#this is one of the things he does when procrastinating on paperwork

[o-wyrmlight]

Y'all ever think that pre-Martinaise Harry might have had a hobby of writing poetry: Residual from when he was a child? He wanted to be a poet when he was a child. And he is not one. But that doesn't mean he can't keep writing.

Imagine if he has a collection of poetry stashed somewhere at home. Imagine post-amnesia Harry finding them and reading them. Pieces of his history, written in poetry by a blocky, tired hand and snuck onto typewriter paper at work.

Would it be painful or cathartic? These are the ones that he'd kept--what of the ones that he tossed away, dissatisfied with the message or the theme or the scheme?

Yes, there's a lot of poetry about pain and heartbreak and corpses, but there's also one about how the subway system is a colony of würms and another about flying whales and another about how he'll never go to La Delta and a lot about disco. Sees a cute cat while on a case and writes a small haiku about it later because it sticks in his mind. Poetry about his 24 or more refractions and his abstract mind. Poetry about the fifteenth indotribe and childhood nostalgia. Poetry about loving Revachol.

Anyway Harry writing poetry and prose is so neat to me. I think some part of him still wanted to become a poet, but he knew how impossible it'd be with his financial and class situation. I think that's who Raphaël Ambrosius Costau was to him: A cool pen name his child self dreamed of writing under.

May have written a few poems and a prose piece (low-key from Toast to the Pigs perspective) and may be debating on posting them...

[shadowcatzone]

have like. A small amount of headcanons:

Dan feng

-a healer, doctor, medicine guy

-likely mixes his own medicine *cough*poison*cough*

-can't cook. At all. For some reason.

-always swamped with work, always finds a way to procrastinate (specifically his high elder duties)

-tries to take his husband down a peg. Doesn't succeed.

Yingxing

-"i'm not a prodigy ÓwÒ" probably, "i just work really hard óvò" definitely

-tries a new hobby. Masters the basics in 2 days.

-"i'm not a prodigy uwu" proceeds to be a prodigy or at least very good

-tries to escape his husband. Please, he's exhausted. Hubby doesn't care.

-"i don't know where dan feng is" when prompted by any vidyadhara, despite very evidently hiding the former

Baiheng

-really the one keeping the group together

-the only one NOT unhinged or severely... wrong

-takes her starskiff everywhere. To everyones dismay.

-decent at a handful of recipes. Best at improvising.

-somehow the one who brought everyone together

-great at survival.

Jingliu

-VERY involved with baiheng

-prodigy at swordfighting. Average at everything else.

-strong sense for justice (doesn't always follow it)

-dragging jing yuan around. A lot.

-everyones sparring partner.

Jing yuan

-eepy

-sleeps in the most unconventional places.

-can sleep standing upright, but if he gets caught, jingliu will wake him unkindly

-kept sleeping in the forge (cozy) until jingliu found out and sparred with both jing yuan and yingxing as punishment.

-keeps getting scammed for some reason (yingxing hates it)

-"i bought a weapon by the prodigal master craftsman!" "I didn't make that" "i bought a weapon?" "I'm not sure this scrap can be considered one." "I bought."

-really quickly really awake if necessary. Scaring the rest of the group in the process. Often not always.

Bonus:

Dan heng

-REALLY easily really absorbed while reading.

-really quick to notice blade (the only person he'll notice while reading)

-rather than sleep through the night, he'll sleep 3-4 hours at a time. His sleep schedule is all kinds of messed up.

-also capable of staying awake for 3-5 days straight. Prefers not to, tho.

-really eager to experience new things (easily capable of discerning what he does or not like)

-sometimes stuck in a dream in which he'll argue with dan feng. Won't easily wake from that dream.

Blade

-found dan heng in that sort of dream once. Tried to wake him without success. Kept waiting by his side until dh woke up.

-got murdered on the spot.

-surprisingly good at reading the room.

-life skills from yingxing stuck around. At this point, they're more like instincts or urges than actual knowledge he can recall.

-probably still married. Considering the paperwork the xianzhou require.

-occasionally lovesick for some reason.

[fanfictionstuff]

Family Christmas (Amaimon x Reader)

Amaimon and Reader as parents of a little girl (5)

The little girl isn't given a name, but she's called Amaimon's Mini-Me, she looks just like him.

It is not stated if Reader is human or demon.

Merry Christmas!

I'll write a new year GN reader one soon.

Amaimon turns his attention from the TV to the child standing on a step stool by the bar. Her golden eyes are focused on the object before her, and when she feels eyes on her, she glances up she has an expression that mirrors his own. “I think you’re rolling it too thin.” He casually comments as he eyes the thin dough. “Your cookies are going to burn.” And taste bad. She stops, and lowers her head to get a better look at the cookies. “Mama! Daddy says my cookies are bad.”

“I didn’t say that.”

You let out a sigh and set aside the gifts you are wrapping. Both you and Amaimon had procrastinated, waiting until the last minute to prepare the gifts from Santa. Amaimon’s mini-me is supposed to be in the kitchen, rolling out dough and cutting sugar cookies, and she typically is pretty good at it. However, your five-year-old has a flair for the dramatic, so you quickly abandon your task and head to the kitchen, making sure to lock the door behind you.

“Daddy, no!”

“What if it’s not good?”

“Mama said we can’t eat raw cookie dough; we could get sick.” 

Amaimon sighs. “We’re demons, we’ll be fine.” He says, holding some of the dough up to the child’s mouth. 

“You have to leave some dough, or Santa won’t have any cookies.” You frown at the two green-haired demons as they eat the cookie dough. You watch as your daughter’s eyes widen with realization, and you continue, “We won’t have enough butter to make more cookie dough if you both eat it all. So, no cookies for Santa.”

“Daddy, stop eating it!”

“You were eating it too.”

Stepping into the kitchen, you pinch Amaimon’s hip. “Go finish my paperwork; I’ll handle this.”

“How much paperwork do you have left?”

“A lot. Have fun.” You push him towards the bedroom to wrap the presents.

By the time Amaimon finishes wrapping everything up, you’re just taking the cookies out of the oven, while Amaimon’s mini-me is glued to the TV, eagerly watching Santa being tracked. “Santa will be here soon! We have to go to bed!”

“Okay, okay. The cookies are done, get the milk, okay?”

I can’t believe everything is going smoothly this year. Amaimon isn’t grumbling about not understanding Santa, you’ve got your daughter ready for bed already in her pajamas, and she’s excited to go to bed.

It can’t be that simple, can it? As soon as the milk and cookies are perfectly arranged by the tree, she wants to say goodnight to Behemoth. Without a moment's hesitation, Amaimon summons him. The first thing he does? Happily tackle your daughter to the ground. But then he catches the scent of something. The milk. The milk that is right beside the tree. Within mere seconds, he’s summoned, greets your daughter happily, and then darts toward the milk. But he moves too quickly. With a powerful crash, he collides not only with the milk and cookies but also takes the tree down with him.

The room falls silent as Amaimon, Behemoth, and your daughter stare wide-eyed at the sight of fallen ornaments, spilled milk, and crushed cookies. Suddenly, tears begin to well up in the little girl's eyes as she looks to you and her father, her expression horrified. "Santa... he won't... he won't come now...?" Your daughter gazes up at Amaimon, distressed, tugging at his pants in desperation. His expression remains stoic, but his golden eyes soften considerably when he meets the gaze of his tearful daughter. He bends down to pick up the crying child. “Why are you crying? We have more milk. I’ll clean up the tree and set out more milk and cookies. If Santa doesn’t come, I’ll kill him," he states. 

"Telling our daughter you'll kill Santa isn't helpful." The demon frowns, shifting uncomfortably with his daughter still nestled in his arms.

"Right," he mutters, amending his statement to a quieter, "I won’t kill Santa. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. Santa will come.” 

“How do you know?” 

“I just know.” 

You sigh, listening to their conversation; he can be such an idiot sometimes. Despite his inability to explain how he knows, your daughter quickly accepts his answer as the truth and jumps from his arms to run to the kitchen for more milk and cookies. “Go help her so she doesn’t spill the milk,” you nudge Amaimon towards the kitchen while picking up the tree. Despite how bad it looked after the incident, it’s not nearly as terrible as it seemed. The tree is easily set back up, and only a few ornaments have fallen off. 

Once your daughter sees it’s not as bad as she thought, she’s easily put to bed by Amaimon.

You lie on the sofa when Amaimon walks into the living room again. Without hesitation, he climbs over you and comfortably settles on top of you. “I can’t believe you told her you’d kill Santa.” You roll your eyes, wrapping your arms around the demon’s shoulders. "Sorry.” He shrugs, lifting himself up slightly to meet your gaze. His hand slips under your shirt, gently brushing against your abdomen.

“She told me something interesting before she went to sleep.”  

“Oh really?”  

“She wants a brother or sister.”  

“And what do you think about that?”  

He smirks, his gaze playful as he leans down, brushing his warm lips against yours. “I don’t want to disappoint my little princess.” 

[quietlyimplode]

ignite your bones

After the fall of General Dreykov, and the remnants of the Red Room still at large, Natasha first year at SHIELD is anything but healing. Labeled a traitor and a turncoat, Natasha tries to find her footing in a strange new world.

