. "They don’t hang these in public places for full blown make out sessions, you know.”

“Hm…” Dream considers this, and decides if the tradition of kissing under the mistletoe only yields one chaste thing, then he’d have to start collecting them enough to make something substantial out of it.

Cue the ridiculous montage of Hob finding Dream in various locales, venues, anywhere he’s at (even at a holiday staff party) and in all manner of positions, under a mistletoe.

“Was that even there before?” Hob would ask, a red solo cup in his hand and smirking like a fool at the sight of Dream slouching against the wall, a– quite large actually– mistletoe dangling from the ceiling above his head.

“Does it matter?” Dream would counter and Hob would shrug, fair enough, and acquiesce to the plant’s demands. It was a Christmas tradition, after all.

Or Hob entering his office at work and finding Dream draped across his desk, holding a plastic mistletoe that looked like it was bought at a drug store high above his head.

Hob would take a few moments to stand and stare, enamored by this ridiculous creature.

“You know how much I love you?” It’s not what Hob meant to say, he was going to quip something about dramatic Endless and their need for attention, but he’s so gone over Dream that his mouth barely cooperates with his brain in these situations.

Dream would preen, stretching his long legs down so they dangle off the edge of the desk, like a cat sunning himself, shaking the plastic plant for emphasis.

“You could show me.”

This is their new tradition, every Christmas season. Hob finds Dream everywhere in the waking world, distracting Hob, raising eyebrows, and starting up strange rumor mills. But it’s in the privacy of his own home, coming back from work, and finding Dream wailing desperately against the foyer of his kitchen, a planted mistletoe hanging from the ceiling, as usual.

“Oh, Hob Gadling,” Dream would cast an arm over his eyes. “How I’ve waited for you to come back and free me from the spell these dreadful berries have put me under.”

“Okay,” Hob would grin, biting back a laugh. “Would a kiss suffice?”

Dream would be hanging off the wall, his long, rail thin limbs bent at every angle under faux duress.

“Oh! It might do. I feel shackled under this strange power this greenery emanates.”

“Dream of the Endless,” Hob would tease, dropping his bag and taking off his coat as he walks to his impossible lover. “Brought down by a common earthly sprout.”

“Yes, yes, now will you get over here?”

And once Hob is within arms reach, laughing hard enough to wheeze, Dream would grab him by the shoulders and pull him in.

#dreamling #hob x dream #hob gadling #this is very much crack treated seriously #except its not that serious pfft #i saw a tiktok like this and couldnt get Dream dramatically posed against a wall out of my head #its just so him #my writing #the sandman

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ariseur · 2 months

Note

I love your doc reader x Dante drabble! Can I ask for a reader Dante x seamstress? He wants to fix the coat and the bum! accidentally in love ^^

bursting at the seams 𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

┊ ˚➶ notes ｡˚ 🎼

ughhhgghfh!!! this request was soossosso cuteeehhxjdxidjsj

┊ ˚➶ warnings ｡˚ 🎼

some cuss words, intended lowercase, mentions of blood and dirt but only bc dantes doin his job as a devil hunter lol, lmk if i missed anything!!

┊ ˚➶ word count ｡˚ 🎼

988 words, 5278 characters

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄

“shit, dante, what did you do to this thing?”

“yeah, yeah—i know my ass is fat, thank you very much.” he paused as your eyes roamed around the tear, especially with your hand attempting to get a feel of how bad the cut was. how could he focus when your hand was so close to his ass?

“do you think you can fix it?” he finally said, tone a bit quieter than usual.

“‘course i can, who do you take me for?” you say, sauntering back over to your desk to grab some materials, eager for a new job on fixing dante’s coat.

you gripped the tattered leather of his clothing, not even wincing as the grime and blood transferred from his coat to your hands. this was a common occurrence with dante as he often came to you in times where he needed some spare clothes due to the fact that demons kept tearing his up. as you kneeled back down to assess the rips, you couldn’t help but think of how much these demons had it out for dante to be messing with his clothes this bad.

at your quip, dante merely shrugs and waits for you to be done with your work as his eyes trail across your office. it’s filled with posters of your biggest idols and numerous mannequins in the corners of the room. intricate designs scrawled onto pages littered the countertops as he eyed some especially brightly colored spools of thread. he could barely think as he got a whiff of your perfume when you had walked by him, and it definitely didn’t help as you had him take off his coat and start measuring his waist.

“you better be paying me for this, it’s a major rip.” you muttered as you walked away, dante’s eyes tracking you while you placed the coat on your desk and gazed down at it.

“‘course i will, what do ya take me for?” he mocked your earlier words, leaning against the small sink underneath some cabinets, making sure he didn’t prick himself with one of the thin needles scattered near it.

you threw him a playful glare before holding up the measuring tape and walking back up to him. your eyes stayed trained on him as you just said, “hips?”

dante cocked his head before taking a small sigh and stopped leaning on the counter, now standing up straight. he tried to act calm and unbothered, even going so far as to practically check his nails and yawn. in reality, having you at such a close proximity caused him to stiffen, your scent abundant in his nostrils as it made him dizzy while you wrapped the tape around his hips. it fit snuggly around him, the bright color a deep contrast compared to his dark shirt. maybe he really did have a fat ass, you thought.

“so, how’s the weather?” he joked, eager to get his mind off the fact that you were touching him. touching him, your hands wrapped around his waist ensuring that the tape was secure and accurate. your hands, touching him.

but oh, when you giggled at his joke. his stupid joke. it was like butterflies erupted inside of him, a sudden swell of pride rushing in his chest as he let out a small chuckle alongside you too.

your eyes flickered back up at him, soft smile still evident as you scoffed amusedly, “you’re funny, dante.”

and that was the real cherry on top. him? funny? you thought he was funny? dante obviously knew he was funny, but hearing you admit it never failed to redden the tips of his ears. he beamed at you, watching as you spun around and wrote his measurements down.

you tucked your hair behind your ear, eyes finding their way back to dante who stood there with that stupid smirk on his face, as per usual. your soft grin never faltered as you tilted your head at him. “anything else i can do for you?” was all you said, tone honeyed as the words fell from your lips.

“nah, ‘m good but let me know if you need anything, okay?“ he paused, smiling at you once more as he gathered his things and headed for the door. “it’s the least i could do as a thanks for your fine work.”

your attention focused back on the coat in your hands, already beginning your patchwork as your tongue poked out between your lips in concentration. “it’ll take a little while ‘til your coats done, i hope that’s okay.”

“as long as it gets fixed, i’m okay with waiting.” dante’s tone became uncharacteristic, almost holding a sweeter tone rather than his usual cocky demeanor.

“i’ll see you later, dante.” you paused your work, looking back up at the man standing in the doorway as he gave you a two-finger salute and closed the door behind him.

his steps echoed in the hallway, shoes tapping against the tile as he made his way outside into the bright sunlight. as he saw the light shine through the windows, he couldn’t help but think back to you. you were standing right in front of the window, the golden rays shone on you like no other as it illuminated your figure, almost making you out to be a divine figure.

dante subconsciously licked his lips as he stuffed his hands in his pockets, trying to get you out of his head before his hand felt something in his pocket. his eyebrows furrowed as he fished what seemed to be a small piece of paper out, unfolding the crinkled mess. he squinted as his eyes read over a slew of numbers scrawled on the ripped corner, smirk reappearing on his face when he read the tiny, “call me!” underneath the numbers, a small ‘xoxo’ written under it in red pen.

maybe he’d give you a call, he thought, just once more.

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strlingsav · 1 year

Note

Yo…your last fic was brutal. I had to stop and back up coz immediately after the smut was pain! No prefaces or even a segue on what’s about to happen. It choked me up with the suddenness of it all.

Smut..fluff..more smut..more fluff..MOTHERFUCKING PAIN!!! 🤯😱🫢😭😭😭

Please, please, please…bring him back. Give us fluff and butterflies. Maybe he can survive, just a damaged but is able to come home to reader, he can heal and with those injuries, maybe retire and live in peace with reader? Maybe even have a bun in the oven waiting for him? Just heal us pleaseeeee! Anything will do, please!! 😭😭😭

(But only if you’re willing, of course.)

Thank you for the love, the smut, and the shared pain (coz I’m sure that also hurt you too). Just..thanks. 💕

Ugh of course I'll indulge this bc one I love you for being so sweet and two because I'm an absolute whore for happy endings. 🥺🤍 The first is here.

Endings: Two

– Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader

Explicit/gory content under the cut. Read at your own risk.

"L.T.," A voice was hazy and distant in Simon's ear- miles away, but he could see the outline of a figure before him.

He didn't have the energy to respond. He wanted nothing more than to give in to his body's demand to sleep, to rest. The dopamine firing in his brain, coursing through his veins, kept him subdued, peaceful, even.

"Up you get, Sir." There was a short pause, followed by radio static, "We're on our way out, evac standby."

Simon grunted as he was lifted from the ground, the shift in his weight caused a growl to come from his swollen lips.

"Steamin' bloody Jesus. You look like hell."

Simon could register the voice, now. It was Johnny. The Sergeant had found him in the wreckage, he'd survived.

Simon could hardly muster a 'fuck off', settling for a haphazard groan of displeasure.

Simon carried on, regardless of the pain in his chest, in his thigh, the throbbing in his skull now making him fully aware of the injuries to his person.

"Need a medic down here!"

Simon felt his body transfer to a spineboard, not without a loud yowl of pain, watching his feet as he was carried toward another helicopter prepped for evac.

Soap jogged beside him, his hand helping carry Simon's weight. The fog hadn't yet lifted, still blurry and half-awake, Simon could hardly comprehend where he was headed.

"You'll be alright, Sir. We'll take care of ya. Hang on, wouldya?"

He was relieved and devastated at the same time. He'd already made his peace with dying, he'd agreed to the terms his body set, the serenity that had almost cradled him to his grave- but you, damn you, forced him to hold on. Damn you, for settling into his mind and making it your home. For being the only thing he could think of, rely on to keep him hopeful, as he was carried onto the helo.

—

You received the call while at home, nearly dropping the plate in your hands when you heard the Doctor on the other end tell you Simon had been admitted with traumatic injuries.

You drove to the hospital, disregarding every speed limit and stop sign, thrumming your fingers against the steering wheel impatiently at every red light, watching the road through blurry, swollen eyes.

When you'd made it through the maze of hallways, finally finding Simon, he was asleep. He was on a ventilator, his skull bandaged where they'd pieced it back together once the swelling had gone down.

His eyes had been taped shut after surgery to aid in the repair of the severed retina, a white cast over the broken femur he'd endured.

You hardly recognized him through the swelling on his face. He wasn't the same- not the strong, solid man you'd said goodbye to a month ago.

You were sure it was a joke, a prank he'd pulled to keep you on your toes, but that wasn't like him, and a month in, you knew it was your new reality. He was lucky to be alive- so the doctor said.

The extent of his injuries meant physical therapy, a lot of it. The idea made you cringe, if he ever woke up, he'd fight like hell against it.

Despite feeling so completely overjoyed that he'd made it this far, survived this much, there was a part of you that knew there was a long journey ahead. A journey that would mean sleepless nights, emotional support, physical support.

You were dreading it. It seeped into you, like a bird of prey, it dug its claws into you. It only got worse.

A cycle of grief and anger, missing him- his voice, his eyes- so badly your breath caught in your throat every time you looked at him, looked at the broken man lying helplessly in the hospital bed- but also resenting him for putting you in that position.

Turning you into a caretaker, the solid foundation for the both of you while you almost lost the most important man in your life.

You couldn't help but feel the guilt eating away at you- how fucked up it was to think of yourself during a time when Simon might never wake up.

But you persevered, pushed past the dread in the pit of your stomach, and waited at his bedside with sharp eyes.

Day and night, you'd settle in, sleeping with a thin throw-blanket you stole off the couch and an old pillow. You'd wear his T-shirts and sweaters, just for a hint of familiarity, a semblance of your old life, his smell.

You'd hold his hand, even when you knew he couldn't feel a damn thing. You'd talk to him, tell him about your day- regardless of the fact that he didn't hear you at all.

Most nights, you'd sob under the disguise of the heart monitor and thrum of the ventilator. You'd grieve the man you loved. Whether he was dead or not, he would never truly be Simon Riley again. You'd learn to love the new man he'd be, you were sure of it, but your heart had been caged in, trapped under the weight of his unrecognizable form.

He had woken up after a few months, to which you celebrated with vibrating happiness. You tried not to smother him with affection. Instead, you gave him his space as he took in his surroundings, began to somewhat understand what exactly had happened.

You sat down, reaching for Simon's hand, and you felt him squeeze down. For the first time in months, he'd responded to your touch.

You stared up at him, your eyes welling with tears, your heart racing in your chest, pounding against your rib cage. A tidal wave of relief washed over you.

"Baby," You whispered, moving closer, kneeling next to him. "Simon."

His voice was muffled, panic filling his eyes as he realized he had an E.T. tube down his throat. You kept him calm, calling for the nurses immediately, watching with worried eyes as they extubated him.

He coughed, settling back into bed as he turned his head to look at you. Then, he whispered your name. Strangled and hoarse, rough with phlegm.

You could feel a shiver down your spine. You took a deep breath in, bowing your head to rest on his arm as your chest was racked with sobs. It was nearly impossible to control.

"God, Simon," You sniffled, your face tilting to look up at him. "Thank God," You cried, burying your face in his shoulder.

His doctor didn't want you to get your hopes up- he didn't want you clinging to the idea of Simon's recovery.

"We're not entirely certain what his brain function is like at this point, he'll need a CT. He may not ever remember his accident, and might even have trouble recognizing his surroundings." His doctor was resolute- harsh, not wanting to lead you on with false promises and hopeful ideations.

Your eyes had been swollen for months, and after finally coming to terms with his situation, they were dry and irritated.

You pursed your lips, entirely unsatisfied with the answer but defeated.

"Thank you," You forced a polite smile, turning on your heel, back to Simon's bed.

—

His physical therapy had been going well.

The cast had come off, and you finally recognized your boyfriend after the swelling went down. He was there, real, whole again- mostly.

You'd been woken up by his terrifying shouts and screams for help multiple times a night. It didn't subside, not until you wrapped your arms around him and quieted him down. You weren't sure if he knew, or if he wanted to hide behind the facade of sleep to save himself from embarrassment.

He had difficulty remembering the accident in its entirety, only remembering how difficult it was to move, to get up. He recalled the pain well, regardless of just how hard his body worked to keep him sedate. On the rare occasions he spoke about it, he'd never forget Soap. Never forget the voice he heard, urging him to stay awake, to get up.

You knew you couldn't thank Johnny enough, couldn't make it up to him in anyway that would equate to what he did for you and Simon. Anytime you brought it up, he'd shut you down, and Simon didn't speak about it either. Not unless provoked.

It was a memory he pushed down, as deep as he could, locking it away in the same vault where he kept every other long-living secret.

You knew better than to push him on it. You wanted to be there for him so badly, to tell him how happy you were that he was okay, alive, but you didn't. You gave him his space until he asked otherwise, which usually came in the form of a simple kiss, a hand on your waist, a quiet 'love you' when he passed by you.

You could never figure out why he'd suddenly started telling you he loved you more often, but you didn't question it.

—

When you missed your period, missed the cramps starting a few days before, the blinding headache at the start of the week, you realized your intimate exchange before his deployment may have had an unintended effect. Despite contraception, you had a feeling something was different- wrong.

You were pregnant. Two solid, indisputable red lines, staring you in the face. A happy face, on another, with a plus sign. It was real, concrete. Part of you didn't want to tell Simon- you wanted it to go away. But, against your judgment, you did.

It was late, finishing the day with a shower together as usual.

You were starting to show- not enough that he'd notice, especially not with the turmoil in his head. Though, while he scrubbed across the flesh of your stomach, a soapy loofa leaving bubbles and foam behind, the grin on his face when you stood on your toes to kiss him; it was the right time.

"I'm pregnant," You blurted out, your hands falling to your sides.

You avoided his gaze and silence fell between you, the running shower louder than ever, accompanied by your jugular pounding in your throat.

He looked shocked, confused, terrified- all in a series of minutes.

"Trust me, I know it's not ideal. It's not good timing. I know you're still healing and we're just getting things back together. I'm sorry."

He took a moment, his rough hand pressing against the small bulge in your stomach.

"How long have you known?" He asked.

