#my brain at 12 am | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

python333 · 1 year ago

Note

hi! i’m not sure if you’re taking requests atm but if you aren’t feel free to ignore this!

anyways, i was thinking what would it be like if you were back on base and did something nice for everyone and made their fave coffee/tea while you’re all relaxing after a long mission? like how would the 141 react and what would you make for them?

that’s all but i hope you have a great day and i absolutely love your writings!! they seriously are so detailed and amazing, you do a beautiful job w each one💌

unwind — python333

— — — —

synopsis the 141 + you are back from a super long mission and u make them their fave coffee/tea!!

relationships platonic!taskforce 141 & gn!reader.

word count 3.6k

characters cap. price, soap, ghost, gaz.

warnings 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of c/n [code name/call sign], gaz being a little shit.

note thank you so much for the req!! i am taking them right now, but apologies if i post them 2+ days after i get them, my writers block is slowly creeping back into my mind and im fighting it off the best i can! also, thank you for the compliments :3 ilysm youre too nice!! i saw ur reblog of bedbound too and i was so sjdfksdfks!! hope u have a good day too and hope you enjoy this fic, it's all fluff and way too in depth descriptions of making tea/coffee!!

As soon as the electric kettle clicks, signaling to you that the water inside of it has been boiled, you unplug it and pour the water into a mug you’d pulled from the cabinets. It still surprised you that there were any mugs left, with how many people kept stealing to put on their desk to hold pencils—by people, you mean Soap, and only Soap—but you weren’t complaining.

You set the kettle back down once the mug is filled up just an inch below the brim and grab the tea bag you’d grabbed earlier, wrapping the string around the handle of the mug a few times before putting the bag itself into the water. Almost immediately, you see small tendrils of dark brown flow out from the drowned tea bag into the originally clear water.

As that happens, you walk the small few steps over to the small fridge from the kettle and open it, grabbing the small carton of cream and closing the fridge shut. You walk back over to the mug and unscrew the cap of the carton, pouring some cream into the mug, adding a half inch of height to the liquid already in the mug before screwing the cap back on and setting the carton down.

You don’t bother to grab a spoon and mix anything yet, instead reaching over to the small terracotta container beside the coffee machine that contained sugar, and taking off the lid.

You think for a moment if you should grab a spoon for this, but ultimately decide against it, instead just tipping the container over the mug and letting what you hope is two teaspoons of sugar spill over into the mug.

Afterwards, you put the lid back on the container holding the sugar and set it back next to the coffee machine, and grab the cream to put back into the fridge.

Once the cream’s been put back, you open the drawers in the counter and grab a small spoon, one that’s just tall enough that it won’t be fully submerged in the tea, and put it into the mug.

You close the drawer and give the tea a few stirs before picking up the mug, being careful of the scalding heat and holding it solely by its handle. You carefully walk out of the snack bar extension of the kitchen and head towards Price’s office.

After a year or two of working with him, you’ve learned a lot about his tea preferences—he likes Yorkshire tea, the original one, not the gold. He only likes cream and sugar in his coffee, just to make it smoother and make it a bit sweeter, but doesn’t like it too sweet.

You vaguely remember him telling you he’d never had honey or any other sweeteners besides a bit of sugar in his tea, and remember more vividly you thinking, God, that’s such an old person thing to say, but not saying it out loud.

Once you’ve reached his office, you knock a few times and Price’s tired voice calls out, “Come in!”

You open the door, careful to keep the mug from spilling in your hands, and walk in, closing the door behind you. Price looks up from his computer, presumably writing a report on the mission you’d all just come back from an hour or two ago, and offers a small smile when he sees you. He’s about to say something before he catches sight of the mug in your hands.

“Did you…” He doesn’t finish his question, but you know what he was about to ask, and you nod in response.

“If it’s too sugary let me know,” You tell him, setting the mug down a safe distance away from his computer, “I can remake it.”

“I won’t make you remake it,” Price looks at you, almost offended, “You didn’t have to make me anything in the first place, but thank you, I really appreciate it.”

“No problem,” You hum, walking away, saying over your shoulder, “Hope you like it.”

You open the door without another word and walk out, closing it behind you, heading right back to the snack bar. Now for Soap.