Whumptober 2024: Day 8 - Sleep Deprivation

Warnings: nightmares, invasive questions

Word Count: 2.1k (gif not mine)

Summary: Everyone is tired, Clint tries to make amends for the harsh treatment of Natasha at Shield.

Masterlist

Whumptober Masterlist

.

Clint dreams of little girls fighting, the images that Natasha had described so vivid. He hadn’t been able to get them out of his head.

He didn’t have the guts to continue asking questions in fear of what else she would disclose.

He’d been thankful she’d asked for reprieve, because even if she hadn’t, he would’ve said it was time to stop.

Maria had taken over debrief for the last two days, questioning about the woman Natasha called Madam.

He sighs.

He needs sleep.

He’d promised Natasha that they would go to the shooting range in the evening, which gave him two hours.

Clint sighs, staring at the paperwork.

Always so much paperwork.

He didn’t know how Maria did it so fast. It always seemed to take him hours.

Sidetracked by the computer, he logs onto Natasha’s feeds and watches as she lays on the bed reading Crime and Punishment.

Always so proper in her movement, he feels convinced that she never relaxes. Even whilst reading she sits against the wall, legs crossed and back straight.

When he’d asked Maria about why she’d given her the book, she’d shrugged and said that Natasha had seemed bored.

Crime and Punishment was Fury’s joke.

He knew it couldn’t be the only reason, but he hadn’t had the time to go back and look.

He could now.

Clint knew he was procrastinating.

He sets the feeds back to when he was away, and sets it to play on double speed.

He sees what Maria means.

Natasha paces.

He didn’t know.

Natasha handcuffs herself to the bed, and screams herself awake.

He didn’t know.

Natasha wasn’t doing as well as he thought.

He didn’t know.

Clint leans back on his chair.

He doesn’t know what to do.

He said it would be better.

He said it was a lifeline.

Instead, he’s caged her and made her relive her hardest memories, then left her alone to deal with the aftermath.

He thinks he probably needs to talk to Olivia.

Natasha doesn’t seem despondent, but if her upbringing is anything to go by, the bar is low.

.

Clint appears at the door and she’s ready.

She wants to shoot a gun more than anything, the feeling one of the only truly grounding things that she has.

She offers the handcuffs and when he shakes his head, she tucks them into her pants.

Clint thinks she does this because she’s worried. Perhaps that Thompson had ordered it and they’re not following the rules, but he’d never asked.

She looks tired.

He wonders just how much sleep she really gets.

Leading the way, he asks which range she wants to go to.

It takes a moment.

“I don’t care,” she says quietly.

Clint leads to rooftop range.

“The outside one might be too dark,” he reasons.

Natasha nods.

He hands her a Barretta as a question and she nods, taking it apart and reassembling the weapon in less than a minute, the loads the magazine.

“Wait,” he offers, “let’s play a game.”

Natasha pulls the earmuffs down, waiting for him to continue.

“Every time you hit a bullseye, you get to ask the other person a question.”

He thinks he sees a quirk of a smile.

“Okay,” she agrees.

Clint does smile then, taking her in.

It’s been a while since he really looked at her.

That moment, when he’d offered her a choice, he’d looked at her then. He’d told her that she didn’t have to die, and had presented another way to live.

He’d focused on the way her eyes looked, searching his for help or something else he didn’t know. Her hair, as messy and matted as it was, still holding the braids that she’d placed. And the way she held her body, straight even though as if weighed down by life.

Looking at her now, those things were all still true. The almost 12 weeks at Shield had done nothing.

Perhaps even made her worse.

She held heavier weights now, the pain of remembering, and reliving.

He’d have to remember to ask Maria to give her some toiletries, a hair brush perhaps, rather than the standard Shield issue comb and 2 in 1 conditioner.

Natasha motions for him to shoot first, and he situates his earmuffs and pulls the trigger.

It wings the side of the bullseye.

“Does that count?” he asks, the words lost until she pulls off the earmuffs and he repeats it.

“Your choice,” she answers.

He thinks it does.

“What’s your favourite music?”

She frowns, not the question she was expecting. Clint thinks he probably should have let her go first to mark what kind of questions would be okay and those that wouldn’t.

“I don’t know, I don’t really have a favourite. I like the Spanish national anthem though.”

The laugh that breaks free is unintentional.

“Oh okay,” he replies, covering his mirth.

“What?” She asks, annoyance and confusion in micro expressions appearing on her face.

“I’ve just never had anyone frame their music choice by way of national anthems.”

She turns and shoots a bullseye, almost without thinking.

“What’s your favourite music then?”

Clint feels he should be impressed by the nonchalance of the motion, but instead it just makes him laugh.

“Rock, soft rock mostly, like music you can tap your foot to, or sometimes rap, do you know r&b?”

When Natasha shakes her head, he explains his favourite rhythm and blues artists, and of it’s origins.

She nods.

“Very American of you,” she states, and Clint turns back to the sheet of paper.

Relaxed now, and no longer feeling the fatigue little sleep, he shoots and scores another question.

“Favourite food?”

Natasha looks at him. “Coffee.”

“Coffee is not a food,” he retorts, feeling Coulson’s words come out of his mouth.

“Fine, baklava,” she replies.

He feels the bristle in her words.

She shoots and the shot goes wide.

“Go again,” he prompts.

The next shot is dead center.

“When will this end?” she asks.

The question is heavy.

He’s not quite sure what she means.

“Never mind,” she mumbles.

“I get sent questions from Thompson and Fury, those are the questions that mark the day, and get asked of you,” he admits. “What you tell us gets recorded and verified.”

She looks at him in interest.

“And then the steps start again.”

He doesn’t think he’s breaking protocol by telling her.

She nods.

Shoots again.

“I need to do some exercise, or have access to some sort of open space.”

It’s not a question.

He understands, remembers seeing her pacing for hours on end.

“I’ll ask,” he replies.

She nods.

Her clip empties into the paper and Clint’s does the same. The both reload and then start again. Questions fall by the wayside as they’re both left with their thoughts.

.

Natasha growls.

Sleep elusive as she stares into the darkness.

Glancing at Clint’s watch, she hates that the time is 3.34 am. Anger pulses at the frustration.

At least when she has nightmares she knows she’s been asleep.

Uncuffing her hand, she gets up, pacing and counting steps.

At 4 am, she lays down again, reinserting her hand into the cuffs and closes her eyes.

She counts.

She counts till she can’t hold numbers in her head and then again in French, until she can’t remember the words.

Time must pass, but she doesn’t think she sleeps.

5 am hits and she grows even angrier at herself for wasting the night, knowing she needed the sleep.

It puts her on edge.

At least the food that comes at 6 am is packaged and safe.

She drinks the juice and wishes for coffee, then sits to wait for Maria to come at 7 am.

.

“She’s not sleeping,” Coulson tells him.

Clint knows.

He’s not sleeping either.

“I know,” he retorts.

“You know?” Coulson quirks an eyebrow, and Clint looks at his feet.

“I know you said not to watch or look at the feeds, that only Maria should have access, but I looked okay?

“She doesn’t sleep much and when she does, she has nightmares.”

Coulson waits.

Clint hates when he does that.

“What?” he asks grumpily.

“You’re not sleeping either.”

The call is an easy one.

“No,” Clint replies, shortly.

“Is this too much for you?”

Clint almost replies hastily, before thinking about his words; he pulls back and sighs, taking a breath.

“No.”

A beat passes.

“No,” he assures.

“We can’t give her drugs, so find a way to help her,” Coulson advises.

“See the medical team for your own sleep.”

It’s not a question but a command. Clint nods.

Clint thinks for a moment.

He knows what he wants to do.

“Do you think we could get one day’s leave?”

Coulson's eyes narrow.

“I doubt it.”

He thinks and types an email.

“Maybe a couple of hours, though.”

He presses send.

“I’ll let you know.”

Clint half heartedly slumps on Coulson’s couch.

“Do you mind if I just stay here for a bit?”

Coulson turns back to his computer.

“Just take your shoes off.”

.

Natasha sits on the edge of the bed, hearing the doors open ahead. No one usually comes at this time.

She stands apprehensively.

Clint rounds the corner.

She looks at him with curiosity.

He holds up keys.

“Do you want to go out for a bit?”

Natasha’s face is unreadable.

The door opens and he leads her out.

He watches Natasha take in all the entrances and exits.

Her hypervigilance shows.

She climbs in the car with him.

Now he’s here, he has the stupid thought of where he could drive to?

He thinks he knows.

She probably hasn’t seen water or green in a while.

Starting the car, he’s silent as they move off, giving her a CD wallet and telling her to choose.

Natasha flips through as they drive, making a comment here and there before deciding on Clint’s burnt R&B mix. The disc gets inserted and Missy Elliot starts to play.

Clint thinks he should be embarrassed but he doesn’t care.

Natasha however starts to laugh.

The sound seems so antithetical to the seriousness of where they’ve just been and the reason they’re leaving that Clint laughs too.

“Do you know this one?”

Natasha shakes her head.

“I feel privileged to start your musical education,” he grins.

He turns down the song as he turns up a long stretch of drive.