"A few weeks." You swallowed.

"How far along?"

"Three months."

The tension was undeniable, holding your breath for the moment he told you he couldn't do it, didn't want it.

Instead, his arms snaked around your waist, pulling you into his chest.

"My kid's in there," He breathed, his arms squeezing you gently. "You're havin' a kid. We're havin' a kid."

You smiled softly against his shoulder. Now, you could be excited. You didn't have to feel guilty for holding it back, or for carrying another 'burden' inside you. You could celebrate. The baby, another milestone in your life with Simon, normalcy returning.

"We are," You breathed, leaning back to hold his face in your hands. "I love you," You said gently- a fact, a statement with every ounce of truth to it.

"I love you too, sweetheart."

He'd tell you one day that during his accident, all he could think about was you- that he wanted to fight to be alive for you. But for now, he settled for telling you he loved you, every chance he got.

#cod mw2 #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost smut #simon riley smut #cod mwii #mwii #simon riley #strlingsavwrites #ghost x you #ask strlingsav

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raelle-writing · 4 months

Text

DFF Theory: Non's brother is White

Warning that this post will contain spoilers for episode 6 of DFF, spoilers under the break

One of my biggest unanswered questions about DFF right now is: Who is New? And will he play a role in the series in the future?

We don't KNOW that New will have a role in the series, of course, but he's talked about a lot. he could just be there to identify Non as the lesser child while New is the golden child, and show why Non feels like he can't talk to his parent about his problems...

So, what do we know about New?

1. Based on the family photos shown in episode 5, we can see that New is EITHER a couple of years older or a couple of years younger than Non. Non is in 11th grade, so that would make New either around 19 or 15.

2. We know he's studying abroad and his family is sending him money. We don't know where, or what age he is. It's implied that he's older by the comparison, but it's never said specifically (unless there's an honorific that isn't being translated into English). We also know that New needs a lot of monetary support wherever he is abroad, since Non's mom talks about taking out an emergency loan to send him more money.

So then, IF we assume New is part of the show, who is he? I'm going to go ahead and say he's not Phee because we know Phee is the ❤️, wants to be Non's BF, and he's not abroad.

So who does that leave?

The three people I can think of are Tan, Perth, and White.

Perth might be the most likely because we haven't seen much of him yet, but he IS in the background of some of the casino scenes. And maybe it's possible that Perth plays New, and New is actually not a good kid and is in with a gang but has his whole family fooled, and the reason he keeps having to ask for money is because he's in debt or keeps losing it...

But I don't think that's likely, so that rules out Perth.

Next is Tan, who is probably the most obvious choice. But I don't think the timeline makes sense, considering New would be older or younger than Non and Tan is in the same grade as the other main characters. So unless he was able to fake his name, age, and schooling records it would've been impossible for him to transfer into their school in the same year as the rest. It is possible that he could pull that off, but Non's family is shown to not have money, so I don't know how he could've pulled off faking those records. So IMO, Tan is out.

The last option is White, which I will say, DOES fit the timeline. If Non's brother New is actually younger than him and brilliant, he could be studying abroad in an advanced program, and it might also explain why his family keeps needing to send him money since he wouldn't be able to get a job if he was that young.

White is the youngest of the group since he calls everyone there "Phi" and at the beginning, the friend group teases Tee about "tricking kids." White also shows a lot of capability in tense moments, and is the one who is the best with technology.

White acts scared and cries a lot when the others are around, but when left to his own devices he steals the tape, watches it, finds a gun and steals it. He's also the one who is good with technology. He mentions in the first episode that he'll work on boosting the signal of their walkie talkie, which isn't a simple thing to do. He's good with computers, probably too good for his age.

I think that of all the people who we've seen so far in the show, White is the most likely to be Non's brother. The comparisons are a misdirect, so we wouldn't suspect him. White has Tee (who is the person who has screwed Non over the most so far) wrapped around his little finger from the beginning. He plays up being cute and helpless until the exact moment he needs to be capable, then he's capable as hell.

I'm not sure that New is going to play a part in this series, honestly. But if he shows up, I think White is the person who fits the bill best.

#dead friend forever #DFF the series #DFF theory #white DFF #dead friend forever the series

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popatochisssp · 7 months

Note

IM IN LOVE WITH ALL THE NEW BOYSS!!!! I was wondering what hobbies they would have? Would any of them skate? What about make art? Play piano, perhaps?

Quick sidebar, it would probably be easier to ask who can’t skate than who can—at least regarding ice skating—because the majority of the skeletons lived/grew up in Snowdin and had plenty of time to practice their ‘don’t pratfall on the ice’ skills, so they’d (almost) all be at least passingly competent at ice skating, and then whatever learning curve is involved with slightly transferable skills to not-ice skating.

That said!

…You know, I realized I never did an accounting of all this, even with the first two waves of boys, so…

This is by no means a complete list of everything the boys might enjoy doing—despite the fact that this is huge and completely got away from me, oh my god seriously do not open the readmore on your dash—but!

Sans (Undertale):

He’s a goofy guy, so it’s probably no surprise that he’s into comedy. He’s a lover of puns and pranks and jokes in general, just…maybe not as casually as he makes it look. He does a little stand-up now and then, open mic nights mostly nowadays, but he’s played to larger audiences before at the MTT resort. He’s also got a pretty sizeable collection of comedic paraphernalia—rubber chickens, whoopie cushion, snapping gum, you name it—just on the off chance he might get to use it in a prime moment. He spends a lot of his free time reading joke books, watching other pros perform, and even, on occasion, don’t tell anyone, but… studying the science of humor, what people seem to find funny, how, and why. He doesn’t like to let on, because he thinks it makes him seems a little less cool and funny if you know he goes out of his way to research this stuff sometimes instead of just vibing on improv, but he genuinely finds the subject fascinating and likes to read about it. Alas, he’s a nerd…

And as such, he’s also very into physics. Quantum physics as food for thought in his downtime when he just wants to chew on some conceptually heavy stuff, but classical and practical physics make for some great experiments and demos, especially as party tricks or ‘hey, you wanna see something cool?’s for interested onlookers and he’s so all about that. Want to try an egg drop from the roof with popsicle sticks and straws? He’s got tape and a fresh carton right here. Maybe make a magnet out of a battery? Sure, there’s wire and nails around here somewhere… Or maybe you want to bet him he can’t hold up a water bottle with nothing but a string and three matches? C’mon, 10G—no, 20G. But really, he’ll take any excuse to do a cool demo of stuff he knows.

As for stuff that doesn’t demo quite as well… It was a little less apparent Underground, but there was a reason he had that telescope of his and it wasn’t just because he liked pranking people with paint on the eye-piece. He did love doing that, of course, but he also genuinely loves stars and space, learning about it and looking at it now that he actually has the opportunity to—he’s got his telescope to use on clear nights, a yearly pass for the local planetarium, and you better believe he’s subscribed to NASA’s newsletters for regular updates on the goings on out there. He tries to play it cool, but stars and black holes and nebulae are cooler, it’s hard not to get invested in everything to do with them…

Papyrus (Undertale):

Of course, he’s the master of puzzles, and not just your basic jigsaw! …Well, maybe sometimes a jigsaw, he’s not morally opposed to them but really, he needs a challenge for his intellect! He doesn’t mind a word puzzle here and there—as long as it’s not a crossword—but physical puzzles are his favorites, anything to employ his spatial reasoning and impressively fine motor skills. Rubik’s cubes are fun, linked wires, interlocking blocks, really anything in three dimensions that he can fiddle with and manipulate until it surrenders to his incredible greatness. He’s very proud of his solving ability and definitely brags about it, but he’s not just blowing hot air. He really does have a great knack for observing disparate pieces and fitting them together conceptually to see what they can be before ever starting to physically assemble them and the joy of bragging aside, he loves getting to exercise that particular mind-muscle and show his smarts.

In a similar vein, he’s also a big fan of model-making. Planes, trains, automobiles and the like, and no small amount of action figures, he likes to build them up piece by piece with his own two hands. It’s fine to populate his theoretical battle scenarios with gifts from brothers and Santas, or stuff he found at the Dump, but it’s definitely his preference to start with a kit and put it all together himself, watching it gradually take shape with his diligent effort. Maybe he’ll go off-book from time to time, a little bit, but customizing things to his own unique specifications just seems the thing to do when he’s already doing the rest of the making. All the gluing and cutting and painting and lacquering by hand… it’s the art of creation—and what nobler pursuit is there than that?

Well, there may be one other thing. As a truly renaissance man, he’s naturally well-rounded in his interests, intelligent and creative and yes, physically fit too! For him, there’s no better way to stay in shape than by playing sports, most any kind! Basketball, soccer, hockey, tennis, he’ll play any sport, just explain the rules and give him the ball—or don’t, depending on the objective and rules of the specific game in question as you’ve described it. The desirability of the sportsball does seem to vary quite a bit, so he’ll need to determine whether he wants to obtain or get rid of the ball, puck, shuttlecock, whatev—no, that’s the accurate term, it is not! Whatever you’re thinking! Stars, be mature… But! He likes games and being active and having friends, all of which are part and parcel of engaging in sports, so he’s really always up for a game.

Sky (Underswap Sans):

He likes to bake! He’s not a professional and in fact, he finds it to be quite challenging at times—there’s way more restrictions than cooking on how much to add of this, making sure to do that before the other thing but after this step, the oven has to be at exactly the right temperature… There’s a lot of steps and rules, but that’s kind of what he likes about it. He likes trying to see if he can make a thing, and then if he can, what tweaks he can make to flavors and textures without compromising the end result. He’s not always successful—he’s definitely ended up with sopping wet cakes, burnt pie crusts, overly salty muffins—but frankly, the experimenting to get it right is all part of the fun! He tends to make more tasty treats than he does failures and he’s happy to share those around with friends and family anytime. Baking may be an exacting mistress, but he loves to tango with her all the same!

Speaking of which…well, he may not know the tango specifically but he does love to dance! He’s got a lot of energy and a solid sense of rhythm, and that combo tends to result in at least a little shimmy of a two-step when there’s a good beat going on—and all bets are off entirely if there happens to be a dance floor and a favorite song playing. He likes dancing with a partner, or in a group, but he’ll dance all by himself if he’s feeling the mood, like nobody’s watching…or rather, like everyone’s watching and he wants to impress and lure out a little company to join him. He even has a tendency to put on music and dance in place a bit when he’s doing otherwise boring chores around the house, like dishes or vacuuming, and while he doesn’t mind doing his dancing solo then too, he’s always delighted to find someone who’s willing to dance along.

He wouldn’t turn down some company for a bit of outdoor exploration, either. A hiking trail maybe? Or some rock climbing? A nature trail or just a walk in the park wouldn’t go awry either if something a little less strenuous is required! He does like the exercise but it’s mostly the nature and all things green that he wants to see and be out in—trees and flowers and even grass. His house would probably be packed with greenery if he…hadn’t…killed every single plant he ever tried to keep…but! Since he does indeed have a deadly black thumb, he likes to visit the plants, in their natural habitat where he has no control over whether they live or die (so they’ll probably continue to live).

Paps (Underswap Papyrus):

It’s no secret that he’s a bookworm. He loves literature and always has—his brother will tell you he was reading before he was even talking, and as embarrassing as it is every time he brings it up, it’s not untrue. He reads voraciously, with a preference for fantasy, romance, and poetry, but he’ll read pretty much any book he can get his hands on. It’s probably no surprise that he’s been inspired to do a little writing of his own, over the years. He’s pretty private about his own work (especially the poetry, oh god, he’d dust on the spot if someone saw his poetry) but he still loves to talk about the written word and techniques used in its conveyance and form, and the struggles writers face in trying to communicate the ideas they have stuck in their heads. He’s great for reading recommendations if he knows the kind of things someone likes, but his go-to recs will always be his personal favorites.

Pride and Prejudice is one such favorite. He’s seen all the film adaptations and miniseries, and branched out from there, first into stuff inspired by similar works, then originals, and then…okay, he’s maybe a little bit addicted to period pieces in general now. Whenever a new one comes out, anything about regency or royals or the nobility in a dramatic setting, he pretty much has to watch it, more only a question of ‘when’ and not ‘if’ he’ll be checking it out. Naturally, he’s happiest when it’s coming out on a scheduled basis, because if an entire season drops all at once he’s going to sit there and binge it and it’s much harder to deny he has an addiction when he just pulled an all-nighter about it. He can’t help himself, he has to see if the socially mismatched couple can make it work and be wed in the end, love winning out over silly class divides…

When he’s not actively obsessed with either of those things, though, he dabbles a bit in calligraphy. He’d probably hesitate to call it a hobby, he does have a couple of those fancy pens and some nice paper and ink to use them with, and he’s decent at it, but definitely needs to practice more to be able to do the really fancy flourishes without blotting the ink or scratching the page. He can certainly do some simple, clean lettering if needed! Like…if you want a poster or a sign to look neat and professional, or…maybe you want the ‘To Do’ list on the fridge to have a fancy header or something? (His end-goal is to be able to do his own drop-caps and an elaborate cursive title for the cover of his book, someday, maybe, who knows…)

Jasper (Underfell Sans):

He likes working with his hands, making things and having something to show for his time and effort. (Knitting? No, that’s, that’s not a hobby, that was a necessity, just for special occasions now, he’s not…naw, c’mon…) He’s something of a car guy. He likes engines and wheels and pistons and how they all work together to make something that goes fast, and he likes understanding how all the pieces fit together and how to fix them if something breaks. It’s something he practiced Underground with busted old engines and bikes that fell down, and a career he pursued on the Surface, but even in his free time he likes tuning up his car, his bro’s car, restoring glory to a classic bike he got at a steal of a price and she’s gonna purr like a kitten when he’s done—he’s just…happy, with his hands buried in an engine and grease all over his face.

And speaking of grease on his face, he’s pretty passionate about food, too. Not so much the cooking of it, though he’s not too shabby in the kitchen when he puts the effort in, but more the eating of it and appreciating the flavors and textures. He’s got a lot of strong opinions on how done a steak oughta be (medium-rare), what belongs on pizza (anything but candy), and how to eat chips with your sandwich (in it, for that extra crunch of texture). ‘Gourmet’ sounds a little too snobby for his tastes, food doesn’t have to be expensive to be good and in fact, it usually isn’t—some of his best meals have been from holes in the wall—but he does like going out to such places to eat and socialize, maybe have a chat and give his compliments to the chef (and definitely not try to wheedle any recipes), that sorta thing.

But after all that, when he really wants to wind down, there’s nothing he likes better than a bit of gaming. He’s not much for multiplayer, he prefers doing his own thing at his own pace, but he likes having some kind of objective and making it happen. It gives a nice sense of accomplishment that he can get while sitting down—which is great. He tends mostly towards puzzle/adventure type games more than pure battle scenarios and beat-‘em-ups, he feels like there should be some strategy and skill involved, or the satisfaction of the win just doesn’t come through as strong. (Protip: do not watch this man defeat a Dark Souls boss if you are easily stressed out. He taunts between strikes and dodges at the very last second because he’s got the timing down to a science. Maybe try Pokemon or Zelda instead…)

Pyre (Underfell Papyrus):

His first great love is and likely always shall be the theater. He didn’t have too many opportunities Underground to go see live stage plays, but he’s long since broken the spine of the collected works of Shakespeare that got him started and memorized its contents, water-stained cover to water-stained cover. He can recite any of the Bard’s work by act and scene number, of which he is incredibly proud, but he’s at least passing familiar with a handful of other manuscripts or popular stage-to-film adaptations mass produced enough to have a chance of ending up in the Dump in decent condition. On the Surface, he definitely wants to see some things live and gets only a reasonable amount of excited about specific productions’ quirks and narrative choices. Joining in on local theater himself? Well…he’s very busy these days… (Maybe after retirement?)

Another passion of his pulled from the depths of the Dump is his guitar—a bass so sturdy and lucky that it made it all the way down without breaking a string. He thought it was cool as soon as he saw it and really wanted to have it and learn how to play. It’s been an uphill struggle since he’s entirely self-taught with regards to his equipment settings, guitar maintenance, and even reading music notes, but the few sparse instruction manuals he’s managed to find were helpful. His own stubborn determination to figure it out and be the kind of cool guy who knows how to play bass has taken him a long way, and he’s starting to make some deep, pleasant sounds that he’s very happy about… But he’s still nowhere near ready to play for anyone, he couldn’t possibly, not until he’s good at it!