Soap typically preferred coffee to tea, despite tea’s popularity in Scotland. He’d told you that he really couldn’t taste the difference between different coffee blends, but upon hearing that there was a Scottish blend, he declared he’d only drink that one, because of course he did.

He pretended he could tell if the coffee he was drinking was of that Scottish blend, but you knew he couldn’t. How did you know? You’d only ever given him Scottish roast once. Every other time since then, it’s been French roast.

He’s never really used a coffee machine for himself, going to cafes or coffee shops most of the time for coffee, keeping his usual coffee order written in his notes app because he couldn’t remember it for the life of him.

He’d sometimes modify his order if certain coffee shops didn’t do certain things that he usually got, but his order stays mostly the same every time he gets coffee. Medium (or grande, if he’s at Starbucks) latte with a double shot of espresso.

Typically, he’d get some shortbread too, but you didn’t really have any in the base, so he’d have to do without it today.

Once you enter the snack bar, you grab another mug from the cabinets above the counter and place it under the coffee machine. You open the cabinets right by the ones that contained the mugs and grab a bag of ground French roast, pulling it out and putting it on the counter.

You open it up and find that there’s conveniently already a small cup in there to scoop the coffee grounds up, and use your free hand to grab a new coffee filter from the same cabinets you got the coffee grounds from, swiftly putting it into the machine.

You use your other hand to scoop up some coffee grounds and put them into the filter, closing the top of the coffee machine afterwards and turning on the machine. You’re grateful there’s more options listed on the small digital screen that lights up on the machine than just plain black coffee, not really in the mood to try and steam milk right now.

You tap on the ‘latte’ option and watch as the screen changes and hear the coffee machine start to whir.

As it does that, you put away the coffee grounds and open up the cabinets that contained mugs once again, pulling out a small espresso glass and setting it onto the counter.

You wait patiently for the coffee to brew, and once you hear the small beep sound from the machine that signals that it’s done, you pull away the steaming hot coffee and set it down right next to the coffee machine.

You quickly put the espresso glass under the machine and start it up again, this time tapping the ‘espresso shot’ option—surprised that’s even an option, honestly—and hearing the familiar whirring noise start up again. It doesn’t take nearly as long as brewing the latte did, the small beep coming much sooner than it did just a minute or two earlier, and you pull away the small espresso glass from the machine almost immediately after you hear it.

You pause for a moment, looking at how much the latte part had filled up the mug, and look around for a moment before opening up the same drawer that contains the eating utensils and grabbing a straw, putting the straw in the still hot latte—is that a good idea? No. Did you do it anyway because you physically can’t think before you act? Absolutely—and taking a long sip of it.

You pull the straw out once the liquid in the mug is at a good inch below the brim and then pour in the espresso shot, setting the glass down after you do so.

You look around for a second for a trash bin and find one just a few steps away from you, quickly throwing out the straw you’d used and then walking back over to the empty espresso glass, picking it up and setting it down by the sink. God forbid we get a dishwasher in here or something, You think absentmindedly as you pick up the mug and carefully walk out of the snack bar with it, Would it hurt to at least get some dish soap in here or something?

You make it out of the snack bar without burning your fingers and start the much longer walk to Soap’s sleeping quarters. You’d caught him walking out of his office in that direction earlier, so you can only assume that he’d gone there.

Once you make it there, you knock on the door a few times and wait for Soap to call out to you and allow you to come in before twisting the door knob and opening the door. He’s laying on his back on his bed, thumb paused on his phone screen as he looks over at you as you enter. He notices the coffee and sits up a bit, grunting as he does.

He wasn’t really as talkative after long missions like the one you’d all been on earlier—usually it took him a day or two to be more social and back to himself, so you didn’t take much offense to him not greeting you as loudly as he usually did.

He nods at the coffee, “Is that for me?”

“Mhm,” You hum, handing him the mug, “Be careful, it’s hot.”

“Got it,” Soap carefully takes the mug into his hands, and softly blows on it before looking at you again and grinning at you, “Weel, thank ye for this. Ye really didnae hae tae.”

“Price actually said the same thing,” You muse, almost to yourself, before speaking a little louder, “No problem.”

“Oh did he?” Soap asks, raising an eyebrow, before his expression shifts and he feigns confusion, “Wait, how come he got a drink afore me?”

“Because his office was closer to the snack bar,” You explain, crossing your arms.