Parking, the view of the Shield compound comes into view.

“We have an hour,” he tells her again.

She gets out of the car, and he wonders if he should be worried she may escape.

He gets out too, and sits on the hood of the car.

She copies him.

Clint isn’t quite sure how to bring up sleepless nights, so he does what he does best.

Sticks his foot in it.

“You haven’t been sleeping.”

Natasha’s face is, as always, unreadable. Especially in the dark with only light pollution and dark shadows around her, it seems especially hard to read her face.

“I, uhh, your room… has cameras, and it senses movement when you get up at night or when you thrash in bed.”

He needs to shut up.

“You.. You don’t sleep much.”

The silence moves on.

“I don’t sleep much,” he finishes, quietly.

She stares up at the sky, then lays back, arms behind her head.

He lays back with her.

Time seems to slow, both stuck in their own thoughts.

“She asks me, what do I want?” she tells him. “But I don’t know.”

Clint looks staunchly up.

“I know I don’t want my old life, but this? Clint, I don’t know if I can do this much longer.”

He reaches across and holds her hand, expecting her to pull away.

Instead, she squeezes it hard.

“I don’t know.”

Clint thinks about the difficulties of the future and what the openness of all it could mean to someone who’s never had a choice before.

Natasha lets her hand go.

“You’re in limbo,” he supplies, in more of a question than a statement. “What’s the first thing that comes to mind when she says it?”

Natasha takes an audible breath and doesn’t answer.

“I think this helps,” she sighs. “A reminder that the world is not just Shield or the Red Room. That the uniforms I wear are not me.”

Clint takes her point.

Even if it’s not a point.

He thinks on the things that make him human - his keychains engraved with his name, his favourite mug, his hoodie that’s been with him for so long, even his blanket that’s laying on Coulson’s couch, for him to nap under.

Things.

It gives him an idea.

He lets the silence go until his alarm goes off.

Natasha pauses at the door.

“I’ll repay you for this, one day.”

He’s not sure if it’s a threat or a promise.

.

[whattraintracks]

Look, I know what the people want, okay? The people want a self-indulgent HPI Morgadec rewrite of Castle S4E7.

Yeah, it's me. I'm the people.

Say hello to my newest obsession that I told myself I wasn't going to write fic about but A) I'm a dirty liar, B) I have lots of stuff to procrastinate right now, and C) I just finished all the seasons currently accessible in the US and this is my grieving process.

I don't know who the audience for this is other than myself, but I had a lot of fun writing it and felt like sharing!

Cops & Robbers Pt 1 - Next

Warnings for guns and hostage situations.

[]

"Ugh, Théa. Why did I have to come here?" Morgane trudges up the stairs to the bank with no small amount of disgust.

"Because I needed a ride," Théa repeats for the fourth time since they parked.

"Couldn't you have taken the bus?"

"No."

Théa informs the bank teller she's come to open her own account, and they're led to a cubicle where a man in a poorly fitted suit spouts financial drivel at them. She can't imagine how Théa can listen to a man who says things like, "It's all about interest."

She pops her bubblegum. "And there goes mine." Pushing out of her chair, she stage whispers to Théa. "If you need help, blink twice."

Théa looks supremely unamused, so she shrugs and wanders out of the cubicle. Propping her hip against a table covered in brochures, she settles in to people watch. Except. She's in a bank. No one here is interesting enough to watch. She pulls out her phone, clicking her nails against the case for the two rings it takes him to pick up.

"Karadec speaking."

"Tell me you need me," she begs.

Silence rings on the other end for a moment. He sounds short of breath when he responds, "Pardon?"

"Théa kidnapped me, and now I'm stuck at a bank. Please tell me that there's a murder somewhere I could be solving." She glances around the room. The only person who looks remotely interesting is a man in red scrubs and a trench coat. It's the get-up really. Intriguing, if only for how out of place it is.

Karadec sighs. She bets he's smiling, though. The way he does when he can't help himself. "Ah, no. Sorry. Just paperwork."

"Interesting paperwork?" she presses. Not that she'll help even if it is, but she can sit around the office and talk while everyone else works.

"Standard reports. A lot of them, though." He lowers his voice, and she leans in as if the phone isn't already pressed to her cheek. "Céline has the worst of it. She lost her coffee mug in the mountain of files on her desk."

"Oh gosh," she says, thrilled by his conspiratorial tone, "paperwork and an undercaffeinated Céline? That might even be worse than this place."

He huffs a laugh. "Sorry, Alvaro, you'll have to find stimulation elsewhere today."

She has a witty reply—really, she does—but she gets distracted by the front door swinging open to admit a woman with a surgical mask around her neck. She's wearing indigo scrubs and a trench coat. Like the man she noticed earlier. In fact, she walks past that man and nods as he rubs his nose.

She gasps, "Kara!"

"What?"

"This bank is about to get robbed!"

"What."

She creeps away from the table to hide behind a column, glancing behind her to check on Théa. "There's a man and a woman dressed in scrubs and trench coats. And. They both have suspicious bulges in their jackets."

"Alvaro. You should not sound so excited about this. Where are you?"

She doesn't quite register his question, watching the woman get in line for a bank teller. What was the secret signal for if they aren't doing anything yet? "They must be waiting for someone," she mutters.

A heavy clank has her whirling around to the door, where, sure enough, a third man in scrubs and a surgical mask slams a bike lock on the handles. He turns around, cocking an assault rifle. "Everybody, get down on the floor!"

Her sparked adrenaline bursts into an inferno of fear. Karadec curses, the man's demand no doubt loud enough to carry over the phone.

"Well." She crouches, whispering. "I was right."

"Alvaro, tell me what's happening. Tell me where you are."

The other two robbers pull their masks up, revealing their guns and shouting at everyone to come away from their stations and get on the ground. Morgane tucks her phone against her shoulder, returning to the cubicle and ushering Théa behind the banker's desk. Once out of sight, she rattles off the address. Rubbing a hand down Théa's back does little to soothe her nerves as she hears Karadec tell Gilles to call in the bank robbery.

The female robber tells everyone to slide up their cell phones. Morgane notes her Indian accent but remembers the man who locked the door sounded British. All of them hold their guns confidently, and she starts to get the impression that these people are professionals.

"Alvaro," Karadec prompts.

Théa tries to peek above the desk, but Morgane pushes her back down. A man spots her, staring wide-eyed at the phone pressed to her ear. She gestures desperately at him to keep quiet. He hesitates. Then nods.

"Morgane!" Karadec says urgently.

She gulps, "I'm here."

"Is Théa with you?"

"Yes." She turns to look into her daughter's frightened eyes.

"Good. Stay together. Can you tell me what's happening?"

"Right, yeah." She takes a breath, looking back over the desk. "We're hidden, but I can see everything. The robbers are in scrubs. One is emptying the cash drawers. Another is going for the bank manager." She pauses, watching the robber in red. "He's got the manager's key, and he's going to the back."

"Okay. That's good, Morgane. Do you know how many there are?"

"Three," she replies confidently. "And they all have—"

Théa gasps beside her, and she freezes at the sound of a gun cocking behind her.

She brings a hand to her mouth, confidence shattered by the metal pressed against her skull. She fights through her trembling lips to tell Karadec, "Make that four."

Karadec falls silent, as does the rest of the room, when the robber behind her declares, "So you're the hero I'm going to make an example of."

The other three robbers turn to the man behind her and she realises he must be their leader. Because Morgane couldn't just piss off any old criminal with a gun, she had to go and piss off the criminal in charge.

Her phone is pulled out of her hand, and a tall man in light blue scrubs steps around to face her. "Sorry," he says into the phone, "Your friend can't talk right now."

Before he can hang up, Karadec's voice rings out, "I wouldn't worry about her. You should worry about yourself. I've got patrol cars on their way."

"Supercop?" Théa whispers hopefully. Morgane nods slightly, tucking her daughter under her arm.

The man pulls up short. "You're a cop?" He says into the phone, then turns to her with a glimmer of agitation in his eyes. "You called a cop?"

"Of course not." He raises his gun to her face. "I swear!" she yelps, "We were on the line before you came in."

"Listen to me." Karadec draws the robber back in with a voice she's heard in dozens of interrogations. "So far, nobody's hurt, and nothing's been stolen. If you leave the way you came in, you can just disappear."

The robber scoffs, "And what? You'll promise not to come looking for me?"

Karadec's voice tips into something cold and sharp that sends ice down her spine. "I won't look for you. I will hunt you down. And trust me, you don't want that. So leave now, and this'll be a blip in the evening news."

Morgane stares into the barrel of the gun as the robber considers Karadec's threat.

Finally, he chuckles, "Sorry. Supercop, was it? I'd rather make headlines." He crushes her phone beneath his heel, and she laments how much it'll cost to replace it as he drags her and Théa to their feet.

But Karadec—swift, reliable Karadec—wasn't bluffing about the patrol cars. The four robbers turn in unison at the sound of sirens approaching.

"Alright, doctors." Their robber pushes her and Théa into the center of the room with the rest of the—oh gosh, they're officially hostages now. "We trained for this. You know what to do."