And when he’s having a bad time at that, or anything else is ticking him off and there’s no better outlet to blow off steam, he knows he can always fall back on a good work-out. Even in a Kill or Be Killed sort of place, it’s not always a good idea to go picking fights and yelling and cussing and beating the stuffing out of other people—so whenever he feels like doing that, he’s in the habit of beating the stuffing out of a punching bag instead, or lifting weights, or doing one-handed push-ups, something strenuous. He may not be a machine made of meat that releases good-feeling chemicals after a successful exertion, like humans are, but he still feels great after getting to work out and clear his mind of everything but what his body’s doing so he likes to keep up a regular routine. You don’t want to see him after he’s missed a few work-outs, he gets very testy.

Mal (Swapfell Sans):

Pretty much from the moment he came into existence, he’s loved math. Call him a nerd all you like, but numbers are his happy place, where everything is straightforward and exactly what it’s supposed to be and if he doesn’t understand something, he’s probably only missing a variable and when he finds it, everything will make sense again. He has apps and workbooks around with equations for him to solve in his downtime like some kind of freak, but lacking those he’ll sometimes just make up his own math problems and try to solve them in his head—how long will it take for the water cooler to be empty if the tap is dripping at a regular interval of one drop every forty-seven seconds, should no one notice and intervene to repair it? The drum holds up to five gallons, but has already been emptied by approximately—

Okay, that’s enough math. He’s also into whittling, though he’s miles less confident about his ability. He’s not terrible, really, just very self-critical so he tends not to show off the things he makes, but he likes having something to occupy his hands while most of his attention is elsewhere, with the added bonus of having a knife in one of said hands should someone surprise him—self-defense is important, you know! In any case, he’s not as good of an artist as his brother, or even as good as he’d like to be, but it’s something to do and he can only improve with practice. Someday, with the proper equipment, he might even get into full-on woodworking, with chairs and tables and cabinetry and such that are far more straightforward to make than fiddly little figurines, but for now he just has a whittling knife and wood and too much stubbornness to quit at anything once he’s started.

As for something a little (debatably) higher-brow, he also has an interest in wine. He’s no sommelier, of course, but he’s run in fancy (royal) circles for long enough to have tried his fair share of fermented fruit juices. There are some he likes (dry reds), some he doesn’t (sweet whites), and plenty in between—but the topic makes for excellent conversation at lots of dinner parties and formal occasions, so he felt it helpful to learn a few things here and there so he knows (or can pass as knowing) what he’s talking about. On the Surface, he actually gets to take a wine tasting class and put a formal polish on his book-learning and first-hand experience, and makes a point of trying new brands that catch his attention. (He’ll never admit it aloud, but he’s far more swayed by a cool label or an interesting bottle shape than a high price tag—even cheap wine tastes just fine if you aerate it!)

Rus (Swapfell Papyrus):

He’s an artist, first and foremost. His most frequent medium is pen and paper—it’s what he started with and what he’s practiced the most—but it’s never really occurred to him to limit himself to only one thing so he’s tried out a lot of different techniques and utensils and can use most of them effectively. He’s not formally taught, seen some pictures and read some textbook entries of famous pieces and art movements, but everything he’s learned he learned by screwing around with it until he figured out how to make it look like he wanted and in the process, he’s built up a pretty strong base of skills. Mostly, he likes to draw (or sketch or paint) things he’s seen, recreating memories like a photo without a camera, but sometimes he goes on more abstract style experiments, trying to express a vibe or a feeling more than a moment. He finds it meditative, grounding more than anything else he’s tried to relax and it makes him happy to have a creative outlet.

As far as other ways to relax and have fun, something that’s really blossomed on the Surface for him is his interest in fidget toys. Not too many made it Underground for him to enjoy then, just a lonely broken palm-tangle and about a hundred Rubik’s cubes in various states of disrepair—sadly he got so good at solving the cubes that he doesn’t even consider them puzzles, just color-block-pattern simulators—but the Surface! There’s so many stim and fidget toys for him to get his hands on, and so many Ultimate Super Satisfying Compilation vids online to show him new ones. Poppers, spinners, chewelry, clickers…some hit better than others but he likes trying things out, playing with toys that are brightly colored, or feel cool, or make a nice sound. He keeps his favorites and sells or donates the rest, gotta make sure to leave room somewhere if he wants to get a new one.

He also makes a point of walking to the stores and donation centers and post offices at which he exchanges these items because—at the risk of making him sound like a dog—he loves going on walks! He was a shut-in for awhile, afraid of strangers outside, and to an extent he still is (social anxiety), but the Surface has different rules and for a lot of reasons, it feels safer for him to be out and about now, and he likes taking advantage of that. Fresh air and sun and slow, easy movement without having to look over his shoulder, free attention to spare to his surroundings and the chance to stop somewhere and check out a new place… He really likes it and tries to make time to go on a walk at least once every couple of days, destination entirely optional.

Slate (Horrortale Sans):

He’s a rock guy, and he’s not talking about the music genre—just rocks, or crystals, the kind you find in and on the ground. He likes the pun potential (ask any geologist, there’s a million) but also it’s just something fun and low-stakes to do, to collect and find and examine stones and crystals whenever he happens to come across them. A lot of his facts and knowledge base predate the head injury, too, so it’s something he tends to know a good amount about and can have a high-level conversation about at length, of which he’s very proud. Plus, having a bunch of rocks around doubles as both home décor and paperweights, so you gotta admire the versatility of it. He's always on the lookout for new stones to add to his collection, or to talk about and pebble—I mean, gift to his friends and family.

He’s an animal lover as well, which is…not much of a transition from the previous paragraph. He had a pet rock once, does that bridge the gap? Not really. Ah well. The point is, he likes critters, usually ones smaller than him but that’s not hard since he’s a pretty big guy. His past and the things he’s done don’t matter to animals, all they care about is whether he’s an immediate threat (he isn’t) and if he has food to give them (likely), and not having to worry about that is a heavy weight off his mind. He can be totally relaxed around animals so he likes spending time around them whenever he gets the chance—fur and fluff is a plus but he’s got nothing against scales and feathers, creatures come as you are and he’ll get you some water and a treat and maybe a scritch.

But if he must be around humans, or other sentient beings (he must, he’s not built for social isolation), then magic is the ace he keeps up his sleeve. Not the real stuff, of course… Though he’ll naturally be happy to show an interested onlooker a bullet or two, real magic is something any monster can do, even if they were literally born yesterday. He likes fake magic, sleight of hand tricks and misdirection—disappearing and reappearing coins, spoon bending, levitating cards—y’know, the cheap gimmicky shit. It’s fun to learn and easy to practice, works very well with a lot of skills he already had. It also has the additional plus of being disarming for anyone who might be a little…intimidated by him, his size and spooky appearance, especially if he can’t get a joke out quick enough to show he’s harmless, so he likes picking up new tricks when he can and showing them off when he’s got ‘em right.

Papy (Horrortale Papyrus):

He loves to cook! He’s gotten a lot better at it since the old days, trying to learn from Undyne’s lessons and it’s become a genuine passion for him to hone his skills in the kitchen and then (hopefully) show off to guests and friends and family who come over to share a meal. He considers it something of a puzzle in its own right—how to use these ingredients to get the most nutritional value with as little wasted as possible. He’s figured out a lot of ways to repurpose bits that usually get thrown out and in some cases, even make more tasty meals with the castoff pieces (his veggie-peel soup stock is to die for…not literally, but it’s very good)! His favorite part is naturally when people eat what he makes and shower him in compliments, but a close second is knowing that he’s fed his loved ones and they won’t ever leave his home hungry.

Since he does so much in the kitchen and, for the first time in a long time, he has an unfrozen yard for two or three quarters of a year and easy access to seeds, he’s also taken up gardening. Mostly, he grows his own vegetables and herbs but he has the space and the inclination so there’s plenty of colorful flowers in the mix too. He’s very attentive to his crops and flowerbeds and does everything his plants need to flourish and bloom. He delights in praise for his good work and the gratitude when he has a big enough harvest to share with friends and neighbors, or maybe to donate to the local food bank if they’re willing to take it. His garden is his pride and joy and no dirt or weather or pests will stop him from maintaining it!

Now he does have one hobby that’s just for his own enjoyment, not even peripherally related to others, and it’s pure unadulterated guilty pleasure: he adores watching soap operas. The more theatrical and contrived, the better, he can’t help but get sucked into the cheesy drama of it all. He started with just one hospital show and kept watching to tut and shake his head over inaccuracies, and then there was another show on after it that had a wild opening hook, and then…and then… Alas, he found the telenovelas. His enjoyment of them is only somewhat hampered by his inability to understand Spanish, but you’d be surprised how much you can glean from context clues and some things transcend language—it’s too late for him now, he’s recording every episode that airs during the day to watch later, he must know if Gloria’s twin sister will run away with her amnesiac fiancé!

Ash (Undergloom Sans):

Music’s the big one for him. He’s very low-energy and when you’re both depressed and physically fragile, it’s not always possible to go out to where other people are, even when you want to—but music can come to you, no matter how bad you’re feeling, and for that it’s become a huge pillar in his life. His favorite genre is classical (can’t get more classic than The Classics), but he’ll listen to most things, though he’ll always want a physical copy of it to keep if he likes it. CDs, tapes, even vinyl records, digital file only just doesn’t cut it for him. He plays his own music too, rarely with sheet music and mostly just riffing whatever feels right at the time. His trusty trombone is more than just a vehicle for incidental music, it’s like a pal that’s always been there for him even if he didn’t have the energy for it sometimes, and he makes sure to keep it in prime condition.

On his better days—of which he’s been having a lot more since reaching the Surface—he very much loves to be around people and one of his favorite things to get to do with those people is play games, board games to be specific. Monopoly might get a little too violent for his tastes, but stuff like Scrabble, Sorry!, Jenga, all up his alley. It takes a mix of skill and luck to win, which keeps things interesting, and barring a snack break or a celebratory dance of some kind, can be enjoyed entirely sedentarily, which is excellent. He probably shouldn’t be allowed to play cards (he counts them), and his brother swears he weighs dice (he doesn’t), but everything else is fair game and he likes having something he can shine at while also getting to hang out with friends.

But when he’s at home, or he can’t find a group to hang with, he spends a good amount of time cloud-gazing. Not star-gazing, though the sky and the stars are beautiful of course, but his interest is in the atmosphere, on the weather. There weren’t too many weather conditions to be found Underground—snow and rain and hot, basically—and the descriptions he’d heard and read of the kind of stuff that happened on the Surface had always captured his imagination. Clouds, storm cells, fog? It was interesting, and he read about a lot of atmospheric conditions without ever really expecting to see any for himself… but he’s actually up here now. And here, he’s the type of guy who owns a barometer, watches live Doppler radar feeds with rapt interest, and can tell you if it’s going to rain without even checking the weather app, just by taking a look up. His interest in meteorology actually has some practical applications now, go figure.

Yrus (Undergloom Papyrus):

He’s a cook, and though that may not be his job title, he takes it almost as seriously as if it was. For him, it’s both a passion and a language, a way to reach out to people and connect when there aren’t words—or when there are, but they’re not enough. He thinks of every meal he makes as a gift for the person he’s making it for and as such, it’s not enough for it to just be good food—it should be personalized to suit the recipient’s tastes, bespoke to what they like! That said, he primarily cooks comfort foods, stuff loaded with butter and cheese and salt because that’s what his depressed and struggling loved ones seem to like the most. It’s not always to his tastes, but it’s a point of great pride for him to have dinners at his home feeling like the end of Thanksgiving, everyone full and content and at risk of dozing off on the sofa.

He takes such pride in his cooking that he makes most everything from scratch, and that’s how he got into canning. To get to be such a good cook and to have such a discerning palate, you start to get a bit dissatisfied with store-bought spreads, and you start thinking of how you could tweak it, just a bit, and come up with something a little better. And well, of course he has a sweet tooth and doesn’t he deserve to gift himself a treat from time to time? Which is not to say he doesn’t share his jams and jellies and preserves when he gets to making them—which is anytime there’s a good sale on fruit—but at the risk of making him sound arrogant, he’s absolutely spoiled himself for even the big brands at the store. Sure, he could buy it, as-is, or he could make it and enhance the flavor with a bit of mint or cinnamon or whatever it’s begging for, exactly to his liking. …He does go through quite a lot of jars, though.

So it’s a good thing that he knows all the best home goods stores in the area to buy mason jars, and loyalty perks at every one that offers them because he’s such a frequent customer. He’s very particular about the way his home is decorated and spends a lot of time and effort into cultivating just the right homey, comfortable, clean vibe for the space, so of course he’s always thinking of ways to use his décor to do just that. He doesn’t like a static environment so he frequently moves things around, takes away old things, and adds new ones—scented candles, decorative bowls, accent pieces, really anything that catches his eye-socket. He’s a natural-born homemaker, really, it's a shame he doesn’t have a spouse to appreciate all his talents (yet~).

Brick (Horrorfell Sans):

Okay well now knitting is a hobby of his, now that he’s too big and scary to give a shit what anyone thinks about his yarn-crafting. It’s a skill from before the head injury (and the Everything Else) so it’s not like having to pick up a new skill and something you can be competent at is always nice. He finds it pretty relaxing too, if he’s honest with himself, and grounding—between the repetitive motions and the tangible product of his effort and time having passed, it’s a good go-to for him when he’s stressed and needs to calm down, or when he’s disoriented and has to reorient onto something real. It’s a pretty nice side-hustle too, selling what he makes online, but even if it wasn’t for someone, he’d still knit for himself.

…But it’s maybe not so much of a side-hustle because he doesn’t really have a main-hustle to be doing his knitting on the side of. He mostly hangs around the house as an unemployed self-employed bum. And if you’re bored, in the house, it’s probably only a matter of time before you notice something that needs attention, something broken or askew or in need of a fresh coat of something, and that’s what happened to him, and how he started getting into a lot of DIY home repair. He’s got a background in a lot of technical and mechanical stuff, the confidence to poke around in unfamiliar things, and he certainly has the time, so he’s become something of an all-purpose handyman, regularly sweeping the place to see if there’s something he can fix or tune up. Leaky faucet in the kitchen? Engine maintenance on his bro’s car? Heating ducts making a weird noise? No problem, he’ll check it out, probably an easy enough fix.

He doesn’t stay cooped up in the house all the time though. …Most of it, maybe, but he likes to sit out on the porch or hang in the yard sometimes and get a front row seat to all the wildlife lurking around. He keeps a bird-feeder topped up so the birds always come by, and he’s maybe not so diligent about making sure the bird-feeder doesn’t also become a squirrel-feeder, so there’s a few of them around, too. He has a bad habit of leaving food out for neighborhood strays—cats—and every now and again he’ll catch one and get it fixed, but the food’s also lured in a few other critters it wasn’t meant for. He shoos away the raccoons and possums and (on a couple occasions) foxes that end up on his doorstep, but he likes seeing them so he probably won’t ever really stop. There’s a local murder of crows who bring him offerings of bottle caps and buttons and other junk, and he’s half-convinced they worship him as a god but that’s definitely not going to his head or anything, don’t worry.

King (Horrorfell Papyrus):

He likes to meditate. That’s perhaps an understatement, he needs to meditate—even after abdicating his throne and resuming a civilian life, on the Surface with food and safety and funds aplenty, he has a lot of stress and on any given day, he’s wound tight as a spring. Old habits die hard, and old guilt and pain and fear die harder, and he has a tough time relaxing naturally. Having a set time and routine to sit and breathe and clear his mind, deliberately, is crucial for him. He’s got a room set aside just for it with only related paraphernalia—meditation music, incense holder, a zen garden—inside, a space empty of distractions where he can just relax and let everything else go. It’s either that or be more open and vulnerable in therapy and the latter’s not happening any time soon, so his meditation room is the only thing standing between him and a mental breakdown.

That’s a humorous exaggeration, of course. He also has his bonsai trees, which serve a similar function. He got his first around the same time he took up meditation, thinking it might just be a nice plant to set the ambiance, but as he started caring for it and cultivating it, it grew (pun not intended, how dare you?) into its own thing. He’s got lots of bonsais now and takes great deliberate care in their soil, their water, and meticulous pruning to keep them all growing healthy and strong and in exactly the way they should. There might be something to be said there about power and control and healthy, positive outlets to explore those needs, but for him they’re just his trees—his responsibility, his to keep alive, his to keep in line… And it’s nice to have plants in the house, they really add something to a space, don’t you think?