“… Nae, it’s definitely ‘cause ye hate me,” Soap disagrees, shaking his head in mock disappointment, “And tae think I thought we were friends.”

“It is no— you know what?” You begin to argue, before sighing and rolling your eyes, “I do hate you, and we were never friends, you ungrateful piece of shit.”

Soap laughs, quieter than he usually does but it’s still a genuine laugh. He looks down at the coffee again and back at you, before saying, “Thank ye. Again.”

“No problem,” You replied, walking back towards the door and opening it, walking out of Soap’s sleeping quarters and closing the door behind you. Now for Ghost.

Ghost typically liked tea more than coffee, but you think that’s just the British in him talking. Realistically, you could give him either or, and he’d say a polite ‘thank you’ and move on.

From years of being apart of the 141, any preferences or additives he liked to put in his tea or coffee slowly dissipated and instead he just drank either one plain. Which should make the tasks you’ve forced yourself to do today easier, but knowing you, you just couldn’t take the easy route with this.

You remember a conversation with him that happened several months ago where you had been talking about your own tea and coffee preferences. Ghost had commented that he didn’t often put any additives in his own hot drinks anymore, but back before he’d joined the military, he liked to drink keemun tea occasionally with nutmeg in it.

Keemun tea—which was fucking expensive by the way, costing around sixteen pounds for twenty tea bags in every store you could find them in—wasn’t too hard to find, so the next time you went on leave after that conversation, you’d bought a box of bags of keemun tea leaves and some ground nutmeg.

You didn’t let Ghost know about it, and kind of forgot about it just a week after you bought it, but now the memory of you buying it and storing it in the snack bar behind a few other boxes of tea bags has resurfaced and it’s the only thing you think is appropriate to give Ghost at a time like this.

You get back to the snack bar and almost robotically you pull a mug out from the cabinets above the counter and set it down on said counter, deciding to grab another one just so that you wouldn’t have to do it later, and setting that one down right next to the other. You open the cabinet beside that and move some of the boxes out of the way to find the keemun tea box in the very back, right where you last left it.

You snatch it out of the cabinet and open it, pulling out a small packet and opening it up to pull out the tea bag inside. You go ahead and put the tea bag inside of the mug and put the tea box back in the cabinet, closing the small cabinet door afterwards.

You then grab the electric kettle that’s right by the sink and pop open the lid, putting it under the faucet and turning said faucet on, waiting until the water fills a quarter of the kettle. Once it does, you turn off the faucet and put the kettle down right by the outlet on the wall.

You put the lid down and wait for it to click into place before you plug the kettle into the outlet and press the small button below the handle to turn it on, and listen as it starts to make a small whirring noise. You don’t waste too much time just standing there, waiting for the water to finish boiling, instead putting the other mug you’d pulled out from the cabinets under the coffee machine and turning it on.

You tap on the ‘decaf flat white’ option and watch the digital screen change and another whirring sound starts up, now coming from the coffee machine.

You were starting to make Gaz’s while making Ghost’s drink because Gaz often made the mistake of drinking his coffee before it was cool enough to not burn his tongue, so if you made it earlier, it’d have more time to cool, and Gaz wouldn’t have to wait as long before drinking it, therefore solving the whole ‘burning-his-tongue-because-he’s-impatient’ problem he has.

Gaz liked simple flat whites, and sure, he liked tea too, but nothing could top a good flat white for him. He’d get them anywhere and everywhere he can, and you honestly admire his dedication to getting a flat white everywhere he goes.

The coffee machine finished up quickly, a small beep sounding from the machine as it stopped its whirring and a few more drops of coffee made it into the mug before it completely stopped. You pull the mug out from under the machine and set it aside for now, just waiting for the water to finish boiling in the kettle.

Once the kettle clicks and the whirring from that machine stops, you unplug it and pour some water into the empty mug you’d picked out for Ghost, waiting until it’s filled up about a half inch below the brim of the mug before taking the kettle away from the mug and pouring the rest of the unused water into the sink.

You set the kettle down beside the coffee machine where it belongs and check the drawer below the one that held the eating utensils, looking through some of the spices and drink additives in it before finally finding the ground nutmeg you needed.