She stumbles to the ground, dizzied by everything that's just happened. Her thoughts sluggish amid the muffled tears and harsh breaths from her fellow hostages, the shouted orders backed up by guns, and the police lights and sirens muted by thick, frosted windows.

Théa reaches for her hand.

[junosswans]

Batfam headcanons: Report Writing

I was thinking about nonsense then it occured to me "how would the batfam write their mission/patrol report?" Like, they must have very distinct personal style that you could recognise even through the standard bat-computer font. So I wrote this!

Dick: When Dick was still Robin, he absolutely HATED writing reports. "I write enough reports at school, B-man! Why would you make me write more??" He would attempt to wriggle out of the task by bribing Alfred with snacks or offering to do chores in exchange, because anything is better than sitting straight in front of the computer and typing (they usually indulge him and let him be). He'd also slip in a few swear words and gloss over details when he HAD to write something. His reports were short and written in a slightly childish manner. However, after becoming Nightwing and moving out, his report have made drastic improvement because hey, you definitely get a lot of practice in writing admin papers as a cop. His writing style is now concise and straight to the point, filled with professional jargons and divided in clear bullet points. All the photos are properly numbered and labelled, in a typical forensic science style. (Though admittedly, he still hates writing reports. But it's something that he wouldn't let his siblings know.) He's however, chronically late in submitting his reports, because he always has a lot of things to do and he has a bad case of procrastinating when it's something he dislikes.

Jason: Jason entered the clan with a lot of anxiety (Will I be accepted? Will I ever measure up to Dick?) And a lot of insecurities. So he treats report writing very seriously and is very detailed and thorough. He tries his best to adhere to the format Bruce gave him, and would triple check his spellings and grammars (another insecurity of him). As Red Hood, he still writes his reports (reluctantly) in the same cautious manner, and he would spend a lot of time profiling the victims and the perpetrators, because it always feels personal to him. He sympathises with both sides, understands their struggles and darkness intimately, and it shows in his written report. His reports on the person of interest's background and psychological analysis is always the most detailed and on-point. He writes in paragraphs usually, and he has a broad vocabulary that leans more on the literary side. Tim comments that he feels like he's in highschool lit class whenever he needs to read Jason's report for something, since Jason's prose always has a poetic and emotional tone to it.

Tim: Tim writes his reports dutifully and very seriously, but his seriousness doesn't always translate to a piece of good report. As a kid who has the tendency to ramble, is nosey, AND has photographic memory, Tim's reports are filled with details that nobody knows whether they are necessary. He would go off and transcribe all the dialogues he heard (including the passers-by), list out all the items in the nearby trashcan, and note down how the fast food shop down the corner has a buy-one-get-one-free promotion on hotdogs. He digresses a lot, but since his eyes for details did help crack a case once or twice (definitely more than that), Bruce lets it slip. His formatting are a mess, sometimes using bullet points and suddenly switch into paragraphs and then somehow becomes a tree diagram, his reports are definitely an eyesore (Bruce, regrettably, doesn't let this slip). As Red Robin, he's made a lot of improvements on his formatting (company paperwork does that to you) and is a bit more brief, but he still has the tendency to note down the oddest things in his reports. His reports also has the most amount of photos.

Cass: Cass is still pretty new to this whole writing thing and computer thing, so she gets a lot of leeway in her report writing. She is allowed to hand this work to others (if she's on a teamed mission), or use photos, pictures and handwriting/doodling to make her point (Bruce would later code & transcribe them to make them searchable on the database). Though given the freedom to not do the work (which her siblings are deeply envious of), Cass actually likes to write her version of reports as she treats this as an opportunity to practice her literacy. Her reports look like a collage journal with very sparse, simple writing. She also has the tendency to just put in a few seemingly unrelated keywords and let others figure out the significance behind them. They're usually very insightful and useful to the case. She also likes to draw in her reports, which everyone finds endearing. Babs taught her how to draw scientific diagrams and label the items, which she puts good use to. Since she's very observant to the human anatomy and body language, the family relies a lot on her reading when there is multiple suspects.

Damian: As "the proper heir to the robin title", Damian has a no-bullshit attitude on his reports. He submits them on time, is clear in his writing, and the format is impeccable. He has a very goal-oriented view on things, so his reports tend to focus largely on the outcome of cases instead of the process (a polar opposite to Jason's and Tim's reports). He would write a lot on how and when the culprit was captured, and the consequences that await them, while some other members tend to focus more on the process of deduction and puzzle-solving. Somedays, when he is particularly annoyed with others, Damian would slip in complaints into his reports and make sure everyone KNOWS he's upset. It's like a public call-out post.

Babs: As Batgirl, Babs writes the clearest and most condensed report out of everyone, cause she learned the best from her father. She has a keen eye on analysing material evidence, and would notice the smallest scratch on things and document them faithfully in her report. She likes to use abbreviations however, and that often confuses Damian and Cass ("what does OAN even mean?? Is that a type of wire??"). Sometimes she'd abbreviate the weirdest things just to confuse everyone else and they can beg her to explain them. As Oracle, she doesn't write any reports. YOU write reports to Oracle.

Steph: Steph is passionately against the idea of report writing. In her opinion, if she delivers the result there shouldn't be a need to write pages long of boring, bland descriptions on how that result is achieved. To various degrees of success, she would bribe others into doing the work for her ("work smarter, not harder, baby!") But when she has to write something, she would write in a very casual tone and often types with voice input. Therefore, her reports are filled with odd typos and occasionally hilarious choice of words (not because she couldn't be professional, but she doesn't want to be). Bruce is mostly frustrated but is also secretly glad that she's not forcing herself to do something that she doesn't want to. And she is true that she always delivers.

Duke: Duke is mostly neutral towards the aspect of report writing-- he's not particularly fond of it, but he understands that it is something important. Thanks to his superhuman vision, Duke is very alert in observing his surroundings and the environment. He would map out very detailed diagrams about building structures as well as machine components, which makes his reports very reliable when it comes to any kind of crimes related to alien items and technological innovations. Duke also has a large network from his Robingang, so he's very informed in the rumours and hearsays on the streets. He would include most of what he's heard in his reports so that others could follow up on them at night.

[apprenticestanheight]

THE FIVE DAYS OF SMUTMAS QUEUE: DAY TWO

Work Shirts - Lawrence Gordon x gn! reader

All right!! This is day two of my silly little christmas celebration, and of course I had to do what I've been procrastinating since basically the start of this account--write a Lawrence reader insert piece!

I love him wholeheartedly despite my lack of fics for him so this has definitely been a long time coming, and this one, much like yesterdays fic, stems from a thought I had—though with this thought, @mrkheartffmans and I went a lil feral together through the reblogs of the original post and thus, the fic concept came to light!

This is also a few years post trap because I was like "yeah working somewhere for a decade is cool but what about a decade and a half??" also—my mentality was that having it set a few years post-trap would be easier to write?? I don't know how true that actually is but it was my thought process lol.

This fic is for audiences of 18+, so minors, do not interact!

Fic type- this is mostly--almost entirely--smut. There's also angst if you squint because yeah, angst was bound to be present somewhere lol

Warnings- unprotected sex (reader is on BC), and as per usual, the reader is GN for all intents and purposes (petnames included), but I went with AFAB anatomy as that's the anatomy that I know best.

Lawrence wishes he could act like the surprise on the faces of his coworkers when he mentioned having the last two weeks of December off came as a surprise to him, but he can't and he kind of hates that.

Of course people are bound to be a little surprised by it. In the decade and a half that he's worked at Angels of Mercy, the only incident where he took any sizeable amount of time off was while he was recovering from the bathroom trap and could hardly stand, let alone walk like he used to.

But, in the three years since the bathroom trap and aside from that month long period where he allowed himself to recover before going back to work, he'd not taken a single day away. Being at work, seeing to patients and talking to people—even just going to work and filling out miscellaneous paperwork while he sat in the isolation of his office—kept his mind busy and his hands busier.

He came home from work every night and saw you, which just made his entire day as it were. You'd order food or make something quick and just spend your time lounging on the couch, occasionally get a little flirty, and laugh when Lawrences hands started wandering how they used to in the days of your masters degree and his days of medical school.

But, because of a backlog of PTO and the fact that he'd been overworking himself almost to the bone with the onslaught of people needing medical care during the last three months of the year, Lawrence decided to book the 14th through to the 2nd of January off so that he could get some rest and worry about housework so that you didn't have to worry at all, where you normally split the housework fifty-fifty.

Lawrence knew that your marketing job got really, really stressful during the last month of the year. People always unearthed different versions of themselves come the holidays, and all he wanted was for you to come home from your workday and not have to worry about menial things like a messy bathroom counter, week-old leftovers in need of throwing away or dishes not yet moved from the dishwasher to the cupboards.

He gets called into work for an emergency on the 21st, and after running to grab groceries during the afternoon on the 22nd, he's delighted to find what he does waiting for him in the bed you share.

You're typically home from work at around seven, sometimes eight thirty on particularly busy days, and when Lawrence arrives home, it's half past eight.

He goes into your bedroom, having indeed hoped to see you there or at least get a call about work running late with the promise of more details upon your arrival at home as he enters your shared bedroom, but what he sees is so much better than anything he could've hoped for.