Something else he’s into that’s slightly more social is chess. He learned a lot about tactics and strategy during and in the lead-up to his reign, both from books and hard experience, and chess is a strategist’s game—all about studying the field of play and your opponent and thinking ahead to achieve your desired outcome. He started by playing against his brother, learning the game and gaining confidence, and then later against Toriel while he conspired to overthrow Undyne, which taught him more about thinking like a warrior monarch and how to strategize against one. Ever since, chess has been his preferred way to get to know someone and he finds the insight into a person’s thoughts (through their choices and idle conversation during the game) to be an invaluable asset. …It’s also somewhat fun, enriching he supposes, or else he probably wouldn’t keep so many chess sets in the house, or regularly go to the park to seek opponents at the public boards. But what business is that of yours?

Merc (Horrorswap Sans):

His physical…situation…is complicated. Until he gets his DT under control, he starts literally melting down whenever his emotions are too high which means that most of the things he would’ve done before for fun and exercise are out. His solution to that is yoga, a low-stress, low-impact way to stretch and move and keep his body functional, without the risk of upsetting himself and others by turning into a puddle! Going through the forms helps him focus his mind and ground him in his body at the same time, which he loves, and it’s something he can do solo or in a group, which is also great depending on his mood and need. He attends a studio at least semi-regularly, whenever there’s a class going on, and he loves it as a way to meet new people and socialize in a low-key way. Even after his melting problem gets sorted, he keeps the yoga as a part of his life and routine—it works for him, even when a lot of other things didn’t!

Escapism has also always been there for him: the sci-fi flavored genre specifically. He’s been in pretty dire need for distractions to take his mind off his condition and his frustratingly slow-going research, and fiction was a great fit, depictions of far-future times when technology is advanced but people are still people and the problems of today are all solved and done with—just the problems of tomorrow left to solve and there’s always hope somewhere out there in the universe. Yeah…he can use a little bit of that. Back Underground, he’d seen a few popular sci-fi series that managed to fall down—Star Trek, Star Wars, and a few others—but he falls back into it hard on the Surface when he discovers that the full collections are available, usually remastered and listed out in chronological order, and so many other fans to talk to about it, wow! And oh, the merch, so much merch… He’s only a mortal man, how is he meant to resist a phone case designed to look like a communicator from The Original Series? Or a replica of Obi-Wan Kenobi’s lightsaber? Or… Okay maybe he’s just enough of a nerd for it verge on a financial problem but he’s having fun, let him have this.

It's not like he’s not bringing in a paycheck, with his little home bakery business. He’s gotten serious about his baking and really ramped up his technical skill, and good flavor and texture is surely a way to keep a customer base, but he wanted to draw in the new customers and for that, he had to get good at decorating. As an amateur, he didn’t care so much if his frosting was a little messy, or really try to do anything at all beyond maybe some food coloring and sprinkles here and there, but in the interest of trying to elevate his business to the next level, he started experimenting more with design techniques—and he discovered he loves it! It takes a lot of skill and precision to execute on top-notch cake décor and he likes the challenge of learning something new and perfecting it until he’s ready to offer it as a technique to his customers. He’s the king of drip cakes, master of mirror glazes, and has the cleanest foil and luster work you will ever see. He’ll tackle geode cakes next, just you wait!

Ell (Horrorswap Papyrus):

He used to hate spooky shit. Horror movies, ghost stories, creepy stuff meant to send a shiver up your spine and make your heart (if you have one) skip a couple beats—he couldn’t handle it and any hubris otherwise would leave him looking at pictures of kittens trying to forget about it so he could sleep. But then… Wouldn’t you know it, then he lived through a horror: a terrible creature from another world came to his sleepy little town and killed seemingly everybody they could find, and he survived but the world changed, and everyone went hungry, his best friend disappeared, his brother started melting and he almost died and then came back wrong… And now the fake spooky stuff doesn’t seem so bad. Actually it’s…kinda fun? Scary stories and creepypastas still freak him out, a little, but his tolerance for it has gone up considerably and now he seeks out the genre on purpose, to create and consume, because it feels a little good to get scared by something fake instead of all too real.

His new interest in horror turned him on to movies in general. Not that he didn’t like watching movies before, but being especially invested in a specific genre got him reading about analyses of themes and filming techniques, lighting and staging and all the behind-the-scenes choices made in casting and shooting, and he loves being able to point those things out. Watching a movie with him, any movie, will probably trigger a film-buff monologue about something—‘oh see that’s a long shot, they do that when they’re trying to…’, ‘that’s not cg by the way, it’s actually a matte painting and…’, ‘y’know that scene when he kicked the helmet, it turns out he…’ et cetera, et cetera. He’s not trying to be a bore or a know-it-all, he’s actually just really interested in the way all these things, choices or accidents, come together to make a movie and he can talk about it for ages…or complain about it, if it happens to be a crappy movie. He does so love to complain…

Throughout all of this, if his attention isn’t split by his laptop, he’s usually keeping his hands busy another way—with origami. He’s almost always got a lot of scrap paper lying around in reach and for lack of anything better to do, he’ll grab a piece and start folding it. He started screwing around with those notebook edges left over after you tear out a page, but those are messy and ran out of folds real quick, so eventually he looked up some deliberate things to make out of paper and even bought some origami paper specifically for practice and nicer looking results. He’s pretty good at hopping frogs and flapping cranes, and who can’t make a boat, but his go-to is definitely the little stars you make out of the long strips. He’s got a big jar of the stars and keeps making more to add to it, not for any reason, really, but…it’s fun to make ‘em and they look pretty so why not?

Pitch (Horrorswapfell Sans):

He’s a thrill-seeker. Not necessarily the death-defying stunt kind—though he cheated death once already and might be a bit cockier about his odds the next time around than he ought to be—but any thrill, even the cheap ones. He spent a lot of time Before hedging his bets and prioritizing just about everything but himself, and now he’s decided to spend the rest of his time doing the opposite, chasing excitements and novelties and things he was too cautious or restrained or just too spartan to go after. He seeks out new restaurants, trendy bars, relationships, activities, anything that catches his fancy at the moment. A lot of the things he tries out don’t stick, falling by the wayside after the luster of ‘exciting and new’ wears off—you really only need to try a PB&J burger the once, and if you’ve ridden one mechanical bull, you’ve ridden them all—but some things make an impression.

Boxing is one of the things that stuck for him. He always worked out to stay in good condition and it was a habit he kept up on the Surface, joining a local gym as soon as possible for access to the weights and the punching bag. Fisticuffs was a last resort for him when dealing with actual problems, but hitting things was a great way to blow off steam—and as repressed as he was, he had a lot of steam to blow off, so his form and footwork was always top-notch. He got noticed for it, invited to spar in the ring, and to keep a short story short, he loved it. It’s a challenge being blind in a fistfight, but in a very positive way for him, giving him a chance to use his reflexes and his soul-sense to take on his opponents and most of the time, win. It’s a visceral, almost primal pleasure for him to get to fight in a reasonably safe arena, with people who are also fighting for love of the sport and no aim to seriously injure or kill, like a dance but with someone who wants to knock you out and vice versa.

And speaking of dancing, he’s very fond of that as well for similar, yet less violent reasons. He doesn’t really dance solo, simply for joy of the music—his enjoyment is almost exclusively in the partnered activity, when he has someone to match steps and mirror movement with and combine his awareness of his body and theirs into a cohesive picture. He likes the give and take of it, the way that he can have a physical experience with someone, a conversation without a single word being spoken, all from movement and synchronicity with whoever’s signed his dance card. He knows a few formal dances already and hasn’t forgotten the steps so he’s well-prepared for a polite ballroom experience… but he’s also learned how to let his metaphorical hair down lately, and a bit of dirty dancing is hardly off the table, should his partner for the evening (or afternoon, morning, midnight) be so inclined.

Nemo (Horrorswapfell Papyrus):

What happened Underground sent him into probably the worst art-block of his life. Even picking up a pen got hard to do with anything more than the intent to jot down a note for himself and he spent entirely too long with utterly dry wells of inspiration, not creating anything at all. In a desperate attempt to rekindle something creative, he ended up searching ‘art ideas’ online and discovered the vast world of craft projects. It was easier for him to actually make something when he had step-by-step guides and didn’t have to draw on his own (lacking) inspiration, and he quickly gained a liking for what he could make out of things he already had lying around the house and art supplies that were collecting dust—coffee-filter peonies, paper-straw wreaths, tin-can organizers, et cetera. He likes upcycling and getting to find use in things that might otherwise be discarded, and he really enjoys getting to put his own personal touch into crafts inspired from the internet.

He's proud enough of his works, in fact, that he wanted to show them off and—lacking real-life friends—he started posting photos of his crafts online. The response was positive but eventually, he started getting dissatisfied with the quality of the pictures he was taking, fuzzing details or altering colors, and he began looking into ways to improve the shots he was taking, lighting techniques, camera settings, angles and framing… By the time he invested in his own high-quality camera (and read the manual, front to back), he was seeing art everywhere, not just in the things he made but in the light through trees on a misty morning, in the waft of a curtain by an open window, in the people walking along the sidewalk out in front of the house. He has an eye-socket for it now and he’s always considering The Perfect Shot, how to capture the beautiful moments happening all the time with his photography. He’s good and getting better all the time, the more he practices his staging and editing.

He definitely wants to diversify his portfolio, though. Of course, he’s great at capturing domestic scenes, being a shut-in and all, but there’s more out there in the world, to see and photograph and be part of. It takes him awhile to get there but once he does, he’s very passionate about traveling. He spent such a long time stuck—first Underground, and then in his home on the Surface—and his scenery and his experiences were limited, but once he’s free there’s so much new and beautiful and exciting that he can access and he loves being able to pack up and go to it, right where it is. He wants to fill a passport and see unique vistas all over the globe, learn about cultures there, and make meaningful memories attached to every picture he takes.

Sunny (Gastertale Sans):

He likes stories, not the kind that come from a book, necessarily, but the stories people tell. The subject doesn’t matter to him much—folklore, local legends, big fish tales, ‘you’ll never believe what happened to me last week’s and more—it’s really the telling of it that he likes, how people describe what happened for an audience of their friends, family, or even strangers. He especially likes hearing the same story from different people to see how they tell it differently with their own perspectives or details that were unique to the version they heard. He’s always got a metaphorical ear open for a good yarn and a great memory for the stories people tell him, to the point that he can dispense them on cue whenever conversation’s slow, but he’s got plenty of his own experiences to make tales out of too, and the charisma and flair to make the telling entertaining.

This is a skill that comes majorly in handy for one of his other favorite hobbies, tabletop gaming. Whether he’s setting the scene for a D&D party he’s DMing for or keeping conversation going while he shuffles a deck for rummy, he loves having a table of people together to talk and play a game (or two, or three) with. It’s hard to get schedules to line up so he almost always has a few different game nights going on at any given time, in rotation depending on who can make what—and luckily, he’s a social butterfly so if someone cancels, getting substitutes to hang and make friends with over a game of something or other is never too difficult for him. He’ll go anywhere but his preference is hosting himself, he just loves having people over and showing them a good old fashioned time!

And speaking of old fashioned, his fashion is a little bit that as well. He’s a tad all over the place with it but nonetheless very interested in vintage and retro styles—the bold neon windbreakers of the 80s, the dated digital graphic tees of the 90s, the vinyl of the 00s, and even the holographics of the 10s. He tends to get a little confused about what was popular when and maybe that’s why he meshes it all together, but regardless, he loves his very eclectic wardrobe and adding to it. He makes a lot of trips to thrift stores and checks often on resale sites and gets very excited whenever he stumbles across a good find. Jackets are his favorite and he definitely has too many, but they spark joy and he’s probably not going to get rid of any or quit shopping around for more of the old school stuff anytime soon.

Aster (Gastertale Papyrus):

He likes scrapbooking! Maybe not too surprising, but as someone who mysteriously came into existence one day with no memory of his past, he doesn’t like the idea of losing memories—at least, not any more memories than he’s already apparently lost. He likes keeping records of things he does and that happen in his life as a tangible proof of his existence in and impact on the world. He stores things digitally as well but having the physical album feels weightier and more permanent, so he takes great care assembling and arranging everything in it. He keeps photos of outings with friends and coworkers, fliers from lectures he attends, even receipts from restaurants and movie ticket stubs. It’s all extremely well organized and annotated to the point that it almost reads like a scientific article, but he has fun with the cutting and pasting and aesthetic arrangement of it all—a neat and tidy accounting of (as much of) his life (as he can remember).

It's probably no coincidence that his scrapbook resembles a science journal, though, because he reads a lot of them. He also attends lectures and conferences when available and open to the public because, though he doesn’t have a career in any field of science, he’s still quite passionate about it! He loves learning about new advancements and discoveries, and when he comes across something he doesn’t know or only knows a bit about, he tends to do his own research into relevant readings on the topic until he’s better informed. He loathes misinformation and willful ignorance though, and as a result he’s ended up in a few small scale social media wars where he arrives on a post with thorough corrections, arguments, and sources cited and continues to present the accurate information until he’s respectfully acknowledged or blocked. It’s…usually the latter, but he doesn’t mind a good argument and ad hominem attacks slide right off him, so…as long as he’s having fun, what does it matter?

However…for all his love of truth and fact, he is also—regrettably—truly, madly, deeply compelled by the paranormal. If asked directly, he would say that of course he doesn’t believe in (non-monster) ghosts or aliens or the supernatural, there’s no evidence of such things! At least…nothing credible. He’s read the first and second-hand accounts, reviewed the blurry inconclusive photos, entertained hypotheticals of what could have really caused the sighting or scenario in question, accounting for variables and probing with his own questions to determine more information. He may occasionally be inclined to physically visit some ‘hot spots’ or sites of infamy, just to get a better understanding of the location and potential factors in what’s been claimed… But! Obviously, he’s a devil’s advocate in this only, as intriguing as some of these concepts are, that’s all they are—concepts. The fact that he spends so much time and thought on such things does not at all validate them and it simply means that he is a man of both integrity and science, the real kind!

Spectr (Transcendtale Sans):

He likes swimming! Er…well…maybe that’s not the right word for it. It’s not diving either, really, it’s… He likes going to bodies of water, walking in, and staying under for awhile, there, that’s a more accurate description of it. He’s waterproof and he doesn’t need to breathe, so ducking under the surface for a good few hours is not only possible, but a great way to get near-total peace and quiet for however long he wants it. He wasn’t much of a swimmer when he had an organic body, so it’s a bit of a novelty as well—seeing the way things look underwater, the way sounds change, the way animals swim around him in their natural habitat. He finds being in the water to be very relaxing and pleasant, almost meditative in nature, and whenever he’s feeling especially tense or in need of some space to think (or not think), he’ll head to the nearest body of water and go right in. It would be better if he actually took his clothes off before he did this, but he usually doesn’t and has weirded many clothes with lake or sea water.

He’s also into urban exploration. Not that he specifically calls it that, but he’s a wanderer and he likes to keep a low profile so sometimes, when he happens to be in the heart of a big city and there’s nowhere anonymous enough for him to blend in, he disappears into closed, abandoned, or condemned buildings. He likes the quiet of places like these and the reduced likelihood of running into anyone trying to interact with him because nobody else is supposed to be there. Obviously sometimes people are there anyway, but usually it’s people who mind their own business or actively avoid him, which he’s completely fine with. He does also enjoy having a look around when there’s time and he can, getting to see the remnants of the people who used the building before, what they left behind and imagining what it would be like if it were actively in use. A lot of the places he gets into have nice views of the city outside, too, and it’s pleasant to find a ledge or some rebar to sit on and enjoy it.

Jewelry making came out of his preferred hangout spots, as well. There’s a lot of junk lying around in abandoned or in-construction buildings—chain-link fences, washers, nuts and bolts—and when one is sitting around in an empty spot in the early morning, waiting for the city to wake up so he can slip through the masses undetected again, one gets to fiddling with nearby things in reach. He’s no master jeweler, his creations tend to be very simple, metal bent and twisted by hand in loops and curls, maybe a shape if he’s feeling ambitious, but he likes making them regardless. Sometimes he’ll keep an eye out for interesting stones and hold onto them to incorporate them into one of his pieces, or pick up a bit of nicer wire to work with if he’s going to be passing through a more rural area where it won’t be so easily available. He never keeps the rings and necklaces and bracelets he makes, though, just leaving them on tables and benches and railings for someone else to find later. It’s the making that’s the important part to him, he doesn’t need the thing.