You unscrew the cap and tilt the small spice jar over the mug, letting some of the powder spill into the mug before tilting it back and screwing the cap back on. You put it back in its spot and close that drawer, now opening the drawer above it and grabbing a small spoon, closing that one after you’ve grabbed the spoon and putting the spoon into the mug to mix the spices in it around a bit.

You leave Gaz’s mug on the counter, hoping that nobody steals it while you’re away, and instead pick up the mug meant for Ghost, carefully walking out of the snack bar with it.

Ghost’s office is fairly far away, but you still manage to get there without burning your fingers or anything on the mug. You knock on the door a few times and wait for Ghost to call out permission for you to come in before you open the door and walk in.

Ghost immediately looks over at you and spots the mug in your hand, but ignores it for now, instead opting to ask, “Did you need something, [c/n]?”

“Not really,” You shrugged the best you could while holding scalding hot tea, “Just needed to give you this.”

You set the mug down on Ghost’s desk before he can say another word, and watch as he eyes the mug with curiosity and confusion.

“What’s this?” He asks, carefully picking up the mug, holding the top up to his nose to smell it. Before you can answer his question, you see his eyes widen and he questions a little louder, “Is this… keemun? With nutmeg?”

“You can tell just from the smell?” You ask, mildly impressed, watching as Ghost’s gaze turns into one more in awe of the mug.

“Yes, I can,” He mumbles, smelling the brim of the mug again, before looking over at you, “How did you know I liked keemun with nutmeg in it?”

“You told me about it, like, a few months ago. Six months ago, maybe? I dunno.”

“How do you remember a conversation from six months ago?”

“It was an important conversation, I guess?” You shrug, crossing your arms.

You watch in silence as Ghost eyes the tea and you take that as your sign to leave, walking towards the door, stopping right in front of it to twist the knob to open it before you’re interrupted by Ghost.

“Wait—” You turn your head and look at him over your shoulder, and immediately upon seeing his face, you think, oh my God is he tearing up? “Thank you, [c/n]. I really appreciate it.”

You offer a small smile and reply, “Yeah, no problem. Enjoy your tea.”

You open the door without another word and close it behind you, taking a deep breath before continuing down the hall back to the snack bar.

You’re relieved when you get there and see the mug, still steaming a bit, still on the counter. You quickly walk over to it and pick it up, walking right back out the door with it and heading straight for Gaz’s sleeping quarters. You remember him being so tired from the mission—you don’t know whether to hope he’s asleep and getting some rest, or to hope that he’s awake so you can properly hand him his coffee.

Once you make it to his sleeping quarters, you knock on the door, and there’s no response for a few moments, making you think he might actually be asleep, but then you hear Gaz’s drowsy voice call out, “You can come in!”

You open the door and see him rubbing the sleep from his eyes and sitting up on his bed, looking over at you. His lips twitch up into a small smile once he sees you and he lets his hand drop into his lap.

“Hey, [c/n].” He looks over at the mug you’ve brought with you, before raising an eyebrow, “You brought something for me?”

“Very bold of you to assume it’s for you,” You close the door behind you and walk closer to him, “But yes, it is.”

Gaz perks up a bit at that and happily takes the mug off of your hands once you hand it to him, and his smile grows significantly bigger once he sees you’ve brought him a flat white.

“It’s decaf, don’t worry,” You say, as if reading his mind, “I figured you’d still want some sleep after drinking it.”

“Always so considerate,” Gaz sighs teasingly, raising the mug to his lips like you’d thought he would. Thankfully, his tongue doesn’t burn this time after he sips the coffee, and you let out a small sigh of relief at the fact.

“You know me,” You respond dryly, crossing your arms as you watch Gaz take a few more sips of the coffee.

“Thank you for this, by the way,” Gaz thanks you, taking another sip of the coffee before stating, “I hope you know you’re my favorite now.”

“Your favorite what?”

“Just my favorite, in general,” Gaz hums, “This is the best flat white I’ve ever drunk. Ten out of ten.”

“Thanks,” You thank him flatly, “It was made with love and a coffee machine I learned how to use yesterday.”

“I can just taste the love in it.”

“Not the coffee machine?”

“Well, it’s a bit concerning if someone can taste the coffee machine in their coffee, innit?” Gaz raises an eyebrow at you before taking another sip of his coffee.

“Not if it’s the one I used.”