You're sitting on the bed, back pressed against the head board, focused on whatever romance book you'd plucked from a charity bookstore on your way home, but it's not what you're reading that Lawrence really takes note of.

No, it's not the book at all, though he does note that the title makes it seem like something from either the regency or the victorian era. It's what you're wearing.

You're wearing the shirt he wore to work the previous day, buttons undone with the cufflinks you'd gifted him for christmas the year his residency ended still holding the sleeves of the shirt together, the duvet covering your legs and hips, which makes Lawrence assume you've stolen a pair of his sweatpants in addition to the shirt.

He knocks, lightly, on the side of the door, and you startle, looking up to the source of the knock and relaxing the minute you see his face.

"You startled me," you say, grinning and closing your book over your thumb so as not to lose your place. "I remember you told me you'd be getting groceries around when I would get home, so I stole one of your shirts and settled in. Figured we could order Thai food or something to that effect, have a late dinner and relax."

Lawrence runs his tongue over his lips, notices the keen way with which you watch him do it.

"Yeah," he grins, further enters the room. "That sounds lovely. I grabbed the last of the necessary ingredients for dinner Christmas Day so that you wouldn't have to worry—I know that work has been something of a mess for you lately and I want to make sure you have the opportunity to relax when you come home."

He approaches the bed, watches you place the book you'd been reading open on your nightstand beneath the lamp.

"I don't deserve you," you laugh.

You've been dating since you were starting up with your masters a year after getting your bachelors degree when you were twenty-three and Lawrence was two years into medical school at twenty-four.

You've been married since you were twenty-five and twenty-six, and seventeen years down the line, you both knew that marrying each other was the best possible thing either of you could've done with regard to the romantic part of your lives, and while you were married you ended up doing the best possible things for your respective careers so it worked in both of your favors regardless.

You were Lawrences rock, especially so in the aftermath of the bathroom trap, and he was yours and would be such forevermore.

"You're right," he says, moving away from the bed to grab a pair of sweatpants. "You deserve more, but I do strive to be what you deserve day in and day out."

"Don't say that," you chide. "You're perfect, Lawrence. I wouldn't've married you had I thought otherwise, I promise."

He can feel your gaze on him as he slips out of the khaki pants he wears, deciding to go commando and put a pair of light gray sweatpants on for comfort. He changes out of the black button up he'd chosen to wear, pulls a baggy dark blue Henley over his torso and climbs into bed beside you, pressing kiss after kiss down the line of your jaw and across your neck.

"How stressful has work been?" He asks, tone genuine but also slightly seductive.

"Oh, so stressful," you laugh, knowing exactly what he's doing and the fact that seeing you in one of his shirts and just one of his shirts has spurred that on by a mile. "I think if I have to hear one more coworker complaining about last minute shopping during the last few days before Christmas Eve or even on Christmas Eve in and of itself, I will start causing heads to roll. December is the worst time to be in the offices because everyone stops caring about year-end quotas and making sure things are good going into next year and starts caring about whatever gossip is being spread around. It's dreadful, Lawrence."

He pauses, looking at you with genuine sympathy in his gaze. "I'm sorry—I feel gross. I didn't mean to attempt to proposition you for sex like that. I really do want to hear about your day and I'm sorry it's been so terrible, my love. Are you going to book time off?"

You grin. Lawrence is ever-so considerate, always apologizing and stepping back if he's done something in a way that he doesn't appreciate midway through.

"You're going to be stuck with me from tomorrow through to the second," you say. "And—for the record, I didn't hate it. I like it when you proposition me for sex with kisses because your kisses are quite honestly one of the best parts of being married to you. Plus, I have had a stressful month and I won't lie and say that my current outfitting was just for comfort. Sure, bare ass on satin sheets is an amazing feeling, but I was hoping that I'd get the reaction I did, admittedly."

Lawrence tilts his head inquisitively. "You're not—you're—I thought you'd taken a pair of my sweatpants," he grins, moves a hand to your thigh. Sure enough, it's bare. "Oh, Christmas must've come early."

You laugh. "You fuckin' wish," you say, ignoring the goosebumps that Lawrences touch brings on.

You unbutton the few buttons done up on the shirt, press your back against the headboard.

"Stressful month, yeah baby?" Lawrence is almost beaming as his hand moves from your thigh to your stomach, lazily perusing up your chest.

You clench your jaw, squeeze your arms against your sides because you are not going to give in to your handsome husband and his illustrious whims just with a few touches and some whispered sentiments.

"So stressful, Lawrence," you nod. "So, so stressful."

"Do you need a way to destress?" His thumb and first finger locate your nipple, and you exhale a breathy moan, quiet and already wanting to give in to his whims. "If you do, I think I could be of assistance."

"Lawrence," you moan, quiet and needy. "Oh, fuck, Lawrence."

Lawrence moves his hand away from you for a second, only to take off his shirt and the sweatpants he wears before he's back to kissing your neck and letting his hands roam across your chest.

A few minutes of much the same passes by, Lawrences kisses lining your neck and jawline and face and your ethereal lips while he rolls your nipples between his fingers. His hand dips to your folds for just a few minutes, taking your slick onto his fingers and laughing against your shoulder.

"You're so wet for me already," he says. "Fuck, you're perfect."

"Wanna ride you," you're almost stunned at how evenly the words fall from your lips but not at all stunned when Lawrence agrees.

He pulls you onto his lap, lets you grind against his half-hard cock until it's fully hard and you're begging to feel him inside of you and moans when you bottom out, gaze watching you intently as his hands settle on your hips.

"Lawrence," you whisper. "Fuck."

A smile spreads onto Lawrences face before he can stop it, and when you start riding him, he presses his back against the headboard, one hand on your hip while the other lightly holds your chin so as to keep your gaze on his.

You get lost in how good it feels within the space of a minute, maybe two—Lawrence's cock is long and thick, and even if riding it takes some adjusting occasionally, it still becomes very enjoyable very quickly.

"You're so wonderful for me, Y/N," he says. "Oh, this never gets old."

He's loving how you feel around him, clenching occasionally and moaning after a particularly deep thrust that hits your g-spot, and you're just—it's just perfect.

And then, Lawrence gets an idea. He moves the hand that's cupping your face to your wrist, which is attached to the hand that you use to grope relentlessly at yourself, rolling your nipples between your thumb and first finger, sometimes moving to rub your clit.

"The cufflinks, baby," he says. "Don't touch yourself, mm? Use those for me."

He watches you press the cold silver cufflink against one of your nipples, moans as you clench around him at the sensation of the cold meeting your warm skin. You moan in turn, pressing the metal against your nipples and moaning his name.

He moves a hand back to your chin, placing his first and middle finger against your bottom lip. You take the hint immediately and bring his fingers into your mouth, grinding down onto him as you do.

"You're so good for me, pet," he says, moving the hand that rests on your hip to your clit. He starts rubbing it with practiced expertise, knowing the way you like it best after nearly two decades of marriage. "Oh, this is amazing. You can steal my work shirts whenever you want, okay? Especially the ones with the cufflinks. You're amazing."

You moan at the praise, pressing the cufflinks against yourself further, loving the way that the metal feels against your sensitive nipples.

He takes his fingers out of your mouth and goes back to holding your chin so as to keep your gaze on his, wanting to watch you orgasm.

You come completely undone when Lawrence speeds up his ministrations on your clit just enough to make you want more, and Lawrence watches.

You thrust your way through the aftershocks, at which point Lawrence releases into you and lets your chin free from his light grip, kissing you and offering praise as he does.

He pulls you off of him and gets a bath set up, helping you into it while giving you more praise and pressing kisses along the back of your neck and shoulder blades because the orgasm had left you both completely and totally breathless.

You bathe in light conversation, once again talking about your days but focusing on the more positive parts, and Lawrence lets you steal a Henley from the days of medical school. You pull a pair of boxers on and curl up in bed next to him, falling asleep only seconds before Lawrence does.

[mychlapci]

I have been procrastinating this gjksjdfs but i wanted to send some kind of like. i dont think it would be considered an end really but like at least a conclusion in a way to the mertwins thing, at least for the whole bit about them coming to live together in the facility

Prowl does get very very close to losing his job there. They suspend him indefinitely until they can decide what to do with him. They suspend Jazz too but like at least he knows when he's going back.

The two mers, meanwhile, have been consistently getting much better. They are finally eating properly, no longer engaging in such reckless behaviour, and most importantly have not attacked each other as most of the staff had feared. As much as they all dont agree with what Prowl did, they have to concede to the fact that he was right. Not that they'd ever tell him though.

But the mers are still defensive and display highly aggressive behaviour when approached. The staff have enough common sense, unlike some mechs, to keep away. It makes it difficult to check on them in some ways, but it's not too bad. But also this means they really dont know how these mers will react to other mers. Ideally they'd want to be able to socialise these two as well, eventually introducing them to a shared tank, but they cant do that in any good conscience right now

The staff continue to try to approach the two mers over months, but their responses never change. It's only one day when Prowl, finally fully recovered and having gotten a medic's full approval to be back, is back in the facility that they see a difference.