PapAIrus (Transcendtale Papyrus):

He’s a proud and passionate DJ for partiers everywhere! He kind of fell into it, or at least into the idea of it when figuring out how to approach humanity and be a part of it, and he learned that it’s quite common for musical artists to have gimmicks that hide their real faces and identities. It seemed like it’d be easy to blend in, in a crowd like that, and when he found out about vocaloids and holographic performers he was all but sold on giving it a go. It didn’t take him long to learn how to mix songs and with a theoretically infinite track list to draw on, he’s a natural talent at playing the crowd and keeping the energy in a room high. He loves DJing for nightclubs and raves the most, but he’s starting to gain a bit of fame and notoriety for both his talent and his very advanced ‘avatar’ and might end up dropping some of his own music and playing to larger venues sooner than later.

In his spare time, of which he has a lot, he likes the challenge of hunting down lost media. He has full access to the internet as well as several archives he probably should not have access to, but it’s very hard to keep him out of anywhere he wants to be—luckily, he chooses to use his nigh unfathomable power for good, digging around here, there, and everywhere for things deleted, destroyed, or locked off from the public. It’s like a treasure hunt, following leads and connecting clues until he finds the impossible thing he’s looking for…or doesn’t. Sometimes things that are gone really are gone, but other times it’s just that no one else had the spare time and resources to try and excavate a mention of a grandmother’s VHS copy of an obscure, out of circulation film on a deleted forum post from ten years ago, track down the user, ask after the tape and offer to purchase it to convert to a digital format…and if that doesn’t pan out, the search begins anew! How exciting!

His do-gooding doesn’t end at tracking and restoring old tapes, though, and he likes to spare some time for bigger acts of justice now and again. He’s a part-time hacktivist—he takes note of ongoing crime and corruption in human society and when he can, he shines a light on it. Leaking emails, posting blacklisted videos, releasing incriminating financial records, he has little respect for the privacy of crooked CEOs and corrupt politicians and feels it’s only right that their customers and constituents know these things about the people they’re supporting. His intervention tends to lead to a lot of resignations and restructuring and legal action being pursued, so he tries not to overstep too much with the business of humans, especially not for any old small-fry in the pond…but the big fish, the guys in the news with allegations that don’t stick because of money lack of evidence… Well, he doesn’t mind digging up that evidence, if the proper authorities really lack the time for it—you’re welcome!

Xanth (Ascendswap Sans):

He’s very into spiritualism and all things mystical. His brush with the cosmically unknowable really expanded his perception and sense of things around him and he’s freshly fascinated by the things in this world beyond mortal comprehension, things he’s only glimpsed and felt more than he clearly understood. He loves reading or hearing about other peoples’ spiritual experiences—near-deaths, out-of-body’s, energies sensed and presences felt and many more—being let into the perspective of others who have been through things not easily explained and maybe getting a chance to share his own oddities in the process. He collects a lot of paraphernalia from the people and places he goes for these things, chakra bracelets, dreamcatchers, crystal pyramids and the like. He freely admits some of his items have stronger energies than others and theorizes that belief and intention in the creation of the object has an effect, you see the aura of this one feels—you get the idea, he could talk about it for hours.

He's also a very big fan of riddles! He knew a few before but has really gotten into them since, diving down the rabbit hole of riddles and tricky word puzzles. He finds the construction of them incredibly interesting, how specific words are chosen and phrases are structured to talk around the answer, carefully ringing around it to imply only and make the listener deduce the truth around its absence—just like how black holes are discovered by observing the warping of space around it! He has lots of riddle books and knows the answers to most of the basic ones out there, and he’s always open to hearing new ones, as well as coming up with some of his own from time to time. He takes his riddling quite seriously and will never look up the answer or allow anyone to tell him before he guesses—he wants to reason it out for himself, even if it takes him days to do it. If you manage to stump him, expect a call later on with the solution and exuberant praise for the gift you gave him!

A far more pedestrian and down-to-earth hobby of his, however, is pottery. Riddling and talking about the cosmos is all well and good, but it’s difficult actually meeting people to do those with—they don’t really have meet-ups for those sorts of things. But! They do have pottery classes, all over the place, welcoming beginners who are generally also open to making friends there, and he decided to go where the people were. It’s probably not something he would’ve been as happy doing before…Everything, reining in the urge to be great at it first try and do clean, neat work to impress people… but he doesn’t really think that way anymore, so he likes it! It's messy and mistakes are easy to make, both on the wheel and in the kiln, but that’s life and he’s learning same as everyone else. He gets to socialize, he gets to make stuff out of clay, and he gets so very many pots and mugs and bowls to give his friends and loved ones—a win-win-win!

Piper (Ascendswap Papyrus):

He never used to put much effort into his wardrobe. He was anxious and introverted and never wanted to stand out too much, so he always aimed for under, rather than over-dressed. …But things changed. He’s more confident, he wants to stand out, he wants to look his best and dress himself in all the nice clothes he always thought he wasn’t cool enough to wear—so now, he does. He keeps his eye-socket on modern fashion trends, subscribing to magazines and tuning in to designer runways so he always knows what’s in and can coordinate his wardrobe accordingly. He's not necessarily a brand snob, he doesn’t subscribe to the idea that clothes (and accessories) need a label to look good, but at the same time, he won’t compromise on quality and sometimes that means paying for it. Still, he has a lot of fun keeping in style and taking more care in how he presents himself, and it turns into something of a confidence feedback loop—feeling good because he looks good because he feels good because…

With his newfound confidence, he’s also gotten into the habit of singing out loud. He hums tunes every now and again, surely everyone does, but now he sings, sometimes softly and sometimes belting out lyrics at full volume to whatever song floats through his head. What can he say? He’s started to like the sound of his own voice and it makes him feel good to hear how he sounds, and to feel how freely and beautifully the notes come out. Maybe it’s a little prideful but he doesn’t see the harm in making music and feeling good about it, so he sings when he’s occupied, when he’s idle, when he’s asked to—no special occasion necessary save for the joy of sound.

Of course, this also gives him something in common with some of his favorite creatures on the planet: birds. He likes animals and tends to be great with them—especially if he happens to use his ‘trick’—but he’s particularly fond of the feathered ones and the pretty sounds they make. He started learning how to mimic bird-calls (now that he’s not too self-conscious to feel stupid about it) and found he has a talent for it, getting all kinds of flighted friends to stop by and sing back when he chirps. He knows a lot of calls and can identify most local bird species by sound and sight, and it’s a favored party trick of his to push a little intent into his whistles and get wild birds to land on his finger like they were trained. He’s actually looking to break into falconry too, so he can keep and train a raptor someday, but there’s a lot of training and regulation involved in that sport and he’s not in any special kind of hurry. Plenty of birds to watch and sing to and play with in the meantime!

Carmine (Underfell Fruition Sans):

He’s been on his own for quite awhile. Granted, most of that time was unconscious in a semi-lucid dream-state, but that still left him pretty bereft of any meaningful company for a long damn time. He’s a social guy, he’s gotta make some connections with people at some point or it’s just gonna feed into his main character syndrome, so he starts getting involved in competitive team activities pretty much as soon as possible. At first it’s gaming—multiplayers, with mic enabled of course—when he’s still building his physical health back up, but once he’s clear for it he’s joining up with just about every team sport he can find. The Surface has plenty of options for him to choose from. Paintball? Definitely, get ready to meet your maker. Go-karting? Can’t believe it took so long to ask, let’s go. Axe-throwing? Oh hell yes, you know it! He’s competitive but a mostly good loser and hardly sore winner, so whatever the game he’s all in, just happy to be able to play.

When he’s solo and not actively burning energy, he…probably should be. He overproduces magic like a sonuvabitch, and if he’s not using it, that’s a problem—for him and everyone and everything around him. If he’s lacking something to do with his energy, and no other ways to expend it, the easiest thing to do is make a bunch of bullets. This, naturally, solves one problem while creating another and out of the abundance of bones lying around the place came the elegant solution of building with them. He uses his bone bullets like some (frat house) people use beer cans, stacking them together to make thrones chairs, tables, and towers. Sometimes he’ll jenga these structures, knock ‘em down to reuse the bullets for something else, but sometimes, if he's managed to stack up something particularly impressive, he’ll put in the extra effort to make them structurally sound and keep them as-is.

For all that he’s good at building things up, he takes just as much pleasure in taking them apart. He likes working with his hands, always has, opening something up and poking around inside to figure out what goes on in there. Unfortunately, and he’ll never admit as much out loud, he is…not very strong, physically—the big stuff, heavy duty machinery that takes a decent amount of elbow grease to get into is…a little bit beyond his ability, at least comfortably. By default, that leaves him with the little stuff to tinker with, clocks and watches, TVs and blenders, anything he can get his hands on and pop open without too much work. Clockwork mechanisms are his favorites to work with, the very tangible cause and effect of motion inside, but he’s no slouch with a soldering iron and more fiddly electronics are hardly any trouble. He likes fixing stuff that’s broken but it doesn’t have to be for him to want to disassemble something in working order, just for a quick look. Don’t worry, he knows what he’s doing, he’ll put it right back—possibly in better condition than when he found it!

Tank (Underfell Fruition Papyrus):

He has difficulty finding hobbies for himself, at first. Doing things he enjoys—much less expressing that he enjoyed them—was both forbidden and dangerous, so he’s in unexplored territory without explicit orders to do or not do something. Undyne gets him started with puzzles after noticing that he seemed to like solving them for her on patrols. A jigsaw seems as good as anything to start with, right? Well… yes, very much so, because he loves the medium instantly. One obvious solution (to assemble the pieces into a picture), no time constraint, and no way to do it incorrectly? It’s perfect! He graduates quickly from small, simple jigsaws to large, complex ones and loves being able to sit down with a few thousand pieces and slowly, steadily arrange them the way they’re supposed to be. He was given a massive, single-color monolith of a jigsaw once, as a joke…which completely didn’t land because it only took him a bit longer than usual and he loved it just as much. Go figure.

His brother gave him another hobby, upon remembering that he used to (as a toddler) like scribbling on paper, and gifted him a color-by-number book. It was a little juvenile, involved considerably less problem-solving than puzzles, but that’s really not a bad thing for him, giving him a task to do by rote that appeals to his creative side rather than the militaristic orders he got until that point. Eventually, as he gains independence and starts to feel more comfortable making choices of his own, he ditches the ‘by-number’ part but sticks with coloring, using watercolors and colored pencils to fill in pages of designs with whatever he wants. He finds it very relaxing and satisfying to do, and with encouragement even frames some of the pieces he’s proudest of. Friends and family may expect to receive them as gifts, especially if they’ve complimented one in particular—it’ll be theirs in short order without a second thought.

His most consuming hobby, however, is one he came to on his own: the care and keeping of fish. His first was a betta, a bright red fighting fish, drooping and still in a tiny little cup on a shelf—an impulse purchase he’d be hard-pressed to explain, especially with no animal experience whatsoever, much less specifically fish. But, he did it, and after that it was his responsibility to care for it, so he put in the research to determine its needs, the size of the tank, the pH balance of the water, the food and feeding schedule, environmental enrichment… It was a lot of work getting everything together but the reward in seeing the sad lifeless betta turn bright and active, thriving in the home he’d built for it, that was an addictive feeling. It wasn’t long until he was setting up more tanks, and buying lots more aquatic critters—tetras, cichlids, snails, guppies—to fill them with. He’s an extremely diligent and dedicated fish-dad and likes to sit and watch them swim the way some people watch TV.

Vi (Swapfell Fruition Sans):

He knows his way around a needle and thread. He learned to sew out of pride necessity, learning to mend ripped and worn garments rather than having to beg for new on his or his brother’s behalf. It started as the lesser of two evils for him, but eventually he grew to enjoy it—work, of course, to have to close holes and hem and take in this and that, but work that he was generally left alone to do and not bothered for other things. It’s still that, but now that he doesn’t have a panopticon of a mocking prick judging his every action, he’s branching out into a bit more personal flair. He tried felting, with…poor results…but embroidery and needlepoint is working out considerably better. He’s still not especially creative so he prefers to work off patterns rather than freehand anything, and most of the things he stitches aren’t exactly to his own personal style, so a lot of his work gets donated but some things end up on the wall, others as patches for bags and jackets… It’s something to do.

…Making booze is also something to do. He didn’t exactly see it coming, something he kind of fell into. Per his brother’s preference, they’ve made their home in a wooded, mountainous area, and per his own preference, it’s secluded, a ways away from the town proper. Grocery runs every time there’s no more alcohol in the house (because somebody had company over and left a thimble in the bottle without telling anyone) is irritating, especially if he’s just getting home late and nowhere nearby is even open. A lot of locals get around the problem by simply brewing, fermenting, or distilling their own, and after looking into the process, he decided it was more than doable. He’s not much of a beer-drinker and never bothered with that, but he makes some damn good fruit wines if he says so himself, and a moonshine that’ll knock you on your ass if you’re not careful. His little operation is technically illegal—his favorite kind of illegal—but it's all for private use and he keeps to himself when he’s in town so he’s flying pretty low beneath the radar.

He is out of town a lot, mostly for work purposes, and passing through unfamiliar towns on the regular exposed him to quite a lot of postcard kiosks. He would look at them, think about his semi-estranged brother back home and how weird it would be, with their relationship being what it is, to call or text just to say ‘hey’ and… Well, eventually he bought one, scribbled a curt (coded) message on it, and sent it home before he could think better of it. Neither of them ever said anything about it, but he found it later on his desk when he got home with a scrawled reply back to what he’d written, and it kind of just spiraled into a thing from there. Anytime he goes somewhere, he finds a place to pick up a postcard to mail back, and when he gets home he tucks it (and the inevitable addition onto it) away in a binder for safekeeping. He takes a lot of care in the choosing and preservation of these cards and has a sizeable, growing collection.

Hunter (Swapfell Fruition Papyrus):

He’s a runner. There’s almost nothing he likes more than getting outside and taking off, jogging full speed to nowhere in particular until he’s out of breath and covered in sweat. He was cooped up for a long time in between specific missions and keeping pace on a treadmill just can’t compare to the free feeling he gets when he’s completely off-leash and can just go, as fast and as far as he wants to. Sometimes he’ll spice up his runs with a bit of parkour, clearing obstacles or scaling trees to take the branches for awhile, but he’s happy as long as he gets to let loose—sky above him, earth below, and nothing to call him back but his own limitations when he’s totally exhausted or he decides to be done.

For similar reasons, he’s interested in foraging. He likes nature and the outdoors, prefers it to anything indoors bar none, and the longer he can spend out in it without having to make his way back to civilization, the better. So, he started learning about the plants he sees—what’s edible, what’s not, what’s poisonous versus medicinal and so on. A lot of the info about it is geared towards humans rather than bioengineered skeletons so there’s still a learning curve, and a lot of things he's taken it upon himself to test out. He was built with a high metabolism and some natural poison resistance so he’s too cocky to be stopped from doing it, really, no matter how many times he’s called a reckless idiot for touching and ingesting possibly harmful substances. He's made a lot of interesting discoveries with regards to the local flora and only hardly gotten sick about it, so he counts it as a win.

He keeps track of said discoveries in his journal, which he takes out with him whenever he leaves the house for a nature walk (or run). He likes having it handy to note down things he does throughout the day, places he goes, things he sees… He never really got into art, not the way he could’ve, if things had been different, but he can scratch out some decent sketches to fill in the margins of his journal—the path down to the stream he found, the deer that only shed one antler, that berry that definitely did not agree with his metaphorical stomach, do not try again… His memory isn’t bad, exactly, but his mind and feet are both prone to wandering so it’s nice to have a log of his activities to look over later and put together things he missed at the time, or be reminded of stuff he wants to revisit. Most of his journaling is done halfway up a tree, sprawled along a branch with half an eye-socket on the view from up high.