“Whatever you say,” Gaz mutters, taking yet another sip of his coffee, making you huff out a small laugh.

“You enjoy your coffee,” You say before walking back over to the door, closing the door behind you as you walk out and letting out a tired breath, starting to head back to your own sleeping quarters.

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hunter-burton · 7 months ago

Text

Recently, I’ve developed the headcannon that Alex owns a little sketchbook! Absolutely consumed by this idea, I made a physical “replica” of what I think it would look like- including some of the sketches inside! When making these pages in particular, I actually acted out a specific scenario to help myself figure out what to draw. This fic is that scenario a bit more fleshed out. Enjoy :)

Opening Up

It sucked coming home so late, especially with all that rain. After, yet, another dragging day of witnessing absolute horrors, coming home, Alex practically dropped their body into the door. Upon finally stepping into their house, they clicked the door behind themselves, muffling the sobbing clouds

Their weird ass cat, Clyde, sat at the small, round, dining table. Its yellow eyes blinked, “How was work?”

“Exhausting.” After closing and setting down their umbrella, Alex let out a sigh, lifting their uniform’s heavy coat off their hunched body and hung it on the thin coat hanger. “Y’know, the usual. Just gotta… sit down… maybe make a cup of tea.”

“Want me to make bubble water on the…” the creature traced circles in the air, “hot thing?”

“Stove? Yeah, actually. I’d really appreciate it..” Alex paused, brows furrowed, “Wait- you know how to use that thing?”

It nodded, “You turn on the knobs and, then the, sttt..circle thing.. tops turn red. I’ve seen you do it before.”

“Hm, yeah. That sounds about right.” They eased their boots off by the door, then made their way to the kitchen cabinets, “Have at it. I’ll get you a pot.”

As Alex reached for and opened the cabinet doors, Clyde tilted its head, “What’s in the rest of those little doors?”

“Oh, the cabinets?” Alex handed Clyde a small, metal pot, which it, then, took to the sink and began to fill with water. “Just general kitchen stuff. Pots, pans, spices…” they spoke over the rain hitting the road and the pot’s wet, metal hum, “Not the tea though. That’s kinda more where you’re at- by the sink.”

Once the pot was filled, it stopped the water, passed the pot back to Alex and then began to pull open all the little doors, “What does the tea look like?”

“They should be in little boxes. One should have a bear on it?”

Clyde squinted into one of the drawers, “keeyy… leee… sty.. all?”

Alex raised a brow, “Does the word start with a ‘C’” they traced the letter in the air.

“Yes.”

“‘Celestial!’ That’s them.”

“Alright.” Clyde sifted through the boxes “Which one you want? Green? Sleep?… Gine grr?”

“Ginger? Ginger sounds nice.”

Clyde echoed Alex’s voice, “Ginger it is.”

“Thanks!”

Clyde huffed, “Don’t mention it.” The box rustled as it pulled out a tea packet. To the side of the boxes, it spots a brown oddity in the corner, adorned with colorful stickers. It pulls it out, along with the tea, “Hey, what’s this?”

Lights sparked on in Alex’s eyes, “Oh! That’s my sketch book!” They snatched the thing from its claws and began to flip through the pages, “Man! It’s been forever since I’ve opened this thing… I used to doodle in it all the time before this… fuck-ass job.”

Clyde scrunched up its face, “Doodle?”

“Yeah! Here, I’ll show you- hold on, le’me get a pencil!” Alex set the sketchbook on the dining table and raced to their bedroom and, soon, returned with a yellow pointy thing and a tiny metal object with holes. Over the trash can, they stuck the yellow stick into one of the holes, shedding off what appeared to be wood, then returned to the dining table to flip the sketchbook to a blank sheet. With the dark tip, Alex began to write symbols onto the page, narrating every movement, “I’ll start with a circle… then some rectangles… dot- dot… maybe some squiggles for the hair- then a neck…” with every soft scratch the tip made on the page, a line appeared. It was like watching magic. One moment, there was a blank page, then, the next moment, “Line, line, box box…” Alex drew an arrow and wrote

“…And that’s me!”

Clyde sat there for a moment with its jaw ajar, “gimme that thing.” It held out its claw, then shifted its eyes, remembering the magic word “..please.”

“Pencil.” With a wide smile, Alex dropped the pencil into those claws, then twirled their hand, “give it a whirl!”