Prowl had specifically requested those documents from his medic. He wrote to the aquarium to specifically request a visit with all that paperwork. Eventually they could not say no and let him in. Just for a day. With escort. Not on any official business. Just a visit.

He just wanted to see how those two were for himself. Jazz had told him they were doing fine, but he wanted to see it with his own two optics.

He walks up to the tank and just stands there, looking in, relieved already just to see that he is not immediately greeted with angry snarls and banging on the glass. Honestly that in itself would have been enough for him. But he sees one of the mers swim past, stop, look at him, and then tilt its head. The mer, the red one, then quickly swims away, but soon returns dragging the yellow one with him. The red one gestures at Prowl, and then yellow one squints. They seem to communicate in subtle movements that Prowl doesnt understand before they look at him again

The red one swims up to the glass, dragging the other again. But this time they both look at Prowl, fins kept close to their frames, and bow their heads slightly.

The poor (or maybe very lucky) staff just like drops his datapad lmao cos he has never seen anything like this before

Prowl has never seen this behaviour before either. A form of respect, perhaps? A sign of thanks? He does not know, but he knows it is friendly. Their fins are not just not flared in aggression, but are actively held as flatly as possible. They want to appear as non-threatening as possible, perhaps an act of submission or friendship.

Prowl wouldn't be able to figure it out like this, but he knows they must mean well. He places his servo on the glass, and the mers seem happy enough with the response and soon swim off again

The staff of course are like what the heck and end up reevaluating Prowl's suspension. Now that he's physically fit... Maybe they should ask him to come back. Maybe he might be the only one who would be able to approach those two. It takes them a few weeks, but they end up bringing Prowl back in. And of course they tell him to be Careful this time. Please.

I think it all works out tho ^^ The twins maybe still never truly knew what happened but they know Prowl helped them. They eventually let him get near the water after a few attempts from him and a few peace offerings of food. They are very cautious tho. They never quite go near him. They will still display aggression if he tries to approach.

It takes quite a bit of time before they finally approach him. They finally get comfortable enough to be near him... and eventually allowing him to touch them (tho really this ends up being more of the twins poking and prodding at Prowl because they are curious and also a menace and want to know what the heck is up with these weird land mechs)

The staff are happy to see these two finally socialising and displaying even less aggressive behaviour than before. Maybe Prowl finally makes some friends too

it's ok, i procrastinated answering this for a turn. I definitely imagined the twins would eventually grow closer with Prowl... In a way, he's helped them more than anyone else could have. His grand gesture of reuniting the two ended up helping them understand that there are land-mechs that can be trusted. Ironic, I know.

Sunny and Sides prodding at Prowl, dragging him into their tank, excitedly banging their tails against the glass when he's walking by... it's all extremely uplifting social behaviour from mers that the facility thought they had no hope of rehabilitating <3

[the-graves-family]

No. 30: Holding Back Tears

It’s been… too long, probably.

Part of it had been procrastination, of course. Part of it had been genuine struggles to find and fit all the pieces together.

Finding people he’d never met based on something they did ten years ago had been herculean. But Adrian doesn’t really deserve a hero’s welcome, now does he?

Ringing the doorbell, he shoves his hands in his pockets, waiting for anyone to answer. He has no idea what he’s about to say. But he has to do this. He has to make things right, after years of fucking everything up.

After a few seconds, he hears the door unlock. The woman that opens it is tall, thin, with ginger hair and a hard gaze. She looks like she hates him already, and honestly Adrian can’t blame her.

He hates himself too.

“Hello,” he greets her, before clearing his throat. He probably should have thought about what to say beforehand. “My name is Adrian Graves, and I’m looking for someone who lived here about ten years ago?” He rubs the back of his neck. “I’m not sure if that’s you, but my brother—”

“Who is it, honey?” A second woman comes to stand in the doorway, and Adrian feels his resolve falter. At least this one looks much kinder than her partner.

The first woman narrows her eyes. “I don’t know.”

Adrian swallows dryly and nods. “Sorry to bother you like this, it must be really strange. I’m just— My brother put this address down years ago when he was filling out his army paperwork, and I was wondering if you might have known him?” It’s clunky, and a little rushed, but all the words manage to leave him in a semi-coherent order.

There’s a beat of silence before the first woman’s eyes widen. “You said Graves. Like Adam Graves?”

Adrian sucks in a sharp breath and nods, unsure of what to feel.

He knows where this conversation is going.

The second woman gasps, brushing the curls out of her face and peering intently at him. “Oh, our boy! Do you know where he is? He stopped reaching out five years ago, and nobody would tell us anything! He just disappeared after getting discharged, and we were so worried.”

And damn it, Adrian doesn’t want to do this. He thought he’d be strong enough, but once again he disappoints himself and everyone around him. He breathes in deeply, looking up for a moment before nodding.

“Do you think we could take this inside? It’s… it’s a long story.”

[practicedvmm13fullofpotatoes]

MORE Johnny and Janae headcanons because the first set was me going "Oh, these characters are nice :)" but now it's me going "Ouhhh, these characters are going to be rotating in my brain for the next few months and I fully accept that"

Johnny

That headcanon of him dreaming about the Somerset fire is actually just me being way too obsessed with these guys. This couldn't have happened no matter how I explained it. The Somerset fire happened some time around 1950. The timeline was changed when BD was in his mid 40s (I think?) so that'd be like. 1980 at least. Johnny dreaming about the Somerset fire is literally impossible unless I did some more time fuckery than these guys already do on a regular basis

Tries to like his family's interests so that they'll love him more. He doesn't like soccer but he does it for his dad. He doesn't like the theater but he'd watch it for his mom. He doesn't really understand seismology but tries to for Janae. He knows Janae already loves him a lot, but he just does it out of habit

Social chameleon. Will literally change things about himself so that people will like him. These efforts fail a lot of the time, but in the rare case that he actually gets someone to notice and see him in a positive light, he will cling on to that person and never let them go

Because of the things mentioned above, Johnny tends to have identity crises. Yeah, you heard me. Plural. He's been doing all of this since he was 7. He knew from the get-go that he didn't fit in. And in his head, the best course of action was to try to blend in

Definitely likes art-- or, more specifically, painting. It's the one thing about himself that he's sure of. His father, though, doesn't approve of this and hid his art supplies in the basement, a place he knows Johnny is too scared to check

I don't know about other countries' classes but like. If they have TLE (Technology and Livelihood Education), methinks Johnny would like the subject a lot (home ec, entrepreneurship, agriculture, yadda yadda)

Sensitive to extreme temperatures. Trying to cook an egg? It feels like his skin is actually burning (it's not). The weather is chilly? He'll need to wear a lot of layers (physically refuses to function if it's cold)

Developed a lot of crushes when he was in middle school but only now realizes that they were just happy crushes

Frequent nightmares about death. They're not future dreams but he believes that they are. Very anxious to continue with his day because he might end up dropping dead later

His love language is quality time. Definitely some tonal whiplash but I thought I'd throw this out there

Janae

Very verbal. Will not hesitate to blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. Like, they could just be talking about seismology to Johnny but then yell out "SEISMOGRAM" in the middle of it before going back to building the finalized version of it. This happens very often

Oh, you interupted their ramble? They completely forgot what they were talking about and is pissed because you disturbed them.. Though, you do have to find a way to make Janae stop eventually. Most effective method is to raise your hand. After a few seconds, they'll stop talking to let you talk

If you disturbed Janae, they will immediately not like you. I'm sorry but they don't make the rules. You're not a good person in their eyes anymore

Poor memory on things that should be important. They struggle with remembering dates, dues, assignments, paperwork and other stuff that is very important. They have too much going on in that mind of theirs to remember much. It will always end up pushed to the back of their brain

Struggles with prioritizing and time management. If the task seems easy enough, they'll procrastinate and do something that's more important to them. They'll eventually forget about it until it suddenly becomes important again. And they end up cramming to pass it on time so it's a bit sloppy but no one notices because it's still really good in comparison to the others passed. The only other person to be able to tell whether or not Janae actually spent time doing something is Johnny

Frequently forgets words. Like mentioned earlier, they have too much going on in their head to remember much. ("Johnny, what was that thing called? The thing that happens when a woman goes into labour?" "Huh?" "When she's like?? Pushing the baby out??" "I don't know??" "I swear we had a conversation about this before--")

You know how people say to look at the big picture and to stop focusing on the smaller details? Janae is the exact opposite of that but in a more literal sense. Let's say that they're looking for [brand] toothpaste but they can't find it despite checking the isle several times. They'll ask an employee about it and get directed to a part of the aisle that they passed by a couple dozen times

Talks to themself a lot. Like said in bullet one, they're very verbal. Literally has to chew on gum/the inside of their cheek to shut themself up

That headcanon of Janae tutoring students their age and higher definitely makes zero sense if I actually think about it. Same with my excuse of Martha and Jack just sending them back to 2nd grade. But erm, they still tutor because I said so. They tutor their students :))

Gets distracted easily. Like. Very easily. Surprisingly easy. Especially by shiny objects. (One student of theirs tried distracting them with a laser pointer. It worked. Three times)

[starsodd]

Starodds fun facts about his MC until she finally does a full post introducing her!! Day 2

(GIF from a song created by DAOKO. The song is titled "Girl".)