Kohl (Descendtale Sans):

He wasn’t especially interested in plants or flowers, at least not until one started altering him—and the rest of monsterkind—in mind and body. That’s when he got interested and started studying. First the echo flower, its strange properties nearest and dearest to him, but gradually branching out to golden flowers, forevergreens, water sausages, any magical plant he can get his hands on to examine. Non-magical plants are equally fascinating, especially in their potential effects on humans—he knows probably an unsettling amount of flowers and greenery that are toxic to humans, the symptoms caused by contact or ingestion and how long it takes them to appear. Thankfully, he’s not much for the care and keeping of plants as keeping things alive seems like an awful lot of work. Still, he finds them interesting and has lots of botany and anthology books lying around, with leaves and petals dried and pressed between their pages. Did you know that the echo flower’s bioluminescence remains for up to three years after the bloom’s been clipped? Fascinating stuff.

Less of a passion but still at least an idle hobby, he can play a bit of piano. He’s self-taught—plunking out keys on the piano in Waterfall while passing through to entertain himself (and a little bit to annoy Undyne)—but though he can’t read sheet music or play any full length songs, he can tickle out a short tune by sound once he’s heard it at least once. He’s got a good ear for notes, despite not having any actual ears. It may actually be some kind of perfect pitch thing going on in his head but he should not be informed of this ever because he will hang on the word ‘perfect’ and be utterly insufferable about it. Mostly, he just uses this to play a few random notes whenever he comes across a keyed instrument, or to abruptly switch to an impromptu recreation of iconic horror scores to catch people by surprise. The theme from Halloween or the tubular bells from The Exorcist are favorites, but he’s unpredictable enough to learn more if you turn your back on him too long.

What he probably spends the most time on, however, is quilting. Perhaps a bit surprising, with his…everything else about him, but he’s a skeleton who values his creature comforts quite a bit, many of which have been made considerably more difficult for him to enjoy due to the ways his body has changed. In this particular case, it’s his reduced physical sensation making it nearly impossible to feel warm. He’s never cold anymore, not really, but he’s never warm either and he takes that quite personally, almost offended by the uselessness of thin clothing and scraps that dare to call themselves blankets. If there are no blankets thick enough and heavy enough get him warm, he’ll just have to make them himself…and so that’s what he does. Any passingly usable cloth in his possession tends to end up part of a quilt, with little care for patterning or overall design—his only priority is thick and heavy and warm, and if he doesn’t feel like he’s in a panini press by the time he’s finished, then it’s back to the drawing board.

Bram (Descendtale Papyrus):

He maybe went a little bit nuts for awhile there after the human first left. Some might argue that he’s still a little bit nuts but he would agree he was pretty embarrassingly desperate in the first few years after. They were gone and they weren’t answering their phone and for everything they’d done, they had been his friend so…he was worried! But of course, monsters were trapped, with hope of leaving anytime soon soundly dashed, so he couldn’t just go look for them. He wanted to reach them, or just someone on the Surface who could relay a message. That’s how he started experimenting with radio, out of a misguided and impossible attempt to communicate out of the Underground with someone up there. He never reached anyone from down there, of course, but he found some comfort in trying—and eventually, enjoyment too! He likes fiddling with the equipment to tune into different frequencies, and the sound of empty static is soothing to him. It’s a lot more fun now that he’s aboveground and can actually hear other people, and he hopes to get his license to transmit himself soon!

Before the Surface, though, things were a little lonelier for him. Colder, darker. Too dark entirely—of course a dark environment was necessary to promote the growth of their staple crop and the artificial day-cycles were only making monsters waste more time sleeping than they already were, he understood the need for the dark…but surely, it didn’t have to be so complete? How was anyone to know that he was at home and available to host company if there were no warm, inviting lights in the window? Candles seemed the perfect solution, natural light from flickering fires that wasn’t too harsh, still a bit dim but plenty to see by! He started just collecting them so he would always have them on hand if needed, but eventually started making them himself with wax on the stove. Scent or color don’t matter much to him, but he really likes being able to customize the size and shape to his needs. And his needs…aren’t so much anymore, now that there’s regular sunlight, but candles are still great for when there isn’t, and when electric lights are little too intense. It never hurts to have more candles around, for emergencies!

He's also exploring a new hobby up on the surface, inspired by his and his brother’s new careers—bone collecting! Now, it’s not what you’re thinking, he’s not after human bones. Those are still very much in use by the deceased, and he's sure surviving loved ones would be very cross if tried to just take them! But his job was how he learned that humans and other organic, non-magical creatures all contain skeletons of their own and when they die everything but the bone rots away. He thinks it’s very cool and obviously humans are off the table to inspect more closely, but animals don’t mind. He takes note of any dead creatures he happens to find—mostly birds and squirrels—and after allowing the other local wildlife to have first pick at it, he collects the remains to take home. He isn’t overly fond of the smells and textures of rot and asked for his brother to help with the de-fleshing and degreasing with the first few things he brought back, but he's got a handle on it now and loves to artfully display his cleaned finds all around the house. Skulls are his favorite, but he has some lovely wishbones and plenty of vertebrae that he’s equally proud of showing off!

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mamamittens · 1 year

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Oh, Sweet Child of Mine (pt. 7)

Platonic Yandere Whitebeard & Reader-Insert

Main|First|Previous

Featuring: Thatch nearly not being yandere before sliding right into it. And Reader showing that they've got both layers and a fair bit of madness. I kept the implied backstory vague as shit, so feel free to project or assume things, I'm kind of curious what you guys will come up with, ngl.

Warnings: platonic yandere behavior and manipulation. If yandere content or anything of that vein makes you uncomfortable, please do block "oh sweet child of mine" as well as any relevant tags for "one piece yandere". Do not tolerate coercion or this manipulative behavior in real like.

Have fun and stay safe!

Word Count: 2,119

There was something to be said about how vast the ocean was. Sometimes, you’d just… look out at the waves and get lost in the ebb and flow of the tides. It was difficult and chaotic at times, sure, but never not beautiful. On the Grand Line, the weather was notably more erratic than anywhere else. You considered yourself lucky that there had only been a small storm while you’d been on board the Moby Dick so far. And due to the vast size of the vessel, even large storms were unlikely to dump you onto the floor.

It had been almost two months since you’d been taken by Marco. By now, the crew was relatively certain you wouldn’t try and make a run for it on your own so you were mostly allowed to run around at your leisure. Meal times were still strictly enforced, as was bed time funnily enough, but outside of that they seemed to want you to integrate at your own pace. You supposed that even your great reluctance was preferred to swinging an ax at Whitebeard’s head—what the actual fuck Ace?!

You sat on the railing, looking out at the ocean.

You felt… not quite homesick but something close. You missed doing drills with the other ensigns. Running gopher for your commanding officer. You even missed Williams, for all that he was an ass. He was somehow the most tolerable one of the many partners you’d had. You spun the fabric around your wrist, thinking about how hard you worked to better your skills as a marine.

It wasn’t all about fighting after all. Procedure and bureaucratic red tape was a massive part of the job. Unless you had a very high rank, you couldn’t just go wherever you wanted and do whatever. You had to transfer home bases, file paperwork, ensure arrangements for payment were made, and a whole host of other things. And though everyone expected to move around a fair bit, there was a sense of comradery in the marines. You all had to suffer the same dorky uniform and insufferable training.

Everyone was working towards the same thing. More or less. And there was an expectation that you would be doing your best to help others.

But here you were. On a pirate ship seemingly fighting as a one-man-army to not be officially recruited as one of them. To stay a marine. Even if you didn’t feel like one very much these days…

“You look like you’re having a lot of deep thoughts there.” You jerked, head swiveling around to find Twin-Blade clambering up the railing to sit next to you. He left a decent amount of space, thankfully. He settled down and looked at you, grimacing a little with a soft laugh. “Look… I know we got off on the wrong foot—hey! Hear me out now! I just… I just wanted to officially apologize for the tea. Most of the time, new recruits are so wound up they don’t sleep the first night and it’s a rough start for everyone. Considering what I’d heard, I thought you’d need a good nights sleep more than most. I should have asked you though. So… I’m sorry.”

You stared at Twin-Blade for a long moment.

“…Bit more than just a night of sleep.” You commented dryly, causing Twin-Blade to wince.

“Y-Yeah… the tea really shouldn’t have worked that much though. You probably did need the extra hours but that doesn’t make it right.” Twin-Blade apologized again. You gave a soft smile before looking back out at the sea.

“Thanks, Twin-Blade.” You sighed, resolving to not tease him so much from now on.

“Is it me?” You paused, looking back at him as he spoke, his eyes serious. “Have you not joined because of me?”

“No. It’s not because of you. Or at least not all because of you.” You explained stretching until your back popped satisfyingly. “I’m still a marine you know. You can’t be a marine and a pirate. Kinda conflicting job titles there.” You gave him a side glance.

“Why do you still want to be a marine? We’re not exactly like other pirate crews out there. We’re a bit rough around the edges, sure, but we don’t do the whole ‘pillaging’ thing. And we have a lot of power and status. What are you losing by joining?” He asked like he couldn’t imagine a world where his crew wasn’t the best option.

Part of this you excused as all of them being just a little bit batshit crazy. And weird. That too.

“I didn’t ask to be here. I didn’t ask to be rescued or recruited. What other reason do I need?” You pushed back and he pouted.

“But we’d love to have you here with us. We have such a big family that anything you wanted to learn or do would be feasible. You’d never be alone. C’mon, isn’t there anything tempting with us?” He pleaded, unable to wrap his head around your persistent but quiet refusal.

You supposed that for most people, the reasons to not join would be few. Most pirates don’t have a lot of options. Unless you’re clever or strong or lucky it’s a tough way to make a living. Ruthless and cruel at times without even the thin veneer of bureaucracy to hide behind.

A fat raindrop fell onto your nose, breaking you from your thoughts.

You sighed wistfully.

“…I think you forget what it’s like to be small. If you ever knew to begin with.” You watched the sky darken to a soft gray as rain began to fall, your eyes fixed on the dwindling blue horizon. “Nothing to hold onto but a choice—shit as it is—to do something. To one day not be so small after all. All I’ve got are my choices, Twin-Blade. There’s nothing left to go back to. And I know I’m not the only one. Maybe as a marine I could keep someone else from having to make a shit choice too. That’s not something anyone on this ship can give me, though. Might not even be something I can give myself. But what else can I do but try?” You lifted up your legs and turned around, hopping off the railing.

Leaving Twin-Blade behind.

--*--

Thatch thought about your words for several minutes as the rain poured, showing no signs of stopping or getting worse.

He… actually did know what it was like to be small. He didn’t like to think about it often—if at all. But he remembered. It made him desperate. Cling to every bright spot in his life like it would leave him if he looked away. The idea that you felt small even now made his chest ache.

He wanted you here because Marco wanted you here and because Oyaji accepted your presence. That was all he needed really. Hell, Oyaji’s word was all he needed for Ace, and Ace was a feral little bastard man trying to commit murder daily.

Joining Oyaji’s side made him grow in a lot of ways from that small boy he used to be.

Thatch grinned, resolutely setting his shoulders as he hopped off the railing and headed back inside.

You didn’t feel like you had any real choices in your life. Any connections or anchors aside from your ‘shit choice’. So Thatch would just have to show you how free life is on board the Moby Dick.

Thatch slammed open Marco’s office door.

“We need to throw a party!” Marco gave him a dry look as he picked his pen back up to finish paperwork. “We need to show them how to live a little!”

Marco perked up the moment you were mentioned, naturally.

“Did someone say ‘party’?” Ace ducked his head under Thatch’s arm with a wide grin.

“Yes!”

“No, yoi.” Marco grumbled, cutting out the fun Thatch and Ace were starting to have. “You’ve got a mission the day after tomorrow and you can’t go with a hangover.”

Thatch frowned.

“I have a mission?” This was the first he’d heard of it.

“A small supply run for medical. Oyaji’s meds are almost out. The island we stopped at didn’t have any. I’d go but someone needs to bully him into taking what’s left.” Thatch grimaced but didn’t protest any further. “We can throw a party when you get back.”

Thatch grinned, brightening up instantly.

“Yes!”

--*--

You made goofy kissy noises at Stefan as you played with his ears. The dog amicably withstanding your teasing as he laid over your lap on the main deck. Whitebeard watched on with an amused stare as you ignored his existence. The Yonko pirate would, occasionally, try and talk to you or draw you into a conversation, but you’d been dodging him fairly well so far.

“…My child—”

“Sea king starboard!” Your head whipped up as you gently shoved Stefan off your lap. Instantly, looking towards the area that had been called out.

Whitebeard glared at the sea, his weapon at the ready.

“Go below deck—” Your eyes widened as the sea king raised it’s head over the railing. It resembled an eel in form with large black eyes. Baby blue scales with vivid pink frills running down it’s spine.

“Baby! Look at you~!” You cried out, darting to the railing to hold out your hand. “What are you doing all the way out here~?” You cooed, rubbing your hand on the shocked creature’s chin. The scales were hard as a rock but undeniably warm and softer than an adult’s scales.

You heard several very startled calls of your name but ignored them.

The sea king opened it’s mouth just barely, a low buzzing sound emitting from it as it lowered it’s head to look at you. You were smiling so wide it almost hurt, admiring it’s beautiful scales.

“D-Do you know them?!”

You laughed loudly.

“Ahah~! Not at all, but who wouldn’t want to know a precious baby like you~?” you rubbed your nail under the ridge of it’s jaw, the buzzing sound intensifying as you laughed, absolutely delighted. “You’re so pretty, baby! Look at this cute baby blue! And the pink ruffles! Ah! You look fancy~!” you praised it gleefully.

The buzzing warbled in shared delight.

“Aren’t you just the sweetest thing~? But where is your pod, baby? It’s not safe to swim alone like this!” You cried out, standing on the railing to cradle the massive sea king’s chin. The sound it made vibrated your bones, a deep rumbling call.

“Not safe for who?!”

“Holy shit is that more?!”

You leaned your head back to see several more sea kings just barely poking their head out of the water. You waved excitedly with one arm.

“Hiiii~! Are you cuties going to come up too?”

“Please don’t!”

“Oyaji, stop them!”

You pouted, glaring over your shoulder.

“You’re being rude!” The pirate gaped at you.

“I-I’m being rude?! Those are sea kings!”

“Duh? And I want to pet them and give them love, damnit! Stop! Being! Rude!” You enunciated firmly, ignoring Whitebeard as he laughed. You turned to the shy sea kings, “Ignore them! I’d love to see you~!”

The sea king in your arms buzzed again, withdrawing to sink into the water until it was eye level with you. Pretty black eyes blinking slowly as the pink frills fluttered, lights like an aurora going down it’s spine. You gasped in delight as it opened it’s maw wide. Rows and rows of needle like teeth on full display. It was big enough to probably eat Whitebeard whole, but the only thing you could think of was how impressive the baby sea king was.

“Mmmaaooo~! Mmmmmaaaaooo~!” You stared in awe as it closed it’s mouth and brushed it’s nose against your front, buzzing long and low one last time for good measure before sinking beneath the waves for good.

“Mao? What a cute name, ahah~!” You laughed, spinning on your heel with a skip in your step. “Mao’s so cute~! I can’t wait to see him again!”

Whitebeard fell back into his seat with a laugh.

“Gurarararara! I’m glad you had fun, my child! We don’t run into sea king’s often, but I’m sure you’ll see plenty more soon enough.”

“Ack! O-Oyaji! No!”

You huffed.

“Don’t get it twisted, Whitebeard! I’m still not joining just because that’s the closest I’ve ever gotten to a sea king!”

Whitebeard just laughed again as his children despaired the prospect of encountering more sea kings willingly.

You didn’t get the drama. Sea kings were just darling, in your eyes. More darling than any of the pirates on this ship at least!

#one piece yandere #yandere whitebeard crew #whitebeard crew #yandere thatch #reader insert #oh sweet child of mine #platonic yandere #reader sees all animals as babies #and somehow they all like that #thankfully for reader or they'd be eaten by now #zero impulse control around animals

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costumesexpalined · 6 months

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First things first, basic materials for basically any cosplay.

No need for sewing machines or even embroidery hoops, they’re pretty new in the grand scheme of things and people made insane stuff without them for millenia after all.

(I actually recommend learning hand sewing FIRST, it lets you learn how to fix your stuff in a pinch and is way easier to get into. It’s slower, sure, but it also lets you make finer, more consistent seams and if you have sensory issues tied to sound it’s FAR less likely to set you off. Plus, it’s calming and frankly impresses the hell out of people at competitions and the like and some groups (like re-enactments) do not count machine made things at all in their competitions and standards.)