Clyde clumsily situated the magic stick into its four fingers, then began to scratch the page with the tip. Lines turned into shapes and shapes turned into little units of invigoration. First, there was the face, then the horns, the uniform stripes down its sleeves, then the large zipper in the center of its chest. Once blank, this section of the page was now Clyde’s closest replica of its reflection. To top off the illustration, it, while admittedly crude, attempted to copy Alex’s arrow and Me.

Arms crossed, Alex sipped on their ginger tea and nodded, “Nice! That’s actually pretty good for your first time!”

It felt as if some tingling force was tugging on the corners of Clyde’s mouth and from the inside of it’s chest. For some reason, though, it didn’t mind- it couldn’t mind. Dismissing the sensation, however, it looked up to its next subject, sitting across from it, and, once again, scratched at the page, lines flowing more than they did before, now that the pencil was solid in its claws. Once the image manifested, Clyde, again, copied the arrow, pointing to the portrait of Alex, writing:

YOU

Seeing that the page was now full, it dropped the pencil.

“Yeah!” Alex took the pencil and wrote the word by Clyde’s drawing of them.

Clyde shifted its eyes to the previous page and up to the writing stuck up in the corner. It pointed to this mysterious text, “What does this, in the corner, mean?”

“That’s the date,” Alex passed the pencil back to Clyde, “I always jot it down when I finish my drawings so I can look back and know when I drew it.”

“Hm.” Clyde twirled the pencil back into its four fingers, “What’s today?”

“Uhm…” their voice trailed off as they stood up and made their way to their calendar, “1988…January…”

In the corner of the page, Clyde scratched down the year and its closest approximation of the spelling for what it heard:

JANeeuARY

“Today’s a Tuesday… the twelfth!”

TWelth

The tip skating across the grainy texture of the page was an addictive vibration. Clyde flipped the page, then paused, eyes darting around the room for a new subject to draw, eventually landing on the front door. It scribbled down two rectangles, one for the door, then one for the door’s window, through which rain could be seen pouring down from the sky, then, finally, a circle representing the door’s handle. Besides the sketch, it drew an arrow, labeling the sketch:

DOR

“A door?”

“Well,” Clyde crunched its face, “what else am I supposed to draw?”

“Hm,” Alex put their chin on top of their hand, “What’s your absolute favorite thing in the world?”

After a moment, Clyde lit up and began to scratch at the page once more, first outlining several shaky curves, then scribbling in the one at top, and, finally, adding two triangles and a jagged mouth for a face, making a Jack-o-Lantern and, with an arrow, labeling it:

FAVORit thing

“Oh nice!” Alex beamed, “Yeah, I like Halloween too.”

Clyde dropped the pencil and slid it to them, now setting it’s chin on its hand, “What ‘bout you?”

“Oh- shoot…” Alex’s spine pulled them straight soon before they held their chin, “I need to think about this one- hold on…” their voice trailed off until, “Ah! Got it!” They snatched the pencil, twirled the book to face them, and sketched away. With five fingers, as opposed to four, their lines were, clearly, a lot more cohesive, dancing together to suggest depth in what appeared to be a ghost popping out out a TV screen, exclaiming,

BOO!

Alex turned the sketch book back to Clyde, who read the note they left besides the illustration:

I really like horror movies!

“Horror movies, huh?” Clyde looked back up from the page to Alex, “Like that Critters thing you showed me last week?”

“Yeah.” Alex's eyes sparkled, “Oh- and especially- like- the really bad ones. I heard “Creepazoids” is supposed to be awful- I bought it yesterday.”

Clyde scoffed, “You humans are weird.”

Alex smiled, “Wanna watch it?”

There was a moment where the sound of rain hitting the roof filled the room.

A smile. That’s what that tingling tug was, “Sure.” Clyde smiled.

#doai sitcom au #doai #dreams of an insomniac #doai alex williams #doai clyde #they’re just silly!#I adore them!#I hope this posts #I really really REALLY hope this posts I’ve been trying to post this since 12 am this morning but tumblr is bullying me and by 2 am #my charger broke in my tablets charger port #brain goop #the tags are just me repeating what I think I put before #like brain telephone lmaoo #BUT YES ENJOY EAT EAT EAT #ILY ALL SM #MWUAH!

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