My MC really likes white rice. She doesn’t need other food to go with it. He’ll happily eat it by itself. Like a freak(lovingly).

Lazy wip of her eating rice

Polyamorous MC. I don't think I need to explain that further, other than I loved them all too much to choose just one. (Though if I absolutely HAD to, it'd be Thirteen.)

Here's a little chart thing I found and did for him.

(Mephistos is meant to be green)

My MC is not actually interested in making any other pacts. He is content with the ones he has with the brothers and sees no reason to make more, even if it were with more powerful demons such as Diavolo and Barbatos (and Mephistopheles, but mind the chart).

My MC, after long days, often seeks out Leviathan, Belphie, or Lucifer to recharge herself.

Watching Leviathan play games quietly or listening to him ramble about something so she doesn’t have to speak. (She loves listening to him ramble.)

Napping with Belphie

Sitting next to Lucifer as he does paperwork and taking a nap in his study, sometimes helping him (since the MC canonically sits next to him, quite simply because he enjoys their company).

My MC often sees Lilith when she sleeps. (Lilith sometimes pulls her consciousness elsewhere so that she is not lonely and they can talk.) She has found such comfort in Lilith that she sometimes takes naps during the day just to rant to Lilith, who listens to her and comforts her.

(Realm looks something like this)

~A procrastinating sheep...again...

[rainbowsandwhumperflies]

hi, as someone who is also procrastinating on homework, do your assignment! and then your ocs can answer this question: what's something you hate doing? why do you hate it and why do you do it anyway?

the assignment I was talking about in that post got turned it seven minutes before the due date 💪💪 do YOUR homework anon

Also I wasn't sure which characters you wanted so we're just doing Onyx, Ryan, and Cardan cuz they've been on my mind the most lately

Onyx smiles at you. “I don’t hate any of my assigned tasks. Good servants don’t have likes and dislikes. But even if I did have some that I hated, of course I would do them anyway. My feelings aren’t important in comparison to my duties as a servant to the crown. …I suppose hand washing quilts is one of the more tedious chores that I do, though.”

Cardan grins. “I don’t do anything I hate. I used to have tutors and advisors and shit that always wanted me to do pretty much a bunch of paperwork. To organize things or handle allyships and budgets and laws and diplomacy and fucking whatever. It doesn’t matter. I have better things to do. Ryan knows that I’m not going to do it, so if he wants things done he does it for me.”

(we're assuming that Ryan is under some sort of truth serum cuz you aren't getting a word of this out of him otherwise)

“I mean…” Ryan looks away, considering. “I don’t like any of my duties as the prince. Most of it sucks. I do it because that’s how you run a country—by doing what you need to. We’re all cogs in a machine, really, and whether or not I hate something isn’t important enough to keep my cog from moving, since it would collapse the whole machine. If we’re talking about which part I hate the most, though…” He glances up at you and then immediately away again, mulling his words over before saying them. “I really don’t like punishing criminals. It’s one of the things that Cardan wasn’t ever expected to do, and it makes everyone think I’m cruel and enjoy it, and… I mean, it doesn’t matter what anyone thinks. And I haven’t actually dealt with any criminals in awhile. Onyx is easier, even when he- uh. Even when he’s difficult, he’s easier than criminals.”

[pocketramblr]

i've been thinking about him and i'm procrastinating on paperwork right now so i will blorbopost

I really like Jojo's version as a good balance of humility and humor- he considers himself more a traveler than a hero, and he's awed by the knights of the group and sure their quests were harder than his. But, he's also confident in his own survival, combat, and magic skills. He doesn't think he's incompetent or a fake hero, he just admires the others a lot. He's alright with being a loner, always on the move, and like all Links he is quiet, but he's not shy or demure- he frequently makes jokes to and about the others. I think it's a good balance of silent protag from his two games, and sassy cartoon link (excuse meee princess) which he draws from.

also, he's INCREDIBLE with magic- the only one of the Links who can use it without some other source like a rod or instrument. Hyrule learned magic in his first game by reading a magic book and practicing with a magic rod (yes, he can read. and yes, he knows when his birthday is, thats a specific plot device), but 4-6 years later was skilled enough to learn magic directly from sages and not need a casting focus (Though i think he uses his magic sword as a focus for Fire because it's a good way not to get burned by his own spell.) The other spells though, he can just do with a snap. (i LOVE how Thunder is basically the same spell as Urbosa's Fury and i think they'd get along great). The spells are so fun to use in fics and give him a good bit of versatility. Fairy spell is good, though i don't really headcanon him as part fairy before learning how to shift at sixteen. Fae!Hyrule is fun in a fic, but i love imagining Jojo's Hyrule's face and excitement that he can suddenly turn into a fairy, which he never would have expected to be possible to learn before.

more thoughts under the cut

Hyrule's world is also so fun. I think fanon can swing too far one way or another but i really like how in Zelda2, there are both villagers that are actually monsters working for Ganon, but there are also villagers that will take Link in and heal him without asking for money or anything in return. I think it speaks to his world that people are so generous and so dangerous, and appearances can be misleading- i think there's a Jojo doodle set in his second game that highlights that, when a woman in a purple dress tells him she doesn't know anything and moves on, while Rulie spirals trying to figure out if that means she does or doesn't actually know something useful lol. On the subject of the games, Hyrule also helps out people find things, get medicine, and rescues a kidnapped child. (Children are rare in this era, but are a sign of recovery from the first game.)

The manuals are an important part of game stories at this point too, and Hyrule's are FASCINATING. at the start of his first game, Hyrule isn't one unified country anymore, and so Rulie is either from another part of Hyrule that isn't under Princess Zelda's control, or from another kingdom entirely. (Calatia, from the comics, is usually used.) Still, he helped Impa and Zelda at 10/12 years old because it was the right thing to do.

In doing so, he found and reassembled the triforce of wisdom and won the triforce of power in battle, then later proved himself worthy of the triforce of courage. Jojo's stated the triforce itself isn't going to come up in the comic (fair, its sorta the nuclear option), and that Hyrule was tasked with guarding the triforce by his Zeldas, so he considers himself more the protector of it than the bearer or wielder of it... but whatever he wants to think, he IS the bearer of it. and also? THE HEIR TO THE THRONE. He's the one who's supposed to become the next monarch, not either of his zeldas. And his response to that? "NOPE i'm just a normal traveler" and "Wow, this farmhouse beats a castle any day!" iconic. He's happy being a hero, he'd love to be a knight- but a king? absolutely not.

(if not to play the games, the Ran Maru manga adaption of zelda 1 and 2 i think also lend to a similar interpretation of this Link, with him loving to travel, being smitten with zelda, having to figure out who is very trustworthy and who very much isn't, and refusing the throne/triforce. however i cannot officially recommend it because Ran's solution to the two zelda things was to uh throw the extra one in a volcano and i wish i was joking. very glad that didn't end up in lu... but other than that it's fun!)

AND all of that isn't even touching the blood curse! part of the reason he doesn't stay in the castle is he doesn't want to, yes, but another reason is that the Eyes of Ganon tracking him down to sacrifice him and resurrect Ganon.

Anyway, i do hope we see his triforce mark in the comic. It's red, different than the others, because of him being the owner of the triforce of power and the heir to the throne, and he seems to be very much trying to hide it under those bracers laced over his hands. But i want to see the other links reacting to it- they'd notice the difference in color, sure, but they wouldn't know what it *means* and it'd be fun to see Hyrule sweat about that. I'd like to see him use the fairy spell, and maybe some of his other spells on other people. He didn't know prior to Sunset that he even *could* cast Life on other people, as he's only had the option to use it on himself before. Can he cast shield or reflect to protect the others in battle? can he turn one of the others into a fairy? i hope so! i want to see it! also, he has a magic key that can open any door, and can pick locks as a fairy, so i'd like to see either of those used... (there was one panel implying the key had been, i think?) Also he might have used rupees as arrowheads and that'd be a fun reaction from the others.

Gleeoks are from his game and i hope he gets to take one down in the comic.

not in the comic but i have to throw out that i also love partially Gerudo!Hyrule. just fascinating.

Hyrule and Legend met each other first and started throwing hands about it (Legend's sword burned him when raised against a link, so Hyrule just threw his out too and?? went in to punch him?? incredible). Hyrule and Warriors are drinking buddies who love fire weapons so much. Hyrule and Wild will get lost together for hours exploring. Hyrule and Four are non-master-sword using buddies who should have tiny adventures. Time is objectively the funniest victim for Hyrule to turn into a fairy. Hyrule cares for Twilight so much and literally dragged him from death. Hyrule and Sky are both cursed, and trying to ignore the implications of their future kinghoods. Hyrule and Wind wouldn't underestimate each other and would love exchanging stories- plus, Hyrule's world mostly having cursed/toxic water and Wind being from an ocean world is a fun difference, but also, Hyrule's a sailor! he's got his own raft and boots that walk on water, and i know Wind would have a blast with both.

Anyway all Hyrule dynamics are good dynamics, i love Original Flavor Link with my whole heart.

Hello Linked Universe fandom. I have a question.