All you need to sew clothing is a needle, thread, scissors, a measuring tape, a pencil and sharpener or chalk to mark things in a washable way, fabric and time.

If you aren’t totally confident in being able to track seams or keep them even, straight pins or clips helps hold stuff together. You also want these if you don’t want to transfer a pattern from paper to the fabric with drawn lines, but that’s also not exactly needed since I go off the base shapes and measurements. If you aren’t confident with holding material extremely taught while you work on embroidery or bead work and the like, a good embroidery hoop can be found second hand for pretty cheap and you can usually find a really good one for under $10 usd at a craft store with an embroidery section (with $10 being a MASSIVE one, I recommend getting a 6 inch or less unless your doing something at a standing one, which is overkill most of the time).

I’ll explain how to use the materials later, but everyone has trouble with fabric and I’ve had people balk at the cost before, so here’s where to start (or if your on a tight budget)

- broadcloth: cheap cotton, comes in a whole array of solid colors and a staple of cosplay. Be sure to make certain you don’t make something too tight with this, it isn’t the best at holding up to extreme strain. Typically about $5 usd a yard… full price.

- quilting cotton: slightly more enxpensive and usually patterned in some way broadcloth. If you go to a fabric store they will have TONS of this. Averages about $6-8 usd a yard full price, depending on the brand and store.

- old linens: a cosplay classic. Go to goodwill or Facebook marketplace or a garage sale or something and buy up a bunch of old bed sheets and stuff or some curtains and be ready to get dirty with dye, bleach, and a lot of prayers. Best to aim for solid white, makes it easier, unless you want that specific color/pattern. Upside is that these make bigger pieces easier to make. Think cloaks, super big skirts, “Aladdin” pants, things that have a high depth AND width to the piece you need. Lowers the seam count, at least.

- Muslin: I will have an unhinged rant about historical vs modern muslin later on, but this is a fabric you can get for as little as ¢50 a yard in some cases used for a pattern making method called “draping” that will also be explained at a later date. It’s thick, completely undyed/unbleached, and sturdy enough to take some abuse and doesn’t gray too bad. It’s shit compared to historical muslin, but it does its job as a cheap canvas in a pinch. Be warned: these come on VERY short bolts and often aren’t “double wide” like other fabrics, which can be an issue and lead to TONS of seams.

Again, muslin is used to make patterns usually. Will explain “draping” later but it’s pretty self explanatory based on the name.

#cosplay help #cosplay tutorial #cosplaying #ac3s tutorials #cosplay materials #fabric #beginner cosplay tips #sewing #hand sewing

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hyunnows · 7 months

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WHO YOU GONNA CALL? | TAPE #1

A series of tapes describing Namjoon's life since joining the Supernatural Investigation Unit.

PAIRING(S) | Namjoon x reader

THEMES | cop!au, x-files!au, ghostbusters!au, cop!Namjoon, cop!reader, youtuber!Seokjin, youtuber!Taehyung, ghosts, conspiracies, cryptids, the paranormal, and the supernatural are main subjects

WORD COUNT | 1.1k+

RATING | pg

NOTE | im so excited for this series im ngl--not sure how frequently i will be updating yet but i think once every two or three weeks? I dont want to take it too seriously (especially since it will probably flop) but oh well... also i know i should have posted this before halloween but it would be too close to the release of 'a love so beautiful' and i want to try to release fics consistently again so i have to keep these a bit spaced out. any this was a new style of writing for me, so i really hope you all enjoy this <3 if you would like to join the taglist, feel free to rb, or reply letting me know--or you can check out my taglist form as well <3333 have a great day/night!

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“So how did it all begin?” A man in a dark suit looms over the metal table, his words echoing off the brick walls and two-way mirror as he adjusts the large camera.

A more timid man sweats under his stare, looking into the camera’s lens awkwardly. “Well, it was the day of my promotion,”

“You’re going to kill this interview,” the brunet mumbles to himself, fixing his tie for the third time. “You’re going to do great and get promoted. Then you’ll finally be a detective.”

He huffs as his tie becomes undone, reaching for one of his clip-ons instead before putting it back down. “You have plenty of time Namjoon, you can correctly fix your tie. A real detective wears real ties.”

He stares in the mirror, continuing to prepare himself. “I’m going to ace this interview. They’re going to like me, I’m going to be likable. Calm, put together, and ambitious—but not too ambitious, I’m going to be grateful for the opportunity. I’m going to get the position, and make mom and dad proud.”

“At least, I thought it was a promotion,” Namjoon almost sulks, arms crossing at the memory.

“This isn’t a promotion interview, Officer Kim. You’re being transferred to the Supernatural Investigation Unit,” Chief Yoon sighs, leaning forward. “I’m sorry to have misled you.”

“The Supernatural Investigation Unit?” The suited man repeats, leaning toward Namjoon.

“Yeah, everyone called it the X-Files though, like the show.”

“Continue.”

“The thing is, we don’t really have the budget to keep the X-files up, but we don’t have enough to take them down either. I need you to debunk the work going on in there, so we can submit a legit request to get the unit removed.” Mr. Yoon’s voice rumbles out, the crinkles by his eyes appearing as he looks at Namjoon with a serious look. “Listen, if you get our evidence, and I’ll get you a promotion, deal?”

“Obviously I wanted the promotion, so I agreed.”

“Is that the only reason you were chosen to fulfill this job?” the interviewer asks, the same monotone voice filling the room.

“I wish, but it was because of my past,” Namjoon sighs, “I used to be really into ghosts. I wrote reports on it, took video evidence, documented everything so that I could find proof about them. Back then, I also had a YouTube channel with my friend–we were pretty popular at the time. Anyway, I ended up writing a book on it before deciding to leave it all behind to become a serious detective.”

“And are you a detective now?”

“No, look at me,” he gestures to the modified hazmat suit draped across his figure. “How many detectives do you know that wear ghost gear and thermal goggles?”

The interviewer looks at him, unamused and urgent for him to continue his retelling.

“I look up our old stuff and see that new copies of my book are for sale, and that the channel is still up and running–both with my name still on them. So I decided to track down my friend and have a chat with him.”

“Yah! I’m getting the door, stop nagging at me!” Namjoon taps his foot impatiently, hearing the all too familiar voice approach the door. “How can I help–Namjoon? What are you doing here?”

“Hey Jin, I was hoping I could talk to you about the book and the old channel.”

The older man nods his head in recognition, opening the door to allow the taller male in. “Have you seen how well they’re doing? The book is selling pretty well and the channel is blowing up pretty quickly these days,” he says, too enthusiastic for Namjoon’s liking.

“That’s actually my problem,” Namjoon starts, dodging all the odd equipment and supplies scattered around Seokjin’s floor. “I’m sorry, what is going on here?”

Seokjin motions for Namjoon to follow, walking into the nearest door to the left. Upon entering, the cop is met with a makeshift lab filled with beakers, random devices, steam, and many other chemicals Namjoon can’t imagine to be safe. Not to mention one slightly tidier corner of the room with a camera facing a small desk, a corkboard up behind him. Namjoon immediately recognizes the set-up. “This is where we’ve been operating from recently.”

“We?”

“Oh, right. I have a new partner, give me one second,” Jin sticks his head out of the room, inhaling a large breath and bellowing, “Taehyung!”

“Stop yelling!” A younger guy grunts as he enters the messy room.

Seokjin grins, “This is Taehyung, mechanical genius, and my partner.” Taehyung gives a small smile and wave, removing Jin’s arm from his shoulder with a shrug. “Back on track though, what’s going on, why are you here?”

“I need you to erase me from those videos–take them down, even. If you really need to keep them, private them. The book too, I want my name off of it. They’re ruining my life, they’re–”

“Haunting you?”

“Really?” Namjoon groans, a dour expression on his face at the attempt to joke.

“We argued for a bit, and he refused and pried until he found out about my transfer. That didn’t make anything better for me.”

“How so?”

“Instead of understanding where I was coming from, he just kept telling me how ‘this was my chance to live my dream’.” He deflates a bit. “When we were kids, everyone made fun of us for being the ‘ghost kids’. Even our teachers, parents, and everyone thought we were crazy. I remember my mom telling me how she wanted me to be normal so bad.”

“I take it you come from a not-very-accepting neighborhood?”

“Not at all. Those people didn’t like anything abnormal in the slightest. You should have seen how happy everyone was when we left for college,” Namjoon laughs dryly. “It was really messed up for some dorks like us growing up.”

Namjoon straightens himself in the uncomfortable metal chair. “We both wound up going to college together, I took criminology, profiling, and forensics. He took a medical path, with a few courses in human behavior and psych, I think. We were in a robotics club in high school and took engineering for a bit before dropping the class.”

“During college, we still made our videos and stuff. We made the book then too, 300 pages of paranormal bullcrap we put together over a few years. Because of our educations, we considered ourselves to be a pretty credible source for the paranormal.”

“Why did you stop?”

“I got tired of being seen as a joke. I wanted to be important,” his face is void of any emotion as he recalls the day he told Seokjin he would be leaving for the police academy and packed up his things. “So, I joined the police force. I did a few years as a mall cop, then started getting assigned more important cases and assignments slowly. Then one day, I was getting ready to be Scully to somebody’s Mulder.”

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goggles-mcgee · 2 years

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Replaced: It’s The Latest News

Second Chapter of the story for @miner249er

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Summary: Alya prided herself on being the Number 1 Ladybug journalist in all of Paris. She was the one who got exclusive interviews, she was the one who got recognized in a sea of reporters and news channels on the scenes of akuma battles and she was the one who had been trusted to be Rena Rouge. So imagine her surprise when a rival Ladybug blog has the latest Ladybug scoop, not just a scoop, no, they had Ladybug as a guest and she gave them the honor of hosting her announcement.

Alya tried her best not to feel betrayed.

Alya prided herself on her journalism skills. Her blog was the culmination of those skills. It was definitely a step up from going around her old neighborhood with an old tape recorder (her father’s) and a little handheld journal to write whatever she found that caught her eye or ear. She upgraded to using an app on her phone to record herself or whatever juicy lead she was following and a note app that let her type out quick notes that she would later transfer to her computer so she could flesh out her story. It was a beautiful if not meticulous process, one she found almost methodical. Oh it was hard work don’t get her wrong but it was work that paid off and it was work that deserved to be recognized. Alya had a talent and she knew that, ever since she was a little girl she knew she had wanted to be a reporter. It was different than most kids her age, especially when her and her family had been living in Louisiana in the States.

Moving to Paris had been a big move but when her mother had gotten the job offer by the mayor of freaking Paris to work in his hotel restaurant it had been an easy decision to let her mom follow her dream, the whole family had agreed. Besides, from what her mother had told her and her sisters, their ancestors had lived in France for a substantial amount of time before they fled to the States and settled down in New Orleans. When Alya had asked why their ancestors had fled her mother had been particularly avoidant of the whole thing, she always said it wasn’t the kind of story she wanted her little girls to know. Of course her father had agreed with his wife, that was what led Alya down her path of journalism. Down her path of justice. Her ancestors were her past just as much as her mother’s, she should be able to know why they had fled to the states in the first place.

War had been ruled out pretty fast, as it was something her mother denied when asked and she knew her mother wasn’t lying. When her mother lied she tended to bite her lip and scrunch her nose. It was an obvious tell. When her father lied his left eyebrow would twitch just the slightest bit. Nora rarely lied, her older sister was someone who wore their emotions on their sleeves, but on the rare occasions she did lie she would give this awkward smile. Now the twins were still at that stage where if they lied they looked off to the side or giggled, it was horribly obvious. Alya knew all her family’s tells so she knew when her mother lied or told the truth, her mother quickly caught on to that fact and just refused to talk about their ancestors all together. She wanted to know the story, no, she craved the story! She needed to know and so she set out to find the truth.

It made her feel like a secret agent! Hunting down the clues, following leads if she got any. It was thrilling. In the end it wasn’t that big of a shock, Alya had honestly been expecting the fleeing of her ancestor (who she found out was a woman called Fayette) to be something big and shocking like running away from an assassin or an arranged marriage to a wealthy family and her ancestor had a torrid love affair! Something dramatic! In the end it was because Fayette wanted to travel while her father firmly denied his daughter’s wish because, though she was the youngest daughter, she had responsibilities. The family had a farm and Fayette knew she would either live a life on the farm or have to marry to get away from the farm and that wasn’t something she wanted so she ran and caught a boat to the States.

Though it wasn’t the story she had been wanting nor expecting it was still something that she had hunted down and found herself and it had made Alya feel so good and accomplished. Her mother and father hadn’t been so happy with her, nor had her grandparents but nothing could have dulled her flames that day. She told everyone about it, even those not in the family, it was a story she found, so she figured she had every right to share it. Nora had been interested to hear about it but when she found out Alya was telling her friends at school and the neighbors, she got mad just like their mom and dad. That was the night that Alya got lectured about what she shared, because that was a story about the family, one that was supposed to stay in the family.

Alya really didn’t see why it mattered. It’s not like Fayette did anything bad, so she saw no problem with sharing the story about her ancestor, but her parents told her it would have been fine if she had asked permission. That was also the night that Alya decided it was better to ask for forgiveness than to beg for permission because she knew her parents never would have given her their say to share the story. Okay maybe she didn’t know for sure but she liked to think she knew her family members well enough to know they wouldn’t have so she stuck to her thought to ask for forgiveness. Plus, reporters never asked for permission to follow stories they just did! And she was going to be the best reporter ever.

Maybe that was a childish thing to still believe in but Alya knew she had the skills and the drive to reach for it. Sure she had some hiccups but those were merely bumps in the road towards her shining future! Alya had grown since those small mistakes and so had her blog, her blog was truly her greatest accomplishment. Her blog would also be the key to getting her future, it was her portfolio, her experience, it was her everything. A large part of her success she credited towards Ladybug, if it wasn’t for the hero, her blog wouldn’t have found its focus nor its audience, but it was her who built it to what it was today. It was her hard work, her editing, her research, her talent that made it what it was. Perhaps she sounded smug but Alya firmly believed she earned the right to.

Lately though her posts weren’t getting as much traction as they usually got. The numbers were still high but not nearly as high as they had been months ago and Alya had no idea why. She hadn’t done anything differently. She still posted the latest akuma fights, she still posted random facts that correlated with the animal or whatever thing the Kwami of a Miraculous represented, she still posted interviews with Lila. Her content was the same perfect formula she had created and observed as being her most popular, so there should have been no significant drops, and yet there was. Sure Alya could go to her comments and try and see what the people were displeased with but it was getting harder to find the actual constructively critical comments and the haters.

Ever since her first interview with Lila she had been getting massive hate, that’s not to say she never got any before but that interview seemed to set off a chain reaction of hate comments. They called Lila every name under the sun that was synonymous with ‘liar’ and they called Alya many names too but more often than not she was labeled with ‘sell-out.’ Lila, of course, apologized for the hate her interview brought. Apparently she had quite the following of people who hated her and tried their best to denounce everything she did. Alya had brushed it off but to be honest it was a pain because those comments took up so much of the comment sections of her posts that she basically gave up blocking people and deleting comments. It was just too much work. What made it worse was that Alya’s best friend seemed to believe those people.

Marinette was never someone who didn’t give someone a second chance or believed rumors right off the bat, and yet she was whole-heartedly against Lila. It hurt. It hurt because Lila was amazing and kind and generous and just everything that Marinette was and if that girl could just open her eyes, Alya was sure they would be friends. Apparently that wasn’t going to happen, or at least not any time soon, so until Marinette could grow up Alya had decided she needed space from her BFF. The girl squad knew and agreed so they too held Marinette at arms-length when they interacted with her. They hoped it would make the girl realize she was in the wrong and apologize but she hadn’t.

It hurt to admit but Alya missed Marinette, she missed how they would pass notes during class (well back when they sat together), she missed how Marinette was always ready to help her if Alya needed her, and she missed their sleepovers. There was so much she missed but those were the things that first came to mind because in class her and Lila didn’t pass notes, Alya had to take class notes for Lila and herself because of Lila’s wrist issues. Alya loved Lila, she really did, but Lila promised help but she had so much already going on that she often forgot. And sleepovers, Alya missed not stressing out about them, every time Lila came over for a sleepover she felt like her house, her very room, wasn’t good enough. It wasn’t a very nice feeling so somewhere along the way she stopped offering sleepovers.

Another thing she missed was how excited Marinette got for Alya when she got a new scoop on Ladybug and the Miraculous Squad. Her joy amplified Alya’s. Nino was always excited for her but it wasn’t really the same, and so was Adrien, another local Ladybug Fan, but again, it wasn’t the same.

Speaking of Ladybug it seemed like the hero was avoiding her. Lately after an akuma battle the hero left the space no matter if her Miraculous was beeping or not. She would give a couple of answers to the press and then yo-yo away. Usually she would give Alya a little interview or at least wave to her camera but lately that stopped. It stopped and Alya wasn’t sure when it actually started to stop and that scared her because that meant her attention slipped. Her focus slipped and as a reporter focus was crucial.

“You good babe?”

Alya blinked out of her thoughts and gave Nino a small smile and a shrug. “Yeah I guess. Just a little anxious I think.”

“Of the upcoming announcement?” Adrien asked from his spot next to Nino.

They had all headed to the park next to Alya’s house when Mireille and Aurore notified everyone at school and on their blog (MiraculousTales another blog about Ladybug and the other heroes that defended Paris-Alya was loathe to admit it was a good blog) that they had an interview with Ladybug who wanted to make an announcement.

“Partly.” She admitted as her focus went back to Nino’s laptop that had said blog on display. “But I don’t really want to talk about the other thing right now.”

Nino gave her a knowing look but nodded anyway while Adrien just looked confused. The poor boy always looked confused these days. No not confused, well okay, yes he looked confused but he also looked frustrated a lot. Alya and Nino just chalked it up to problems with his dad, it seemed like the model had a new event or photo shoot going on each week. Alya had half a mind to report it to her parents and see if anything could be done because surely that had to be illegal. She had even considered writing a piece on it but Alya wasn’t stupid, she knew if she wrote about Adrien and his awful work hours that she could very well be sued by Gabriel Agreste and really her blog didn’t need that. Plus she didn’t exactly have proof, nor was her source confirmed, two things that were very important in the field of journalism.

“Oh look! It’s starting!” Adrien announced as he bounced in place. Alya couldn’t help the fond smile that slipped through, if she didn’t know better she would say Adrien was a bigger Ladybug fan than her.

“I wonder what this whole announcement is for.” Nino mused as they heard the voices of Mireille and Aurore greet the viewers from the screen.

“I don’t know…Usually they let everyone know what their next videos are going to be about, same with announcements. I mean they at least give a brief synopsis of the announcement or if it’s a surprise they say it is. This feels like something else.” Alya mumbled as she stared hard at the screen. Whatever Ladybug had to announce she knew it was going to be important so of course she had her notepad and pen out just in case.

“Hey Lovelies! Aurore here, I know, not who you wanted to see, but before we bring in our special guest Mireille and I had a couple words we wanted to say.” Aurore said with a bright smile, Alya felt a little bad when she wished the girl would hurry up and announce Ladybug already, but well, they promised Paris’ number one hero and if there was one thing Alya understood about running her own blog was that the people were impatient for their content.

“We know you guys are eager to see our guest and hear her announcement,” Mireille said softly, “but we just wanted to take a moment before that to let you guys know how grateful we are to each and every one of you for following our blog.”

“Yes, we are so grateful. We never imagined the blog gaining popularity so fast. So we just wanted to thank you, our wonderful followers, as well as those who helped us set up this blog. A special thanks goes out to Claude Beauréal, my cousin, for doing the coding and technical stuff for the blog as Mireille and myself are awful with technology not related to our phones.” Aurore admitted with a laugh as she held up her phone to show a picture of said cousin to the viewers.

“See, if this wasn’t an important announcement Claude would have edited a picture of himself on the screen so you guys could see him better, though I’m sure you will see a picture of him somewhere on the blog following this video.” Mireille said with her own laugh.

“Very true Mireille! We would also like to give a special thanks to the designer of the blog who helped with the layout and the icons, Paris’ own Marinette Dupain-Cheng.” Aurore made a heart with her hands towards the camera before her smile broadened and she straightened in her seat. “Now that the thanks have been given, please welcome our guest, the beautiful, the talented, the miraculous…Ladybug!”

Alya felt like she had been on a rollercoaster back in the States, one that traveled with a fair. It looked fun but you still looked at it with skepticism because while it looks fun you don’t know how much you trust it despite the fact you know the machinery is constantly being checked over. Alya had willfully boarded that rollercoaster and already her stomach had dropped, Marinette had designed their blog’s layout? She didn’t know how she felt about that. The first emotion that came up was betrayal followed by rage followed by this chest clenching sadness. All to end with numbness, but then the introduction of Ladybug had her heart swooping, her pulse rushing and she pushed all thoughts of Marinette away in favor of her favorite hero.

“Thank you for the warm welcome you two.” Ladybug smiled at the two girls as she strode into frame and took a seat across from both Mireille and Aurore. Alya bitterly thought of all the times Ladybug gave her that smile and how it always made her feel so warm, so special, so important.

“Huh. That’s weird.” Nino mumbled.

“What? What’s weird?” Alya questioned right away.

“Uh, well, there’s a lot of seats there for just three people.” He replied.

“Maybe they didn’t have time to take out the other seats?” Adrien said, though he posed it as more of a question. Nino just shrugged while Alya frowned.

There were a lot of seats.

“You are always welcome on our blog Ladybug.” Mireille gave the spotted heroine a shy smile.

Ladybug returned the smile with one of her own. “You’re too kind. Now, I don’t want to take up too much of your or Paris’ time but I felt like this needed to be addressed. There may be some of you who have noticed and those of course who haven’t, but…there have been some changes as of late to do with what you have dubbed us as, ‘Team Miraculous.’”

“Changes?” Aurore asked.

“Yes. First off, it has fallen to me to let you, the people of Paris know that Chat Noir has decided to be a solo hero. We are no longer partners. I can’t nor will I, disclose his reasons why. Those are his own. So just know his actions are also his own and are not affiliated with myself and the new ‘Team Miraculous’.” Ladybug was as she always was in her interviews, business as always but her words were like a rock being thrown at a window.

“New team?” Alya whispered in horror.

“Dude…I wonder why Chat left.” Nino said as he shook his head like he still couldn’t believe Ladybug’s words. Adrien…Adrien was oddly silent and very focused on the screen with a scowl on his face. Alya felt for him, she figured it was because he was such a big Ladynoir supporter like herself and this was like a cannonball to the ship. It seemed like it was well and truly sunk.

“Maybe she’s just announcing that the temporary heroes are going to be permanent? I mean they haven’t been called in a while but with Chat ditching her she is going to need help.” Nino mused in excitement, one Alya shared, maybe Ladybug was just too stressed with Chat leaving to notify them of their new status’ as the permanent heroes! That had to be it!

“Now I noticed the not so subtle air-quotes over ‘Team Miraculous.’ Why is that?” Mireille asked.

Ladybug hummed as she leaned back in the chair she had been provided. “You’re observant. It’s because the old team was disorganized, we never had an official name. Frankly it was a hot mess. The new team does actually have an official name now and this is a good time to introduce you all to them, I would like to introduce you all to 'The Court of Miracles’.”

Alya’s hopes dropped as fast and hard as her heart and stomach.

The first to appear on screen was a new Bee hero. She strode in with her two high pigtails swaying behind her. Her pigtails had black streaks curl around them to end at a point and she had ribbons near the base that came up to slightly curl above her head like antennae. The ribbons were black and ended in little yellow pom poms. The black of her gloves came up to about mid-bicep, her black boots came to about mid-thigh. Her body suit was striped black and yellow like a bee but it did have a white fur collar and it looked like she had poofy shorts reminiscent of Victorian bloomers, the stripes on the shorts were vertical instead of horizontal. Above the shorts seemed to be a silver belt that looked to be like a honeycomb design.

“This is Honey Bee.” Ladybug introduced and said hero waved to the camera before taking one of the empty seats.

Next came out another girl, the new Mouse hero. Her short hair was in a half-up half -down style with the part that was half-up was styled into little buns, the color of her hair was black that faded into a soft pink. Around the buns were false mouse ears, the outside of the ears were gray while the inside were pale pink. Her gloves were black and slightly puffed out at the wrists with gray ribbon on the wrist, you could faintly see pink mouse paw-prints on the hand of the gloves when the hero waved. Her boots resembled her gloves and her suit was mostly gray with pink details. The shoulders of the suit were puffy like a fancy dress shirt and it seemed like there were edges of sleeves that, like her gloves and boots, fanned out. Only instead of gray ribbon for detail there was black ribbon.

The collar also resembled that of a dress shirt only rounded and black. There was a pink bow there on the collar and there was a bigger bow wrapped around her waist, much bigger, tied in the back and the end of the ribbons wound around each other to mimic a tail. If you looked closely you could see what looked like a jump rope tied under the ribbon on the waist. Alya distantly thought she kind of looked like a magical girl from an anime. “This is Merry Mouse.”

The hero that followed Merry Mouse was like a punch to the gut for Alya, she barely even felt her eyes tearing up as she saw the new Fox hero. He was tall and his hair was an ombre of burnt orange to white, it was a little long so it was pulled back in a little ponytail, fake fox ears were attached to what looked like a Newsboy cap sat atop his hair. His suit looked like a three piece suit that Alya had seen men wear in the orchestra, though it looked a little old fashioned she noted, she wasn’t quite sure what made it so, but they were meshed together it seemed. It wasn’t a bad look she bitterly admitted to herself. Hell, she herself had given her Rena Rouge look a tailcoat somewhat. To top off the look, the Fox hero had ankle length boots. Of course everything stuck to an orange, white and dark brown color palate.

“The new Fox hero, Foxtrot.” Ladybug said with a warm smile at the replacement.

“Hello.” Foxtrot said softly with a wave as he took a seat.

Another hero came out briefly after Foxtrot and Alya had to bite her lip so she didn’t make a sound or worse yell something out in outrage. The next hero was the Turtle hero. She was elegant as she walked out, her head high, her short hair was a dark green that looked almost black. The suit itself was a bit intimidating to Alya for being the Turtle but it did look cool. The suit under was dark green like her hair but she had what looked like a black kimono over it. Over the kimono in sparcing pieces were what looked like armor in the fashion of samurai armor. They looked like turtle shells, spiky turtle shells and they too were black like the kimono. Her hands were covered by the dark green material but if you looked closely it looked like she had claws.

“This is Genbu.”

“It is an honor to be here.” Genbu said as she took her seat.

“It’s an honor to have you.” Mireille said.

“Wow. The new Turtle looks…” Adrien muttered. Alya flinched when he spoke, she completely forgot he had been there. Alya turned to look at her boyfriend who was staring at the screen intensely, she knew the feeling. She grabbed his hand and gave it a soft squeeze, one he returned.

“Next we have Striker.”

Striker seemed to be the new Snake hero. He walked on screen with a quiet confidence, his hair was a little hard to see because of the hood that covered it, it was no surprise that the teal hood looked like that of a snake. The hood itself was attached to a tunic vest, the front of the vest looked like the belly of a snake and was a pattern of aquamarine and seafoam. The suit underneath the vest was dark, clearly it was a mix of green and blue too but Alya honestly only knew a handful of colors because of Marinette’s fashion rants. The boots that went to mid-calf were the same color as the back of the tunic vest and hood and also that of the gloves. It was a simple but effective look. When Striker sat and waved at the camera it was the hair that shocked Alya, the hair was pure white.

“And finally we have Vouivre.”

Alya didn’t know if she could handle any more new heroes. How could Ladybug replace them all? Not just temporarily, she made that perfectly clear, these clowns were there to stay and it burned Alya. And yet, she couldn’t look away. The last hero walked on screen, the first thought Alya had was, wow this chick is tall. The second thought she had was, I would not try to take that girl on in a fight, Miraculous or not. Vouivre had short fiery red hair that looked like it was slicked back due to the wind and nothing else. Two black horns sat in her hair and in the middle of her forehead was an eye shaped ruby. Her suit was this gorgeous emerald green and the pattern looked like scales, the green and scales wrapped around her left leg and vanished into her boots. It was very reminiscent of a tail. Around the ankle of the left boot was a golden ring. The boots themselves and the right leg of the suit were black. Around her waist and neck were what looked like strings of pearls and to top off the look were the symbols of the chest.

“This is the Court of Miracles. We are Ladybug, Honey Bee, Merry Mouse, Foxtrot, Genbu, Striker and Vouivre, along with our two Chamberlains who work in the shadows we swear to protect the people of Paris.” Ladybug said with such conviction that Alya flinched.

“Marinette?” Now that caught Alya’s attention and she silently thanked Adrien for the distraction no matter how distraught the boy sounded. She felt like she was about to have a mental breakdown. When she got home she was certain she was going to be sobbing into her pillows but for now she was going to indulge in whatever caught Sunshine’s attention.

The sight that greeted her however threw her for another loop, one just as big as the damn announcement. Now Alya would be the first to admit it had been a while since she had seen Marinette and to be honest she hadn’t really paid that much attention to the girl but she didn’t think much would have changed. Evidently she was wrong. There Marinette was walking with Luka Couffaine like there was no where she would rather be, with long fucking hair. Since when had her hair gotten so long? And when did she dye the underside of her hair pink? The same pink that matched her high-waisted plaid skinny jeans. She wore thick heeled silver boots that gave her some height, though she was still smaller than Luka. She wore a black cropped Jagged Stone shirt that Alya knew she had cut herself and she was wearing Luka’s jacket.

The trio of Alya, Nino and Adrien watched the two teens walk by as they remained oblivious of their audience and talked animatedly about the same announcement they had been watching. Alya felt her heartbreak when Marinette didn’t even glance at them but she also felt this overwhelming fury, she turned to complain at being unnoticed but caught sight of Adrien frowning at the retreating forms of Marinette and Luka while he rubbed at his chest.

“You okay there Sunshine?” She asked in lieu of complaining.

“What?” Her question seemed to snap the boy out of whatever thoughts he had been drowning in. “Oh…yeah. Yeah I’m fine.”

Alya didn’t know if she fully believed that but she was more than happy to let the issue go in favor of talking about the new heroes and how there was no way they would be better than the old ones.

___________________

Honey Bee- is Aurore if you guys did not guess. I considered also giving her the name of Honey Queen but I decided she wanted to distance herself from Chloe's version of the Bee. Though her aesthetic does have some parts to it that are reminiscent of royalty.

Merry Mouse- is Mireille. Her appearance is based on a headcanon I have for the girl and that is she loves Magical Girl animes/shows, and since the Miraculous Transformation takes your ideas and wants into mind she has a more Magical Girl look than most of the heroes.

Foxtrot- is Luka. I gave him this Miraculous because after Miracle Queen he can't keep the snake and he holds a creative patient soul that I believe would mesh well with the Fox Miraculous, add to that his mischievous side and I thought it was a good fit. His look is inspired by men's fashion from 1914, because that is when the Foxtrot started up and was popular. (he is also the one that cast illusions of Mireille and Aurore as their hero selves partaking in the announcement.)

Genbu- is Kagami. I gave her this Miraculous because she is fiercely protective of those she loves and is loyal too and because Genbu (who was worshipped as a God and known as Black Warrior/ Black Turtle) is seen as a warrior deity. This is because the shell of a turtle is like a suit of armor. So it is no surprise that Kagami wanted to look like a mighty warrior.

Striker- is Marc. I gave Marc this Miraculous because he is patient and more than willing to hang back and observe so he can help out. He chose the name Striker because it sounded like a cool superhero name from the comics he loves so much and because he liked to compare being the Snake Hero to that of the snake "sudden striker" in Sunzi's Art of War. His look is based more on a traditional hero look mixed with a rogue look since he thinks himself a background hero.

Vouivre- is Ondine. I gave her this Miraculous because she is a fighter and determined and loyal. Her look and name are taken from the description of the vouivre in The Drac: French Tales of Dragons and Demons. I headcanon Ondine being obsessed with fairytales so when she was given the Dragon Miraculous she immediately remembered the stories of the vouivre and thus her decision for her hero look and name was made.

The two Chamberlains that Ladybug mentioned in her Court are Chloe and Sabrina, they offer the heroes support from the shadows. Chloe still wanted to help the hero but knew she couldn't do that as a hero anymore so she offered her aid in support and finances if the hero needed it and where Chloe goes, Sabrina follows.

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