If Hyrule is your one of your favourite lu Links, would you please tell me why? I'd like to become more familiar with his character.

Is there something about Jojo's version you like especially? What are you're favourite headcannons? Something about him the fandom tends to sleep on?

If you've played his games, is there anything in particular you liked about them (items, characters, bosses etc.)? Anything you hope to see referenced in the comic?

If you've ever needed an excuse to gush about your blorbo, please take this as an invitation (don't fell pressured to answer every question though).

[intothegenshinworld]

I have a habit that I learned from my mother where if anyone’s lounging next to me with their bare legs, I’ll instinctually start massaging it.

Of course, it only happens with my friends and family. If I ever did it to a stranger I would die @.@

Anyways, acolytes’ reaction xD

Hey hey! I chose a few characters I personally liked to write about, but feel free to send in another ask if I missed the characters you wanted! I also changed the prompt here and there; it’s basically ‘’an unexpected massage’’, hope it’s still alright :)

Note: not proofread, wanted to post it tho

It had been a while since you first arrived on Teyvat. Everything is a lot more peaceful and you're able to enjoy your days with relatively little stress. 

One of the only chores you needed to do included paperwork. You have an office of your own where you do most of your work, usually with the help of some acolytes. Generally, you'd be at your desk, but today was a couch day. So as one does, you plopped down and patted the seat next to you

Venti is constantly testing how far you'd let him go. He'd hug you, attempt to cuddle up to you, he even tried to sneak in a kiss! So when he'd lounge himself onto the couch it's no surprise that he'd move his legs into your lap. Venti thought you were too occupied with your 'stupid paperwork', so he assumed something like this would bring your attention back to him. He'd be surprised when you'd continue to read the paperwork while your free hand starts to gently massage his leg. His shock passes quickly, and suddenly he doesn’t seem to hate the paperwork as much as before. When you notice that his constant nagging stopped, you look up; Venti isn't usually silent. When he throws a cheeky smile your way, you realise the situation you brought yourself in and get flustered real quick. 'Don't worry your Grace! I'll return the favor any time, ehe!'

Zhongli has no trouble helping you. He liked spending his time with you and felt happy whenever he could aid you in these tasks. His voice was a bonus for you as well, and you always listen carefully when he points out the important parts on the papers. His figure is close to yours and you’d been leaning closer to get a good look at the papers in his hand. Unknowingly to you, you had grasped his free hand in yours and had started to gently massage it. Believe me, he didn’t want you to stop but it was hard to point out things on the paper without a hand. He'd bring the situation to your attention and would give a deep chuckle when he'd see you get flustered. After he further explained the paperwork, he decided to massage your shoulders instead. Perhaps some closer contact would help your focus? 'Do you wish to remove my gloves, Your Grace?'

You were in Mondstadt for the upcoming weeks and decided to visit Diluc at the Dawn Winery. There had been enough time for you to visit the city and other places, but the endless workload still chased you. After procrastinating for a good while, you decided that Diluc could be your motivator! If he’s working, you might feel obligated to work as well! At least, that was the idea. At one point during your stay in his office you invited him to sit on the couch with you. Unfortunately, from that moment forward it’s Diluc that’s unable to work. The moment you moved closer to his figure,- his brain stopped working. He could feel his leg touching yours, -and why did you have to place your hand on his leg to massage him? He was certain you could hear his heartbeat. Are you doing this on purpose? It’s only when you remove your hand after finishing your paperwork that he regains the ability to think. ‘Hey Diluc, you’re not procrastinating right?’ You tease him. He huffs in response and returns his focus on his work, hopefully then you wouldn’t see his face. ‘I’d never.’

[obey-me-disaster]

For Headcanon Prompts, can you please do number 23 (jealousy) and 14 (guilty pleasure) with Diavolo?

If not that’s alright 😊

Of course I can ^-^

14-Guilty pleasure headcanons

Procrastinating definetely. He takes his role as future kind seriously and tries to keep up with his work, but he can't help wanting to do something different.

He's always looking for excuses to put off his work for later even if he knows he will regret it when he sees the ever growing mountain of paperwork. That's one of the reasons he loves to get involved into the brothers's shenanigans.

Eating deserts when he shouldn't. He finds himself constantly snacking on something even if he knows he has a meal prepared for later. It helps him concentrate on his work.

The fact that Barbatos is literally the best pastry chef in the three worlds doesn't make it easier. Demon already have trouble resisting to temptations and Barbatos's baking is the biggest one.

Taking photos of everyone without telling them. He can't help it! He wants to have something to remember all the good moments with his friends.

He believes that if he asked them to pose for a photo he will ruin the moment. He wants to capture everyone at their most comfortable.

He doesn't post the pictures anywhere, he just keeps them for himself. If he wants something to post then he will ask the others.

23- Jealousy headcanons

Diavolo is both jealous of the brothers cause they can spend so much time with MC but he is also jealous of MC cause they became like family for the demon brothers, thing he had tried for a long time.

He is pretty sincere with his feelings. Since he can tell when others are lying he also prefers not to lie. So if he is jelous by any chance he will let MC know.

While he can be really childish in a lot of ways, when it comes to jealousy he can be quite mature and will talk about his feelings.

His main cause of jealousy comes from being excluded from things or feeling left behind.

If he feels like MC didn't spent enough time with him he will act more clingy and find different excuses to make them stay more with him no work is getting done that day

When he is jealous of others spending too much time with MC he will start being more touchy with them, like holding them closer to him, making sure he is touching them in some way.

He doesn't get easily jealous in the regard but when actually does, MC can expect to be kept by his side for some time.

When he gets jealous due to how others can be so carefree and spend so much time together he tries to come up with plans to insert himself in all of the fun. He just wants to be included and not be stuck with mountains of paperwork

[legendofzoodles]

The Chain as Procrastinators 

Part 1

Time procrastinates without remorse or regret.

He wouldn’t do it because he’s anxious about an upcoming task or feels overwhelmed since he stopped giving a shit about one ‘song of time’ ago. No it would rather be to just annoy whoever expected him to get it done. Small tasks like chores aren’t worth being petty over, besides he’d never be a bastard to his wife and the people he cares about. However, if say Zelda asked him to do something he didn’t want to do (like rather than attack a monster camp setting up near a village it would be escorting some goods or collecting something) he’d wait until the last possible second to do it.

Malon: There’s a royal carriage pulled up outside.

Time: [getting up from the sofa] She sent a messenger this time?!

Malon: Why don’t you just get it over with? It’ll take less than a day.

Time: [grabbing a piece of paper and pencil] That’s less than a day too long. 

Time: Give this to whoever comes to the door; I wouldn’t bother speaking to them.

Malon: [takes the paper slip and watches him dash into the washroom with a smile, shaking her head slightly]

I get the feeling he still does things when he feels like it, even in his 30s, and isn’t ashamed at all. 

Warriors procrastinates because of sometimes feeling the need for the piece of work to be perfect and that discourages him. 

He is for the most part very put together. He organises training exercises, armour and weapon maintenance and unit expeditions efficiently. That being said, they’ll be those kinds of paperwork that he can’t bring himself to do and I think it’ll be somewhat of a perfectionist thing. 

Since protocol means all his reports have to have a certain amount of detail and be of high quality, especially if the General or Princess will be reading it. Perhaps things like risk assessments or particularly long and eventful expeditions that call for meticulous records put him off doing the task, and do things like take longer to run drills. And he’s the sort who’d rather take on all the work, rather than delegate it. 

Impa: [knocking on the door as she enters] Are those reports finished?

Warriors: [emerging from a pile of loose papers] What are you talking about? I requested an extension. 

Impa: I didn’t receive a formal request from you.

Warriors: Oh. I was busy so I left it on your desk.

Impa: You mean that unsigned sheet of paper with ‘Need more time’ scribbled on it...?

Warriors: [rubbing his eyes] Is my request denied?

Impa: No, granted. And get some sleep Link. 

On the flipside, for other types of paperwork he doesn’t mind, he’ll use that duty as an excuse to not do basic chores. He can never seem to settle down for even half an hour of dusting and sweeping when there are more important things he could be doing, like training. 

Twilight procrastinates if he doesn’t feel he can do the task well. 

He works to help develop Hyrule with the Resistance. It’s a duty I’m sure he’s passionate about and enjoys, but there’ll be some parts about it that he’s less fond of. There are probably meetings where everyone has to share things that could be improved about Hyrule- anything from infrastructure, to transport, to the army, anything really- and how to go about doing that. 

He wouldn’t be a fan of those tasks since he’s not as knowledgeable and therefore helpful as say Shad and Ashei, who know more and have more varied experiences. And anyway, why do all that sitting around and thinking when he could be out helping on the ranch or running errands around Ordon? 

Since he still get mail from the postman, throughout LU he’d probably still have those duties and put it off by being extra helpful around camp or asking Warriors for one more sparring round. 

~~~

Thanks for reading. 

Masterlist

9th place in the LU character design ranking

Character analysis posts:

Hero of the Sky, Hero of Time, Hero of Twilight, Hero of the Wild, Hero of Warriors

Parkour team - LU drabble

How each member of the chain laughs - LU headcanon